About Youthful Gods, Book One: Pretty Pleasures
by J. Rocci
317 pages / 64600 words
ISBN: 978-1-61040-070-1
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Greg Barton has worked at the renaissance faire for years, but it’s
Greg’s last season so he’s determined to live it up. Lucky for Greg, Boone,
the hot traveling armorer, remembers Greg from previous years and returns
his interest. The two reconnect and Greg finds himself tumbling into Boone’s
bed, dangerously close to losing his heart.
Only, there’s something not quite right with Boone. From the way Greg kept
dreaming about Boone in the off-season to Boone’s overprotective friends,
Greg’s light-hearted romance quickly gets heavy. When Greg wakes up to an
unexpected sight beside him, his entire world is up-ended. Magic is real and
his new lover has more secrets than Greg ever imagined. But Greg has a few
secrets of his own, and he has to decide if he wants to be a part of Boone’s
world. If Greg has a touch of magic himself… Well, that world just got a
whole lot more complicated and dangerous for both of them.
Review
Angela Benedetti, author of A Hidden Magic, writes: I've been a fantasy
fan for a very long time -- I read The Lion, The Witch and the
Wardrobe about thirty-five years ago, and I've read a lot of
fantasy since -- and at this point it's pretty rare that a writer
manages to hand me something I haven't seen before, short of going way
out into the far pastures where writers like China Mieville routinely
hang out. I was looking forward to this book, but wasn't expecting
anything particularly new or different. Luckily I got a surprise.
I'm not going to tell you what it is, because that'd be spoilery. I will
say that I've never seen this type of magical being presented as the
main character of a fantasy work before, and for that Rocci gets some
serious props. There were a few other things I also wasn't expecting;
she has a deft hand with laying solid foundations and then pulling off
reveals that aren't telegraphed from a hundred pages back, but still
feel right and fit smoothly into the story.
The romance is well done too, with a good balance between the
characters. Greg has a his strengths and weaknesses, with mixed feelings
about leaving the faire for the last time, but a desire to do the Normal
Thing and get a regular job once he graduates with his degree, which is
just a few weeks away. He also hasn't come out to his family, and
doesn't have a great relationship with them even aside from that; this
is a significant but not huge issue in the story, and feels very
realistic, especially as we get more information about why Greg doesn't
fit in.
Boone is strong and handsome and self-assured, which just makes it cuter
when he's suddenly not quite so sure of himself around Greg, or
when things don't go exactly as planned. Again, the balance worked well;
I didn't get the impression that he was either too much of a Perfect
Boyfriend, nor was he reduced to comedy or pathos. He and Greg both feel
like real people, guys I'd enjoy knowing -- not perfect but not
charicatures either. I can imagine Greg and Boone working faires up and
down the east coast as I type this.
This is book one of a series and there are clearly some threads left
hanging for the sequel, but the story of Greg and Boone's romance is
complete in and of itself; this isn't just a larger novel chopped into
pieces. The characters are engaging, the writing is smooth, and the
worldbuilding -- the backstage-at-Rennfaire setting as well as the
magical society hiding within our more mundane world -- is intriguing
and fresh and makes me want more. Good stuff -- highly recommended.
Sample
Looking back, Greg told himself that he never could
remember what drew him to the armor stall on opening day.
He told himself that he didn't really know Boone, the owner, not like he did
some of the other traveling Rennies. It wasn't like they had any deep
acquaintance, beyond a short conversation on volunteerism at the end of the
previous Season. Boone probably didn't even remember their casual encounter.
So what if Greg had this lingering awareness that had haunted him during the
past year? A harmless crush that made him compare the smile of every man he
met to Boone's wide grin, that made him wish for broad hands, tanned and
rough around the nail beds. He told himself that didn't really signify
anything. He just happened to be attracted to Boone's type.
But then, Greg had always been a terrible liar, even to himself.
And there he was, joining the crowds around the thatched hut on opening day,
heeled boots resounding on the worn boards of the shop's front porch. He
wasn't the only one in costume, but he was the only one getting paid for it.
His supervisor had stopped by the darts booth to give Greg his half-hour
break, and Greg had set out to see which vendors had returned so he could
renew his acquaintances among the traveling Rennies. He should have gone in
the other direction, toward the food court and Mel and the glassblower's
shaded hut. He should have stopped by the Jacob's Ladder to talk to the new
guy who had been eyeing him during their first morning meeting.
He should have kept walking and ignored the tugging itch that pulled his
attention to the decorated shop front, luring him down the short, gravel
side path.
Instead, Greg found himself staring up at the intricately carved sign for
Pretty Pleasures. Wafts of leather and copper and burned wood twisted around
him in the heavy summer breeze. Carved wooden faces looked down at him from
the awnings, each joist adorned by an oak leaf-covered face. Some had
yawning mouths, disgorging wooden vines that trailed above the arches of the
shop front and around to the side fence backing the shops.
The dim interior beckoned as he stood in the fierce southern sun, and Greg
slowly stepped up into the racks of leather goods, avoiding the chain mail
and armor displays that were carefully shaded. Heavy leather jerkins hung in
rows along the wall. Women's corsets were on tree racks in the middle of the
store. Pouches, gauntlets, belts, and hats were displayed in every other
available space, sometimes hanging in bunches from the roof gables like
grapes or trailing down a support beam on heavy, twisted hooks.
The store was crowded, as was expected on opening day, but Greg was gritty
with dust, pungent with drying sweat, and the Faire patrons gave him space.
He took his time looking over the items on display near the counter --
leather hair thongs, chain mail hoods, sword scabbards -- so he was there
when Boone returned from the back room.
Boone was... Greg couldn't find the words to describe what the sight of the
other man did to his insides.
The shop owner had heavily tanned skin and crow's feet that crinkled around
his eyes as he smiled at a customer and handed over a wrapped package. His
blunt, thick fingers cradled the bundle as he made sure the woman could hold
its heavy weight before he let go. He couldn't be older than thirty, but
something in his manner bespoke more years than that.
Intricately stitched swirls of black and burgundy covered his leather
jerkin, and his simple, black tunic was unlaced at the throat, highlighting
the line of his neck. His brown hair curled out from under his burgundy
leather cap, damp from sweat, and a strand clung to his temple. The loose
strand made Greg want to reach out, to push it back from Boone's face.
The customer said something, and Boone guffawed. The man’s deep, rumbling
laugh shouldn't have been attractive, but the sound skittered across Greg's
skin, charging him with this pressure, this awareness that had awoken him
nights on end, sweaty and panting. Greg's hands froze on the wooden counter
inches from a set of arm bracers.
Finishing with the lady, Boone glanced over, the bright chocolate brown of
his eyes luminous in the dim light, and smiled at Greg. It was simple and
knowing, inviting Greg to laugh with him, to lean over the counter and touch
his lips. The kind of smile old lovers might share, or new lovers might
yearn to taste.
Greg couldn't look away. He'd seen that smile before, at the tavern on the
last day of the previous Season, when he'd finally gathered his courage to
approach Boone at the bar. He'd seen that smile at least once a week since,
in dreams that left him gasping for breath, sheets sticky and cooling
between his legs from the type of lust that was embarrassing at twenty-four
years old.
It was a smile he could lose himself in and have no regrets.