Tag Archives: lgbtq

Skin Lane

Book Review of Skin Lane, by Neil Bartlett

This is how I set myself up for a perfect afternoon. Yoga pants all day, candy, several cups of tea and weather that barely broke 85°, after several weeks of near triple digits. Life is good.

Skin Lane

Skin Lane, by Neil Bartlett came highly recommended, so I bought myself a physical copy. (I don’t think it’s even available in e-format.)

Description from Goodreads:

At forty-seven, Mr. F’s working life on London’s Skin Lane is one governed by calm, precision, and routine. So when he starts to have recurring nightmares, he does his best to ignore them. The images that appear in his dreams are disturbing—Mr. F can’t think of where they have come from. After all, he’s an ordinary middle-aged man.

As London’s backstreets begin to swelter in the long, hot summer of 1967, Mr. F’s nightmares become an obsession. A chance encounter adds a face to the body that nightly haunts him, and the torments of his restless nights lead him—and the reader—deeper into a terrifying labyrinth of rage, desire, and shame.

Review:

I don’t think I can manage a real review of this. The best I can manage is a rambling wordgasim. There were passages in this book that left me so shattered that all I could do was read and re-read them, occasionally searching places to share. Like this part on page 46:

By the time he was what would now be called a teenager, his father, never quite sure what a widower was meant to do with children anyway, had taken to spending every evening alone in the front room with the evening paper; this meant that although by the age of sixteen Mr. F knew how to contribute a week’s wages to the household budget, how to scrub and bleach and to cook, no one had ever taught him how to feel. Indeed, the only real lesson his father taught him was that feelings should never be spoken of; his dead mother, for instance, was never mentioned, and there were no pictures of her in the house. When the younger of his brothers was killed, it was Mr. F who went to the door to get the telegram, and when he had given it to his father to read, the old man (men were old at fifty in those days) had done nothing but sit, stony-faced in his usual arm-chair, never saying a word, waiting until night had fallen and the house was dark before walking slowly upstairs, closing his bedroom door behind him, and shouting out his lonely, foul-mouthed, broken-hearted grief to the empty bed on which his children had been conceived. That night, Mr. F again found himself sitting on the stairs, with his head on one side, wondering what the noises meant. Wondering why the door had to be closed before they could be spoken.

It’s a little long for sharing, but I was so effected by it that I tried posting it on Goodreads. When it didn’t fit and I couldn’t bring myself to prune it, I read it to my husband and posted it on my personal Facebook page instead. I needed someone to share the experience with me before I could move on. This pattern of mundane, mundane, mundane, emotional gut-punch was one that Bartlett used to great effect on several occasions and it never failed to enrapture me.

The use of language and pacing to elicit feelings was sublime. I didn’t even mind that the pace was slow and the story really a little on the depressing or melancholy side. The luscious prose made up for any small detractions I could find. Made up for the fact that Beauty was a little shit, of course he was. He’s a pampered 16-year-old boy, unable to grasp the gravity of the situation he founds himself in; practically unaware of it really. Made up for Mr. F’s occasionally un-relatable lack of emotions, which let’s be fair, was instrumental to his character.

Honestly, I have nothing constructive to say. Go read it. There were moments I didn’t like in the book, but by the last page all I could do was curl the book into my chest and hug it to myself. It will go on my to-keep shelf. It should probably go on yours too.

Book Review of Clockwork Heart (Clockwork Love #1), by Heidi Cullinan

Clockwork HeartClockwork Heart, by Heidi Cullinan, is one of many books I bought in the sale Samhain Publishing had last year, when they claimed to be closing.

Description from Goodreads:
As the French army leader’s bastard son, Cornelius Stevens enjoys a great deal of latitude. But when he saves an enemy soldier using clockwork parts, he’s well aware he risks hanging for treason. That doesn’t worry him half as much, however, as the realization he’s falling for his patient.

Johann Berger never expected to survive his regiment’s suicide attack on Calais, much less wake up with mechanical parts. To avoid discovery, he’s forced to hide in plain sight as Cornelius’s lover—a role Johann finds himself taking to surprisingly well.

When a threat is made on Cornelius’s life, Johann learns the secret of the device implanted in his chest—a mythical weapon both warring countries would kill to obtain. Caught up in a political frenzy, in league with pirates, dodging rogue spies, mobsters and princesses with deadly parasols, Cornelius and Johann have no time to contemplate how they ended up in this mess. All they know is, the only way out is together—or not at all.

Review:
It kept me entertained for an evening, but I didn’t love it. I struggled with the first half a lot. I felt like the challenge of narrating a story in English, with one character that spoke French and another that spoke German left Cullinan no choice but to tell everything and show almost nothing. Honestly, I almost just gave up on the book. But eventually, after the two men had lived together for months, one finally mentioned he spoke English and the other went, “Oh, I do too.” As if you wouldn’t try every language you know, especially if you speak several, to communicate with the person you’re living with!

Basically, that is the level of believability with this story. I had to suspend a lot of disbelief as either irrational, overly convenient, or just basically unbelievable things happened over and over. This extended to the characters too. I couldn’t get down with Conny’s kinky side. I actually really like that Cullinan allowed a main character to be a slutty, exhibitionist, submissive and allowed a successful romantic pairing that didn’t end in monogamy, but was still presented as good. However, outside of the bedroom (or wherever they were getting down) he came across as a fairly staid, straight-laced sort of chap. So, when he broke out the dirty talk and kinky sex it was jarring. Similarly, I struggled with Johann’s age. He felt much older than 18, but having been in both the army and a pirate, I couldn’t really believe him to have been as oblivious to sex as he is presented as. The villain is evil just because he’s evil. Side characters make amazing sacrifices for unknown reasons, etc.

Again, my point is just that there were a lot of things I had to consciously tell myself to overlook in order to enjoy the story. I did enjoy it. Don’t get me wrong. The writing is good, outside of the clunky language issues. The characters are likable, even if their love for one another is a little too solid a little too easily. I like the pairing that was set up for the sequel. I’d read it, happily. But the book didn’t stand out as stellar.

Book Review of The Wages of Sin, by Alex Beecroft

The Wages of SinI picked up a copy of Alex Beecroft‘s The Wages of Sin from Amazon, when it was free. I have house guests, at the moment. So, I’ve only got a brief review for a short book today.

Description from Goodreads:
Charles Latham, wastrel younger son of the Earl of Clitheroe, returns home drunk from the theatre to find his father gruesomely dead. He suspects murder. But when the Latham ghosts turn nasty, and Charles finds himself falling in love with the priest brought in to calm them, he has to unearth the skeleton in the family closet before it ends up killing them all.

Review:

This was a good gothic-like ghost story, but the writing killed it for me. I liked the story, I really did. Unfortunately, the writing is purple, heavy, overly wordy and artificially intense. It distracts from the mystery and characters; ditto for the sex scenes. They are too long, too built up and given too much importance. There were times I wasn’t even sure what was happening. It was too obscured in the language used. Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty, but that doesn’t excuse it.