Pt 1: RAPID WING MOVEMENT
Hummingbird by LaVyrle Spencer was an act of optimism for me. I picked this western romance, published in 1984, for my book club because Spencer is considered an all-timer in the world of historical romance. She’s largely escaped the “read this with caution” broad brush that other historical romance authors of her era (Woodiwiss, McNaught, Small) are painted with.
I had never read Spencer before. The way people talk about her (“emotional” gets thrown around a lot) had me imagining books chock-full of the type of treacly, stick to the roof of my mouth sentiment that I don’t want any part of when I’m expecting a meal.
In the grand scheme of dinners, Hummingbird is a plate I prepared at home: it had promise, and ultimately I feel responsible for it.
The book starts with the aftermath of a train robbery, an event that wounds two men. David, The Gentleman, is the hero, and he has the missing toe to prove it. Jesse is The Bandit, and for his crimes he a has wound of lesser dignity: a bullet to that liminal space between thigh and groin. A relief (he wasn’t “unmanned!”) and a concern (he could still die!) for all parties involved.
Abigail volunteers to nurse both men back to health. Not out of a sense of duty or moral obligation, but because the railroad is offering to pay her and the alternative is waiting tables. She’s kind of a snob, and I liked that. To quote my friend Emma, if someone calls a romance heroine a bitch on Goodreads, I’ll probably like her.
Pt 2: VLOGGING ON THE WESTERN FRONT
Abigail is starchy and a bit of a control freak. She’s meticulous with her gloves, her hat, her hair. She’s lost her grip on some of the most important aspects of her life, most notably her finances and her family, so she keeps herself in line in ways that are comforting, but performative.
I’ve re-uploaded the same video to TikTok four consecutive times because I noticed something off. What if someone misinterprets this phrase I used? Better cut it. I mistyped the year a book was released? Back to editing. What is that sound I’m making with my mouth is that a normal sound? Maybe I’ll try to recreate that outfit I was wearing and record that section again.
If that sounds exhausting and not like a fun way to spend time on social media you are probably right. I wanted to relax a little bit. I thought I’d do updates of Hummingbird as I go. I like watching vlogs, maybe I should try?
Pt 3: HUBRIS
I got a bit carried away.
First, I recorded a video about how much I liked Abigail while wearing my partner’s D.A.R.E. t-shirt and sitting on an unmade bed, a very un-Abigail thing to do. I felt giddy, like I had just remembered a compliment. Soon I could proselytize: Hummingbird is Good and Important.
Abigail is David and Jesse’s caretaker because nobody had thought to take care of her. She was engaged at nineteen when her father fell ill. Feeling as though his future wife’s attention would be dominated by her nursing duties, her fiance called off the wedding. That was about a decade ago, and now Abigail is alone.
Abigail had potential. Now she feels frenzied and desperate and wilted, yet David, The Gentleman, is starting to show interest as he recovers. A little hope can be dangerous when it sprouts, particularly when there’s a man with a not-quite-groin injury around to weed it.
At this point in the book, I recorded another video opining about the caretaking in Hummingbird. This book is Good and Important, and in my mind I’m writing tiny, digestible essays that will make an appealing anthology when I finish.
About 2/3 of the way through I realized the problem: I don’t like Hummingbird.
Pt 4: RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE
Hummingbird has the constant bickering of Patricia Gaffney’s Forever & Ever but none of the bite. It has moments of surprising cruelty that diligently shock you into paying attention, but then sweeps up the aftermath and begs you not to look under the rug. Hummingbird is sold as an impossible choice for Abigail: a quiet life and a family with David, or the scandalous upheaval of chasing after Jesse?
Jesse doesn’t really offer Abigail anything, so it’s honestly a no-brainer. But David is boring. The book, frustratingly, refuses to let you like him even though he seems fairly normal. His minor flaws, most of which can be chalked up to timidity, become glaring inadequacies. We’re supposed to find him weak. Less masculine than Jesse, the mustachioed villain with nothing to give. As I continued to read, my irritation gave way to apathy. I started to think that I had jumped the gun on the ol’ content creation.
Why did I want to like Hummingbird so much? Does Abigail’s frenetic loneliness mean less to me, knowing what I know now?
I’ve somehow absorbed an idea that I find repulsive, that identifying with art, at any stage, means that I endorse it. The latter half of Hummingbird nosedived in a way where, once I had aligned myself with this book, my sense of betrayal was outsized. Why do I care! Why does any of this matter so much to me!
I also want control. I want any opinion I have for Hummingbird to be so thoroughly vetted that it’s unimpeachable. How can I upload a vlog, knowing that? If I can’t even give myself the space to pivot, what can I expect from the sometimes ruthless Internet community that comments on TikTok?
I’ve created my own trap. I’ve unwittingly positioned myself as someone that can create a curated reading experience: less than three minutes on TikTok to give you the content warnings, the analysis, and a spoiler-free recap so you know what you’re getting into. My attempt at vlogging exposed this as artifice. This was never something I could do flawlessly. I just haven’t been caught yet.
This isn’t really about Hummingbird.