I was introduced to author D.S. Wrights (a clever pen name) via a Goodreads solicitation to read and review her works. She writes in a niche genre of horror/erotica, and the book I read “The Beast and Me,” was an interesting blending of the two worlds. This is not my preferred genre, but given sufficient intrigue and my current Spring Break from work, I thought I’d give it a try. I won’t re-hash the plot since there are plenty of places to find that information.
First things first, I found it fairly compelling, devouring it in a few days, when I really hadn’t intended to even start it until I finished two others ahead of it. Yet, one page quickly turned to the next and before I knew it, I was in too deep.
What kept me so enthralled was the skillful manner in which she moved things along with the daily journal entries of the main character, Meghan. Particularly, it was the psychological suspense built through this woman’s abduction and introduction to a mysterious creature that inevitably becomes her sexual partner in a serious of lurid experiments. I find it very clever of the author to put the reader in both roles, Meg’s and that of the “perv” scientists who are using her for their bizarre research. Wrights puts us right there in the observation room peaking down at this freak show, and this created a strange, disturbing sensation for me. Given that the reader is privy to Meg’s feelings at being an unwilling participant in this madness (shame, guilt, desire, anger, confusion, paranoia), we’re forced to confront our own mixed feelings of outrage at the sexual assaults she is forced to endure and our compulsion to need more. Wrights fuels this dichotomy by keeping things fairly taut and compelling. There is a frantic, urgent nature to these entries, befitting a captive, conflicted rat in a twisted lab, blindly feeling her way through every conceivable thought that would likely enter one’s mind in such an unimaginable circumstance.
Regarding the erotic nature; let me say this; it’s not easy writing about sex. It requires walking a fine line between not enough and too much, between precious and profane, and between enticing and gratuitous. D.S. Wrights wisely offers us a vulnerable, reflective, and utterly human heroine. Meg wrestles with guilt whilst yearning for pleasure, all the while questioning her sanity and reflecting upon the entirety of the life she’d taken for granted, while also chronicling her own acknowledged transformation from a reclusive wallflower into a confident woman trying to take control of her life during the direst times.
On the negative side, I would like some editorial tightening and paring away of repetitive phrases and journal entries that prevent this from being a truly exceptional novel. That said; these shortcomings aren’t enough to dampen the fire the author lovingly creates, nor interfere too much with the quick pacing.
Bottom line: if you are a fan of this style, and especially if you believe, as I do, that good writing is good writing regardless of the target audience, you’ll enjoy this thrilling and sexy novel.