DNF
Every now and again, I read books that I know will be bad, for the lols. It heals the soul. You have a laugh, write a funny review about how wacky the plot and the dialogue is, and maybe write a banging acoustic song about it that everyone wishes you would stop singing under your breath five years after the fact (impossible. It's too catchy).
Other times, I read a book that I know will be bad, for the lols, but which is actually so incredibly boring that the heights of its atrocities are anchored down by the sheer effort it takes to keep your eyelids open while reading. Take a guess which one this is? Funny review? Impossible. Catchy song? Not gonna happen (you can put the gun down).
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I promised previously that I would explain why I was reading this book in particular, and though I don't need to explain every little thing I do, mom, (despite what my interior monologue, always conscious of the ways I may or may not be shaming myself in public, says) it is vital that I confess the sins that led me down this path, somewhere, to someone, if only so that I can sleep at night.
At the public library where I work, members are able to request books onto the catalogue for the price of £1 (thats less than half a black coffee, bro!) rather than having to buy the book for themselves. This can be used for bad (local TERF groups have been requesting gender critical stock en masse, filling our shelves with hate speech and incitement to violence against a minority group), for good (myself and other staff have been counter-requesting trans positive stock en masse to combat the gender critical stock, resulting in an incredible catalogue of queer graphic novels and queer academic texts both), and for, uh, neutral (just requesting the damn book you want because for some reason we don't already have it and there's no bigger picture or agenda you just want it). Enter: the gender non-conforming fourteen year old who made a stock request with me a year ago, thinking they were doing the latter (neutral), when actually they were doing a fourth, new thing (requesting distressingly bad, self-published gay erotica, extremely explicit though regretfully lacking kink). I sent off the request to the bibliographic department. Now, you're probably thinking, didn't you check that the book was age-appropriate before ordering it for a minor? Well, no, I didn't think to. I didnt want to make the little queer (wholesome) uncomfortable by over-analysing their impulsive gay decisions (I genuinely just thought it was a romantic drama). Learning afterwards its reputation online for being porn, I surged with anxiety for days, waiting to be found out, waiting to be FIRED for doing GAY AGENDA to CHILD.
I didnt get fired. The bibliographic department, it turns out, doesn't monitor the content of member requests. They'll buy whatever the hell you want. Bullet dodged, for me. The fuel for many difficult meetings with management re: why are TERFs able to request so many hugely harmful books without it ever getting flagged, for the counter-TERF power rangers that I belong to (more on that another day. Look, this is my story. I can tell it out of order if I want to.)
Anyway. The (usually extremely chatty) queer teenager in question borrowed the book when it came in and then returned it a week later without a word. I was worried this whole time since that they had read these obscene sex scenarios and been brain damaged by them, or that their mother, who would later be out to get me (dont ask) might taser me in the scrote. Such concern was unwarrented. This teenager, addicted to YouTube and bearing the attention span of that puppy from your favourite tiktok video, likely did not make it beyond the first few chapters.
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Gay on a Train is one of the most amateur and terribly boring pieces of fiction I've ever had the misfortune of reading, and though I try to celebrate every completed work by a writer of any quality, as each is a display of blood, sweat, tears, and cum, this just feels like somebody is pointing and laughing at me. From its inconsistent and out of focus paragraph breaks in flowery font (#LoveWinsLoveIsLove) to the repetitive dialogue about train times and journeys (not in a fun trainspotting way just in a writer's first serious fanfic way) to the boring dates (watching How to Train Your Dragon on the sofa, followed by plans to watch How to Train Your Dragon 2 for the next date, which gets interrupted by an attempt at chemistry in which the chronically sparkling-eyed dancer Daniel paints our meanspirited and dull narrator's toenails) to the protagonist's yaoi-esque 'I'm not gay but I just like this one man and have never been interested in cock before' - which, sure, can absolutely happen, but also is often so blatantly a way for straight women (not a comment on Wells as I know nothing about them) to write otherwise straight men into having anal sex, allowing the character to keep their straight man credentials while still fucking the man of the author's fantasies, with zero genuine interrogation of their sexuality - there really is little to latch onto here. It doesn't feel earnest, worked for, wrangled, edited, artful (heaven forbid), or like a labour of love. It just feels like someone took a reddit story as a prompt and after three pages realised they didn't know how to write. The whole world is your oyster, baby! You know? For example, in my version of the second date, Daniel is in full cosplay as Hiccup from How to Train Your Dragon throughout (as they both appear to be in love with the character), and when he leaves to collect nail Polish stuff to do Lee's feet, he returns with plastic sheets and begins papering the living room in them, top to bottom, creating a Dexter-style kill-room while our uncomfortable protagonist battles against his intrigued 'am I gay' hard-on to escape his own ass-crevice in the couch before the knives can come out (of course it's probably all a misunderstanding-Daniel is very bad at painting nails and gets polish everywhere, spraying geysers of blue and pink all over his living room like blood from the neck of a severed head in Kill Bill, so this plastic is simply a daily part of his practice). I don't know. I'm just spitballing, here.
The sex... Well, I flicked through much of it, and at first it wasn't too bad, if a little heavy-handed (look, I enjoy the whole spectrum, from fade to black to dirty multi-cumming marathon fucks - where the characters are so sheened with sweat and semen that they can't tell the difference between perspiration and sperm, they're just salty from top to bottom - written either by pros or amateurs, so if I don't like your sex scenes, there's a serious problem) but during the back half of the book the narrative descends into this surreal montage of every sex position imagined by a porn director on coke, just to fully initiate our Maybe-Gay protagonist into the gay sex scene. It's not primal need but intellectual curiosity that drives them against each other again and again at all angles, or perhaps ego. That's probably the difference between good and bad sex. If it feels primal on the page, it pretty much doesn't matter what bland or disgusting stuff your characters are doing to each other, but if it feels intellectual, you can't expect anyone to hump the bed as they read, can you, or to dress up as Hiccup and scream, 'Eat me, toothless! Eat! Me!'
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But you know, you have to write a hundred bad manuscripts before you can write a good one. Its ok, dog. For a writer this inexperienced, or untrained, though, I would recommend taking up a couple of courses, joining a group, taking out a writing textbook from the library, experimenting with style, watching gay arthouse flicks like Knife+Heart, and finally, reading romance that isn't fifty shades of grey or fanfiction. They have their place in the romance ecosystem, but from one amateur to another, emulating them is only ever going to hamstring you. You are what you eat, writer, and you deserve to be better than junk food somebody buys on a bender because they think a reheated kebab will heal their alcohol poisoning. I will congratulate you on one thing, though. At least you had the courage to publish a novel. (Edit: very sorry for condescending the author. I thought they were a first time author, not a Brand who should know better by now. Will be more careful next time.)
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Shit! This DNF hate-read review for my sins has gone on all morning! I wrote this while waiting for my HPV jab. Had to go to the walk-in clinic because I couldn't get an appointment; the sex clinic wouldn't answer their phone no matter how many times I tried to get their attention. Just like this guy I hooked up with once. Men, am I right, girls? Anyway. This brat is off to go get a haircut. Catch me at Manchester Pride this weekend if you want to BUY me (harness not included) (romance novel BOUGHT on a TRAIN coming 2025)