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The Spy Wore Red: Nazis, bullfights, and sequins oh my!

WARNING: This is a fun read. If you don’t like to have fun while you read*, stay far far away. It’s so awesomely fun that Erica is taking this book on her upcoming honeymoon–and we all know that it’s got to be major league entertainment for her to actually pay attention to a book when there are bound to be so many distractions about.

“The Spy Wore Red” is the first of three autobiographical books by Aline, Countess of Romanones in which she chronicles her adventures as an American woman who worked as a spy in Spain in the aftermath of the 2nd World War, rooting out Nazis from their hiding places in high-society Madrid. I wish I could remember who introduced me to these books, because they are fantastic and this person deserves a firm spank on the butt a nice pat on the head. There is an added fascination for me, having grown up in Spain, to see the country in such a different light, as it was under Franco’s regime. It’s kind of familiar … and also not. The balance does swing more towards the exotic side since she navigated the elite society, which was full of dangerous, classy folks with hidden agendas. The only hidden agenda in my life during the Spain years belonged to my brain-damaged cat Foca–we could never quite fathom the mystery that was her knocked-about little cerebellum. Oh, and boys. They were, like, super confusing.

Aline writes in the first person. She is elegant, smart, gutsy, and has tons of perilous capers—and she never sounds stuck up about her mad spy skills, which is an added plus. Because if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s feeling down about my underpar spy skills. I mean, who doesn’t want to be the girl that surprises the bad guys with the gun that was perfectly concealed in a smokin’ hot holster/garter belt which in turn was perfectly concealed under a skin-tight red-sequined gown? I count it as #1 on the list of the many, many disappointments in my life. If you’re with me on this, you don’t have to worry–Aline totally doesn’t rub it in.

And in case I’m projecting the wrong image, these books aren’t just for girls. My dad loves them, and my husband would really like them if I could get him off the historical stuff–more on this disturbing preference of non-fiction over fiction tomorrow. Anyway, I’m sure there are many more men out there who are confident enough to read a paperback with a woman in a sparkly evening gown on the front! It’s all about the confidence.

But the cherry on the pie for these books is: it’s all true! Read “The Spy Wore Red”. It gets off to a rip-roaring start with the whole “going through spy school” thing. Once you’ve finished, read the other two: The Spy Went Dancing, and The Spy Wore Silk. There’s also a 4th book fictional book written by her called “The Well-Mannered Assassin”; not quite as good, but worth it for the fans.

You can buy these books used online for cheap. I checked. Or you can probably find ’em at your library. Either way, be thou boy or girl or beast or alien, get your mitts/paws/claws/tentacles on a copy.

*Return tomorrow for an in-depth report on my husband’s chronic non-fiction loving preference disease. Parental guidance definitely required, as this will shock many young novel lovers and possibly drive them to read alarming things such as Kierkegaard or Nietzsche.

I am Christy Miller. Wait, no! I mean, read the Christy Miller books.

(Disclaimer: this is for the wimminfolk. The dudes can read some Terry Pratchett instead.)

Are you a preteen or teenage girl? Have you ever been a preteen or teenage girl? Are you a grown woman who maybe still gets a little weepy when certain commercials come on depicting older couples walking hand-in-hand down beaches at sunrise, or somebody blowing out some candles on a birthday cake? If you fit into any of these categories, then your life is not complete until you’ve read the Christy Miller series by Robin Jones Gunn. She is a Christian author who wrote this series of 12 books for teen girls, starting with “Summer Promise” and ending with “A Promise is Forever”. OK, I know you’re distracted by the “art” on the cover there–but you know what they say–don’t judge a book by the hairdo or clothing choices of the woman on the front. And Christy doesn’t actually wear white polyester pants with hot pink swirlies in the book.

I read them when I was 11 for the first time, and have re-read the series at least a dozen times since then. In fact, I read them all again just last year. They are freshly written, they don’t deal with “topics” (sex, drugs, eating disorders) in a heavy-handed way (I never felt preached at as a young girl)… and you just love the characters! In fact, I refuse to call them “characters”. They are real people and that’s just that. My childhood friend Stacy and I argued passionately over whose imaginary volleyball team Christy and her boyfriend Todd were on–they were real to us. And I should add that Christy and Todd are on my imaginary volleyball team to this day, in case anyone’s asking.

There is an equally wonderful follow-up trilogy to the series called “Christy and Todd: the College Years”—but start at the beginning, my friends. This trilogy is the icing on the cake. And people don’t eat the icing first. At least they’re not supposed to. Ehem. (I mean, I just lick it to be thrifty, I swear! Waste not want not! Icing saved is icing earned!)

I still cry when I read these books. There’s an especially heart-wrenching moment in “Sweet Dreams” (book 11), when Christy and Todd are watching a sunset at the beach, and they’re, like,  holding hands, and, like, she can tell, like, (sniff) something is really bothering him, so she says (sniff)—but I’m not giving it away! (yes, it’s my strategy to draw you in with that well-crafted cliffhanger, why do you ask?)

Robin Jones Gunn just nails the thoughts that go through our heads as women—the insecurities, the hopes, and the confusion. In fact, sometimes I think “maybe I AM Christy Miller!” And then I quickly look around to see if there are any psych-ward clinicians waiting to drag me away. This identity disorder has been with me since 2004, when I emailed the following to my husband from my parent’s apartment in Spain:

“Well darling–I’m going to run downstairs to get my stock of hairclips back up, and then I might retreat a bit into my Christy Miller book. I picked up the first one thinking “this will be good for a laugh”, because I was so obsessed with them as a teenager, and I’ve discovered that though the lessons the author is trying to teach are rather obvious, I still love these books!! Sweetie, it’s time you know this–I was Christy Miller!! I lived in California and hung out on the beach and dated Todd Spencer, the surfer with the screaming silver blue eyes!
Just kidding. But reading Christy does feel like reading my own journal, in a weird but wonderful way. She was my escape world for so long, my alternate life. This is why we want to have daughters (note the coercive/persuasive use
of “we”): so that they can read the Christy Miller books!!!”

These books hold such a special place in my heart. Buy them for a teenage girl in your life. And read them yourself too. Unless you’re a dude. I’m sorry that the covers are so corny. Christy herself is apologizing inside for her spiky do and hairspray-coated bangs. But once you get past that, the inside will melt your heart.

Postscript: My spiky-haired Christy edition is no longer out there … they have revamped Christy’s image and dragged her kicking and screaming into the 21st century. Hooray for modernization!