The Engineer

DNF - PG 39

Why?

Because our main character is not a man. Honestly, if you strip out direct references to his gender (if there are any) and the few self-referential remarks of being a man, this could read like any M/F romance with a bitchy/surly/unpleasant sorry, I mean spirited female lead.

I understand and appreciate that men don't all act the same - neither do women - but when the main male character in a queer romance could be swapped out with any woman from a certain subgenre type of M/F romance and there would not be a missed beat, something is distinctly wrong.

(I would also like to mention that the male main character has the given name of Gillian which was once occasionally used as a name for boys, but it has been pretty much taken over by girls now. To me this would be like saying yes, but Lauren used to be used for boys. Honestly, it's just one more moment for me to go ‘why was this a M/M romance?)

Also, as you will see, I have eight pages of unhappy notes and ...well, it showed no sign of slowing down.


When a male, adult Federal Agent's body is taken over by a female teen YA star with a crush.

Fair warning. I did not like this book at all. I do not know what the intent was with the main character, but he came off as being a rip off of every ‘strong' female urban fantasy lead crossed with every ‘strong' female ya lead. The writing style is so many similes and metaphors that do not work.

There is a dose of sexism in the book - which I can only assume is why this is a M/M romance instead of a M/F romance. It's also a little judgy to people that have sex.

What follows is me happily ripping apart quotes from the book and sharing my misery with you.


It started off well. I thought I was going to like Gillian. (I added no stress (italics) to these quotes.)

“Send Gillian out West,” I said in a self-mocking tone. “Milo Ferguson won't stand a chance against him. Of course not. But the utter lack of basic amenities and technology?” More gunfire, and I winced before sliding down farther and trying to make myself as small a target as possible. “Gillian will love it.

Even if it was a little too reminiscent of every female lead in ever urban fantasy ever. I was endeared to him.

But then, unfortunately, we get introduced to his love interest.

But he did pull the black bandana down to reveal his face, and God save me, the man could have been divinity. Strong jaw line, clean-shaven, surprisingly pale complexion, given the location, and blue, blue eyes that deserved a better, more beautiful adjective. Cobalt? Sapphire? Yes. His eyes glittered like dark gemstones.Apollo himself would have taken inspiration from this man's face.

But, it gets better as the scene continues. [/sarcasm]

My throat was parched. I coughed a few times and managed, “Special Agent Gillian Hamilton with the Federal Bureau of-““Special Agent Hamilton,” he interjected before beginning to rise, “I'm a little busy at the moment.” For a man who'd just been shot at, his tone was frighteningly calm.I grabbed at his coat sleeve and yanked. “Federal Bureau of Magic and Steam,” I finished as if I hadn't been interrupted. “And you're under arrest for gun fighting and possession of an illegal magic firearm.”

... I had no idea that my comparison to a generic female urban fantasy lead would prove so apt.

“That's a clever little trick there, Hamilton.”A trick.How rude.And I had every intention of telling him so, but then another volley of gunfire interrupted.

If I had wanted an angry enemies-to-lovers het romance with whatever passes for ‘banter', I would have read one.

Seemingly done with waiting, the cowboy grabbed my hand and squeezed tight. The warmth and roughness of this man's bare skin against my own, in a manner so brazenly intimate - he could have taken my wrist or arm, for God's sake - sent such a violent shock through me that it felt as if my own magic had momentarily betrayed me.I don't touch anyone.

So...now we have the untouched virgin trope coming into play?

Suspicion and rumor of my tendencies had circulated between the New York field office and metropolitan police force for years. Life was complicated enough as a caster. If it came to light that I, in fact, did crave the attention of men - mentally, emotionally, physically - I would be ruined.So I pretended I didn't hear the whispers. Tempered the bitter jealousy churning in my gut when I witnessed moments of intimacy between others. And I behaved as if I didn't often cry myself to sleep due to loneliness.

...WTF am I reading?

My - the cowboy[...]

Eleven pages in, folks. He wait's a long time to turn all possessive, don't you think?

I came to my senses at that point and said between taking in breaths of dry air, “Unhand me at once.”“Keep quiet, Agent Hamilton,” he said with a touch of hostility. Despite this, I noted the man's speech had a certain refinement to it. Formal schooling, at least at one point in his life. His voice was deep - not booming, nothing so imposing. A low rumble, a little husky, commanding without trying to be, and it scratched an itch buried behind my heart.

...Seriously, this is starting to get hilarious at how cut and pasted from any enemies-to-lovers het romances it is. (And super worrying.)

I hardly had more than a moment to take in my surroundings - a bed much too short for this looming cowboy now locking the door behind me, a squat table with a washbasin and clean linens, and a rickety-looking bureau too big for the room - all glowing gold as the last rays of sunlight shone through the far window. The cowboy moved around me with the fluid elegance of a cat, then in a single motion, he backed me hard into the door, which knocked my bowler to the floor, and covered my mouth with one large hand before I could utter a word.“Shh...” He stood close, body all heat and hard muscle that I couldn't ignore. I barely reached his shoulders. I was hardly bigger than most women, and this man was six feet of dominance towering over my slight frame. I wasn't yet thirty and my brown hair was mottled with premature gray, while his, unkempt by sand and wind, was black as the wings of Nevermore. He was everything I wished I was and never would be.

I...there are no words.

The cowboy rested his forehead against the door, listening intently. His breathing had evened out after the run, and due to our proximity, it caressed the side of my face. It smelled clean, an almost herbal undertone with hints of sweet and bitter.

Uhm...yeah. This happened. (Let me guess, when you kiss, you'll taste the same thing you're smelling?)

I shoved him back. Hard.

I had nowhere to go, no immediate advantage for disarming and arresting Gunner with just this much distance between us, so I remained with my back against the locked door.

Gunner stared at me. His eyes were so sharp it felt like his gaze sliced deep into my flesh, broke my ribs, and exposed the grotesque blackness I kept tucked inside. The idea that this criminal could see - no. He couldn't This was a tactical move. Intimidation, nothing more.

So...now the (apparently) adult male MC sounds like a female YA protagonist. ... yay.

He was too close, overwhelming my senses with danger and heat and masculinity.

laughs helplessly

That pissed me off even more, and I felt my skin prickle like a storm was rolling in.

...On a totally unrelated not, how did you get your job?

”[...]I have been an officer of the law for nearly a decade[...]”

And you do your job so well. [/sarcasm]

A huff of air escaped Gunner, something close to but not quite a laugh. “Oh, I do like you, Hamilton.” He put his hand on the door beside my head and leaned in. “Perhaps we can work out a deal. Something mutually beneficial.”Is he mocking me?Taunting me?Or...does he?I swallowed hard, my Adam's apple bobbing painfully. My face felt hot and my palms grew clammy. “I don't - I'm not like that.”Gunner's expression glimmered, much like the snap and crackle of filament in the first steam-powered streetlamp installed on Millionaire's Row six years ago. Would it ignite? - did I misunderstand his suggestion? The red globe bursting into luminosity - realization dawning on Gunner's face. The glow of new technology - a light briefly shining inside me where no one was allowed to look.But he said nothing of it. Instead, he lowered his had and whispered in my ear, “Let's take Ferguson down together.”I grabbed a fistful of his clothing with the intention of giving Gunner a good shake and shove, but I did neither.

...So, so much about this excerpt. Seriously, go read it again. First we get the anime ‘wall pin of love' (see here https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/WallPinOfLove). Then the outing himself in the most tsundere ‘I don't like him' way possible at this point. Then another weird description because it's been too long since we reminded you that this is supposed to be steam punk, not just a teen girl falling in lurve. Ooh, and then the common ‘I grab his shirt to thrust him away from me, but I am so taken by him and he makes my womanly parts melt that I wind up hanging on to him until...

“You're wrinkling my shirt.”I glanced at my balled fist and gently - awkwardly - released my hold.

The pretty woman pursed her lips and gave a noncommittal shrug. She had blonde hair coiled high over her head. I recalled an article published in The Delineator over the summer about simplicity in hairstyles these days and how the spiral bun was an uncomplicated affair that could double as a means to exaggerate the apparent height of a lady. I didn't find the women's monthly publication an exhilarating read, per se, but I did find women to be an enigma and quite difficult to interact with. The magazine at least provided me with a practical understanding so my daily exchanges were...tolerable for them.

Yeah, because you understanding women's hairstyles make such a big difference to them and is so important in your daily interactions with them. (In other news: it now makes perfect sense as to why Gillian is not a woman: the author is suffering from internalized sexism that's coming out as externalized sexism in this man.) (Because women are so hard to interact with, I mean, I can't just respond to them as I would any human being. Oh, no. Women are enigmatic and I have to read woman's magazines to ever hope to understand the way their female brains work. [/sarcasm])

Gunner spared a glance my way as he reached the ground floor, but that was it. He didn't break stride as he made for the front desk.I didn't know what to make of that. Meanwhile, the woman ducked her head as he walked past us, another blush darkening her cheeks. The fact that we'd both been admiring Gunner's assets, and only her attention was welcomed, made me painfully uncomfortable by her company.I wanted her to go.To leave me alone.

So, here we have another dose of sexism and several leaps of logic.

Gunner could nail a man to the goddamn wall. I felt stripped down. Naked. Those blue eyes cracked me open, like how a fissure in the earth opens under enough pressure. His look once again shined light inside me, and I new - I just knew - Gunner was able to decipher the coded script on my soul.There was danger in my truth being read - understood - so easily by this man. A wanted outlaw. He could try to blackmail me. Use it as leverage against me. But in spite of that, there was warmth in my gut, like alcohol on an empty stomach. I adored the look he freely gave me. The attention. The awareness. I'd gone to the Bowery once or twice in my life. Not for sex. Nothing like that. I'd gone simply to be noticed.

So...do you like or dislike him staring at you? Let me know when you make up your mind. Until then, let's talk about the fact that we are definitely judging and putting down sex workers/pretty much anyone that has sex. Ooh, I bet Gillian is a virgin and he ‘didn't know it could be like this'. Any takers?

I hadn't realized the same of him earlier. After all, he was...everything I was not. A man like Gunner, so overtly masculine, so unequivocally dangerous - society didn't whisper about him. He was a known loner, but never had I read a law enforcement file that suggested he was a loner because his sort of companionship might also be found at the Bowery. But there was no other explanation for the way he stared at me just then.

Because this is different than the last time he ‘cracked you open and revealed your guts?' (Or whatever that metaphor was.) Also, bear in mind this is literally two pages after he is so sure the only attention Gunner want's is from the ‘pretty girl'.

(please note, I have edited out all the actions of Gunner loading a pistol, because his attention is focused on that - until I indicate otherwise - and it was just adding nothing, in the quote below)

“Come in, Hamilton,” Gunner said, his voice still deep and smoky, if a bit muffled.“How did you know it was me,” I asked.“Who else would it be?” he responded rather absently, not looking up from his work.I took a step inside, shut the door, and said, “That pretty blonde.”“Alice.” [Gunner]“What?”“Her name is Alice.” [Gunner]“It could have been Alice knocking.”“It wouldn't be Alice.” [Gunner]I pressed my back against the door. “Why not?”Gunner tugged his goggles down around his neck. If he was frustrated, that was the only indication.“She's smitten,” I continued.“So are you,” Gunner said that without bothering to look up.“I - I am not -“ My protest was cut short when Gunner turned his head and stared at me.His face was still. Emotionless. But those eyes“Don't choke on your tongue, Hamilton. Men with our inclinations tend to recognize each other. No, don't panic. It's not one particular aspect about you. I just know. It's a survival skill, isn't it?”

Oh my gosh. Once again, so much to unpack here. First Gillian is being all bitter about another woman being interested in Gunner. Even though he has no claim to him. At all. Even though he just, like one page ago, came to the conclusion that Gunner was like him. (But not because no one is as short or less masculine than he.) And then we have the gaydar that was pinging and ... no, Gillian must not have that survival skill. Like, at all.

May I borrow your goggles?”“Your kept man didn't think to pack you a pair?” Gunner pulled is own over his head and handed them to me.I swiped the offering and said woodenly, “I'm unattached.” I put them on and added, “I dropped my pair earlier - during the shootout.”“I see.”

What? What do you see? That Gillian over-shared and the second answer is the only one that was needed. (On a side subject, I think they are having two separate conversations. I think Gunner meant valet and Gillian literally meant kept man.)

“Hamilton?” He loosened his grip, but my left knee buckled and he grabbed for me again. “All right...come, no, sit down. I'll fetch some brandy from the kitchen.”“I don't need brandy. Let go.”“Don't fight me. You nearly kissed the floor.[...]”

...This is a scene between a want to be strong woman that refuses help from everyone and a condescending man that knows what she needs better than she does. I mean, our two male heroes that we are supposed to be rooting for to get together. I guess?

My cheeks grew warm when a recollection roused itself. A whisper. A man's hand.

Oh! Let me swoon with maidenly sentiment. A man put me to bed! The horror!

And I'm not going to write out the scene because it's not terribly written, but the outcome is so hilarious: Gunner can tell what brand of perfume Gillian is wearing by smell. And not even needing to get close to him. (A little research revealed to me that for this time period, perfume was not gendered, but it was likely still used primarily by wealthy people (nobles and royalty).)

Look, this is all in the first half of this short novella and...upon continuing it, I don't have the energy to keep ripping at it.

Suffice to say, Gunner is nicer than Gillian expected and is an actual person and Gillian is 90% prickly ‘strong' female character and 10% actual human and...honestly, I don't even know - nor can I guess - what these character are even supposed to be.

Of course, I will add that Gillian tries to ask Gunner's age and get's all frustrated when he doesn't get a straight answer ... and then get's charmed by how infuriating he is. Lol

“Does anyone know your name?” I finally ask.Gunner removed the package of Black Jack from his coat. “I suspect my mother had an inkling.”“No. I meant-““You meant, does a man know my name,” Gunner corrected. He placed a stick of licorice gum on his tongue and returned the rapidly depleting package to his pocket. “I'm unattached, to borrow a phrase.” He met my eyes, “I don't make it a habit to share such details with men who are nothing more than a passing ship in the night.”“Of course,” I answered, a lightness in my tone that didn't match the sudden hurt in my gut.

And then...

I did not acknowledge the brush of his fingers against my own. He had done it purposefully. And while I did enjoy his attention very much, Gunner's subtle and authentic approach more impact than anything I could have paid for at the Bowery, hr had made the reality of his life perfectly clear - I would only be another passing ship in the night.I could have kicked myself then, because I had just, for however brief a moment, considered sleeping with Gunner the Deadly. And I had the audacity to be upset because we'd be nothing more than two strangers tossing each other off.

WTF. I mean... WTF? I don't even know what is trying to be done here.

In other news, I'm pretty sure this book as the dubious honor of being the longest review I have ever written. So... Yay?