The Wheel That Binds

I wanted to like this more than I did. The writing is pleasant when it dwells on tools and smells — Ada’s shop scenes are evocative — but the plot feels too neat. The sabotage and the near-disaster at Raven’s Fold are touched on but never fully mined for suspense; the reveal is predictable and the resolution (everyone gathers, builds the communal wheel, learns to forgive) wraps up suspiciously fast. Characters can veer into archetype: Ada the stoic craftsman, Tommy the eager apprentice, Accordion the comic mule — charming, but not always three-dimensional. Pacing lags in the middle where the town politics are sketched rather than dramatized. If you’re after a cozy, comforting tale about community and craftsmanship, this will do the trick, but if you want grit, surprises, or deeper moral complication, it may feel a bit surface-level.

This story surprised me in how tender it is beneath its rough-hewn surface. Ada Thorn is the kind of protagonist who doesn’t announce her goodness — she shows it by the way she teaches, by how she fixes a wheel and, in doing so, fixes a relationship. The near-disaster at Raven’s Fold is a smart catalyst: it threatens the town’s livelihood and forces long-simmering rivalries to either harden or give way. I loved the communal wheel scene where rival ranches literally and figuratively come together; it’s a satisfying culmination of the book’s themes of survival, craft, and forgiveness. There are nice flourishes throughout — the smell of molasses, the stray sunbeam on dust motes, Accordion wearing the mayor’s hat — that ground the narrative and offer moments of real charm. The pacing is deliberate, which suits the subject matter: mending takes time. One of my favorite aspects was watching apprentices grow under Ada’s patience; the passing down of skill felt authentic and moving. Overall, it’s a quietly powerful western that celebrates workmanship and the slow work of healing a small town.

Okay, I came for the mule with the wrong name and stayed for the wheel porn. Ada’s hands are basically the star of the show and honestly, deservedly so — those lines about her forearms and the bench teaching her to be ‘quick and blunt’ are chef’s kiss. The book has a sweet undercurrent of neighborly grudges getting sanded down alongside spokes and rims. I laughed at Tommy’s clumsy “riff” on the bronze and loved how Accordion manages to steal a scene without a single line. There’s a little soapbox moment about community bonding when the ranches come together, but it lands because you care about the people in Drybrush. Felt like a warm campfire story but with actual work being done. Recommended for anyone who likes their westerns with heart, humor, and a little tool-time romance. 🔧🐴

Short and sweet: I adored the tactile world-building. Ada’s shop scene — coal smoke, iron filings, molasses — made Drybrush feel lived in. The book balances humor (Accordion!) with quieter, weightier themes of forgiveness and communal repair. The apprenticeships are handled lovingly; the communal wheel is a lovely, believable centerpiece. A cozy, earnest western that sticks with you.

The Wheel That Binds is an elegant little western about workmanship and the way small acts of repair bind a community. The prose is precise when it needs to be — Ada’s hands, the anvil, the sound of bronze that ‘does—if you hit it right’ — and generous when the story widens into the town’s needs: trestles, rival ranches, apprenticeships. I appreciated the author's restraint: the sabotage and near-disaster at Raven’s Fold provide stakes without turning the book into a melodrama. Instead, the tension is handled through pacing of scenes (rebuilding, teaching, bargaining) and the careful construction of the communal wheel as both practical object and civic ceremony. Tommy Lark’s eagerness and Accordion’s comic moments are used to ground us emotionally. If you’re interested in craft as metaphor — how skill, patience, and good hands hold a town together — this delivers. The only nitpick is occasional exposition about the town’s politics that could be tightened, but mostly this is a satisfying, thoughtful read.

I fell for Ada Thorn on the first page — that opening image of her setting the crooked wheel right with “a curse, two blows and a laugh” is pure character in three strokes. The book smells like oil and coffee and molasses the way the excerpt does, and I loved how physical the writing is: forearms like old leather, spokes like crooked teeth. The community scenes are warm and lived-in — Accordion in the mayor’s straw hat had me laughing out loud — but it’s the softer moments that stayed with me, like Ada teaching Tommy without ever really saying she cares, or the way the communal wheel becomes a symbol of repair for more than wood and iron. There’s humor, danger (the near-disaster at Raven’s Fold still hangs over the town), and real skill shown in the craft scenes. This is a gentle, sturdy western about mending things that go beyond hardware. Highly recommended if you like character-driven stories and a strong sense of place. 🙂