I have to start this post by warning y’all that it’s not my usual style. It’s kind of rambly and stream-of-conscious, and is also spoilertastic. You have been warned.
One of the series I discovered last year, when I was in the middle of a blogging slump was the Virgin River series by Robyn Carr. I have read the first three books in the series, which are as follows:
The premise is this. Virgin River is a small, idyllic town in the mountains of Northern California, which seems to attract the lonely, the hurting, and the broken-hearted. We begin the series with Mel, who needs a new start in life after the death of her husband and comes to Virgin River to practice midwifery and gets involved with Jack, the owner of the town bar. The second book features Paige, a battered wife on the run from an abusive ex, who ends up with Jack’s partner at the bar, a big teddy bear of a guy named Preacher. (Preacher, incidentally, is my absolute favorite Virgin River man so far. He’s big and burly, but also extremely awkward and shy, and he was a virgin, which is enough of a rarity in romance fiction that I still find it awesome when it happens.) In the third book, Jack’s sister, Brie, ends up brutally attacked and ends up finding love with Mike, an ex-cop friend of Jack’s who’s also turned up in Virgin River.
What I like about these books is that, in addition to the rather strong romance storylines, there’s a real sense of the town. I get the feeling that there really are people with lives that don’t intersect often with the main cast of characters. I appreciate it when authors do this, as it lends verisimilitude to their settings, and Virgin River, in Ms. Carr’s hands, is a place I’d like to visit.
I do have to admit that I went into the books not really expecting straight-up romance. I enjoy the books all the more for that fact, though, because I genuinely like the setting and the characters. I also think that the romantic aspects of the books, while important, aren’t really Ms. Carr’s strong point, because, at least in the books I’ve read, they’re fairly repetitive. After all, how many Marines with deep personal pain can there be for every hapless damsel who’s just suffered personal tragedy to stumble upon? Honestly, I’d much rather read about the couples after their courtship. Mel and Jack’s wedded bliss, for example, is far from the treacle you’d get in most traditional romances, and I think the scene where Preacher informs a whole barful of Marines that he’s closing early on account of its being ovulation day cracks me up.
The books have tackled lots of relevant issues as well, everything from the ethics of dealing with local marijuana growers to the need for contraception to teenage drug use. Sometimes Ms. Carr handles these issues better than others–like, there’s one particular marijuana grower who is quite interesting and who I know from reading spoilers becomes more important in the series later. Then again, there was the bombshell in the thirdd book where one woman, after finally getting a mammogram, finds out she’s got breast cancer and is dead by a few dozen pages later. That whole subplot was just a bit too precious for words.
And then there’s the Rick/Liz subplot. See, Rick’s a randy 17-year-old boy who sometimes helps Jack at the bar. And he met a new girl, Liz, who was 15 and basically tarting it up. They ended up having sex, and Liz became pregnant. Afterwords, a whole mess of slut-shaming ensued. Liz basically becomes weepy and distraught, and presumably quits wearing skirts that hike up to her crotch. And Rick whines and emoes about how he’s totally ruined Liz’s life and he’ll never, never, never have sex with her again until she grows up. He worries about Liz but in kind of a self-absorbed way that, while I’m sure it’s authentic, grated on my nerves, especially since, as readers, we never saw Liz’s POV. We just know that Rick thinks she’s too young, her aunt thinks she was being a little tart but loves her anyway, and Mel just wants to do the best she can by her as her midwife. And then, after Liz loses the baby–a karmic death if ever there was one–Rick decides he needs to up and join the Marines. Because he decides for Liz that Liz is too young and needs to grow up. So, you know, instead of actually, truly making sure she’s OK, he’s like, “See you after basic.” And, as I understand it, he gets his own book in the series in which he has PTSD, which means former slut Liz will probably selflessly stand by and wipe his emo tears.
…Wow. I really didn’t think I had that much animosity toward that one particular subplot.
There is also a whole lot of “Ra ra ra, yay Marines!” talk in this series. You know a male character is supposed to be good and honorable if he is either planning to serve in the Marines or has served in the Marines or some other branch of the military. That aspect of the series isn’t one I can speak about, because the people in my family who are uber-military types aren’t generally people I talk to enough to ask, “Is it really like that? Do you feel extremely close to all your Marine brothers and would you do anything for any of them?”
That being said, the Marines stuff balances out well with Mel’s character, who is generally a positive example of a strong feminist who isn’t a hard-ass. She’s dedicated to midwifery and women’s health issues, and I appreciate that she doesn’t poo-poo the idea of abortion outright, since there are characters for whom that comes up. (Thankfully, in Virgin River, if you don’t want a baby, you will lose it due to miscarriage or stillbirth, so actually having Mel hold someone’s hand during an abortion isn’t ever likely to come up.)
In conclusion, despite some of the snarky things I’ve said, I find these books comforting. It’s fun to slip back into a familliar world with familliar characters. I generally know where the plots are going, and the sequel-baiting is pretty unsubtle–in the same way that an anvil to the back of the head is pretty unsubtle–but I think that’s part of their charm. You know what you’re going to get, and when you get it, it makes you feel good. I wouldn’t call these keepers, but they are strong, b-grade comfort reads.
