Yesterday, I came across this book (as it were). I had forgotten I even had it; based on the date on the price sticker on the cover, I must have picked it up about a decade ago. I don't think I missed much by not reading it until now. Manara is particularly skilled as an artist, especially when depicting women a sex objects, which is mostly what this book consists of. The gossamer-thin plot involves a guy who is quite literally a blank (he has invented a butterscotch-scented ointment that turns him invisible, and he is never even given a proper name) who ends up encountering the sex-bomb Honey (so called because she tastes sweet; yep, that's the level we are at in this book), the only person to know he exists. Butterscotch has a serious hardon (literally) for the deplorable ballerina Beatrice (I assume the echo of Dante's unattainable divine love is deliberate) but instead ends up constantly entangled with Honey. Manara has great fun depicting various sex acts in which one partner is invisible, achieves mainly through second-rate takes on standard porn scenarios. Unfortunately, the whole thing is pretty rapey (including one literal example, another instance that is arguably rape, and multiple sexual assaults), played mainly for humour and to appeal to male fantasies--and unpleasant male fantasies at that. It might not be quite fair to call this a misogynist text, but it sure comes close. The art is nice to look at, and there are some bizarrely interesting sequences (such as the end of the book, when Honey and Butterscotch are being washed by the sea into the mouth of a giant floating theatrical prop), but its sexual politics are fairly repugnant, despite a few gestures towards giving some actual character and agency.