Texas! Lucky (Texas! The Tyler Family Saga #1) by Sandra Brown
Release Date:
January 1, 1991
Genre: Adult, Romance
Pages: 323 of
guaranteed hell
Format: Paperback
Charismatic and easy on the eyes, Lucky Tyler is
a born rebel. His romantic conquests have earned him his nickname, while his
temper gives him his reputation as the family hothead. One night, he gets in a
fight over a woman in distress, followed by a night of passion neither of them
will soon forget. But the lady in question has a knack for disappearing. When
news breaks of a suspicious fire at Tyler Drilling, Lucky is the prime suspect.
Now the mystery woman is more than just the object of his obsession. She’s his
alibi.
Devon Haines has tried her best to escape Lucky.
Yet his bold pursuit and self-assurance are irresistible. In order to clear him
of criminal charges, she must reveal her darkest secret; withholding her help
could cost him everything he holds dear. Either way, she risks losing him
forever.
Okay guys, I’m sorry, I couldn’t even get halfway through
this book before I had to set it down out of sheer disgust. And not disgust in
the way that you would think. No—the characters were terrible! I don’t think I have ever been more infuriated by a book
in my life!
The book, as even an infant would be able to tell, is set in
Texas. More specifically, it’s set in
some Podunk town outside of Dallas. As a proud Texan, who has an intimate
knowledge of the aforementioned city, I was floored by all the stereotypes
Brown incorporates into her novel. Let me just take a moment to dispel some
stereotypes that this fellow Texan of mine has taken upon herself to
perpetuate.
·
We do not
all live on a ranch.
·
We do not
all own livestock.
·
We do not
have to honk at our livestock in order to enter our driveways
·
We do not
all go cow-tipping in our teenage years (so they didn’t exactly do this, but it
is something equivalent in my mind)
·
We do not
say, “hell,” every other word.
·
We do not
spend all our extra time (when we’re not on
the oil rig) at a bar.
·
For God’s sake! We don’t all have accents, as it is so evidently apparent to read into
this novel.
·
And UT in Austin is not every Texans’ dream school. (I have nothing against UT—it’s a
great school—but it lacks a certain, “Spirit that can ne’er be told”)
There’s more, but I thought these were the most pressing.
With the gross misrepresentation of Texas aside, there is
even more wrong with the book for my tastes. Our protagonist of the first book
in the Texas! The Tyler Family Saga,
Lucky, has to be the most chauvinistic, sexist, infuriating man I have ever had to deal with virtually. I cannot
believe that I am supposed to be rooting for this man—or find him, in any way,
“charming.”
Sure, he’s a man-whore, but that’s not why I hate him; it’s
the way he treats women. He takes being a macho, roughrider guy to a completely
unacceptable level. I hope to God, no woman I know ever demeans herself enough to find this guy sexy. Here is a
play-by-play of everything I’ve read, and hopefully you’ll understand why I
simply cannot continue. I respect
myself too much as a woman to even read this novel as a joke.
We are introduced to our supposed protagonist, Lucky Tyler,
in a bar. He’s had a rough day managing his dearly-departed-dad’s oil drilling
company, when he spots this girl—city folk, by the looks o’ her—being harassed
by the town bully and his gang. So what does Lucky do? He swoops in to save
her, only she yells at him to back off. He doesn’t listen and goes on fighting
the guys. The cops show up, break up the fight and chastise him. He swears he
was just protecting the woman’s honor (with his life, as he so exaggerates),
but the woman refuses to support him. She honestly, and quite rightly, states
that she was fine and asked Lucky not
to fight them or interfere in any way. Lucky gets mad and demands that she apologize to him for not being grateful.
Okay, first red flag! I don’t know about any of you ladies
reading this blog, but if I ask a guy not
to interfere on my behalf, I mean it. If he goes ahead and does so and gets in
trouble with the cops, I would not
bail him out. I appreciate chivalrous gestures as much as the next girl, but
going against my wishes and then demanding me to thank you is just being a
dick. Let’s continue…
She refuses and leaves almost immediately. Lucky, proceeding
with a form that would make even the most seasoned of stalkers proud, follows
her to the motel she’s staying at. He waits a little while, letting her get
into her room, before getting out of his car and knocking on her door. She
quite stupidly answers it without checking to see who it was, and he barges in.
(Somewhere in this sequence he becomes aroused too). He claims he stalked her
(so he doesn’t use the word stalk) to get his apology and thank you, and plops
down on her bed. He emotionally manipulates her into nursing his injuries and
proceeds to fall asleep on her bed.
Creepy enough? Oh, I’m not done yet!
He wakes up in the middle of the night, only aware of there
being a woman in the bed next to him. So what does he do? He literally rolls on
top of her and proceeds to have sex with her. The only reason it can count as
sex and not rape is because, for reasons that elude me, she doesn’t freak out
about it. And that’s the problem I have with this girl Devon.
If a man stalked me to my hotel room, barged in, plopped on
my bed and fell asleep, I would hightail it out of there and call the cops. But
she stays?! I’m sorry; she calls
herself a city girl? I’m from a suburb and I have more street smarts than this
doe-eyed dumbass! The only smart thing she does afterwards is sneak out before
he wakes up in the morning.
And this all occurred in the first 46 pages.
So there has to be a plot device for him to reunite with
this girl he starts obsessing over (serial killer, much?). Well, he’s accused
of arson, and this woman is his only alibi. Only, he doesn’t know her name (I’m
sorry, what?!). Long story short, he stalks her all the way back to Dallas. There
he sexually harasses her (backs her into a stairwell, kisses her until she
stops protesting and presses his erection against her) and forces her to go and
have lunch with him. At least he doesn’t order for her—oh wait! He does.
Somewhere in this lunch date, this gem crops up: “’You don’t
take no for an answer, do you?’ Devon asked, after the waitress had withdrawn.
‘Rarely from a woman,’ he admitted” (108).
Excuse me? Does her rapist alarm not go off? Mine sure as
hell would!
He then proceeds to make her uncomfortable, she tries to
leave, and he blocks her exit. And that is where I stopped reading.
If you want to continue reading to see how much you can
handle, be my guest. But I am washing my hands of this filth.
Good. Day.
