Scan barcode
A review by discarded_dust_jacket
Shots and Barbs by Lily Mayne
2.75
One thing I will say that I really appreciate about this series is that it subverts a lot of the tropes that have become ubiquitous within the monster romance sub-genre. (That was more the case with the first book—which featured a submissive MMC and a soft femdom FMC with vaginismus who wasn’t interested in penetrative sex—but the sentiment is still present here.)
Lily Mayne’s choice to make the Demiurgus biology incompatible with humans, has created a world in which other forms of sexual intimacy get explored besides p in v penetration, which I find really admirable. Monster romance, for all the things we love about it, still falls into a lot of the gender essentialist stereotypes of “big, strong man is dominant and aggressive” and “small, dainty woman is submissive and weak.” Depicting an MMC who enthusiastically enjoys wearing a strap on over a c*ck cage in order to top his partner safely, and doesn’t view it as some threat to his “manhood” is really refreshing.
The only reason I gave this book such a low rating is because of how overwritten it was. The ratio of action/dialogue to interior monologue was wildly disproportionate. The characters’ thoughts would go on these droning tangents that lasted whole pages and weren’t necessary almost 100% of the time.
Authors: if you’ve done an adequate job of establishing your characters and providing situational context, trust that your audience can often infer their thoughts and emotions, without having them spelled out in soporific detail.
Something that I think contributes to the problem is that a lot of these stories don’t include strong supporting characters—people the MCs can work through their problems with in scenes that involve action and dialogue—so what we get instead are long sequences of internal turmoil propelled by self-directed leading questions.
An example would be, say the heroine of a story has romantic feelings for a coworker but doesn’t want to jeopardize their professional relationship. Her interior monologue in this case might sound like: “These feelings are becoming a nuisance. When did I start noticing how well his shirts fit his broad shoulders? Has his mouth always formed that single, adorable dimple when he smirks? It doesn’t matter; nothing can happen between us. But why not? What’s the worst that could come of it? Oh, you know, just the possibility that we could lose our jobs. No big deal. Or things could end badly and then working together would be tense and awkward. Would it really be so bad if we gave it a shot?” and on and on.
Now, in this story, Nuni did have Laki, who he called whenever he was working through something, but for some reason, even after those conversations, the reader would be subjected to additional, redundant interior monologue afterwards. At some point, I just started skimming.
Lily Mayne’s choice to make the Demiurgus biology incompatible with humans, has created a world in which other forms of sexual intimacy get explored besides p in v penetration, which I find really admirable. Monster romance, for all the things we love about it, still falls into a lot of the gender essentialist stereotypes of “big, strong man is dominant and aggressive” and “small, dainty woman is submissive and weak.” Depicting an MMC who enthusiastically enjoys wearing a strap on over a c*ck cage in order to top his partner safely, and doesn’t view it as some threat to his “manhood” is really refreshing.
The only reason I gave this book such a low rating is because of how overwritten it was. The ratio of action/dialogue to interior monologue was wildly disproportionate. The characters’ thoughts would go on these droning tangents that lasted whole pages and weren’t necessary almost 100% of the time.
Authors: if you’ve done an adequate job of establishing your characters and providing situational context, trust that your audience can often infer their thoughts and emotions, without having them spelled out in soporific detail.
Something that I think contributes to the problem is that a lot of these stories don’t include strong supporting characters—people the MCs can work through their problems with in scenes that involve action and dialogue—so what we get instead are long sequences of internal turmoil propelled by self-directed leading questions.
An example would be, say the heroine of a story has romantic feelings for a coworker but doesn’t want to jeopardize their professional relationship. Her interior monologue in this case might sound like: “These feelings are becoming a nuisance. When did I start noticing how well his shirts fit his broad shoulders? Has his mouth always formed that single, adorable dimple when he smirks? It doesn’t matter; nothing can happen between us. But why not? What’s the worst that could come of it? Oh, you know, just the possibility that we could lose our jobs. No big deal. Or things could end badly and then working together would be tense and awkward. Would it really be so bad if we gave it a shot?” and on and on.
Now, in this story, Nuni did have Laki, who he called whenever he was working through something, but for some reason, even after those conversations, the reader would be subjected to additional, redundant interior monologue afterwards. At some point, I just started skimming.