rileymcg's review against another edition
dark
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
3.0
lucaconti's review against another edition
3.0
Disappointing. It starts like a intriguing mind game but at one point it starts to get boring. The resolution sounds very artificial and lousy. I didn't buy it at all.
catdad77a45's review against another edition
4.0
I read quite a few of Rechy's early semi-autobiographical works (his classic 'City of Night', 'Numbers', 'Rushes' and 'The Sexual Outlaw') back in the early 70's, and was somewhat surprised to learn he's not only still alive (he's almost 86, despite an incorrect birthdate on GR!), but still publishing controversial work. He bills this as a 'true fiction', and indeed, the narrator is a young 24 year old writer/hustler named .... John Rechy! Supposing, then, that this is based on an actual incident lends the story even more intrigue, and if it weren't for the sexually graphic climax (no pun intended!), would make an excellent film in the right hands. Short and concentrated, the book gains power as it goes along - but one thing that drove me crazy is the affectation that both Paul and John call each other 'man' incessantly, which although a 60's 'thing', gives their dialogue a slightly camp and fusty air.
gerhard's review against another edition
4.0
Henry James is not a writer one would normally associate with John Rechy, due to the latter’s predilection for cum-spattered sex scenes that push the boundaries of torridness, not to mention what is physically possible between human bodies (rarely less than two; Rechy is a true disciple of polymorphous perversity).
And yet this latest novel from the 86-year-old author is very Jamesian in its subtle and discerning focus on the inter-dynamics of a group of people on an island retreat. The one, a wealthy patron of the arts, has invited a ‘struggling writer’ (by the name of John Rechy) to partake of a lifestyle he has only read about … And yet what are the true motives behind the invitation, given the patron’s fraught relationship with women in particular?
Susan Straight writes in The LA Times:
Rechy, the writer, has since the earliest in his long career given readers that hour, the dusk and twilight and melding when people change their natures, and I marvel that he continues to write with such elegance and lyricism, descending into raw scenes of human longing and violence.
Make no mistake about it, this is no typical Jamesian foray into mores and morals. There is a running riff about the nature and dichotomy of evil, interwoven with complex speculation about the (un)reliability of memory versus ‘truth’, and the subsequent impact this has on the autobiographical enterprise (the book is subtitled ‘A True Fiction’, which is a fitting epitaph to the magnificence of Rechy’s philosophical enquiry here).
Rechy was one of the first gay writers I ever read … mainly for the graphic sex scenes, I blush to admit. However, this latest fiercely intelligent and intellectually daring book from such an iconic writer, in the ‘blue hour’ of his own life and career, is a superb testament to his skill as a writer.
And yet this latest novel from the 86-year-old author is very Jamesian in its subtle and discerning focus on the inter-dynamics of a group of people on an island retreat. The one, a wealthy patron of the arts, has invited a ‘struggling writer’ (by the name of John Rechy) to partake of a lifestyle he has only read about … And yet what are the true motives behind the invitation, given the patron’s fraught relationship with women in particular?
Susan Straight writes in The LA Times:
Rechy, the writer, has since the earliest in his long career given readers that hour, the dusk and twilight and melding when people change their natures, and I marvel that he continues to write with such elegance and lyricism, descending into raw scenes of human longing and violence.
Make no mistake about it, this is no typical Jamesian foray into mores and morals. There is a running riff about the nature and dichotomy of evil, interwoven with complex speculation about the (un)reliability of memory versus ‘truth’, and the subsequent impact this has on the autobiographical enterprise (the book is subtitled ‘A True Fiction’, which is a fitting epitaph to the magnificence of Rechy’s philosophical enquiry here).
Rechy was one of the first gay writers I ever read … mainly for the graphic sex scenes, I blush to admit. However, this latest fiercely intelligent and intellectually daring book from such an iconic writer, in the ‘blue hour’ of his own life and career, is a superb testament to his skill as a writer.
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