For some reason unknown to me, genre fiction seems to be the "naughty" release for the sheltered and devout (see: Stephenie Meyer). I'm sure someone somewhere is writing an overly-earnest scholarly paper on the topic as I type. Anyway. While I am willing to put up with a lot for a fun escapist read (I really enjoyed Karen Marie Moning's Fever series, for example), what I am not willing to put up with is painfully clunky prose coupled with thinly-veiled backwoods proselytizing. That being said, I gave Guilty Pleasures three chapters before I promptly returned the Kindle book to my public library. Alcohol? BAD. Atheists? BAD. (I'm made to understand from other reviews that writing and reading about all manner of sexcapade, however, is a-ok. Awesome.)