Books like The Candlemass Road

This entertaining novella plus long end notes, as of June 2011, is available as a Kindle download for $1.99 from amazon.comSubtract one star if you haven't read The Steel Bonnets by the same author, or possess a thorough knowledge of the Border region, because otherwise all this talk about Marches and evil Nixons might lead you to believe that this is some sort of obscure allegory about U.S. politics in the 1970s.I'd file this under “excellent beach reads for the over-educated”, with a cross-reference in “shame it wasn't more commercially successful”. I don't know what film treatments are supposed to be like, but this seems a lot like one to me. To be clear, this is praise: you can see a film in your head, including details barely suggested in the narrative. I rather unimaginatively cast Russell Crowe (thief-turned-hero, handsome when covered in mud), Keira Knightly (well-born lady who must fight, frequent costume changes), and Ian Holm (priest with doubts, stealing the picture). Feel free to re-cast at will...This book made me think about the strange sexual politics of book publishing in our times. Previously, I had read that Joanne Rowling became J.K. Rowling because the publisher thought boys wouldn't read a book by a woman. This didn't seem so bad to me because boys, well, they bring the very concept of childishness to life; you can't blame them for it any more than you can fault the rain for being wet. However, I also listened to a recent biography of Cornelius Vanderbilt, also by a poor soul who had to resort to the same wheeze with the two initials so that grown-up history geeks would not be seen in public reading a book by a presumably cootie-inducing woman historian.So, what goes around comes around. Although I understand that there are successful male romance writers (sometimes writing under women's names), perhaps Fraser, best known as the creator of the unredeemable arch-cad Flashman, simply could not be marketed to the romance-reading demographic. As a result, I imagine that Fraser's publisher just didn't bother to tell him to beef up this volume with longer periods of heavy breathing and a more conventional ending (although Fraser is not known for this style of writing, I feel he had a healthy enough interest in money, and sufficient talent, to do so if asked). As a result, this novella as it came out of his typewriter falls between two stools, not mushy enough for the romance-reading public, but too talky for lovers of ultra-violence in historical novel form. But I loved it. At a mere 190 pages, this is perfect for a weekend at the beach...