Burning Ashes

by H. Lewis-Foster

Intelligent and confident, Australian cricketer Nat Seddon is one of the world's best bowlers. He's openly gay, but keeps his private life to himself, everything under control. But on the last day of his team’s “Ashes” tour of England, he meets Scott Alverley, England’s promising new batsman. Nat tries not to be attracted to Scott, but he can’t help finding the privileged young man handsome and endearing. Nat is tempted by a little end of tour fun, but finds himself playing agony uncle to a virgin. Instead of going home to bask on a beach, he spends a wet week in the north of England with Scott. Try as he might to resist, he can’t help falling hopelessly in love.

The hectic sporting calendar is a persistent obstacle to their growing romance; Nat and Scott are rarely even on the same continent. They make the most of the time when they can be together, but the months apart take a toll on Scott, professionally and personally. The possible solutions are nearly unthinkable, but if they are willing to make sacrifices that will change their lives forever, they might hold on to the love they found in the Ashes.

Genres: Contemporary, M M Romance, Sports, LGBT, Romance

200 pages, Kindle Edition

First published October 10, 2013

About the author

H. Lewis-Foster has always worked with books in one form or another and is delighted to have found her literary niche in gay romantic fiction. Her stories might be set in the present or past, and her characters travel all over the world, but they always have a touch of British humour.

H. is currently working on new projects, while listening to the cricket on the radio and hoping rain doesn't stop play!

Reviews

[Kazza · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.75 Stars rounded up

Very sweet book about love between two professional cricketers. The book is not about cricket as such, other than the two MC's play the sport. There is no technical jargon or writing about cricket.

Nat Seddon is an Aussie (go us) fast bowler who finds himself in a relationship with virginal English batsman, Scott Alverly. They struggle with long distance romance but they work at it and make decisions based on what the heart wants. It is over a period of approximately seven years from start to finish.

Super sweet, no sex on page, not technical, easy to read, has a HEA, nicely written. A nice MM romance for those who like a more gentle, romantic read with no angst, drama or turmoil. Review at http://ontopdownunderbookreviews.com/...

[Lisa Henry]

Can I get over my pathological hatred of cricket in order to read this book?

Because, omigod, cricket never ends. You look at the television, and it's still on. Days later!

Also, I stand by my belief that any sport that has tea breaks is not an actual sport.

[Chris, the Dalek King · Rating 2 out of 5]

“Cricket is a strange and beautiful game. A match can last for five hours or five days, and the rules are near incomprehensible to those who have never played the game. This sport of gentlemen evokes heated passions around the world and none more so than when England play Australia. One of the oldest and keenest rivalries in sport, when the two countries do battle, the contest is known as the Ashes.”

When Scott and Nat meet over the cricket pitch, both men are struck by an attraction that is both worrisome and unexpected. Not that it would stop Nat from bowling out Scott, whose first time at bat for the English national team ends with crash of Nat’s ball colliding with his wicket. Attraction turns to quite a bit more when, over a friendly drink and rather botched attempt at seduction, Scott invites Nat to spend a week with him at his family’s house near the Lake District. But with several oceans–-and a longtime sporting rivalry-–between them, can the love they’ve come to share stand the test of time and trials, or will it all turn to burning ashes?

Before I read this book I knew three things about the game of cricket. The first is that it’s called cricket. Second, that the little sticky things that the bowler is trying to hit is called a wicket. And thirdly, that it is the most incomprehensible game I have ever tried to watch. My anglophile obsession has carried me into many a deep dark corner of English life, but not even a nice cup of tea or my love of England was able to make that game watchable. But like the anglo-addict I am, I was drawn into reading this book by the lovely cover and the idea of a sporting Romeo/Juliet style love story.

What I found within the story, though, led me to believe that the cover was probably the best part of the whole book.

I just had a very hard time believing that these two, who have only known each other less than a week, fall hopelessly and madly in love–-and stay in almost constant loving bliss for the entire book. I am no stranger to the idea of insta-love, and while sometimes annoying in its unreality, it can be executed in such a way as to make the reader feel the heat, the connection between the two main characters. Not here. There was about as much chemistry between them as a cup of table salt in a jug of warm water. Handy for clearing out slugs or soothing a cough, but not a lot to inspire the more intense of feelings. It had the potential–-in so many different scenes, in so many different ways-–but like table salt, something was preventing the full-on flash, bang, pow of chemical combustion. It wasn’t till almost two-thirds through the book that I even began to feel anything between the two, and by then, I just couldn’t bring myself to care. Too much was skipped over in the first section of the book. Not enough time trying to build them up as a couple, and the lack of on-the-page romantic interaction–-and yes, sex is part of that-–just killed any hope for a believable romance.

This was not helped by the near teenage-level of angst and emotion that these two exhibited. I was thrown, quite a bit, by how the stoic Nat–-who at the beginning would not wince, less he show weakness-–spent a good portion of the book near tears. I’m all for being in touch with your emotions, but I prefer that they are your emotions that you’re in touch with-–not a hormonal teenager’s. Almost every twist, problem, or disaster was met by almost uncontrollable emotional-overload. And when they finally do start to act like adults, there doesn’t seem to be much of a catalyst for it. So either they were capable of it the whole time, or they just woke up one day and decided that almost breaking down in tears at the slightest provocation was not helping anyone.

Strangely enough, I think quite a few of the problems could have been solved if the author had stuck to a shorter timeline for the plot. With a story that covers almost six years it felt like you would barely get comfortable in a scene before you were jerked out and thrown three months in the future. If we had been given a novel that stayed with the characters long enough, in one setting, I don’t think it would have felt like we were being shown a highlights reel–-instead of the real story. Also, the amount of time spent in info-dumping, be it back-story or important conversations, may have been needed to move along the plot by giving large bursts of information, but it was too much. It felt like I was reading a briefing on the characters, and not learning about who they actually were.

About two-thirds of the way through, it did pick up. I was starting to get a feel for the real people that these characters were playing for the majority of the story, but by then it was too late to save the book, for me. I really did want to like this book, and there were moments–-when catching a bit of banter between Nat and Scott, or some of the players–-that I felt it was on the cusp of something, but it could never quite push itself over the line.

2.5 stars


This book was provided free in exchange for a fair and honest review for Love Bytes. Go there to check out other reviews, author interviews, and all those awesome giveaways. Click below.

[Nic · Rating 4 out of 5]

Okay, so cricket isn't my favourite sport. Yes, I'm an Aussie, I even have a test cricketer in my family tree but cricket is boring! Hubby buys tickets every January and every year I do everything to avoid having to go (luckily with great success!) Anyway, happily this story isn't too focused on the particularities of the game and most of the time is spent with the main characters as they deal with the challenges of their relationship.

This is a case of instalove as a champion fast bowler from Australia falls for an up-and-coming player from the English side. What follows is a long distance relationship that has career and life-altering impacts for the two men.

The last 25% of the book was actually the most enjoyable - it had more angst and a couple of cute twists where it looked like something bad happened but it hadn't really e.g. at one point it looks like one of the characters is going to be injured but it turns out the other one is. Then a different points it looks like both men had been unfaithful but this turns out not to be the case. (although after the third such incident it felt like this trick was slightly overused).

There is lots happening in this book and it covers a quite a long period of time (over 6 years). I was surprised by a significant event marriage at about the halfway point in the story as I wondered why such a climatic event would be at this midway point and what was then left. However the story continued to cover careers, injuries, world travel, family, sacrifices and love.

The characters are totally self-sacrificing, tripping over themselves to be the one to give up things for the other's happiness but I think I actually liked this in the context of this story. I liked the protectiveness they felt and the love they shared. I appreciated that these strong sportsman weren't afraid to cry, particularly Nat, the older of the two.

The insta-love was a bit unbelievable but acknowledged by the characters "How could he give up his whole life for a man with whom he had almost nothing in common and with whom he'd spent roughly five weeks since they met?" and I was a bit surprised by the choice made by one character to leave his country and coach for the other side. But I liked the cute cultural references and the way the story was told.

A sweet 3.5 stars.

I publish all my m/m reviews on my blog so if you want to see all my m/m reviews in one place come visit at Because Two Men Are Better Than One!

[GayListBookReviews · Rating 4 out of 5]

B+

This is the first true long distance relationship romance book I have ever read. It goes in depth into the hurt and pain of loving someone you can’t be with.

When Nat and Scott meet they are pulled together incredibly fast. There is not just passion between them, but also an understanding that whatever is between them is different, unique, and worth the time to explore.

There are love stories that span days and there are love stories that span months, but this one spans a lifetime. The author does it perfectly. We are lost in the pain and struggle of young love that is built on phone calls, emails, and the occasional visit.

Nat is older and has seen and lived a life alone. He is at the top of his game, but there is a question of his ability to make a life commitment with another man. His maturity and grace are what hold him and Scott together for a long time.

Scott is young, vibrant and full of passion and talent. He pushes Nat and lets him see that they do have a chance, that sometimes risk can be the best thing in the world. Even at a cost.

Then they come to terms with the fact that they mean enough to make some amazing sacrifices. This is where the story is even more beautiful. There is a journey of two men over a life of ups and downs, careers and family, all to make a life of joy together.

I loved that not everything was roses and daisies, but each part was hard fought. Both men knew the other was worth the sacrifice, the pain, and even the overwhelming happiness.

A love story that was more than just skin deep, it was a built on a foundation strong enough to last a lifetime.

Reviewed by Beans

[Lillian Francis]

OMG a cricket book. How can I not want to read this.

Makes me want to write more cricket stories of my own. Maybe I should dust off the old cricket stories and see if there is a longer story there.

[Rodney Ulyate · Rating 1 out of 5]

Cricket Web review

I have not—I confess it freely—been the most prolific contributor to this website's impressive book review, but I love our summer game and its letters as much as the next man, and surely no less than my colleagues. I do not, however, repose much faith in its fiction. The short stories are fair to middling, and Conan Doyle, Wodehouse and Ian Peebles have contributed memorably, but my only previous novel-length experience, before the one under review, was of Maurice Moiseiwitsch's A Sky-Blue Life (1953). When last I saw this penny dreadful, it was windmilling out of my bedroom window. It was resuscitated in 2006 by the misguided people at Coldspring. Avoid it.

One area in which Burning Ashes, H. Lewis-Foster's debut novel, represents a clear improvement over Mr Moiseiwitsch's is that she knows whereof she writes, or only rarely betrays her ignorance. In A Sky-Blue Life, we read of a yorker-length delivery "liable to bounce up under [the batsman's] chin and knock him cold." Ms Lewis-Foster may refer to Test Matches, appallingly, as "test matches," but she can tell a googly from a golliwog, and she does not write this, for example, of a long-hop: "It seemed a loose one, but that was possibly deceptive the way Goodger could make them turn or hang." As John Arlott observed, rather generously, in his Wisden review, "When Mr Moiseiwitsch's characters are talking of life or rivalry, sex or ambition, they are convincing; as cricketers they live in an incredible world."

She may know more about cricket, but he is the better writer. And I can contrive no more damning verdict than that. Burning Ashes does nothing, in other words, to elevate my grim opinion of cricket-themed novels. Had I but taken, before proceeding, a cursory glance at her publisher's back-catalogue, I might have been more tolerant. Dreamspinner Press deals in "Gay Romance Novels and Short Stories." Among its professed best-sellers is a volume entitled More Than Everything by "Cardeno C." (I, too, would have hidden behind an anonym.) One thought at first—or better say one hoped—that this would take the form of a rejoinder to Slavoj Žižek. One was wrong:

As a teenager, Charlie "Chase" Rhodes meets Scott Boone and falls head over heels in love with the popular, athletic boy next door. Charlie thinks he's living the dream when Scott says he feels the same way. But his dreams are dashed when Scott moves unexpectedly and doesn't return.

Then there is Bone Rider by "J. Fally," which explains itself (or attempts to do so) in these terms:

Riley Cooper is on the run. Misha Tokarev, the love of his life, turned out to be an assassin for the Russian mob, and when it comes to character flaws, Riley draws the line at premeditated murder. Alien armour system McClane is also on the run, for reasons that include accidentally crashing a space ship into Earth and evading US military custody. A failed prototype, McClane was scheduled for destruction. Sabotaging the ship put an end to that, but McClane is dubbed a bone rider for good reason—he can't live without a host body. That's why he first stows away in Riley's truck and then in Riley himself. Their reluctant partnership soon evolves into something much more powerful—and personal—than either of them could have imagined.

Burning Ashes is not nearly so woeful as any of that. Indeed, if we bear in mind the inherent shortcomings of the genre, it may fairly be said of Ms Lewis-Foster that she possesses a rare art: the art of making a bad story plausible. She has a few good lines—one day I shall plagiarise "wine-warmed smile"—but she cannot resist a cliché: Tours are invariably described as "whirlwind," bodies "quiver in anticipation," hearts are set "racing with excitement," and knights don "shining armour." It may be true that we all have a novel inside of us, but better in than out in the present case. Burning Ashes appears to have been typed rather than written. If so, it was a great deal easier to type than it is to read. Its tone is vulgar; it lacks invention. It is designed to thrill the repressed and soothe the subliterate, and no doubt they will be thrilled and soothed. Nature, I fear, did not intend Ms Lewis-Foster to write.

Martin Amis has observed that you can tell a lot about a writer or typist of fiction from the care she takes over the names of her characters. Ms Lewis-Foster might have given hers more thought. The cricketing escutcheon is ornamented with such nominal masterworks as "Arthur Shrewsbury," "Curtly Ambrose" and "Warwick Armstrong." It gains nothing from the fictional additions of "Charlie Greer" and "Tom Gardener." No-one in Burning Ashes is quite so unfortunate as "Maurice Moiseiwitsch"—and "Scott Alverley" isn't bad—but I cannot abide "Nat Seddon." I am tempted to adapt what Neville Cardus (unimprovable name) wrote about George Gaukrodger:

I regarded him (or rather his name—which amounted to the same thing) with open derision. "Gaukrodger!" I would murmur. And to this present time I have remained unshaken in the view that "Gaukrodger" was a heathenish name for a cricketer; I am glad he never played for England.

Take comfort, Cardus: Nat Seddon plays for Australia. He is a rampaging fast bowler, ad modum Mitchell Johnson. His appearance is not described in any great detail, but in his English co-protagonist, Scott Alverley, we have a young batsman of curly blonde hair, "fine cheekbones," "honey-coloured skin" and "cherry-pink lips"—a fictive Joe Root. Drafted into the national side for the final one-day international of an Ashes summer, "he'd never been so excited in his life," but Seddon cleans him up first ball:

But it wasn't the crowd or the occasion or the quality of the bowling that had been his undoing. His legs had turned to jelly and his brain to mush because of one unforgettable look.
When his eyes met Nat's, Scott saw something in his chestnut gaze he'd never seen before. He'd seen looks of lust from boys at school who hadn't even tried to hide it, but this was lust and warmth and concern all rolled into one. He'd heard the rumours about Nat Seddon, and now he knew they were true.

Alverley and Seddon meet at a bar after the match. There ensues a distraught and tempestuous romance, and a consummation at once sickly and dull. It is impossible to empathise with these mono-dimensional heroes. For most of the novel, their lives are bliss, which is another way of saying that nothing happens. What follows is exemplary of the dialogue:

Scott smiled curiously. "What's so funny?"
"I was just wondering what your mam and dad make of us two."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, ending up with an Aussie bloke and a common-as-muck Geordie for in-laws. That's seriously bad luck."
Tootsie barked excitedly as Tom and Nat spluttered into laughter. Scott attempted to keep a serious face.
"Mum and Dad love you both to bits. You know that."
The two men stopped laughing to look incredulously at Scott.
"Okay, Mum loves you both to bits, and Dad loves you ... in his very own way."
When Debs walked in through the door, Tom and Nat were helpless with laughter. The dog was yelping, desperate to join in the fun, and Abi sat, merrily bemused by it all.

This is revolting. (The dog's name is Tootsie, for goodness' sake.) Unfortunately, as I say, it is also representative. The bottom-numbing banalities of married life, even of gay married life, are not the stuff of literature. At most they make for padding. (And Ms Lewis-Foster loves her padding like I love my pudding, or as Fred Susskind loved his pad-play.)

At several points, however, disbelief is knocked from its complacent suspension. When Alverley presses Seddon to describe "the man of [his] teenage dreams," he identifies a fictitious Australian captain named Bob Tatler:

He knew the successful skipper wasn't the most glamorous of players, but Tatler had seemed like a good bloke, someone you could talk to and rely on. His wife and kids were a slight drawback, of course, but it hadn't stopped Nat dreaming about him, and quite frequently too.

This might have been redeemed (in mirth-value) had Ms Lewis-Foster opted instead for the real-world Australian captain Bob Simpson. But it remains the case that no queer stripling ever indulged a fantasy about an older man merely because he "seemed like a good bloke."

Sex features heavily, as one would expect (and as the above may have intimated). There is none of the toe-curling prurience of Edmund White, but one might be forgiven for thinking that sex is this novel's raison d'être. It treads without care that fine and disappearing line between romance and pornography. In neither genre is your reviewer conversant, but I would venture to suggest that its eroticism is passable. For here, too, Ms Lewis-Foster knows whereof she writes; I cringed only thrice at the sex itself. It is when sex is entwined with romance that things get a bit gross:

Sinking onto Scott's chest, Nat thought he could lie like this every night for the rest of his life. On top of Scott, inside him, with him in any and every way possible. Then he remembered, with a sickening pain in his gut, that this was their last night together....
Nat wondered how many times he could tell Scott he loved him. The answer? Never enough....
His body was arching, his face contorting in waves of impossible rapture. And he was telling Scott that he loved him, again and again and again...

Kingsley Amis (father of Martin) would have described this as "cock-crinkling." But presumably one would not buy a book like Burning Ashes were one not keen on that kind of thing. And at times, I must admit, it is quite titillating. Reader, do not deny that you thrill to the idea of a fast bowler's venting his sexual frustration like so:

Nat almost pitied the poor batsmen who'd faced him over the past few weeks. Even his own players were reluctant to take him on in practice. His bowling had always been aggressive, but now he was positively lethal. He always kept to the letter of the game's laws, but he knew he was pushing their spirit to the limit.
He couldn't help it. To say he was frustrated was an understatement. He'd only spent one week with Scott, but in that time Scott had become part of him: his voice, his laugh, the tickle of his hair against Nat's cheek. Nat could still feel the flicker of Scott's tongue, the touch of his fingers, his throbbing tightness closing around him. If he didn't see Scott soon, Nat might be the first bowler to decapitate a man with a cricket ball.

Or of a father thus scolding his son:

"You stupid, stupid boy. Do you honestly think you'll stay in the side once this gets out? You could have picked anyone for your little fling, but no, it had to be an Australian bloody cricketer. Is this why you gave up Oxford? For a shag with some muscle-bound moron? You utterly brainless child."

Charming, as I say, but ill-written and forgettable, Burning Ashes is cricket's first gay novel. It is more gay, though, than cricketing. The sport itself plays a minor role, as a foil or backdrop to the main action, which occurs mainly in the bedroom. This puts it beyond the reach and interest of most visitors to this site, but it does furnish an excuse for a long-overdue discussion of cricket's reserve about sexuality.

Our sporting codes are fast becoming more open and more liberal. Football has its anti-bigotry drives; rugby has Gareth Thomas. But cricket is oddly reticent. When Steven Davies came out in 2011, he was the first and is so far the only professional to do so. This brave and admirable decision—"If I can just help one person to deal with their sexuality, then that's all I care about"—was met with a rampart of silence. He has not played for England since. True, he suffered little or none of the abuse levelled at Thomas, and is considerably less famous in his code than was Thomas in his. It is also true that rugby is a "manlier" game than cricket (at least to those who locate their manhood in grunting noises and excessive physical contact). Even so, the silence is well-nigh conspiratorial.

When Steve Waugh was asked how he would respond, as Australian captain, to the revelation of a gay player in the dressing room, he gave the most awkward answer I have ever heard him give. This is curious. Cricket, notoriously, is "a gentleman's game." It ought, if anything, to be at the forefront in these matters. It is difficult to believe that Davies is an outlier; more likely there are and have been scores like him. Keith Booth has made defensible inferences about George Lohmann, and some of what Cardus wrote about Ted McDonald would erect an eyebrow today. But the literature of the game touches only obliquely on the subject, if it touches on it at all. The main achievement, then, of Burning Ashes—its only achievement—could be to break a silence that is calcifying into a taboo.

Update: The outing this week, or rather the coming out, of professional footballer Thomas Hitzlsperger underscores my conclusion.

[Theodora IK · Rating 4 out of 5]

The relationship span years from first meeting, marriage, and problems within marriage to its happy ending. There was no infidelity problem which was a good plus, they were cute together and loved each other a lot.

[Dr Scott · Rating 5 out of 5]

Superb piece of writing

This book HAD to be given five stars - or if it had been, say stars out of ten, possibly the full ten here!

I found this a book which was very difficult to put down. All of the characters were very likeable, except one whom I think was nicknamed 'Deano' although I may be wrong, he was the member of the England team though. The story was believable, showing an insight into how hard it must be to be the partner or spouse of some who plays cricket for their country at national/professional level, and not only them but all of the support staff who read as numerous. I really did feel for Scott when he received the news he did from his consultant, not just Scott but Nat too.

If you are like me and like a book with a HEA ending, this is the book for you. If you are not a lover of sport, you have no need to worry. The book doesn't focus on the sport, although it is mentioned a lot as this is the main characters livelihood, but there is certainly not a lot of mention of full matches, just little snippets to keep the storyline alive.

Go ahead and buy this book as I would say that you will not be disappointed. It would be absolutely brilliant if the author were able to write a couple of followup novels, as at the end of this book there is changes, and it would be great to follow the life the chaps have after leaving there sport behind. Not to do as the old adage goes, 'that's not cricket', so here I find myself challenging the author to write maybe two or perhaps three, depending on how the creative juices flow, following the two young leads as their new lives progress, we could even see Sam and his family emigrate from Oz to the UK, investing in Scott's business, helping his expansion plans, and Scott and Nat get older. If this were accomplished, then that would be cricket.

[Chutchy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Debut novel? I don't think so! Too good! I loved this book. It took us on a journey of love, acceptance by fathers although grudgingly, fam and friend support, dealing with those strikes life deals or bowls sometimes. It was wonderful. The post trauma depression was dealt with in a sensitive way, and showed how love and support can go a long way towards someone healing. Loved the way both MC's looked out for each other and just loved. They were not afraid to put their likes and dislikes out there instead of holding them in. There was communication and mutual respect. I could on and on, but I won't.

Good job!