Are you weary of all those “perfect” heroines – the ones with intelligence, common sense, compassion, and maturity? Are sick of all those heroic heroes that possess intellect, honor, and integrity? And how about all those plots that always seem to be credible, and, even more irritatingly, make sense? If so, have I got the book for you. Sonya Birmingham’s new novel Lanigan’s Lady will offend your sensibilities with none of the aforementioned annoyances. And there’s so much more!

Callie O’Doule is a laundress in Connemara, Ireland. She lives with her Da, and launders shirts for the old squire. She’s happy as can be. Then the old squire dies, and the new owner of his estate, an American named Trent Lanigan, reveals that Callie is actually the old squire’s illegitimate daughter, and will be well provided for in his will – provided that she become a lady and marry a man of nobility. She doesn’t want to, since she’s already happy with her life, but goes along with it, thinking she can give her Da some extra money, and buy a new collar for her cat with the money she’ll inherit. Of course, soon she’s decided that the only one she wants to marry is Trent himself, and he might have something to say about that.

Trent has problems of his own. In order to gain his inheritance – the estate – and then sell it off, he needs to fulfill his part in the old squire’s will – by transforming Callie into a lady, and marrying her off to a nobleman. Meanwhile, he’s got a law partner waiting for him back in Boston, as well as a fiancée named Felicia. But now he’s having dreams of staying in Ireland and keeping the estate. And if that weren’t trouble enough, Callie herself is not terribly amenable to his plans.

These two characters are neither intelligent nor likable in the least, and what’s more, I’ve seen South Park characters with more development. Callie is childish, bratty, and thoughtless. And she’s literally not bright enough to come in out of the rain; she decides to run away from home, and chooses to do so in the middle of a thunderstorm. Trent is also a real prize. His obligations to the will, his fiancée in Boston (whom he never shows any signs of liking in the first place), his sense of right and wrong – none of these stop him from jumping into bed with Callie at the first opportunity. And he’s not the kind of guy you’d want to operate heavy machinery, either. After he sleeps with Callie, the thought slowly penetrates his mind that that might not have been appropriate. Although it never occurs to him (or to her, for that matter) that her lack of virginity might affect her desirability as a wife among the nobility they’re supposed to court. Nor does it occur to either of them even once throughout the course of the book that their actions (and you didn’t think them sleeping together was a one-time deal, did you?) might actually result in the birth of a child. After all, that’s only the exact situation that led to Callie’s own conception, but the thought never crosses their minds. But don’t fear for a moment that the lack of credibility is limited to these meager points. There’s so much more to it.

If I had to use one word to describe the plot of this book, it would be easy enough. “Contrived” comes to mind – and stays there. I can’t do justice to the flimsiness of the plotline in such a short space – you’d literally have to read the book to believe how contrived it really is – but here are some basic points. First, we have Callie, a penniless laundress. A laundress who thinks back on her “schoolgirl” crushes. She has a pretty fancy education for a working class girl in 19th century backwater Ireland. She’s literate, familiar with Byron’s poetry, and can even read maps like a pro. But it doesn’t end there. Next, she learns to waltz perfectly her very first try (she just follows his lead). She re-learns how to speak in a couple of weeks. She assumes new table manners, learns to make polite conversation without betraying her base origins, and learns to ride – and not just to ride, but to ride side-saddle – also on her first attempt, all effortlessly and without relapse. But that’s not all.

When things start to seem as if they aren’t going her way after all, she decides she’s going to take Trent to court, to contest the will on the basis that the old squire was not of sound mind. You know, the will that happens to be the only extant acknowledgement that she is the old squire’s daughter. She wants to do this because if the will is overturned, she, the squire’s illegitimate, female offspring will somehow inherit. And not only does she believe this, but the solicitors and Trent and everyone involved believe this to be possible.

So you see, this may be just the book you’re looking for to relieve the tedium of all those sympathetic, intellectually burdened characters, and all those plotlines that actually seem to make sense and have a snowball’s chance in hell of happening. But if you want to be able to like the characters and believe the plot, I regretfully conclude that this is not the book for you. For a Pygmalion plot that actually works, and characters you can actually like and respect, try to dig up a copy of Karen Robards’ Loving Julia. Or, try just about anything else. It can hardly get worse than this.