A review by haloblues
Exquisite Corpse by Poppy Z. Brite

dark sad tense slow-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Character
  • Strong character development? No
  • Loveable characters? It's complicated
  • Diverse cast of characters? Yes
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.5

God, Andrew's mentality is so obviously warped and fucked up right from the beginning. I was reading so many of the descriptions and monologues in this book with a physical GRIMACE.

Fucking Jesus. I felt sick, sad and absorbed throughout this, and I don't even know what my prevailing emotion is at this point. Just, man. Like Luke's own books, this is something you either love or hate, and I'm closer to love than the latter. Mostly I'm just reeling.

The reasons I can't justify rating it higher are:
- It is very much a product of its time, both in positive ways (the visceral and emotional look into the AIDS crisis) and, unfortunately, negative (the casual but deep racism and fetishisation, particularly toward Asians).
- There were a couple of punctuation and wording errors, for some reason generally found in Luke's chapters specifically.
- At least with the e-book version, which I read on my phone, perspective changes often wouldn't even be sign-posted with a line break, so I'd quite often be reading and get caught completely off-guard by some jarring location switch or "wait what" moment before going back and realising it was now from the POV of a different character than before.
- I found myself skimming most of Tran and Luke's sections the further in I got; I liked Luke as a character, though I found Tran fairly boring, but you can't write a book with two serial killer protagonists and then put me in the shoes of a random immigrant doing random daily things and expect me not to just really want to get back to seeing what the freshly prison-busted murderer is up to.
- I really wish Jay hadn't died at the end. It felt like his and Andrew's dynamic had only just begun, and didn't really explore the longer-term potential. Both the narrative and Andrew seemed to treat their relationship as this world-shattering, fated, destined soulmate deal, and I wanted to feel how legendary and destructive this pair could be... and then, it seemed, they met, got started, and one of them was immediately killed.

Details: Alternating POVs and tenses
Favourite character: Probably Andrew
Happy ending?: No
Additional content warnings: Necrophilia, homophobic slurs

Favourite quotes:
In Leicester Square, children of a different sort sat smoking in the park, painted children who of a Saturday might parade up and down the King's Road staring in the shop windows at zebra-striped vinyl raincoats, at Dr. Marten boots done up in purple glitter, at lace body stockings for all sexes - and at the gaudest, prettiest things of all, their own reflections in the glass.

Below the neck these children wore black, gray, and white garments of various materials and textures, held together with bits of metal. Above the neck they were like abstract paintings done in furious rainbow hues. A technicolour scribble of tortured hair, great panda-smudges of azure or chartreuse round the eyes, a slash of vermilion across the soft young mouth, and off they went.


"Anyway, you know atoms? Well, see, atoms are made of protons, neutrons, and electrons, and those are made of quarks."

"What are quarks made of, then?"

"Waves."

"Waves?" I had now finished my third pint, and was beginning to be outraged. "But waves aren't tangible. They're just disturbances."

"Vibrations, right! The whole universe is made of vibrations." He beamed, oblivious to my dismay. "Neat, huh? Anyway, we haven't been introduced yet. I'm Sam." He held out a long-fingered, smooth-palmed hand that looked very much like my own. I grasped it, half-expecting my flesh to pass ghostlike through his. After all, we were nothing but vibrations. All the stone and iron of Painswick Prison was nothing but vibrations. Had I known, I could have begun vibrating at a different frequency and gone right between the bars.


I had a last look at Sam, offered him a silent apology for not being able to linger, for leaving him alone here. Your life collided with mine, I explained, and you simply failed to survive the wreckage.


"What brings you to New Orleans?"

"The climate."

"Moral or meteorological?"

"Both."

We paused, offering noncommittal half-smiles, sizing each other up. He wasn't my usual type, and I had a hunch that I wasn't his either. Yet I didn't want him to move on, and he seemed in no hurry to go.

At last he asked me, "What's your name?"

Before, in my previous life, I'd told all the boys my real name. There had never seemed any need to do otherwise. Tonight I had been using Arthur, since none of the men who approached me were interesting. But to this man I said, "Andrew."


Then somehow we were kissing as ravenously as I had ever kissed anyone, alive or dead.

My fingers were tangled in his hair, tugging so hard it had to hurt. His tongue was in my mouth, raking against the sharp edges of my teeth, feeling as if it would plunge straight down my throat and choke me. He tasted of blood and rage. His kiss was laced with the slow savour of pain. I knew these tastes; they were the tastes in my own mouth, the flavour of my life.

I did not know what Jay was, not yet; but on some instinctual, almost biological level I recognized him. I knew then that this man was infinitely dangerous to me. I also knew that I had to go as deep inside him as he would let me.


As I stood and faced him, the expression on Jay's face was something like wonder. "What are you?" he asked.

I touched my fingers to the bead of scarlet on his throat, brought them to my lips and tasted his blood for the first time. "I'm your nightmare. Did you think you were done with nightmares now you've become one?"


I always have to laugh at writers who employ the phrase "Something snapped inside him" as a prelude to violence. The only time I ever felt anything snap inside me was the day I decided to leave prison, a sharp immediate relief like the snapping of an elastic that had constricted my heart for years. But when I saw that first drop of blood - always, when I saw the first drop of blood - something melted inside me. Like a wall of earth crumbling and dissolving in a hard rain, like a sheet of ice breaking apart and letting a river run free.
 
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