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All Kinds of Tied Down

Book Review of All Kinds of Tied Down, by Mary Calmes

All Kinds of Tied Down

I borrowed an ecopy of All Kinds of Tied Down, by Mary Calmes. (Thanks, L.)

Description from Goodreads:
Deputy US Marshal Miro Jones has a reputation for being calm and collected under fire. These traits serve him well with his hotshot partner, Ian Doyle, the kind of guy who can start a fight in an empty room. In the past three years of their life-and-death job, they’ve gone from strangers to professional coworkers to devoted teammates and best friends. Miro’s cultivated blind faith in the man who has his back… faith and something more. 

As a marshal and a soldier, Ian’s expected to lead. But the power and control that brings Ian success and fulfillment in the field isn’t working anywhere else. Ian’s always resisted all kinds of tied down, but having no home—and no one to come home to—is slowly eating him up inside. Over time, Ian has grudgingly accepted that going anywhere without his partner simply doesn’t work. Now Miro just has to convince him that getting tangled up in heartstrings isn’t being tied down at all.

Review:
Ok, so I’m a fairly new Calmes convert. I’ve had mixed results with what I’ve read so far. I seem to really like or dislike a book by her. There is very little middle ground. And while those I dislike I can tell you exactly what it was that put me off, those I like just kind of fill me with a vague unnamed warmth that I can’t very clearly communicate. 

I suppose this could be called a purely emotional response, because, lawdy, it can’t be the complexity of the plots or the depth of the characters. Neither are extensive, the plot is basically a series of events allowing the characters time to work their feelings out (ok, so there basically isn’t one) and the characters could be called well fleshed out only if they were, in fact, 12 year olds. As true adult males, they lack a lot. Nor can it be the realism. Seriously, bones knit in weeks instead of month and apparently every other law enforcement agent in American is openly gay and the remaining half are all open and accepting of sexual diversity. It can’t even be the consistency, since the scene that ostensibly gives the book its most obvious title actually breaks the pattern set throughout the book, going against character for at least one of the men.

Regardless, this book is no exception to my obvious preference patter and it falls on the warm fuzzy, I liked if for unknown reasons, side of the equation. I can objectively tell you it was full of cliché characters. The über alpha that secretly just wants to submit, the fashion conscious gay man and fashion oblivious ‘straight’ guy, yep I’ve seen them all before. What’s more, it’s full of cliché Calmes characters. The names change from book to book, but the characters remain largely the same. The thing is that they apparently work for me. 

I keep thinking, ‘this should be a crap book. It’s completely formulaic. In fact, even having only read a fraction of Mary Calmes vast collection, I’ve still read what could easily be mistaken for this book already.’ I keep thinking that, but then I think, ‘yeah, but can get another one, please.’ 

So, I duck my head in shame, but I admit it out loud; this book is simplistic, cliché, predictable and my god the sap at the end is enough to suffocate me (honestly, this I could do without) but I liked it. I just can’t help it. Whatever alchemic hormone mix is secreted into my bloodstream as a result of reading this particular combination of man on man action is a win, even when I don’t want it to be.

Muscling Through

Book Review of Muscling Through, by J. L. Merrow

Muscling ThroughI bought a copy of J. L. Merrow‘s Muscling Through.

Description from Goodreads:
The bigger they come, the harder they fall… in love.

Cambridge art professor Larry Morton takes one, alcohol-glazed look at the huge, tattooed man looming in a dark alley, and assumes he’s done for. Moments later he finds himself disarmed—literally and figuratively. And, the next morning, he can’t rest until he offers an apology to the man who turned out to be more gentle than giant. 

Larry’s intrigued to find there’s more to Al Fletcher than meets the eye; he possesses a natural artistic talent that shines through untutored technique. Unfortunately, no one else seems to see the sensitive soul beneath Al’s imposing, scarred, undeniably sexy exterior. Least of all Larry’s class-conscious family, who would like nothing better than to split up this mismatched pair. 

Is it physical? Oh, yes, it’s deliciously physical, and so much more—which makes Larry’s next task so daunting. Not just convincing his colleagues, friends and family that their relationship is more than skin deep. It’s convincing Al. 

Contains comic misunderstandings, misuse of art materials, and unexpected poignancy.

Review:
I generally tend toward long rambling, somewhat rant-like reviews. But I can’t do that for Muscling Through. I just don’t think I can do it justice. I loved it. I loved Alan. I did. Everyone does. But I loved Larry too. I don’t think Larry gets enough credit for being open enough to look past Alan’s rough exterior to see the yummy, gooey-soft centre. And as a couple they are a marvellous example of opposites attracting and working oh so well together. 

But beyond having two marvellous main characters, the book is chocked full of amazingly transparent ‘Awww’ moments. You see, Alan’s simplicity (and lets face it he’s as dumb as a box of rocks) grants him the right to utterances that would, in the mouths of more intellectually capable individuals, ring false and possibly even Machiavellian. But there is no guile in Alan. You feel it. You trust it and all those wretched sappy-sweet gag reflexes relax as unneeded. 

But there is also A LOT of humour. Insults and ill intentions bounce off Alan like Teflon. He’s untouchable in his savant-like serenity. He often lets things go as unimportant, but just as often he lets them go as not understood or misunderstood. More than once I had to set the Kindle down until my laughing fit passed. There are just too many examples of stupid-happy resulting in priceless humour. Only made even better by the fact that he’s usually completely oblivious to it. 

The writing is almost painfully straightforward, as it should be when narrated by someone as literal and uncomplicated as Alan. And it’s short, but the right length for its story. So, while I want, want, want more, I admit the author knew better than to give it to us. 

This is one of those books I’ll mourn the end of. I wish I was the sort who read books more than once. This would be a re-read. Highly recommened.

Book Review of Road of No Return (Sex & Mayhem #1), by K. A. Merikan

Road to No Return

I was provided an ARC of K. A. Merikan‘s Road of No Return.

Description from Goodreads:
Zak. Tattoo artist. Independent. Doesn’t do relationships.
Stitch. Outlaw biker. Deep in the closet. Doesn’t share his property.

On the day of Stitch’s divorce, lust personified enters the biker bar he’s celebrating at. Tattooed all over, pierced, confident, and hot as hellfire, Zak is the bone Stitch has waited for life to throw him. All Stitch wants is a sniff, a taste, a lick. What follows instead is gluttony of the most carnal sort, and nothing will ever be the same. Forced to hide his new love affair from the whole world, Stitch juggles family, club life, and crime, but it’s only a matter of time until it becomes too hard.

Zak moves to Lake Valley in search of peace and quiet, but when he puts his hand into the jaws of a Hound of Valhalla, life gets all but simple. In order to be with Stitch, Zak’s biker wet dream, he has to crawl right back into the closet. As heated as the relationship is, the secrets, the hiding, the violence, jealousy, and conservative attitudes in the town rub Zak in all the wrong ways. When pretending he doesn’t know what his man does becomes impossible, Zak needs to decide if life with an outlaw biker is really what he wants.

As club life and the love affair collide, all that’s left in Zak and Stitch’s life is mayhem.

Review:
When I was 18 or so, I lived with a guy. We’ll call he D., shall we? In a lot of ways, he was wonderful. He was sweet, loved to cook and equated sex with love. And while we were young and hardly tantric gods, he always strove to let me know I was appreciated. *sigh*

D. however had had a bit of an unfortunate childhood, bouncing from foster home to institution to foster home until a wonderful family adopted him as a teen. (Do you know how rare that is?) Despite therapy to address his oppositional defiant behaviours, he never developed any real coping mechanisms. NONE. As a result, disagreeing with him, even on small matters, was tantamount to a verbal attack. And any attempt to hash out larger issues or have an actual argument (which, lets face it, relationships need occasionally) would throw him into a blind rage. He’d lash out, hit and randomly destroy things. (Never me, just things.) Our apartment took more than one thrashing.

D. was scary at those times. But no matter how angry or scared I was, I wasn’t ever blind enough not to see that a good bit of his ill-timed anger was actually hurt, confusion or plain frustration that he had no other way to express. At those times, my heart always ached a little for him. Even more so when I had to face his lost, betrayed face after the anger ebbed. The puffed up gorilla melted into a wounded puppy. (Not that I ever would have told him he gave that impression.)

I say all this because, for a lot of this book, Stitch reminded me a lot of D. I recognised so many of D.’s quirks in him that it was a little frightening. (But also made him feel very real for me.) Especially the way he could do something shockingly inappropriate and not grock why I was angry. Or the way he could sometimes go from irate to conjoling almost instantly, as if I was the one who’d been upset in the first place. Or the way he would react with almost mindless violence, only to then be bewildered by the aftereffect of his own actions.

Because I loved D. for a little while I understood Stitch’s emotionalism. I don’t think I would have otherwise. My own past endeared him to me. But honestly, that grace only reaches so far. I may have understood his outbursts, but I can’t make the same claim for some of his other actions. For example, I wasn’t ever sure how Stitch made the leap from closeted, will-never-act-on-it gay to seeking out Zak between one chapter and the next.

Or that for much of the book, he came across as a little dim or at least like the kind of guy who isn’t well versed in verbally expressing himself. Then he would randomly come out with seemingly soul searing statements that were romantic, sure, but way out of character for him.

Having said all of that, if in the years since I last saw D. he has managed half the personal growth Stitch does toward the end of this book he’d be quite the catch now. It is toward the end of the book though. The vast majority of it is Stitch trying and largely failing to come to terms with his own proclivities. It’s hugely satisfying when he finally does, but I thought the book drug a bit in the middle as he came to accept himself.

This is largely because there was just too much darned sex. Yes, I did say that. It got in the way of the plot (which isn’t really all that thick to start with). Plus, every single stage of his gayness had to be addressed separately. (I don’t know how better to phrase that.) As a result, the only thing we see Stitch and Zak do is have lots and lots of sex. We’re told that they walk the dog, cook together, fix up the house, etc. but we never see any of it. We also never see any of their personality that isn’t directly related to their sexual orientation, the motorcycle club or Holly & Chrystal. So their personalities feel a little weak, as do all of the club members.

So I’m a little torn about how I feel about Road of no Return. I liked the ending. I liked Zak a lot (even if he did get a little wife-like at one point). I liked that Stitch finally came into his own and I loved his  vulnerable moments. But I didn’t like the WTF at 85% and feel the book ended with the issue unresolved. I didn’t care for the insta-lust. I also thought there was a bit of a cheesy undertone to a lot of the dialogue. In the end I could easily go either way, liking the book or feeling ambivalent about it. I didn’t dislike it. I just didn’t love it either.

Best line of the book: “Not to mention he’s most probably in a closet so deep he’s, like, in Narnia.”