Pansies

by Alexis Hall

October 8, 2016 · Riptide Publishing

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This RITA® Reader Challenge 2017 review was written by PamG. This story was nominated for the RITA® in the Long Contemporary category.

Here is PamG.'s review:

This year, I was early enough to choose a couple of my favorite authors for the RITA Reader Challenge (yay!), but I also wanted at least one new-to-me author to read and review. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I chose Pansies solely because I thought the title was pretty and different. I’d never heard of the author or The Spires series, and I had no idea that it was a m/m romance. Not even the title pun—uh—penetrated. I’ve only read a couple of m/m romances; I enjoyed them, but it’s not a subgenre that I gravitate to. The blurb sounded pretty interesting though, so I figured it was time to venture into unfamiliar waters. Also, I do love pansies.

The first thing that struck me about Pansies was the sheer beauty of the prose. The novel opens with a prologue that at first seems only peripherally related to the developing plot. The language is lovely, evocative and extremely visual. This tiny vignette is so delicately drawn, that the opening of Chapter One seems almost crude by contrast yet the author never loses control of his language. Pansies is set in England, and it is steeped in a powerful sense of place. One of the things that really worked for me is that Hall’s England is not limited to London or to cottages and manors in quaint rural villages. Instead most of the novel is set in the industrial north-east. The people who populate this countryside are solid working class souls. Descriptions are both earthy and vivid without being the least bit purple. Every once in a while a line would simply blew me away.

It was too overcast for stars, so the world was a strip of artificial light, squashed between two shifting darks

You can taste the ocean salt in the air and see the light on dark water. You can also see the down-at-heel structures of a less than luxurious community. However, dialect is also one of the tools used to establish that sense of place, and I found it kind of heavy handed. I understand why it was used, and I suppose it worked, but it’s not my cup of tea. In spite of that, Hall is a helluva writer, and that is not the last time you will hear that from me.

Pansies is the story of Alfie Bell who’s only been out of the closet for a couple of years and who is having trouble reconciling his fondness for men with the regular guy he expects himself to be. Alfie is home for his best mate’s wedding where he manages to accidentally come out to the entire wedding party in extremely explicit language. This episode is funny though not as cringingly awful as it could have been. Awkward and rather painful though the revelation is, it’s not really that big a surprise to anyone present. Alfie eventually wanders away from the wedding, climbs into his extremely esoteric and expensive sports car (TVR Sagaris—according to Wikipedia, “The car’s name comes from the sagaris, the Greek name of a battle-axe used by the Scythians, which was feared for its ability to penetrate the armor of their enemies.”). Alfie feels alienated on his home ground not only by his sexuality, but also by his “southern-ness” and his economic status. Once ensconced in the peen-mobile, Alfie takes his moody self for a drive and then to a local bar. He is described as kind of a bruiser, big and fit under his elegant clothes, and, once in the bar, he finds himself attracted to a slender stranger with longish, pink tipped hair and glasses. Initially, his uncomfortable overtures are fiercely rejected, but the stranger, who introduces himself as Fen, goes back to Alfie’s hotel room and they have an intense one night stand. The following spoiler happens fairly early in the story so I don’t know if it’s such a big reveal.

The main narrative is told in conventional third person, past tense, from Alfie’s point of view, and Alfie, as he repeatedly tries to establish, is a regular guy. Still the descriptions of his hometown vary from affectionately awkward to simply moving. Alfie first reveals his personality through his observations and his conversations with family and friends. Even his tentative approach to Fen and Fen’s furious response are seamlessly integrated with the narrative. As they negotiate the terms of their one night stand, Alphie admits that he’s unprepared, but willing to correct the situation. (Rough language, ahoy!)

“I can go out?” he offered hopelessly. “The big Asda is 24/7, right?”

God, what would he look like? Running in there half-dressed at eight o’clock at night to buy extra strong condoms and a tub of lube.

That was Daily Mail gay.

But if he had to do it, he had to do it. He wanted that tight, angry note out of Fen’s voice.

Wanted his secrets. The softness in him. Everything his body gave.

Fen took his hands away from his face, blinking slightly owlishly, his eyes flat and green through a haze of glass and gold. “You’re going to drive to the nearest superstore for condoms? All because I want you to fuck me?”

Alfie grinned. “I’ll pick you up a box of Milk Tray while I’m there.”

And that, right there, is why I kind of adore Alfie. He screws up over and over again, but he just keeps soldiering on, trying to get it right, trying to make amends for the past and find his place in the future. Somehow, he’s funny as hell without being either a complete fool or reverting to his adolescent nastiness. Whether he’s kneeling in Fen’s grotty bathroom offering his head for a swirly, hanging out with both his ex-girlfriend and his ex-boyfriend in a London bar, or trying to explain himself to a mother who loves him but can’t wrap her head around his sexuality, Alfie is a wonderfully complex and engaging character. Hall handles humor with the same delicate and effective touch that he applies to ambiance and character building, and his mastery of both clever and touching dialogue is just sterling

The author uses an interesting but limited technique to convey Fen’s point of view. The chapters are interspersed with occasional letters from Fen to his mother, an invisible presence whose whereabouts are an unknown at the beginning of the novel. In these letters, he pours his heart out to this person who may not even exist. The letters provide a fascinating counterpoint to Alfie’s more rough and ready point of view as well as an insight into Fen’s deeper feelings. Not that the portrait of Fen is truly incomplete; he speaks for himself very effectively indeed.

In spite of the letters, I had a hard time empathizing with Fen. He had absolutely legitimate reasons to hate Alfie’s guts, and he had a backstory drenched in grief, but his personality seems far less nuanced than bluff Alfie’s. Fen is supposed to be feisty and fearless, but he’s too heavily into the drama for my taste. He sometimes comes across as rather stereotyped. The latter may be due to the fact that we see him through Alfie’s eyes and Alfie does tend to stereotype to the point where Fen accuses him, quite fairly, of being homophobic.

One of the things I found particularly interesting about this novel is how conventional the romance is. Alfie is big and imposing yet rough around the edges, and he’s been an absolute douche-nozzle to Fen. Fen is delicate yet strong, defiant in the face of Alfie’s past brutality and his present cluelessness. At the outset, they appear to be natural enemies, but of course the attraction is off the charts. Alfie has all the material things and all the financial success; Fen struggles economically–rich guy and failing shop owner. There is this whole King Cophetua element so common to the billionaire trope. Alfie is solid and kind of stolid; Fen, fiery and emotional. There is the meet (not so) cute, the instalust, the one night stand, the unrequited childhood crush—all stuff we’ve seen before. I’ve even read romance that deals explicitly with a former bully hero and his past victim heroine. One thing both books absolutely have in common is that bully and victim do not remember the same past. This is fascinating to me, because that completely jibes with my own experience. I find bullying a painful topic but with his mad writing skills, Hall paints an accurate but not simplistic picture. He takes familiar tropes and sculpts them into something original and kind of wonderful.

I have mixed feelings about the sexual content in romance novels. I don’t mind crudity and I don’t care about “hotness,” because that’s subjective anyway. The one thing I do loathe is being bored. Purple prose doesn’t bother me because it’s purple; it bothers me because it’s usually code and that’s lazy. Same goes with vulgar language or special vocabulary or recognizable patterns for the various sexual encounters in a story. Insert routine sex scenes according to some mysterious formula, and I’ll be skipping around the text a lot. To me, the ideal sex scene is unique and totally derived from character. Make it integral to the lovers and their surroundings, and you’ll have my attention. Convince me that these two characters are experiencing an intensely emotional encounter that no other character, ever, has experienced, and I’m yours for life. In my opinion, Courtney Milan does this very well, as does Ruthie Knox, among others. Alexis Hall also has this gift. Alfie and Fen’s first encounter is incendiary as well as highly angsty, but you couldn’t switch them out for any other lovers anywhere and as a result their interaction feels incredibly real. There is a LOT of very explicit sex in this book—hate sex, make-up sex, irresistible sex, tender sex—much more than I’m generally comfortable with. In this case I thought too much of it was used as an instant fix to difficult situations. There was a point in mid-book where I was going “Not again! Will this never end?” Alfie would stick his foot in his mouth. Fen would give Alfie what for. And shazam! Sex! (Too often where words might have been better.)

There is no doubt that the conflict in Pansies is way bigger than the typical Big Mis. Alfie was entirely horrible, and there were no secret tragedies to justify it. Alfie not only doesn’t recognize Fen (formerly known as James) when he meets him. He is actually unaware of how thoroughly he and his posse wrecked Fen’s adolescence. Once he does realize how much at fault he is, he doesn’t make excuses and he does try to apologize and pay for his past sins. Fen, on the other hand, hated, admired, envied, and lusted after Alfie in equal measure when they were kids. Only as an adult can he possibly find the clarity to recognize what Alfie could be to him.

One major theme that I absolutely love is the recognition that “I’m sorry” can never erase the ugly past. Whatever injustice or unkindness you commit are yours forever. Even restitution cannot undo the heinous deed. Understanding this simple fact and making it clear catalyzes character growth amazingly. Groveling is practically demanded by this plot line, but I kind of hate groveling because I think it’s counterproductive. All the offender can do is acknowledge the fault, make what restitution is possible, and focus on becoming his or her best self. There is no guarantee of forgiveness; power is transferred to the victim. Romances that refuse to deal with this complexity irritate me almost as much as the ones that make the “L” word the ultimate test of (usually) a man’s devotion. Anybody can say “I love you” or “I’m sorry.” Don’t make it true.

On the other side of this conundrum is recognizing that forgiveness is for the forgiver far more than the forgiven. We hear “Blah blah blah closure. Blah blah blah peace with the past.” all the time, but it’s often reduced to some sort of revenge fantasy. Fact is, there is no peace without forgiveness, especially if one must remain in close proximity to the offender. You can kick the clown to the curb and stomp on his/her small bones and hate him/her forevah, but you can’t have a healthy relationship with someone who is hanging on the hook of your fury all the time you’re together.

I apologize for all the above philosophizing, but it does have a bearing on how I graded this book. By most standards, Pansies rates a solid A, but I have to make it an A-, because I couldn’t quite believe in the HEA. The passion between Alfie and Fen is utterly convincing as are the ways in which they learn to support each other. Throughout most of the book Fen comes across as a pretty volatile guy. Though I believed in his love for Alfie, I couldn’t quite believe in his fundamental kindness or trust him not to trot out the You Bullied Me card in order to win some future argument. And there’s that hook. . . So, HFN, sure. HEA, not so much. Therefore, A-. (I know, big deal, right?)

Pansies by Alexis Hall received a B- in a previous RITA Reader Challenge Review.