This book wasn’t for me. While I can see the author’s intention to explore different forms of love, the execution felt more unsettling than meaningful.
The stories lean heavily into dark and depressing territory, but beyond that, I often felt like I was intruding on people’s wounds. Everyone carries baggage to get through daily life, yet this book gave the sense of stalking or digging into someone’s darkest corners. Instead of offering catharsis or healing, it left me uneasy.
The attempt to highlight “forbidden” lives and loves also underscored how narrow both the social lens—and perhaps the author’s perspective—remains. What could have expanded empathy instead reinforced judgment and confinement. Even after reading the commentary section, the ideas felt obvious and unconvincing.
Most of all, the book seemed content to sit with discomfort without offering compassion or resolution. I long for a kinder society where all forms of love are accepted as they are, yet here, the gray areas were blurred and even justified, while situations clearly calling for justice or help were ignored. At times, it felt the book aimed to provoke by sustaining unsettling factors, but without a clear point behind them.
For me, it was neither healing nor love—just a heavy, unsettling read.