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Cherokee Rose (Real Women of the American West, Book 3) Kindle Edition
"Children of Blood and Bone"
Tomi Adeyemi conjures a stunning world of dark magic and danger in her West African-inspired fantasy debut. Learn more
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The ‘quality’ of the writing is another thing. ‘Good writing’, for me, is writing which involves my mind in the story. Skillful use of language is, of course, important for this, but the illusion of reality in both the characters or the plot is probably even more critical. Unfortunately for me, almost all genre literature which is currently being written fails to create this ‘illusion of reality’ in either the characters or the plot, and therefore I find it boring.
But, of late, I have found a genre that seems to work the way it should for me, at least a lot of the time. It takes me out of my own life and time and puts me in a world where the problems (although familiar and understandable) don’t seem insurmountable. It is actually what I guess I would call a ‘sub-genre’, fiction about late nineteenth century women on what was still pretty much the ‘frontier’, the next generation after pioneers. They are individual problems about family and about economic survival, very familiar types of problems, but seen through eyes that seem fresher. The stories always turn out the way the reader hopes they will, and all the same they are believable.
This book, ‘Cherokee Rose’ may be my favorite example of this type of book. It was surprisingly exciting for me to read it. It is possible that the use of the name ‘Cherokee’, which the main protagonist adopted, but which my parents gave to me, helped me identify with the girl who learned to rope cattle so well that she was invited to tea with Theodore Roosevelt, but I don’t think so. I liked the first part of the book when she was called ‘Thomasina’ even better than the part about her career in the show business of the times. It made me believe in a world where there was room for many more ambitions than the current world seems to recognize. It was a world where being a ‘lady’ was, if anything, an even more suffocating experience for many people than going through the requisite sixteen or more years of formal education is today, but some women didn’t feel they had to be ‘ladies’. Ambition and excitement wasn’t all about money.
I’ve been reading a lot of fiction lately, because I seem to need to read fiction. This relatively simple story of a girl from Oklahoma at the cusp of the twentieth century was the most enjoyable example of fiction I have found.