Mosquito is on hire to supply nanoengineered sex dolls to those flocking to the Thai capital to sample its exotic delights. But he is a he-she and there's a reason why he's called Mosquito.
Creepy Calder constructs a far-future world of automated sex dolls and the risky business of engaging in sex traffic. Old Europe and Outdated England giving way to the ingenious Orient; gender roles and trans identity; computer STDs; futuristic prostitution, poison, and murder. As I realized after reading his phenomenal Lord Soho, Richard Calder is Angela Carter's crude but equally rarified heir apparent. In sum: nasty, funny, cheerfully mean-spirited. As always with the author, the prose impresses. The message:
Only a man could imitate a doll. Women, it was said, were too real. For dolls are no women; they are man's dreams of women.