Lou’s Review: I Do, by Cheyenne Blue

I’ve loved Cheyenne Blue’s writing since discovering her erotica, compiled in three glorious collections of Blue Woman Stories. And while her full-length novels have been on my radar for a while, owing to the constantly expanding nature of my TBR pile, I’m only getting to them now. I Do is the first of Blue’s romances that I’ve read – and it certainly won’t be the last. Her writing is full of the heart, heat, and humour I’ve come to associate with Ylva. There’s no denying this book’s charm. It has alpacas – and an unusual premise:

Allie’s sister nearly lost her leg in an accident, and now – with a long road to recovery – she’s at risk of losing her event planning business and house. But lucky for Sophie she’s an identical twin, and Allie’s willing to swap places for her biggest job yet: Quandong’s same-sex wedding festival.

But Allie’s an accountant with no previous experience in this field. Worse, Sophie got the job in part because she’s an out and proud lesbian – whereas Allie identifies as straight. Though when she swaps Sydney for the Outback, Allie finds that few of her previous rules and expectations apply. She’s irresistibly drawn to her assistant, a handsome butch who knows her way around power tools.

Tarryn’s a metal artist, welder, and whatever else pays the bills – which is how, despite her fierce opposition to heteronormative tradition, she ends up assisting the event planner for Gay Bells. Ordinarily Tarryn sticks to casual flings with tourists. But when she and ‘Sophie’ are thrown together in the festival’s fake wedding contest, it’s impossible not to get caught up in the romance.

For me, Cheyenne Blue is and always will be the gold standard of erotica. Her short stories combine sensuality with the uncanny to great effect, and are charged with a tension all the more delicious for its power to unsettle. I Do feels safer and cosier than her smut, which makes sense given the genre conventions of romance. However, knowing Blue is capable of writing sexual tension that makes the hairs on the backs of my arms stand up made it all the clearer: something’s missing in the dynamic between Allie and Tarryn.

I was a third of the way into the book before their attraction began to feel real. And even then, it didn’t sweep me away. I Do is slow to start on the romance front. That being said, once Allie and Tarryn start spending more time together on the page, it’s a compelling story. The layers of conflict are fascinating. Their relationship is built on a colossal lie, after all. Allie isn’t Sophie. And though her motives for taking on her twin’s identity couldn’t be purer, she’s still lying to people offering friendship… and more.

Also, I Do doesn’t have a clear-cut antagonist. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. This book fully succeeds as an uplifting, low-angst romance. But there are two strands of possibility here – Phyll, and the spectre of homophobic hate groups – dangled in the novel’s first half, then never fully explored. Part of me wonders if Blue scrapped a subplot somewhere along the way, because Phyll goes from teetering on the edge of homophobia with her rigid love of tradition to an active ally bringing two women together. All with no explanation for this character development.

I Do is intensely readable. It’s funny, light-hearted, and tightly paced. Blue’s experience as a writer can be felt in the smoothness of her prose. I can’t overstate the skill that goes into crafting which feels effortless to read. That said, bits of the novel fell short of my expectations.

I Do’s chapters are unevenly weighted in POV. We get much more of Allie’s perspective than Tarryn’s. I understand the logic behind this decision: Allie is the character with the bigger growth arc. But it leaves the novel feeling unbalanced. Most dual POV romances aim towards a 50/50 split between protagonists. And if there is a pattern to how these chapters are divided, at times changing POV mid-chapter, I never caught the rhythm of it. That choppiness took me out of the story from time to time.

There’s only one other part of I Do that I strongly disliked. Which is Tarryn’s dismissal of “handicrafts” as “a bit old-fashioned.” Their inclusion in the Gay Bells Festival is suggested by Phyll, a reactionary and conservative-leaning character – and from there on crafting gets tarred by the same brush. Tarryn is horrified by the idea that her “metal sculptures could be considered handicrafts”, insulted that her work might be seen on a par with knitted goods, crochet, or handmade cards.

This is just plain snobbery. One we crafters are well used to: the assumption that a conventionally feminine form of creativity associated primarily with older women must be trivial. But people of all ages and gender presentations craft – and older women deserve respect as masters of these artforms. Conversely, metalwork has prestige because it’s a traditionally masculine craft – and when men are doing the work, people actively value the skill going into it.

This lazy bias doesn’t seem consistent with Tarryn’s character. She stands up to Phyll’s respectability politics, pushes back when Allie assumes a young and skinny couple will become the festival’s face, and doesn’t go along with ideas just because they’re conventional. Realistically, that’s not someone who jumps to conclusions fuelled by ageist misogyny.

Still, I really loved other aspects of the story. Particularly the vivid Australian setting and the slice of rural LGBT life Blue shares with her readers. She doesn’t play it safe with her cast of characters, showcasing members of the community who are rarely represented. Sistergirls, Brotherboys, plus-sized gay men, lesbians with (gasp!) grey hair… I Do feels so much more real, closer to an authentic reflection of LGBT people, than any of the all-white or colourblind worlds many Caucasian authors feel compelled to write about.

Given the erasure of Aboriginal people from mainstream narratives about Australian – the unfortunate legacy of cultural genocide – it’s heartening to read a book where Bundjalung people play an active role in shaping a town’s heritage. Though Kirra is so much more than a teachable moment – she’s a vital part of the story and community, who happens to steal every scene.

I Do is a quirky story packed full of personality. There are dazzling moments of sensuality. And themes both recognisable and emotionally engaging, such as the debate about whether same-sex marriage is ultimately revolutionary or oppressive for our community. Though I had some issues with this novel, I’m very glad to have read it. If you’re into sapphic romance or upbeat stories, you should too.

Copy received from publisher via NetGalley in exchange for a fair review