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Firelands |
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Firelands |
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Description:
The winter of 1799 is falling fast on the Ohio frontier settlement of Hugh's Lick. Food is scarce, and tense relations with the neighboring Delaware village threaten to erupt into an all-out war. But things are about to get much worse.
In the midst of a ferocious storm, frontiersman Cole Seavey is attacked by a terrifying creature spawned from the bowels of hell. Pakim, a Delaware brave, rescues a gravely wounded Cole and delivers him to safety at the home of friendly settlers that his recollection of the monster-as well as his confusing feelings for Pakim-are simply the products of his fevered brain.
But the killings begin. As the townspeople wait in terror for the next ferocious attack, Cole and Pakim learn the ghastly violence is the work of an ancient, implacable menace: the Wendigo.
Soon the forest is littered with sundered corpses, and most of the settlers flee. Only Cole, Pakim and their small band of allies remain to confront the Wendigo-which is closer than they think.
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Okay, so maybe Michael Jensen writes like James Fenimore Cooper on ecstasy. Is that so wrong? After all, he's a man on a mission. Gay people used to be invisible -- at least if early American folktales are any indication. Now comes Jensen's 'Firelands,' hellbent on reclaiming Western myths for the unrepresented.
Think 'Deadwood' meets 'Queer as Folk.'
It begins with explosive action, which never really lets up. As a brutal winter tightens its grip on the Ohio territory of 1797, supplies grow scarce. With tensions running high between settlers and indigenous peoples, only a fool or a hero would be travelling this wilderness. “No one knows me well,” muses Cole Seavey, “and that's the way I like it.” At once, this two-fisted frontiersman finds himself in deadly danger. In the space of a few pages, he has a fistfight with a cougar, uncovers a murder, then barely evades the clutches of some “monster from the bowels of hell.” That's right. A monster. So 'Firelands' isn't just a Gay Western. It's a Gay Horror Western.
Cool.
During a peril-fraught voyage of self-discovery, Cole rescues fair maids, braves fierce storms, falls for a fierce brave and befriends Johnny Appleseed and his boyfriend. (No, really.) Clearly, this is not the West of Louis L'Amour. The scenes where a handsome Delaware Indian - who speaks English like a Rhodes Scholar - helps the hero get in touch with his true erotic nature are both amusingly naïf and decidedly sexy. (Three cheers for the noble savage!) Venturing from frozen wasteland to underground ruins, the plot, composed almost entirely of climaxes of one sort or another, proves wildly implausible. But isn't that how legends work?
As satisfying as the tallest of tall tales, 'Firelands' is replete with colorful characters whose everyday lives the author convincingly details. But it's the folkloric aspect that gives Jensen's work its primary distinctiveness. After all, how often does a Wendigo show up in popular fiction?
Ultimately, the monster may be more metaphor than menace. Still it packs a message about some of the more shameful aspects of this country's history, particularly the dominant culture's treatment of minorities. And that message is profoundly clear: Those who commit monstrous acts risk becoming monsters. Both the Indians (with their sadness and anger) and the settlers (with their desperation and courage) are treated with respect and sensitivity. This may be light entertainment, but it's never shallow. With their promise of safety and freedom, the Firelands - a region to which the local tribe hopes to flee - exert a potent allure.
Sometimes, however, the only real option is to stand and fight the forces of oppression. Transformed by his ordeals, Cole learns this lesson well, and the reader can't help but applaud.
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