Should be called Lovelorn
I was looking for something along the lines of Adam Shoalts and I came across this at the local bookstore. For some reason, I didn't really take note of the word "love" in the title. The dust jacket and blurbs forcefully centre the ostensible fact that this is a book about the north, its ecology, wildfires, and solitude.
But it isn't really about that. It's a memoir about Moyles's love life, in the end. Oh sure, there's a good deal about her staffing a few seasons at the lookout; but it's almost as though Moyles can't wait to get back to talking about her African partner and the other men who come to be interested in her. At one point, while knocking about her gear, it's revealed to all and sundry that she's packed a vibrator. Yeah, it's that kind of book.
The first few chapters had me engrossed, until love and its vicissitudes -- the partner, other men, her family -- dampen things for her, and thus for the reader. Just what exactly was the tower like all day? Her cabin? The routine? We do know what goes on, but it's all rather unstructured, as though to reflect the boredom of it all that plagues her.
When she breaks up with her partner (not a spoiler -- it's telescoped early on) her parents are inexplicably upset with her. Very upset. To the extent that her mother is scolding, and they undergo a few months of being distant. What? Her parents did that? Wow. I mean, if my parents ever treated me like that, I'd make it quite clear that, one, it's not really their business, and, two, how dare they judge my choices? It's quite incredible.
What really sank the book, for me, is when the ex-partner says to her: "Everything happens for a reason." Cliches like these bubble barely beneath the surface of the memoir, occasionally and unfortunately appearing from time to time. It's that kind of book.
Moyles is a gifted writer. I only wish she had delivered the book her publisher promises.