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mikibooks's review
5.0
Diossssss. Qué absoluta maravilla. Un frenesí de sentidos. Su autora no sólo transmite con completa claridad una enorme variedad de sensaciones sino que este libro te muestra aromas, colores, sabores. Es muy raro encontrar una obra literaria que puedas oler y saborear tanto como comprender y sentir. Compactado en 58 páginas, la historia del adorable Benjamin y el intenso Cole te deja sobrasaltada y acalorada. Un enorme manejo del idioma, los diálogos, las referencias, sin escenas de más ni momentos de sobra. Estoy viajando hacia otra ciudad, con el micro en silencio, y solo quisiera levantarme a gritar por el pasillo que ADORO a esta mujer.
tiggers_hate_acorns's review
3.0
Different, but well written. One is left to draw their own conclusion, the scene is set let your imagination do the rest.
evil_jj's review
4.0
I haven't read a lot of steampunk, so I was surprised to find that I really enjoyed this story. It was quite hot, but I'd have preferred more sex and less sexual fantasy. I was thrown off a bit by the time errors, which I assume were a result of this originally being a shorter story that only spanned a couple of days rather than over a week. Besides those issues, I loved it - Benjamin's timidity, Cole's confidence, the descriptions, the thrill - it all made for a fun read.
poultrymunitions's review
2.0
guns make everything better.
and yet—somehow—this book made me deeply unhappy.
right away, i'm cast into transports of irritation caused by an unfortuate anachronism: revolvers (like the ones on the beautiful cover) do not have safety switches, and such safeties did not become commonplace on even semi-automatic pistols—which are not revolvers—until the arrival of the colt M1911 developed for the armed forces between 1906 and 1910 so cavalrymen wouldn't accidentally shoot anything while sitting on a panicked horse.
and yeah, i fucking googled the whole shitting shit for half an hour, okay? wannafightabboudit?
i found this to be steadily less and less enjoyable as i read on.
the language is breathlessly hyperbolic. in one passage, this dude's voice is described three ways in as many sentences:
spellbinding, and mesmerizing, and intoxicating, y'see. apparently, the words 'go stand over there' will never be uttered more enthrallingly.
which is a representative sample. overblown and semi-hysterical, especially with the bits about the guns.
which—okay, it's gun kink. fine.
but the problem with that is... i do not identify.
at all.
guns freak me out. i appreciate the machining, because i am a nerd. i appreciate their historical significance as weaponry, because i am a buff.
but when this kid just about comes in his trousers at nearly getting shot, and the language is all wings-of-angels and torrents-of-speshurr-feelz, i'm left with the frankly alien sense that i remain the only sane person left on this batshit planet of maniacs and degenerates.
which—given my personality and reading history—is saying something.
if the gun fetish were balanced against strong storytelling... maybe. but it wasn't. we are informed gunpowder turns him on, and then we observe as he proceeds to get turned on by gunpowder.
it was like watching a nature program featuring the copulation of beasts as narrated by a thoroughly excited david attenborough.
i feel you, brah, but i do not have a boner right now. those are field mice mating in a shrubbery, not chris pine with his dick beautifully distending zachary quinto's butthole.
so:
annoyed.
more for being disappointed than for this book being any especially-dire example of poor writing, but still.
did not like.
given where it originated from—a particularly shitty anthology that almost cramped my brain when i tried to read it last year—i cannae fathom what i was even thinking to pick this up.
dnf at 50 percent.
and yet—somehow—this book made me deeply unhappy.
right away, i'm cast into transports of irritation caused by an unfortuate anachronism: revolvers (like the ones on the beautiful cover) do not have safety switches, and such safeties did not become commonplace on even semi-automatic pistols—which are not revolvers—until the arrival of the colt M1911 developed for the armed forces between 1906 and 1910 so cavalrymen wouldn't accidentally shoot anything while sitting on a panicked horse.
and yeah, i fucking googled the whole shitting shit for half an hour, okay? wannafightabboudit?
i found this to be steadily less and less enjoyable as i read on.
the language is breathlessly hyperbolic. in one passage, this dude's voice is described three ways in as many sentences:
Benjamin obeyed, spellbound by Cole's voice. It was mesmerizing. It seemed like all of Cole possessed the same intoxicating quality.
spellbinding, and mesmerizing, and intoxicating, y'see. apparently, the words 'go stand over there' will never be uttered more enthrallingly.
which is a representative sample. overblown and semi-hysterical, especially with the bits about the guns.
which—okay, it's gun kink. fine.
but the problem with that is... i do not identify.
at all.
guns freak me out. i appreciate the machining, because i am a nerd. i appreciate their historical significance as weaponry, because i am a buff.
but when this kid just about comes in his trousers at nearly getting shot, and the language is all wings-of-angels and torrents-of-speshurr-feelz, i'm left with the frankly alien sense that i remain the only sane person left on this batshit planet of maniacs and degenerates.
which—given my personality and reading history—is saying something.
if the gun fetish were balanced against strong storytelling... maybe. but it wasn't. we are informed gunpowder turns him on, and then we observe as he proceeds to get turned on by gunpowder.
it was like watching a nature program featuring the copulation of beasts as narrated by a thoroughly excited david attenborough.
i feel you, brah, but i do not have a boner right now. those are field mice mating in a shrubbery, not chris pine with his dick beautifully distending zachary quinto's butthole.
so:
annoyed.
more for being disappointed than for this book being any especially-dire example of poor writing, but still.
did not like.
given where it originated from—a particularly shitty anthology that almost cramped my brain when i tried to read it last year—i cannae fathom what i was even thinking to pick this up.
dnf at 50 percent.
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