Paperback Reader

Way back in 1992, Judith Arnold wrote a book for Harlequin American called Sweet Light. For those who are too young to remember, this was back before the imprint was all daddies and babies and brides all the time, back when American actually pretended that there was more this great nation than Wyoming and Montana. Back when December might offer up a story about Jewish Americans in addition to the traditional overabundance of Christmas stories. I mean, I'm big on the Christmas thing, but I need variety. It's the spice of life and all that.

Sweet Light tells the story of Alana Halpern, an employee of the advertising agency trying to woo Judd Singer, owner of a hot, hot, hot chain of toy/magic stores. Alana's boss, seeing a chance to out-customer service his rivals, convinces Alana, proud owner of a pilot's license, to pick up Judd and fly him home. You know how it is when your boss has a dumb idea and all you can do is execute? That's how Alana feels. Things, being things, going terribly wrong and Alana is forced to crash land the plane. While carrying Judd. In the middle of winter. In the snow. With a blizzard on the horizon. So much for impressing a potential client, huh?

While Judd escapes the landing relatively unscathed, Alana sustains some nasty bruises and injures her shoulder. After some exploring of the region, they find a cabin and settle in to wait for rescue. Here is the thing about abandoned cabins in the middle of New Hampshire: no central heat, poorly stocked pantries, and limited privacy. This is what makes the Cabin Romance such an enduring concept: forced intimacy, preferably among disparate strangers.

Alana is one of those well-adjusted people with a strong independent streak. In addition to becoming a pilot, she's traveled through Europe and Israel on her own while pursuing her love of drawing. Back home in Boston, she works as a commercial artist while painting for the sheer joy of creating. She has a close-knit family, which only increases her impatience with the aforementioned boss. His request that she fly to New Hampshire coincides with the first day of Hanukkah. While not a particularly devout individual, the holiday is important to her.

Judd doesn't see Hanukkah as anything but a reminder that he's always been a bit different. I know this Jewish guy from Cincinnati, and, much as it's embarrassing for me to admit, my first question was "They have Jewish people in Ohio?" (I was joking, I swear). In fact, everyone asks the same question. He assures us it's true. I only note this because Judd is from Idaho. Alana spends some time trying to explain how important the holiday is to her, how he wouldn't understand, blah, blah, blah, until he cuts her off by saying he's Jewish. You can guess her reaction from my little story above.

But being weird is tough on any kid. Sure, you come to embrace your oddness later in life, but when you’re young, all you want to do is fit in. I don’t think it’s a stretch for me to suggest that being Jewish in a small Idaho town is one way of defining “outcast” (and yes, this is particularly politically incorrect for Harlequin which is one reason why this book resonates years later – it feels real). Judd can’t change facts, but he can become his own person. Part of that is downplaying his heritage. The other is magic.

While Alana embraces the magic of the holiday, Judd, who has built his business by selling magic tricks and accoutrements, sees only the reality. As a magician, he learned the art of sleight of hand and misdirection. Magic is only illusion. Miracles don't happen -- which is sort of a shame due to the aforementioned drawbacks of abandoned cabins. As darkness descends, it's clear that the two are in for a long, cold, and in Alana's case, painful night.

But...they find enough to wood to start a roaring fire, kerosene to light a small lamp, and a stub of a candle. Alana, despite feeling like she's hit the ground protected only by steel and a really tight seatbelt, finds comfort in the ritual of lighting the candle and prayer. Ritual connects her and comforts her. She doesn't know the exact words -- her mother has always lead the ceremony -- but giving thanks helps her cope with the trauma of the situation. Judd doesn't believe, but he's willing to participate.

From the moment they meet, Arnold makes it clear that there's a physical attraction between Alana and Judd. I like that Alana's "Wow, he's hot" while retaining use of her brain cells. I like that Judd admires Alana's competence in the face of disaster. I didn't so much like that Alana's independence leads her dangerously close to TSTL territory -- people, when it's snowing outside and you, oh, don't have anything worthy of being called warm, spending the day in the ice is just plain stupid -- but mostly she redeems herself. I'm not so sure I'd be able to cook a freshly killed rabbit, but so far that hasn't been tested.

As the days go by, it seems that the world isn't trying too hard to rescue the couple. They clearly mark their crash site, yet helicopters fly overhead and into the distance. The pile of logs never seems to diminish, however, and the lamp oil, meager as it seems, never runs out. Candle stubs are tucked away in cabinets and drawers, providing a centerpiece for the nightly Hanukkah ritual. Even Judd finds himself wondering how they're surviving on seemingly nothing.

What makes this story work is Alana's straight-ahead belief in her faith, in the miracle that lead to Hanukkah. It's a direct, honest discussion of religion. More than that, it’s an acknowledgement that belief systems comes in many flavors and intensities. And I believe that Arnold's heroine believes. I don't get that sincerity from most of the inspirational romances I've read. There's a lot of talk about believing and this and that, but so much comes from the telling, not the showing. How am I supposed to believe in a character when it’s obvious that the author is pursuing a personal agenda rather than allowing her characters to exist on the page.

The faithful -- the heroes and heroines in these novels -- are too good, too perfect, while Alana carries her flaws out in the open. There's a human on the page of this novel. Perfect characters bore the tears out of me. Characters of faith who make saccharine seem bitter might sell to the choir, but they make for lousy fiction. Even as they begin, grow, evolve, change, and end, Alana and Judd are fully developed, well-rounded people. Alana’s judgment errors stem from her independence. Judd’s not so great with the verbal communication and it creates conflict. It’s all good. Trust me.

While there is general external conflict, what with the snow and Judd’s sorta girlfriend back home, the story is really about believing in something and letting faith help when things get really bad. And when things are really good. Judd's transformation from non-believer into, well, a man who believes in the power of prayer isn't instantaneous. He remains true to his character, though he finds that believing in magic and miracles and faith can be a positive addition to his life. His character grows organically, maybe through the help of magic but mostly through the power of love.

Back in 1992, I was a serious Harlequin American addict. I cannot begin to recall many of the books I read during that period (for those who care, my next obsession was Harlequin Intrigue – you’ve been warned!). The titles, the stories, the characters than remain with me all these years later have stayed because they rose above the rest of the crowd. This is one of those books, and I find it all the more telling that when I look for a great example of the inspirational sub-genre, this is the book that comes to mind.

You can find Judith Arnold here. As with so many Harlequin novels, this book came and went and you can only buy it used.

• - Or, if that file is full, file under: reviewer diddled around to the very last minute and didn’t order the book in time to make the actual holiday.

** - Just went back and checked; turns out my memory is still going strong.