Oct 18 2013
Dear Ms. McKenna:
Lately, a number of erotic romance authors (Charlotte Stein and Abigail Barnette, for example) have been writing books that deliberately use the basic trappings of Fifty Shades of Grey to subvert its themes and reclaim the genre. I don’t know if it was intentional, but this novel struck me as accomplishing a very similar goal by going in a completely opposite direction. It’s a dark, intense, very surprising and unexpectedly brilliant story.
Note: I knew very little about the male protagonist of this story going in, and even if you read the blurb, it’s deliberately vague. Therefore I got to experience learning about Rob’s inner life from intriguing hints, always just one step ahead of Merry, and frankly, that was awesome. I would hate to ruin that experience for anyone, but I don’t see how I can discuss the book in any meaningful way without revealing Rob’s secrets. So I’m going to have a large spoiler section and leave it up to readers how they want to proceed. I’ll have a spoiler-free wrap up at the end; read the comments at your own risk.
Unbound is what I classify as a “cabin-fever” romance: there are really only two characters (I don’t think any secondary characters even get spoken dialogue except in memory) and almost everything that happens is about their interactions in one particular space. It’s far from a claustrophobic-feeling read though — both characters are very physically active throughout the story, and it’s set in beautiful, demanding wilderness.
Merry sets off on a three-week hiking trip in the Highlands, partially as an homage to her dead mother, partially to process the significant changes that have been happening in her life. She’s lost 100 pounds, a really crappy lover, and quite possibly her best friend, and gained a new perspective on herself. Now she’s trying to figure out where to go from here, while loving how it feels to get away from the obsessiveness of dealing with her weight:
Out here, her body wasn’t a collection of desirable parts and shameful ones, a thing to be tricked and punished and outsmarted, outwilled. It was merely a vessel for food and water and sunshine, a structure of muscle and bone, a capable and ready thing.
When her hike is interrupted by a debilitating attack of gastritis, she just manages to make it to a lonely cabin she’d spotted. There she is somewhat reluctantly aided by Rob, an Englishman who’s lived as far from humanity as possible for two years, relying on his routines, hard work, and solitude to control his raging alcoholism. He can’t turn her away, but having company makes him uneasy, especially since he feels incapable of socializing without the lubricant of alcohol.
Merry, intrigued by Rob’s shyness, “manly” lifestyle, and understated good looks, gently and carefully seduces him. But then their encounter goes in an unexpected direction.
The relationship that ensues is confined not only by space but by time; Merry has to return to California for her father’s wedding. (An event especially hard to miss since he’s finally legally able to marry his boyfriend.) As the inevitable parting approaches, the suspense about what will happen between them builds — particularly as Rob has yet to tell Merry about his alcoholism, and how impossible he feels it is for him to return to regular society. Waiting for that axe to fall was brutal – the longer it took, the worse I knew it was going to be.
I really hope this book will find its audience. It’ll inevitably make its way onto lists of favorite bad sex scenes in romance, and the relationship conflict, arising out of Rob’s shame and fear, is very affecting, but readers who heavily favor traditional romance conventions probably won’t go for it. And it’s certainly not perfect. Rob’s self-loathing gets wearying (though for a dry drunk, I don’t think it’s at all exaggerated) and as in a previous McKenna book, the characters smirk so often, I wanted to reach into my ereader and force a different expression onto their faces. I’m a little iffy on the ending as well, which is kind of an uneasy mix between realism and fantasy, with quite a lot happening offstage.
None of those quibbles was significant enough to outweigh how beautifully written and brilliant the book is in general. It won’t be for everyone, but if you’re looking for nuanced portrayals of complicated characters I can’t recommend it enough. A