Tag Archives: erotica

Book Review of For Real, by Alexis Hall

I received a copy of For Real, by Alexis Hall from Netgalley.

Description from Goodreads:
Laurence Dalziel is worn down and washed up, and for him, the BDSM scene is all played out. Six years on from his last relationship, he’s pushing forty and tired of going through the motions of submission.

Then he meets Toby Finch. Nineteen years old. Fearless, fierce, and vulnerable. Everything Laurie can’t remember being.

Toby doesn’t know who he wants to be or what he wants to do. But he knows, with all the certainty of youth, that he wants Laurie. He wants him on his knees. He wants to make him hurt, he wants to make him beg, he wants to make him fall in love.

The problem is, while Laurie will surrender his body, he won’t surrender his heart. Because Toby is too young, too intense, too easy to hurt. And what they have—no matter how right it feels—can’t last. It can’t mean anything.

It can’t be real.

Review:
Another stellar read from Alexis Hall. I really shouldn’t be surprised. I’m getting pretty close to card-carrying fangirl status, if I’m honest. I thought this one was quite different from anything else I’d read by him; Shackles maybe coming closest. (Though, I haven’t read his whole catalogue.) But I was skeptical picking it up because of the BDSM theme. I simply haven’t had great luck with such books.

I get that BDSM is having its moment in the book world, right now. There seem to be an unusual number of ‘romances’ coming out using it as a schtick…or a theme, maybe. But I find that as much as I like the idea of it, I’m almost always disappointed, if not disgusted by them.

Because, here’s the thing, I don’t know what it’s like in a real-life BDSM pairing, but the overwhelming number of books I’ve read with BDSM read like what my dear mother, who despises anything that removes the sacred from the sexual, calls ‘mutual masterbation.’ In other words, the characters in the scenes feel not like two people engaging in a meaningful way and having sex with one another, but two people individually using the other as an object for masterbation, connected by nothing more than proximity and ocular availability. And I rarely find that anywhere near as sexy as it’s intended to be. (My own interpretation of Dalziel’s jadedness, coloured by my own experiences of course, was that he was sensing this same tendency to force a partner into a fantasy mold that you act upon, instead of engage with on a personal, human level.)

This is where For Real shined for me. I understood both Dalziel and Toby’s needs and how/why they filled those needs for one another. I saw how hard they each worked to make the other happy and I understood the BDSM aspect of their relationship as something other than a fantasy one individual perpetuates on another. I didn’t need a narrator to repeatedly reassure me that the scene wasn’t abuse because the sub really was enjoying it, because I could see that and I understood why. And. It. Was. Beautiful.

Both Dalziel and Toby were wonderful characters. I especially appreciated that they weren’t flawlessly gorgeous people, beautiful to eachother, sure, but Dalziel was blunt and often angry looking and Toby was too skinny and had acne. I really love finding relatable, normalish people in books. I also thought Toby’s teenaged voice was marvellous, though I was admittedly skeptical about a man/boy who got a D and an F on their GCSEs having the vocabulary, poetic familiarity and general depth of thought of an Oxford scholar. But I was able to roll with it.

There were some fun side characters—the bisexual best friends with an obviously open relationship, Angel with the purposefully vague gender, Dominic the Dom (who played the alto-sax and seemed to be an unbearably nice guy), the free-love mother, the academics. Man I’d love to see Jasper and Sherry get their own book.

And as always, Hall managed to rip my heart out with the unintentional cruelties of lost love. I was never sure if I wanted Robert to suffer horribly or not—not for ending a relationship necessarily, relationships die, but for not seeing the ongoing injury his actions cause. Does such a person deserve to go on and be happy if he’s so unaware of his own destructive wake? Or am I just truly so unforgiving?

My complaints are few on this one: the overly intellectual nineteen-year-old I mentioned above, the fact that anyone as open and honest as Toby would be hard to find in real life, the fact that I didn’t feel I got to know Dalziel outside of his submission very well, and a couple of the scenes took on such a dream-like quality as to stand out as somewhat unmatched to the rest of the book.

All in all, I loved it. I’m not one who usually rereads books. My recall is such that I remember too much to ever have that fresh new feeling with a story. But unusually, I could see myself reading this again just to re-experience it.

Book Review of Ascension (The Demon Hunters, #1), by A.S. Fenichel

I picked up a copy of A. S. Fenichel‘s Ascension from the Amazon free list.

Description from Goodreads:
When demons threaten London, Lady Belinda answers the call.

Lord Gabriel Thurston returns home from war to find his fiancée is not the sweet young girl he left behind. She’s grown into a mysterious woman who guards her dark secrets well. When he sees her sneaking away from a ball, he’s convinced it’s for a lover’s rendezvous. Following her to London’s slums, Gabriel watches in horror as his fiancée ruthlessly slay a man.

Lady Belinda Carlisle’s only concern was her dress for the next ball—until demons nearly killed her and changed everything. A lady by day, and a demon hunter by night, she knows where her duty lies. Ending her betrothal is the best way to protect Gabriel from death by a demon’s hand.

Gabriel soon realizes, like him, Belinda has been fighting for her country. He joins in the fight, determined to show her that their love can endure, stronger than ever.

Review:
I will warn you in advance that this ‘review’ is going to be at least half rant, and not of the fangirl variety.

For me this book was a fail, fail, fail. It is so completely anachronistic as to be all but unreadable. Honestly, the only reason I made it to the end (and it was often in doubt that I would) was so that I could write a complete review of it.

Lets start with the sex, shall we, since there was so much more than the plot could reasonably support. It was a painful exercise in contradictions. You had the expected wide-eyed, innocent virgin who asked some version of ‘what was that?’ when she had an orgasm and inquires if a man’s will too—so, essentially the cliché, child-like lack of knowledge about her own body. Gag. But she also acknowledged and was familiar with the feelings in her stomach and loins, the pooling of heat, bla, bla, bla (this tended to happen randomly and in completely non-erotic settings, such that it felt quite jarring) and she was completely without shame, embarrassment or timidity when it came to sex. I’m pretty sure a character needs to be one or the other, both doesn’t jell.

Or how about the nude, outdoor anal play, instigated by her, on their second time together. Let me remind you, this was an unmarried, virginal member of the ton in Regency England. Even if she was a member of the Company and had accepted the equal status of men and women therein (which, lets face it, couldn’t actually exist in Regency England, as it would require an entire unlearning and relearning of gender and class norms of the time) there was still nothing in her position and upbringing that would allow that to occur with complete aplomb.

Nor his for that matter, there was no reason to think he, who’d also been raised in the same sexually repressed era, would look at his virginal (ok, they’d had sex once) fiancé and think nothing of (and expect her to think nothing of) shoving a finger up her ass. Seriously!

And even if you remove all of the issues around the time period’s insistence on avoiding temptation of all sorts (which means all of her comfort with being naked in front of him was questionable) there is still the simple human issue of doing something new and theoretically unfamiliar for the first time. Shouldn’t she be nervous or uncertain in her responses or concerned with her reputation (we’re both told and shown that she tries to maintain it outside of the Company)? Nope, not even once. Not even when (I assume) he broke through her hymn. (Not that that was mentioned or anything, wouldn’t want any realism to interfere or anything.)

And someone explain to me how her willingness to have sex with him proved to him that she hadn’t allowed herself to “be ruined” during his time in France. I don’t follow the logic.

I’m sorry author, you simply can’t write a novel with period costumes and setting but modern mores and expect it to fly. No, nope not at all. It’s painful and off-putting, to say it nicely.

Additionally, the attempt at period dialogue simply read as stiff and overly formal. Names and endearments, such as My Dear, were used too frequently and the lack of contractions chaffed. The writing itself is simplistic and not particular engaging.

Ok, so, moving past the simple fact that this book did not settle into the time period of it’s setting and thus felt arrogant and as if it was making claims moral superior, the plot itself was weak. There was little character development and the plot basically boiled down to, ‘you’ve been told Belinda is the best at everything, so obviously the demons want her.’ All that sex and relationship talk (which is about 2/3 of the book) got in the way of what little plot progression there was. And what there was was incredibly predictable.

The book was also repetitive. The reader is told the same thing multiple times and I swear Gabriel and Belinda had the marriage talk about 30 times. Lastly, the editing could use some attention.

Just about the only praise I have for this book is that Gabriel was really sweet and the author was obviously trying to create a strong female character (a fact that I appreciate).

Book Review of The Stables, #1 & 2, by C. E. Kilgore

I downloaded the first two books of C. E. Kilgore‘s The Stables series from the Amazon free list. At the time of posting, the first was still free. The series description is as such:

Set in Dallas, Texas, this is a Contemporary Romance series with BDSM elements and mature, atypical themes, including physical disfigurement, Autism, and OCD. Each book will be a complete story, no cliffhangers.

Description from Goodreads:
Emma’s autism allows her to see the world inside out and right past the physical scars that Brandon had begun to think would be the only thing the world would ever see.

Review:
If I was going to use a star rating on this book I’d want to give it a 2, but would probably allow a 2.5. The reason is that the writing is fine and it’s probably even a fine book, conforming to genre standards etc. However, it pretty much pissed me off at every single turn!

I’m struggling to explain why without writing a 2,000 word ranty review. I’ll start with the autism aspect. No, first I’ll state for the record that I think Kilgore had a wonderful idea in writing a series involving non-normalized individuals. Incorporating mental health issues and physical abnormalities into main characters is a laudable goal. I only wish she had actually accomplished it.

Now I’ll address Emma’s autism. Not once in the entire book (other than the first sentence of the blurb) is the word autism used. Autistic is used twice. In this sentence: “The Fed’s brain-doctor thought she might be autistic, but they don’t really know for sure. Then again they label everyone autistic, thesedays.” That’s it for the entire book for autism. I don’t know about you, but I find it less than compelling.

Perhaps you’re thinking a diagnosis doesn’t need to be named to exist in a character. I might agree with that, except that Emma doesn’t seem to self-identify as autistic and she doesn’t display any behaviours that are particularly autistic. In fact, none of her thoughts, actions, or behaviours fall outside of the realm of standard, fragile, broken heroine in need of a man to set her world to rights.

More to the point, what Emma’s every description screams is the standard child-like heroine of 4 bazillion other contemporary romances. Even when being introduced into BDSM she’s clad as such:

Her curly hair has been pinned up into bouncing caramel ringlet pigtails and she’s dressed all in white. White leather. White. Fucking. Leather! A front-laced corset leads down into a pair of frilly bloomers, which then leads down into matching garter belts and white lace stockings. There are tiny, pink bows everywhere, including on the bands of her white Mary-Jane shoes. White leather bracers with lace frills and a matching collar complete the look, and in her hand is a thin, white riding crop.

It’s all angelic innocence and virginal naiveté, even in a BDSM club. As if the more child-like the heroine, the more appealing she is. Gah! Basically, everything I hate about contemporary romances in one place.

Plus, no one, not even the author, addressed the fact that this particular style is an adult version of what her mother used to dress her in to pimp her to older men as a child. (Or at least to attract older men into her embezzlement schemes.) Yes, lets accidentally sexualise her history abuse. Sounds like a great idea.

Instead of providing an empowered, sexual agent who happens to be on the autism spectrum we’re given a broken, abused, mentally unstable woman. It plays into the same tired record of female mental fragility that I hate with a vitriolic passion I’m not sure I can adequately express.

What the book feels like instead, is that the author did her market research to find what was trending at the moment and came across BDSM and autism. She then went through and painted autism onto the surface of a preexisting M/F erotic romance. (Kind of like what a lot of M/M romance authors do to sell M/F romances to M/M readers.) Because honestly, what the BDSM themes have to do with the autism theme is a complete mystery. I think the book would have been vastly improved by choosing one or the other and not both.

An author can call a character anything she likes and have it be true. They’re the author. But beyond Kilgore’s assertion that Emma is autistic, I don’t see it. What Emma is is an archetype of a child-sexpot and personally, I want to read about adult, fully integrated women in sexual roles.

The book also has insta-love, which I hate. Insta-trust, which baffles me (and kind of pisses me off, too). A group of five childhood friends who all grew up to have essentially the same sexual kinks (six if you count Crow), which mystifies me. The required lecture and training in BDSM, which bores me. The endless repetitive drivel about being awed and blown away, which irritates me. The cliché scene where the rich man takes the woman shopping for clothing, which makes me roll my eyes, and an ending so sappy I damn near choked on it, which frankly disgusts me.

So, that all makes this book a complete failure for me. However, to be fair, I did actually like the characters (including the side characters) and really appreciated the fact that BDSM wasn’t presented as abusive and humiliating. (I know that’s some people’s kink, but it’s not mine and I appreciated not finding it here.) That’s what saved the book from a 1 star, if I’m honest.

Description from Goodreads:
Ian’s OCD draws him to Charlie at the same time it’s pushing him away from her, but Charlie isn’t about to let him control the way their relationship unfolds.

Review:
Hey, Yo, alert the presses! Apparently dysfunctional, clinical OCD can be cured by liberal application of a hot pussy, by a woman who can count to four. Who knew it was so easy?

OK, fine, the book doesn’t claim Charlie cured Ian’s OCD. It’s just that all his symptoms seemed to go away. The reason I picked up The Stable series in the first place was to see disabilities integrated into romance. But Ian’s OCD is pretty much just of the stereotypical, what you pick up from the interent sort. I sensed no deeper understanding of the illness, thus, no depth to the character dealing with it (at least not once he met Charlie). I’m not claiming any expertise or anything, but I didn’t feel the book, which is ostensibly intending to give people with OCD a romantic character to relate to, accomplished that.

On the bright side, one of my biggest complaints about book one was that Emma didn’t actually appear to be autistic at all. In this one, I still thought she acted like a child, not like an autistic, but at lest people (though notably never Emma) discussed her autism, so it at least felt relevant.

But there was one big drawback for me (and it’s a BIG one for me). I was so excited to see that Ian was a sub and Charlie a dom. I got all giddy at the thought of the female being in charge and obviously strong (as well as allowing a man to be something other than an alpha). I was majorly let down. Even in a book set up to let the woman dominate she STILL ended up sobbing in the man’s arms over her past traumas, as he corrected everything in her life. Her control in bed also basically came down to servicing him. So, no real subversion of standard gender tropes after all. Gah, really? So disappointing.

Like book one, the writing was fine. It could use a little more editing, but it’s not a mess or anything. And despite the fact that the author and I obviously have different ideas of what constitutes a satisfying romance, I do like the characters. This leaves me in the odd position of having been annoyed at this book (which is an improvement over pissed off at the first one, yeah?), but still curious to see how (’cause obviously they will) Saul, Austin and Vic get their happy ending in book 3.