Cactus erotica. Dykes taking T erotica. Handmade rope erotica. Tangentially alien erotica. Clit long like laffy taffy erotica. Death erotica.
In L.A. Warman's anti-sequel to her award-winning debut Whore Foods, two anonymous lovers traverse the vast and lonely desert which has blighted most of the continent. In their possession is the gift of the Vapors, a mystical substance which allows them to transcend death. Yet as they explore the desert realm and each other, they cannot help but wonder if their entwined destiny resides somewhere beyond transcendence.
“I tell her I am rain I tell her I will drip on everything.”
I’ve never visited a true desert, so, initially, the theming here was a bit lost on me. That didn’t seem to matter though, as I quickly came to understand the force behind Warman’s arid, sodden, and deeply evocative prose.
I ended up really enjoying the book’s structure. It at once tells a consistent narrative while also being broken into many distinct pieces that carry their own weight.
It’s palpably erotic, subversive, and existentialist, offering an abstract look at queer love, lust, and the attempt to find and understand connection in an abstract life.
I loved this, I’ve never quite read something like it and it feels very apt that two lesbians are the last remaining people on a “dust” earth together spending their time grappling with how that affects and creates their connection
luscious and endless and hopeful and sexy. all about the wet/dry. soaking up, soaking in. this was everything i expected and more from Warman, who creates an apocalyptic dreamy desert here full of love/want at the limits of reality. every Warman book hits you first in the body and then in the mind. be back later to add quotes to this review