This must have been quite the gripping page-turner back in the early 1900s. It has miners! Lumberjacks! The Canadian Rockies! A fervent minister of the cloth! A beautiful young widow! And the obligatory saloon!!
Compared to today’s “guy type” fiction (The Droning Voice really doesn’t know what else to call it), the body count is fairly low, and without graphic descriptions of how those particular bodies were dispatched. There IS a lot of angst about the saloon, and its wicked proprietor, who clearly forces those working men to drink and drink and DRINK, until all the money they were to have sent home to their poor mothers, wives, and children is all gone. The minister and the lovely, no, angelic widow join forces to combat the evils of liquor and the loathsome men who peddle it.
Trust The Droning Voice, though, that is ALL the minister and beautiful young widow join. There are no untoward glances, steamy or otherwise. There is one pure and tender kiss (no tongues), sealing a pure and tender love. Period. So don’t be waiting for any filthy sort of word-porn in this book. Yes, any parent would feel safe having their child lulled to sleep by this book, unless said parent is terrified by any mention of things (ahem) “Christian.”
This being a tale of miners and lumberjacks and, uhm, whiskey, there is a certain amount of brawling, though it is covered quite discreetly. There is really nothing to get you pulse quickening too much, though The Droning Voice did suffer a hot flash during the reading of one of the scenes.
Now get comfortable and be thankful for central heat and air. Turn your fan on, or pull up your blankets, and drift off to sleep with a vapid piece of historical literature.