Mary J. Holmes' novels might be considered the cheap romances of her time, but the more chaste, romantic and charming Victorian romance can't be compared to the lusty, overt modern counterparts, though they can be lusty and baudy in their own simpler Victorian way. Cousin Maude is like a light version of something by a Bronte. The heroine's tragic love, tragic life, has many similarities with the loftier Bronte characters, but Holmes is a master of simplistic, light reading. I thoroughly enjoyed the book and have read my antique copy many times. It is still no Jane Eyre, and it is only because it is not on a par with other, similar novels that I don't rate it higher. If I rated it on pure enjoyment, without comparing it to other works, it would be a five in a heartbeat.
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