About Wild Raspberries
Written by Jane Davitt
160 pages / 60500 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-319-2, 1-60370-319-5
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, paperback
When Daniel Seaton inadvertently trespasses on Tyler Edward's land, things almost go very, very wrong. It's bad enough that Dan's a runaway, but when Tyler nearly shoots him on sight, Dan knows he's in trouble. Tyler's got a lot of years under his belt, and his past doesn't let him accept strangers easily. Dan's situation is dire enough that Tyler takes him home, at least for a little while, and that turns out to be a good decision when Dan decides to stay on and help out with the chores.
Tyler might be learning to trust, and Dan might be settling in to a new life, but things are not always what they seem. Between interfering friends, injuries, and their attraction to each other, Tyler and Dan have plenty of troubles. More trouble turns up in the form of Tyler's past, which catches up to them with a vengeance, and they decide to start a new life together, one that requires them to leave everything behind. Can they overcome what lies in the past to have a future with each other?
Review
Vincent Diamond, editor of Animal Attraction, writes:
Wild Raspberries by Jane Davitt, is a galloping good read, filled with well-drawn characters, deft writing, and a pair of lovers with their own pasts and present-day agendas. Davitt weaves Dan and Tyler's tale into a charming story that's filled with realism, conflict, and loving sexuality.
When runaway Daniel Seaton stumbles onto Tyler Edward's property, the two start off badly when Tyler nearly shoots Daniel by accident. Tyler's history doesn't let him take to strangers lightly, and conflict heats up almost immediately after Daniel faints from hunger, and Tyler takes him home. When Tyler hurts himself badly enough to need medical attention, Dan chooses to stay with the older man and help out with chores.
Davitt is a strong writer with quick, compelling dialogue; characters speak in sentence fragments and with a voice on the page that works for everyone:
""I've cracked my ribs before," Dan said, "and I didn't wear a T-shirt or anything that went on over my head for the first couple of days because it hurt too much getting them on and off."
"Your point would be?"
"You tried to take it off and you couldn't, could you?"
There was a short sizzle of silence, and then Tyler took hold of the hem of his T-shirt in one hand and tugged it up level with his armpits, exposing a flat belly, a wide chest dusted lightly with dark hair, and some wide, white bandages."
And she has a real talent for a well-turned phrase. When Tyler falls off the roof, it works gorgeously:
"Tyler moved like a cat, sure-footed and fast, which made what happened next even more unfair. Dan watched Tyler's hand drag over something that glittered fiercely in the sunlight --glass? -- and called out a warning in the instant that Tyler grunted in pain and brought his hand up to his mouth. Blood welled and dripped from the ragged tear, but before the first scarlet drop hit the roof, Tyler was rolling, his balance lost, gravity sucking at him and calling him home."
Unlike some romances, there are other people in the book, and their presence is seen and felt. Tyler's long-time friendship with Anne Collins, the small-town doctor, is refreshing, and serves later as a source of conflict for Dan and Tyler. The realism of having the characters' other relationship having impact on the main storyline is a lovely touch. There's more here than the traditional romance.
Tyler's past eventually catches up to the lovers. When the two of them decide to make a run for it, the promise of the Pacific goads them into starting another journey, one that holds out the chance for a happier ending for these two men. Well worth the read; Wild Raspberries gives readers a similar experience to the fruit itself: something sweet and tart and bumpy all at once.
Sample
The woods were a wild green maze around him, and Dan was lost, panic long since muted to a dull despair.
He was hungry, too, hungrier than he’d ever been, including that time he’d gone fishing for the day with Billy, setting out before dawn without breakfast. Their food had fallen in the first stream they’d crossed and been ruined. They’d kept going; they’d eat fish for lunch, wouldn’t they? Sure, they would!
They’d crawled home, endless hours later, their bellies empty and aching, filled with nothing more than gulps of teeth-numbingly cold water, and Dan’s father had taken one look at him, swept his hand around in a blow Dan had been too exhausted to dodge, and sent him to bed hungry for coming back too late to help with the chores. Waking the next day, he’d been dizzy and sick, his hearing fading in and out, until breakfast had put the heart back into him.
This was worse. He’d eaten the day before -- ham and eggs and toast, with the trucker who’d given him a ride, smiling benevolently at him as he beckoned the waitress over to refill their coffee cups.
And he lost every bite and swallow an hour later, throwing up on the side of the road, while the dust from the truck’s wheels scoured his eyes as it drove away. He was glad of it, too; he’d thrown up more than the food. The rank, bitter taste of the trucker’s come had lingered in his mouth even after he puked, though that might have been his mind playing tricks on him. The woods had called to him then, safe and tempting because they were familiar. He marked the way the sun was headed to find north and left the highway behind him.
These weren’t the woods he knew, though -- small, contained, bordered by farms where a knock on the door would bring a woman, smiling tiredly, to muss his hair (they all did that since his mom died) and hand him a chewy, raisin-studded cookie and some cool, fresh milk. No, these woods were vast, limitless, and empty. They were trees and earth and a soft, sighing wind that made branches creak oddly and the summer leaves whisper. He found himself staring out across a valley of nothing but more trees, higher up than he’d realized, with the sun unhelpfully directly overhead, and he came close to crying.
Too old to cry, though. Shit, only babies did that, and he wasn’t a baby. Babies didn’t get pushed to their knees, their mouths split open and filled with -- He turned his head and spat, his belly restless again. God, had that man ever even heard of soap and water?
He walked until it got dark, slept huddled in his thin jacket close to a small stream the summer heat had shrunk to a trickle, and now it was morning again, and he was walking because it was better than lying down to die.