Oh, I Wish I Weren't in the Land of (Make-Believe) Cotton

Salting Roses
by Lorelle Marinello
Published by William Morrow Paperbacks
1 Out of 5 Stars

Salting Roses purports to be a novel brimming with Southern charm. Oh, it's brimming alright. Ridiculously so. Welcome to the land of Southern stereotypes and Bible Belt cliches. This is right up there in Sweet Home Alabama territory and if Reese Witherspoon is looking for another romantic jaunt in a charming make-believe South, here it is. If you haven't guessed by now, I'm not the target audience for this novel, so maybe it's unfair for me to proceed from here. But like that's ever stopped me before.

As a baby, Gracie Lynne Calloway was left in a bucket on her uncle's doorstep with a note from her mother asking him to watch her for a spell. A spell soon turns into 25 years and Gracie, now an adult and nursing old emotional wounds from being labeled the town bastard of Shady Grove, Alabama, is in for a shock--she's not who she always thought she was. A stranger (who is literally tall, dark, and handsome, just in case we miss that he's our prospective love interest) brings her the news that she's actually the kidnapped daughter of the wealthy financier Conrad Hammond of Connecticut. She has been named the sole heir of $650 million dollars. What's a simple Southern girl with a love of baseball and a cushy job in the backroom of the local grocery store to do? Why, turn it down, of course! Because if she accepted it, there would be no plot complications and we wouldn't have this trite little novel. Gracie has been raised to distrust those born with a silver spoon firmly in mouth and fears the money will bring too many problems to her quiet and unexceptional life. Yeah, I'm not buying what they're selling here. $650 million dollars? Who wouldn't accept that? At least one could accept it and proceed to do a lot of philanthropic good (of course, I would just use it to wallow in pure hedonism, but different strokes for different folks).

There are several things that ruined the book for me:

A) These are all stock Southern characters that are presented as though they are supposed to be quirky. They're not. They don't even dance around the edges of eccentric. We've seen them a thousand times before in literature and in movies. If you're going to play up the quirk factor in Southern literature, go big or go home.

B) I'm not a fan of romance novels and had I known this was a romance in Southern fiction clothing, I would have ran the other way. However, even I know that in a good romance novel there has to be some will-they-won't-they tension. There's none here. We know as soon as Sam Fontana walks in the door and Gracie starts having dirty thoughts that he's the man she's been waiting for. And if you're pissed over a plot spoiler, be upset with the novel--it makes no pretense that it will turn out otherwise. There's not even the introduction of another prospective suitor to throw the seasoned romance reader off track.

C) Serious crimes against vocabulary in the overuse of the following words: sass, sassy, Yankee, princess, and sugah. Apparently,we're all sassy down South and we hates us a Yankee. Foghorn Leghorn has more character complexity.

D) A plot that gets more and more ridiculous as it goes on. If this had been reined in a bit and been a realistic portrayal of realistic people then something could have been salvaged. As it is, when I managed to suspend disbelief long enough to wrap my mind around one nugget of ludicrousness, here came a side order of absurdity.

I like Southern fiction when it's done well. If you're looking for good Southern/regional chick lit, might I suggest The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, The Help by Kathryn Stockett, or Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani. If you're looking for authentic Southern lit, read Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell, True Grit by Charles Portis, Ava's Man or All Over But the Shoutin' by Rick Bragg, or anything Larry Brown. They're all preferable to Gracie and her whining about being a $650 million dollar princess. Now, I'm gonna go put me some sugah in a glass of iced tea and sass some poor unsuspecting soul. I hope it's a Yankee.

A Bit of a Cross to Bear

The Fiery Cross

by Diana Gabaldon

Published by Delacorte Press

3 Out of 5 Stars

When I finished this, my knee-jerk reaction was to give it a 4 star. However, after some consideration, I have to be honest with myself and say it was really just a 3 star read. The Fiery Cross is the 5th book in the Outlander series, a fantasy/romance/historical/time travel/everything-but-the-kitchen-sink series which began when Claire Randall, on a second honeymoon in Scotland, is thrown back in time from 1946 to Scotland during the Jacobite uprising that ended tragically at the battle of Culloden. While stuck in the past, she of course falls in love with a Highland warrior named Jamie Fraser. Through four long-ass novels, they've been separated and reunited and managed to get themselves right smackdab in the center of any significant historical event taking place in the 18th century, Jamie's natural ability to lead heightened by Claire's knowledge of what the future holds. In The Fiery Cross, Jamie and Claire are now living in America with their daughter, Brianna, and her husband, Roger. Jamie finds himself in the role of "laird" to a group of Scottish immigrants who populate his land grant known as Fraser's Ridge.

I freakin' love these novels and that's why it pains me to say that I'm suffering from PTDGD (Post-Traumatic Diana Gabaldon Disorder) at the moment. Gabaldon has always written massive tomes stuffed full of historical detail and it's clear that this woman does her research, which sets her novels apart from the typical offerings of historical romance. This isn't just costume drama. However, I don't think I've ever read a novel in which so much happens and, yet, nothing really happens. The novel is so focused on the minutiae of day-to-day life (pigpens are built, militias are gathered and disbanded, fields are plowed, laundry is done, buffalo are hunted) that any narrative momentum is nil. It just doesn't go anywhere. There are rumblings of the American Revolution in the distance, but no real battles (other than a brief interlude in which Jamie gathers together a militia to help the governor put down the Regulators) and the one driving narrative thread--the hunt for Stephen Bonnet, who raped Brianna in an earlier novel--fizzles with no real resolution (clearly to be picked up in the next novel). Admittedly, all of the mundane tasks of daily life are vividly brought to life and readable because the characters are so likable, but Gabaldon can certainly beat a dead horse. As evidence, I offer the following:

1) She repeatedly overuses some words/phrases (sardonic, gimlet eye, wry smile, and everyone's mouth twitches at the corner with suppressed amusement at some point in the novel). Everyone's eye color is commented upon in every other paragraph. Details that diehard fans should be aware of by now are tediously repeated.

2) I read more about breastfeeding than I ever wanted to--Brianna's breasts spend so much time hardening between feedings of her offspring, Jemmy, they should be given their own novel. And I won't even comment upon the milk-sodden love scene. Let's just say it gave a whole new meaning to "Got Milk?" Blech.

3) Why does Roger MacKenzie still listen to Jamie? Sure, I know Jamie is his father-in-law and Roger wants to impress him, but Jamie is constantly sending Roger out on dangerous solo errands to give Roger (who is from the future) a chance to prove his manliness in a time when men are defenders, providers, apparently tireless lovers, etc. However, Roger always almost dies during his undertaking of these tasks. He is hung, nearly burnt to a cinder, beaten to within an inch of his life--how much more must Roger endure? Just let him stay home for a couple of chapters. Sheesh.

4) The alternating point of view is vexing to me. Some chapters are told in 1st person from Claire's point of view (and these are definitely the more interesting chapters, especially since you are reading about historical events from the perspective of someone who is conflicted about what knowledge she brings from the future and the dangers of revealing too much; it's easy to forget that there's a time travel element when Claire isn't narrating), but others are told in third person from other characters' perspectives. Most of these are told from Roger's point of view. Strangely, we never really get anything substantial from Jamie or Brianna's point of view.

5) Some chapters seem shoehorned in just because they were too darn cute to leave out. In particular, these chapters serve to show how clever someone is or how adorable little baby Jemmy is. Don't care. Don't give a shit. Move on.

And then there's James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser himself (or Himself, as he's often called in the novel, denoting his social position of laird). God, is there anything this man cannot do? As much as I love the character of Jamie, it's becoming increasingly obvious to me that he's female catnip (although he does not sparkle; he's the anti-Edward Cullen and yet they both share a similiar function--to make women long for men that do not exist and would probably be endlessly exasperating if they did). First off, he's the physical embodiment of masculine perfection: tall, well-muscled, blazing red hair, piercing blue eyes, fills out a kilt quite nicely (if you know what I mean--and if you don't, read the book. Gabaldon will make it quite apparent). He's a fierce warrior and yet a well-educated intellectual who is just at home in the courts and palaces of Europe as he is on a battlefield. He's multilingual and can read Latin, Greek, French, etc. and quote from high literature at a moment's notice. He can be a brutal or tender lover (depending on whatever Claire's in the mood for). He can be a man's man and then inexplicably lapse into shy boy-like behavior and whisper sweet nothings. Men of the world, give up. Compared with Jamie Fraser, you fail.

Despite all of this, I still enjoyed the novel. The relationship between Jamie and Claire has somewhat mellowed, although not in a bad way. There's still plenty of ridiculously hot sex between the two, but the relationship isn't marked by the fear of Claire going back to her own time through the stones. I also enjoy the good-natured vulgarity that runs throughout the characters' speech and the humor with which Gabaldon writes. And for all of my bellyaching about all of the details of 18th century life, I will concede that if anyone can make it interesting, it's Gabaldon. I will be reading A Breath of Snow and Ashes, the 6th book in the series, but I'm definitely going to need a lengthy respite between the two.