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Love, Like Water

DNF. M/M about the severely traumatized law enforcement officer recovering from heroin addiction going off to his relative's horse farm and recovering through the power of animals and love of a good man. This is the sort of thing that used to really push my buttons, and now just bores me. And I'm really tired of that thing where the degree of trauma is somehow a measure of the strength of the love, you know? It leads to authors putting characters in wildly over-the-top traumatic situations, and more to the point, that's not how either trauma or love works.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Kindred HeartsKindred Hearts by Rowan Speedwell

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


M/M historical. Flighty nineteenth-century party boy becomes involved with his wife's twin brother (without any of the infidelity kink that implies). Fine, until it ruined itself with a subplot. I appreciate 'reconciling with an estranged family member' plots as much as the next girl, but there's that and then there's 'reconciling with an abuser' plots. This book thought it was doing the first and was really, really wrong. I have kind of a raw nerve in this general vicinity right now, but when this book started in with the pressure from everyone for forgiveness because he loves you really despite the years and years of emotional abuse (apparently it's not abuse if he didn't . . . mean it really?), with a side dish of 'of course you must forgive, he is family and you have to forgive family' – yeah, no, I'm out, and also fuck right off, book.



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Finding ZachFinding Zach by Rowan Speedwell

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


M/M. Hurt/comfort of the 'kidnapped for five years of rape and torture in the South American jungle, followed by lots of sexy cuddling' variety. Like you do.

I'm tempted to think the flickers of beauty and interpersonal complexity were accidents. I mean, look, if someone wants to write a book for the sole purpose of hitting emotional buttons connected to the healing powers of love after ludicrous amounts of suffering . . . go for it. These types of stories are often intensely wrong-headed about trauma in ways that make me angry for reasons I won't get into. But I keep reading them because they also do push my buttons. And once in a while you find one like this, with a little richness to it, some thought.

But the wrong amount of thought. You get these quick, casual moments of delicate character work, and then an entire subplot that was so poorly thought out, I honestly have no idea what she even meant to accomplish with it. So frustrating, because I strongly suspect what I'm seeing here is a talent under-exercised, and that just makes me sad. I'd almost rather have read this by a lesser author . . . almost.




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