Review: Wild Burn by Edie Harris (Plus Movie Recommendation)

4.5 stars

The set-up of Edie Harris' Western romance Wild Burn reads like someone dared Harris to come up with the most unfortunate first meeting between hero and heroine. Or maybe she found one of those weird creative writing prompts that pop up on Pintrest, accompanied by a stock image that should be on a motivational poster. Yes, I can see it now: a man (and his Stetson) are silhouetted against a mountainous ridge, and over the background of evening sky is white writing in an ill-chosen font:

Write a scenario in which the hero shoots the heroine when they first meet. Then make them fall in love. Oh, and make the heroine an ex-Catholic nun and the hero an ex-Confederate soldier who now kills Native Americans for a living. But you have to make the reader like him, right? 

It sounds fantastical at best, but Harris makes it work. The characterisation is wonderful; Moira, the heroine, left the sisterhood after a terrible event made her question her faith. She's still reeling, trying to find her place and make sense of the world, and put to rest thoughts of anger and revenge. It was nice to see the hero support her in this quest; too often heroes place their heroines on a pedestal, unable to easily acknowledge that a heroine's troubles are as important as the ones they themselves are facing.

The hero, Delany, was facing challenges trying to maintain moral distinctions and a sense of his humanity in amoral surroundings. The plot aided the development of both characters, while also providing an interesting look at the issues of post-Civil War America, including Catholic intolerance, the aftermath of the Civil War and the treatment of Native Americans.

The relationship between Delaney and Moira was tantalising and played out beautifully, but if I have one gripe, it's their absorbtion when things were getting hot and heavy. I get it, they're massively physically attracted to each other, but that doesn't mean that you should have your characters forgetting the presence of others and making out in the middle of the main street. For me, this really didn't gel; you'd think that an ex-solider would have better awareness of his surroundings, and an ex-nun and unmarried schoolteacher in a patriarchal society would desire a higher level of circumspection.

Still, Wild Burn made me think that maybe I should give Western romances another try. They're one of the few sub-genres I've never really enjoyed, as I can never get over my disquiet at the American exceptionalism and race relations they contain. I only bought Wild Burn because it had such good reviews, and because I was craving some frontier vibes after watching a German-language Western recently at Sydney's Audi German Film Festival.

The Dark Valley (Das Finstere Tal) is set in a remote valley in the high reaches of Austria, but don't be turned off by the fact it's not actually set in the Wild West. It's got that classic Eastwood main character: the rough-around-the-edges good guy outsider, seeking revenge for those that done him wrong. It's suspenseful, with a excellent surprise twist during the final showdown that you don't expect, despite all the clues. The acting is wonderful, and so is the camerawork. I went because I had free tickets, with the expectation I wouldn't like it very much, but I loved it. I've popped a trailer with English subtitles below so you can get a feel for it. If you want to watch it, it's on American Netflix. Australians, you lose out (again).

Review: Agnes Moor's Wild Knight by Alyssa Cole

3.5 stars

EDIT: I originally rated this 3 stars, but I've thought on it and it's being upped to 3.5 stars.

I've come to the conclusion that novellas are an intricate balancing act. Within a very short space, the author must achieve characters and plot comparable to much longer pieces of work.  Even if they succeed at this, the reader will often complain that a novella was 'rushed' or 'ended too soon'.  Though it irks me when other reviewers judge a novella as though it were a full-length novel, I'm going to do the same for Agnes Moor's Wild Knight by Alyssa Cole.  

The premise of Agnes Moor's Wild Knight is a fascinating one with so much damn potential, and therein is the reason I'm judging it pretty harshly.  Agnes is an African woman who is one of the 'Exotics' at the court of Scottish monarch James IV and his queen, Margaret Tudor (sister to the infamous Henry VIII). She is a novelty for the hedonistic courtiers, and James stages a tournament where a kiss from 'the Black Lady' is the prize. A mysterious knight who has hidden his identity dominates the jousting, and seems to want more from Agnes than a simple kiss.  

Cole does an excellent job of bringing a footnote in history to life, embellishing the real Tournaments of the Black Lady that happened at James' court in 1507 and 1508. For those interested in learning more about this historical basis, an interesting perspective on historical whitewashing and POC in James IV's Scotland can be found at the Secret Histories Project, while the British National Archives lists many different references to 'Moors' in the Treasurer's accounts from James' reign.

Unfortunately, the wonderful historical set-up comes at the expense of the story itself. With most of the first half devoted to Agnes position as an exotic outsider and the way she feels about this, the second half is rushed. There was little to no development of the characters as people after the knight's identity was revealed and he began to court Agnes. Without this I found myself uninvested in the relationship between the two.

So, as much as I hate to be one of those reviewers, my essential problem with Agnes Moor's Wild Knight was that it was a novella.  I would have loved to see it be a bit longer, allowing for more forward movement in the character's relationship, and more development of the male lead in general. Nonetheless, I'm eternally grateful to Cole that she wrote about such an interesting historical event that has been sidelined our larger historical metanarratives, even if I found the result less than superb.

Review: She Wore Red Trainers by Na'ima B. Robert

4.5 stars

She Wore Red Trainers: A Muslim Love Story is the story of Amirah and Ali, two eighteen-year olds trying to navigate their family, faith and future as they come of age in the gritty suburbs of South London, and I really enjoyed it. 

As a YA romance between two observant Muslim teens, there was relatively little interaction between Ali and Amirah, which I had seen other readers complaining about on Goodreads. For me, this was precisely what made it interesting and unique: they embodied a different set of norms, values and beliefs when it comes to interactions between genders. And it's not as though their lack of direct contact came at the expense of a relationship all together.  Just like most prospective couples in conservative cultures, they communicated through their friends and family members, and in small but meaningful gestures.

Amirah and Ali and their family members were wonderfully written, and the dynamics of their respective families formed a large part of the story. The imperfections of Ali's father and Amirah's mother as people and parents were expertly reflected in their children's wants, fears and motivations. For Amirah, her mother's four Islamic marriages and wholehearted reliance her husbands has made her gun-shy about relationships, and she vows never to marry. With overwhelming family responsibilities, she takes solace in art, even though she is resolved to do a more 'sensible' course at university. Meanwhile, Ali's father has lost his business and the family's house in Hertfordshire in the wake of his wife's death, and Ali and his brothers are struggling to come to terms with their new, much reduced, circumstances.

The dialogue throughout really reinforced the dual world the characters inhabit. The Muslim 'brothers' Ali hangs out with - including Amirah's brother Zayd - speak as though they just stepped out of an episode of Skins, but with Arabic phrases peppered throughout.  Amirah and her friends are the same, speaking like any other gaggle of British girls, except with the addition of a 'Mottie' (Muslim Hottie) scale that they use to rate boys.  Other reviewers disliked the author's use of jargon - both British and Islamic - but once I got used to it, I quite enjoyed it. To me, it reinforced the point that these characters were British teenagers with similar problems to any other British teenagers, only with the added dimension of their Islamic faith. In some instances, they had no problems reconciling the two, but in others, they struggled to establish what was halal and haraam in a world so different to that of the Quran and Hadith.  There was a glossary of Islamic/Arabic terms provided at the back, which I didn't find until I'd finished, but most things were decipherable by context anyway, and I realised I had learnt a lot a few days later, when I read an witty article about Islamic pick-up lines and understood some of the nuances.

In a lot of ways, She Wore Red Trainers contained the best of both YA and adult romance. Ali and Amirah's interactions were cute yet profound, leaving the reader wanting more, just as the characters themselves did.  One of the reasons I stopped reading YA is that I often had trouble believing that the relationships would last for long after the final page. However, in this novel, Ali and Amirah are entering into a relationship having already made a lifetime commitment, and this gave me the Happily Ever After that I'd normally find in adult romances. 

Recommendations: #WNDB Contemporaries

I don't know how everyone else is going with their #WNDBChallenge, but I've found searching for diverse books can be very time-consuming (even if it's lots of fun).  I wrote up some recommendations earlier in the year, but since then I've thought of many others, so I've listed a few contemporaries that would make very goods #WNDB reads, and are just good reads in general.

Party Lines by Emma Barry
Lydia Reales is many things: female, Latina, pro-choice and...a Republican.  Not just a Republican voter, but a Republican staffer.  For Michael Picetti, working on the opposing Democrat campaign, Lydia's completely off-limits and on the wrong side of the political spectrum, but he finds himself intrigued all the same.  Party Lines is a deft, honest and unbiased look at the way the way the US primaries and larger political system operate.  Lydia's position as a fish-out-of-water is handled beautifully; she tries to do her job and fight for what she believes in, even as she realises that, to those around her, she's merely a token, to be wheeled out when she's needed and be quiet when she's not.

Lighting the Flames by Sarah Wendell
Wendell wrote this book because she was dismayed that, despite a thriving sub-genre of Christmas romances, there were next to no romance novels set around Hanukkah.  Overall, it was a sweet, reasonably chaste novel about two long-time friends who serve as counsellors at a Jewish camp, and I found the hero particularly likeable and empathetic.

Just Not Mine by Rosalind James
Benched with a broken finger, rugby player Hugh Latimer suddenly finds himself the full-time carer for his small half-brother and sister.  He is forced to move in with them, and now spends most of his time trying not to notice the attractiveness of their next-door neighbour, Maori soap-actress Josie Pae Ata.  Several other of James' Escape to New Zealand books contain Maori protagonists, including Just for You and Just Good Friends, which I would also recommend.

The Year We Fell Down by Sarina Bowen
When Corey, left wheelchair-bound after an ice hockey accident in high school, meets Hartley, a broken-legged hockey player living across the hall, they bond instantly. But Hartley's got a girlfriend, and even if he didn't, Corey's convinced he'd never want the girl who can't even walk. The Year We Fell Down provided a raw look at the way we treat those with disabilities, without compromising the characters' relationship.   

Review: Breathless for You by Elizabeth Anthony

4 stars

Breathless for You is set in 1921, amidst a Britain still reeling from the Great War, caught between the old and the new.  It's an anxious time, and this book captures that perfectly.

The heroine, Madeline, is the ward of the Duke of Belfield, but her past life in France has left her at odds with her aristocratic surroundings. Desperate to avoid being the source of gossip and insinuation that could affect her guardian's standing in society, she removes herself to the Duke's country estate, where she is irresistibly drawn to the mysterious gamekeeper, Nathan Mallory. The two begin an affair, but their growing relationship is threatened by the secrets they are both keeping, and by the manipulative Lady Beatrice, the widow of the former heir to the dukedom. With Belfield away peacekeeping in Ireland, it is up to Madeline to thwart Beatrice's attempts to ruin both her reputation and that of Sophie, the Duke's common-born love. 

Breathless For You was a compulsive read. The reasons behind the characters' actions were revealed in stages, encouraging a 'oh, just one more chapter, until I find out XYZ' mentality. These gradual revelations made Madeline a complex and interesting heroine, confident in some ways and diffident in others. The conventions of the genre usually provide the reader with a 'tortured hero', but Madeline was a 'tortured heroine' poignantly fighting against the demons of her past. Nathan starts off as a fairly stock-standard hero, but as he gains a greater understanding of Madeline's situation and he begins to share his own secrets, he too becomes an interesting and engaging character.

But while I enjoyed the hero and heroine, I can't say the same for the other characters. Don't get me wrong, Beatrice made an excellent villain and the book would not have worked without her constant devilry, but I found the cruelty and sordidness that defined her and most other female characters to be off-putting at times, never mind the fact that she never received her comeuppance. From a stylistic perspective, I understand; it is a dark erotic romance, and even if it were not, the post-war setting requires a level of moral nihilism. Nonetheless, as someone who reads romance because I like the happily-ever-after, I found it marred my enjoyment of the book. It's a personal quirk, I know, but it's one that I feel many romance readers share.

Overall though, Breathless for You was an interesting and well-constructed novel, made particularly memorable by the seldom-used setting of post-WWI England.  

Review: Fighting Silence by Aly Martinez

3 stars
EDIT: Changed this rating from 3.5 to 3 stars. Must have been feeling generous that day.

Some of my favourite romance novels of all time feature the 'I've loved you my whole life' trope, so I was excited to read Aly Martinez's Fighting Silence, particularly as it features a unique hero, Till Page, who is going deaf from a congential hearing problem. 

The day Till finds out about his hearing defect is the same day he meets shy, artistic Eliza. They're both kids from the wrong side of the tracks with absentee parents, and from then on they look after each other. Till convinces himself that Eliza can never be his, but at eighteen they spend a night together and everything changes. Till disappears, and Eliza moves on with her life.  But Till can't stay away for long, and soon he's back with a fledgling boxing career and two brothers in tow. He doesn't want to do anything to endanger their friendship again, but all Eliza has ever wanted is Till, and she's not going to let his fear get in the way.  

Fighting Silence was different and touching, but while it was enjoyable, I was a bit conflicted about how to rate it. If you had asked me throughout the first half, I would have told you unequivocally that it was 5-star material, but I felt as though the second half let it down. The use of time-jumps worked well to set up Till and Eliza's relationship, allowing us to see a few formative incidents from their shared youth, but once they were together it prevented the reader from appreciating their growth as characters.  

Perhaps because I started to lose my sense of connection to the story in the second half, I also found the ending was very convoluted and took away from one of its major themes. I don't think it's any great spoiler to say that, about halfway through the book, Till becomes completely deaf. His early attempts to deal with this are very poignant. The way Till looks after his two little brothers is very endearing, making his realisation that they may suffer the same fate particularly heartbreaking. When he becomes permanently withdrawn and it starts to have consequences on his relationships with others, Eliza basically tells him to suck it up. After a time jump in which Till flicks his internal self-pity switch to 'off' and everyone around him magically learns to sign, his deafness is pushed to the side in favour of a lot of random new complications, and it's here that I start to wish the book took a different tack.

While I would be just as dissatisfied if the book gave the impression that becoming deaf is the be-all-and-end-all, it would have been nice to see Till learning to navigate his disability more, and to have had more realism in this process. I mean, everyone - regardless of ability - has days when they feel sorry for themselves, or have to make a concerted effort to remind themselves how lucky they are, and I feel like the quick change from Till underwent from 'angry at the world' to 'this is my lot now' delegitimised this constant and ongoing struggle.

These things brought Fighting Silence down, but it was still a enjoyable, well-written romance.

Review: Kulti by Mariana Zapata

5 stars

All Sal Casillas wants to do is play soccer. It's her life, and if she works hard enough, she can help her team to the top of the Women's Premier League. The last thing she wants is a distraction, especially when it takes the form of Reiner Kulti, retired soccer icon and Sal's new assistant coach. As a girl, Sal plastered her room with his pictures, but the man who watches her from the side of the field each day is nothing like her childish imaginings.  He is, in short, a bit of a bastard. On the rare occasions he speaks, it's to put someone down. Sal's the only one brave enough to tear a strip off him, and when she does, a tentative friendship emerges. As Sal gets to know the man beneath the tight-lipped and intimidating exterior, she realises he might be an egotistical, arrogant, stubborn pain in the ass, but he's also vulnerable and alone.  

Mariana Zapata's Kulti was atypical; longer than most romance novels, and with protagonists who had a platonic relationship for the majority of the book.  But the pay off was definitely worth it. Watching Sal and Kulti circle around each other was an engaging and refreshing change from compressed storylines and insta-love.

Pulling off a book of this length wouldn't have been possible without excellent characterisation. Sal was wonderfully developed, kind but assertive. Perhaps more importantly, she was witty and funny, a necessary foil to the taciturn Kulti. I also really appreciated that Sal wasn't reduced to a zero-sum tomboy stereotype.  She played soccer and worked in landscaping, but also loved 'feminine' stuff like face masks.  

And Kulti.  I didn't want to like him, I really didn't. He could be insensitive, but he was also a little bit like a lost puppy who followed a child home from the park and refused to leave. He was an enticing and interesting mix of contradictions and in the end, his dedication to Sal and her career won me over. I try to keep my reviews from being too fan-girly, but honestly, the way Kulti called Sal Schnecke got me every time.  Gotta love a good German endearment.

In fact, in light of the effect this book had on me, I'm going to issue a caveat emptor: if you buy Kulti, you may find yourself daydreaming your way through the morning commute and end up using your data allowance to google the German soccer team.  It was a sacrifice I was more than willing to make, but if you are looking to invest minimal time and effort in a book, save Kulti for another day.