She was some nameless f- who moaned a great deal both in and out of bed." Maybe certain (male) readers will be intrigued by Alessia, a submissive virgin who only wants to cook and clean and play piano and expresses nothing but gratitude. We meet him sleeping with his dead brother's wife less than a week after his brother's funeral, but he's still recalling the woman he bedded the night before: "Who was it last time? Jojo? Jeanne? Jody? Whatever.
And one who happens to be irredeemably shallow and kind of a dick. But he's also - I kid you not - a model-slash-DJ-slash-photographer. Is this book meant to offer wish-fulfillment for some readers? Perhaps: Maxim is rich, and he's British (though this book's "Britishness" is just a scattered "bloody!" or "bollocks!"), and he's an Earl. It's all pointlessly dizzying, especially since The Mister is over 500 pages. The narrative shifts rapidly between the perspectives of Maxim and Alessia - the former's is written in the first person, the latter's in close-third - at times multiple times on a single page.
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