My Outlaw

Miller, Linda Lael

This is a romantic western, and the often dirty, unshaven hero quite properly rides a black horse called Destry. Or, if one wants to be particular about grammar, Destrier. But I wore my castigation out on that on a different book. So why, on the lavender cover, are we treated to a delicate white creature with a mane and tale worthy of My Little Pony (tm, I'm sure.) Given my absolute distaste of half naked forms typically endowed with figures possessed by perhaps the fifth standard deviation of the human race, I shouldn't be complaining, but just because I read this dreck doesn't mean I want to be considered 9 years of age. Have a little pity for my poor dignity!

This is also a time travel romance. Back when I first discovered the genre as a teenager, (and found sneaking around in the romance section even more embarressing than I do now, unbelievable as that sounds) I really only noticed two types---contemporary and historical, with regency thrown in as a subgenre of the latter. But now we have time travel, regency, historical, knights in castles, braided series, based on a theme or small town, western, (with both cowboy and indian flavors), vampiric, inspirational (haven't been brave enough to try those yet), contemporary, black contemporary (haven't been brave enough to try those either...I'd kind of like to actually, to see if it would give me more insight into my neighbors). Then there are brands, of which harlequin is still the most prominent. Appalling as it is to admit, the romance genre very nearly appears as a commodity. What flavor shall we purchase today? This is very disheartening to one with pretensions, though of course one can disguise one's interest by pretending to analyze societal attitudes as reflected by pop culture, i.e. romance novels.

With so many categories, it is hardly surprising to discover relatively strict conventions (without them, how would the publisher categorize the stuff?) and one is that the female characters adapt to their new circumstances, forward or backward in time, with relative ease. Well, for a happily ever after (hard to believe, but I get the impression from my very limited knowledge of the subject that our Victorian ancestors' romances tended to end tragically) that's necessary. This story is rather appealing in that the protagonists manage to see each other, if not meet, via a magic mirror on an intermittant basis throughout their childhoods.

The author does attempt to make a little effort to explain the mechanism of their 4 dimensional travel, which frankly I think is a waste of time. Far better (as any sf shelved fantasist knows) is to set up a consistant set of conditions and stick to them. Aside from allowing her (female) character to become transparent, the author fails to do this. Sometimes she travels via the mirror, other times ends up transversing the eras while sleeping in a room or experiencing an auto accident. It's mildly annoying, but readers of time travel romances should be intrepid.

The male protagonist, stubborn Darby Elder, illegitimate son of a whorehouse owner, is to my mind even less consistant than the time travel. He absolutely refuses to have anything to do with his father or half brothers, or the inheritance that his mother's canny will finally forces down his throat. He's bitterly angry that his father wouldn't marry his mother, an assumption given her love for Darby, by implacation at least, one would have expected her to disabuse him of. Darby, given his past history with his paternal relatives---unavoidable in the small town they grew up in, might be excused for his churlishness, even if it doesn't make complete sense.

Harder to believe was Keighly's willingness to instantly befriend a woman of whom she knew nothing, and whose uncanny acceptance of time travel was never adequately explained. The slow first steps of friendships and increasing trust often seemed to largely be missing from this book, a pity, after the promising introduction.

The book also pushed two of my other hot buttons: one, the protagonists mated like out of control ...humans, having explicit sex with boring frequency throughout the book. I sometimes wondered if the author had set her word processer to chime after a given number of pages, in order to insert another orgastic scene. There's nothing wrong with lovers having sex, but I beg to point out that, at least from the point of view of those wishing to build long term (you know, the happily ever after implied in romances) relationships, sex is not the only, nor even most important, goal.

I'd like to be able to say that neither is reading about it the primary goal driving the average romance reader, but my current survey of the form begins to convince me that this is not a good idea. Relationships between people come out of their interactions of interests, passions, and personalities, and as no two people are alike or have the same history, the combinations become infinite. I am perfectly willing to take a moment out here and admit to nearly puritanical prudishness. Nevertheless, a few authors, usually by focusing on the humourous aspects of lovemaking, have managed to draw me in, and I've appreciated their efforts. Embarressment (and, yes, perhaps even a little disgust that we're leaving the realms of fairy tale for what others might call pornography) there may be, but it is boredom that principly rules.

The other problem is that old bug bear of feminine delicacy. I just hate it when the heroine stands around and wrings her hands, and though Keighly is nowhere near as bad as the typical 70s tv show cheesecake, she's still rather irritating. Worse, she would be a sculptor, and I feel my fellow artists need all the help they can get not to come off, as society so frequently depicts them (either sex) as hopeless nincompoops.

On the other hand the author does nicely tie up Darby's fate, which is slated to end the year with a fatal bullet wound, in a rather clever way. Anyone who had read more than one or two these things would have guessed it from the first chapter, but I'm rather slow. Granted, Keighly and her friend Francine's efforts to track the changes in history are as improbable as Marty McFly's photograph in Back to the Future (from which a less charitable person than myself might accuse the author of getting her ideas) but the denoument was a welcome relief from all that tedious sex.

two stars.

16aug98

Sylvus Tarn

Last modified: Sun Sep 13 00:36:54 EDT 1998

Sylvus Tarn