Genre: Paranormal, Romance
LGBTQ+ Category: Gay
Reviewer: Gordon
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About The Book
Art Gundersen did not make it as an agent with the Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs. But when Chief Townsend orders him out of the lab and into the mountains of northern California to collect evidence from a murder scene, Art’s happy to go. He looks forward to tromping around in the wilderness—and finds he enjoys the company of the forest technician who discovered the hiker’s corpse surrounded by sasquatch footprints.
Jerry Humboldt lives a somewhat reclusive life in the fire lookout tower. Nobody comments much on his enormous size. Or his unusually hairy feet. Then Art shows up, and Jerry is forced into some new realizations.
As Art and Jerry interact, they discover some long-past connections as well as some very present dangers. It’s a risky equation: an awkward not-agent, a virginal “wild man” of the forest, and a multiple murderer—with the Bureau’s help six hundred miles away.
The Review
Caught, by Kim Fielding, is a long novella (46,000 words) that delivers a good story and some truly delightful moments. It tells the story of Art, a young man who is the research lab staff of the Bureau of Trans-species Affairs. Art, though not an official agent of the Bureau, is sent on a case: the murder of a hiker in a national forest, of which only body parts are found—alongside sasquatch footprints. Art is shown the site by forest ranger Jerry and, if Art is a big guy (6’5” and 250 lb), Jerry is bigger still—and hairy! And so, we have a murder mystery with the distinct possibility of romance.
These are expected elements, as is the presentation of a world in which there is open knowledge of non-human species acting as a metaphor for current mixed societal attitudes towards individuals of non-normative gender and sexuality. That this is the ninth book of Fielding’s Bureau of Trans-species Affairs reflects both her own interest in that world, and the popularity of supernatural shifter fiction.
There is a distinct “episode” feel in this novella, represented by the relatively minor changes that occur as the story wends its way from the initial to the final configuration. But within that constraint, what Fielding does is effective and charming, and the two elements: murder mystery and romance, are woven together well.
The story begins with a prologue, and the first thing that strikes the reader is the lucidity of the writing and the effectiveness of the story-telling; the writer quickly captures and holds the interest of the reader. Speaking as someone who generally dislikes prologues, this prologue works very well; it introduces Art as a child, and immediately presents him with a moral issue and a tantalizing glimpse of a strange new world. It connects with the story not only as a set-up, but by an unexpected twist that gives extra charm to the romantic element.
Although the steps of analyzing the murder mystery are well-told, it is in the elucidation of the two main characters, and their experiences getting to know each other, that Fielding really shines.
Fielding uses the effective show-don’t-tell method for revealing character—gradually, through characters’ actions, thoughts and dialogue. For example, at one point Jerry notes sadly:
Art seemed to button on a sense of propriety along with his shirt…
Art is unprepossessing, but Jerry is an actual virgin, and it is in Jerry’s confused interest in Art that the reader experiences some powerful emotional moments. As in:
Besides, the specifics of how to… emotionally connect with another person? Jerry was vague about that.
This forlorn revelation, without any self-pity, truly does twist the heart, producing in the reader a reaction of the sort: Damn! The poor guy!
There is even a delightful example of direct juxtaposition between Art and Jerry’s different inclinations—delightful because people connect by observing similarities (shared preferences and values) and differences (idiosyncratic points to wonder at and cherish):
But that didn’t stop him [Art] from splashing around like a seal. Jerry’s style was more placid. He liked to stand still, enjoying how the water’s buoyancy made him feel lighter and more graceful.
Throughout, there are little deft tricks of phrase to delight the reader, as when Art notes:
Jerry was staring at him again.
As for the physical side to the romance, there is some good, physical teasing, and good emotionally evaluative observations. At one point in the story the latter are effectively and tightly packed, three distinct emotions presented in the space of three paragraphs: the heart-stab statement, “They hurt you;” the grateful, “You saved me;” and the mortified, “I was a monster.”
The only problem with this potent presentation is that the story does not sustain its focus on these disparate, powerful emotional realities. It does not use them to explore and develop the bond between Art and Jerry. This is a wasted opportunity, and goes against verisimilitude; such intense experiences and associated feelings don’t tend to disappear with a single reassurance.
The emotions are aroused not only in relation to the romance or murder; there are effective moral outrages represented too, such as:
“They put him in zoos, Ralph!” Anger boiled hot in Art’s veins. “They treated him like an animal, and he was just a kid. God, he must have been so miserable for so long. Scared and alone and… and he said they beat him if he talked!”
This triggered close-to-tears emotions of sympathy and pain in this reader, not just for Jerry’s suffering but for all actual young animals who are so treated—or worse—by humans.
There are almost no clunks in the story—moments in which the fictional magic stumbles and the reader is brought back to their own world. One example, however, occurred when Art was instructing the virgin Jerry on sex:
“There are lots and lots of right ways to do it and hardly any wrong ones—as long as everyone’s comfortable and consenting, I mean.”
The use of the word consenting is just too schoolmarmish, too politically correct, and definitely not romantic or erotic. (When you go to the dentist, you consent to some unpleasant but necessary things being done to your teeth and gums.)
There are those who say they enjoy the process of consent (Fellow writer and well-known YouTuber Jenna Moreci, for example says that she finds the consent aspect of sex actually “hot.”) Each to their own, of course, but here consent can be better put as: “as long as everyone’s comfortable and into it”—which is more suggestive of sexual participation: eagerness rather than mere acceptance.
There are also a few unfortunate bits, such as the reveal of the bad guys, which suffers from being somewhat expected; the lack of a real twist was a little disappointing.
But overall, Caught is limited only in the aspect that, when finished, this reader was left with a “if only” desire for more—more drama, more intensely emotional moments. There is the suggestion that the episode nature of the story had something to do with this, through developments that were not as world-changing as they might have been in a one-off story.
The author is clearly capable of rousing the reader’s emotions, but such moments were insufficient to produce a sense of satisfaction at the end. Which is to say, in this story the passions are aroused, but they are not fullyaroused.
4.5 stars.
The Reviewer
About Gordon: Having received formal training in the world of science, Gordon has always found relief from the strictures of present-day reality in reading fiction, mostly fantasy, horror and sci-fi, fiction that explores regions of what is sometimes called the Kingdom of If. Here the rules can be virtually anything, allowing for greater possibilities of wonder and strange discovery. Gordon also writes, among other things, stories of M/M romance within these genres. This provides the opportunity for exploring how characters, some of them possibly not fully human, might act and react in truly strange circumstances. He writes romance because, of all the mind-blowingly possibilities inherent in the creation of imaginative worlds, the most mysterious and magical are the operations of the human heart itself, including its curious ability to grow when broken.