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Already, Hesse begins his novel with a stellar and revealing paragraph about the author’s responsibility to his portrayal of himself and the characters he writes. Hesse manages to be simultaneously self-aware of his own shortcomings, and humble of where his strengths lie.

On the top of the page, there’s a paragraph that perfectly describes how, after a tragedy, we see people in a different light. We could be more afraid of them, or maybe, more fearful of their opinions. But, sometimes we worry if they could help us at all.

Heartbreakingly vivid. You can tell that the characters have so much to lose, and yet, they continue on in slow, painful motions. Determined to keep going, in spite of the immense pressure surrounding their souls.

Perfect prose, brilliantly tying together this tale of blood and death with elegant simplicity.

It’s a testament to the author’s skill that I found myself utterly captivated by the main character’s ability to fluctuate between reprehensible and admirable.

Enthrallingly subversive, it taps into a very “matter of fact” approach to sexuality and life: detailing the ins and outs of sex work with an almost irrelevant quality.

I wasn’t so into the texting sex. But, phone sex is always so hot.

Reading about this jock bottoming for the first time is riveting!

Beginning of the most celebratory chapter of the entire book. Because, I didn’t really gel with the sport elements of the book until this point where the personal and professional aspects of the sport come into full effect.

Hallelujah! This is everything I could’ve possibly wanted! Especially, with that jock realizing how much of cock slut he is. Thank you!

Making the muscly jock into the bottom is such a perfect idea!

Please, I am enjoying the intense, erotic tension that seems to permeate the atmosphere of this book. So good.

Another sex scene please! This time with more nudity and rivalry!

Finally, one-on-one scenes between the two step-siblings! I can already feel the tension in the air!

Such a fantastic scene. Three characters with different agendas clashing, and ultimately, meeting each other at the intersection of money and opportunity.

Messy as hell! I’m loving the dysfunctional family dynamic here, it’s just the perfect amount of mean and silly that I enjoy so much. I didn’t expect this OnlyFans step-brother erotica to actually be good. But, it is!

This is one of my favorite segments by far. I don’t know how else to describe it, but I was just completely absorbed in the narrative of these women, who they were, why they did what they did, and I was just left appreciating the detailed, precise language that Toni Morrison seemed to command effortlessly.

Wishing for love, wishing to be seen as more than what you think yourself to be is nothing short of painful. Pecola Breedlove, I’m so sorry.

Jesus Christ, this page is a testament to the hatred and unfairness of a world that rewards white skin beauty.

Ten pages in, and I’m already sick to my stomach. Especially, with how pointed, how casually mentioned the events of the book are laid out before us. It’s hard to continue not knowing what to except, but it’s even harder knowing exactly what’s coming and being utterly horrified by it.

Mid in almost every aspect, but certainly enjoyable. Especially, the slight touches of queer identity inter-spliced into very cute, occasional smutty story.

I’m a bit conflicted about this because the book is simultaneously a disjointed mess, but one that is revealing and ceaseless with its depiction of the mindscape of a soldier.

This fucking idiot is not getting any of the warnings being laid out. It’s extraordinary how blind he truly is, his intrinsic distrust of the planet, of its people will be his downfall.

Mentions of the Vietnam War, of the My Lai Massacre are signifiers of the end of Peace and Love aspects of the sixties. From here on out, disillusionment grips the American people.

Patti Smith’s thoughts on Sharon Tate are a small glimpse into what every woman thought of the Manson murders: immense grief and empathy for a life taken too short.

Patti Smith’s descriptions of the Morphine Angel and the doomed souls he watched over was nothing short of evocative.

Patti Smith’s thoughts about homosexuality, informed by artists like Genet and Mishima is crazy as fuck. But, I kinda love how oblivious she is.

Reading about how Nina Simone almost killed someone is so satisfying! And, it brilliantly weaves together the worship of danger with the idolization of celebrities.

Andy Warhol is shot, Robert Kennedy is shot dead. Is this the Years of Lead, but for politicians and artists?!

Foreboding in the most unsettling of ways. Kinda of reminds me of when I felt this immense feeling of dread about David Lynch’s death. I wrote an entire letter, but didn’t send it. He was dead a couple weeks later. It’s one of my biggest regrets that I didn’t send the letter.