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You are made of desire, but you never have your fill
And in the middle of my terrible mood, I discovered that Forget the Sleepless Shores has made one reviewer's shortlist of the best erotica of 2018:
Not erotica per se, yet this ravishing collection of literary stories should be on the to-read list of every erotic writer who claims to care about the beauty of language and the compelling allure of style. Taaffe's stories are seldom "short" in the strictly commercial understanding of the term, they take their time to be told with however many words may be required, and some of them are quite long indeed. The language is not overly dense or difficult, the narrative seldom inaccessible or overly obscure, and yet, the writing is so dazzlingly fecund, so spendthrift in its vivid, varicolored descriptions, that the reader is immersed in wonder, engulfed like a drowning soul in a state of helpless bliss. Images of water and the supernatural permeate all these stories, forming loose relationships, a kind of magnetic coherency or some form of sub-molecular bonding. Water in all its ineffable forms, life-giving or lethal, calm or chaotic, rain, tears, tides, lakes, rivers, oceans, sea brine, blood, sexual fluid . . . Love-sick demons, the ghosts of the drowned, vampires, mer-folk, muses bearing gifts of madness and otherworldly inspiration. Wondrous! Rarefied! Ineffably gorgeous! Read it and weep with joy!
Frankly, I'm delighted. I wasn't expecting that.
Not erotica per se, yet this ravishing collection of literary stories should be on the to-read list of every erotic writer who claims to care about the beauty of language and the compelling allure of style. Taaffe's stories are seldom "short" in the strictly commercial understanding of the term, they take their time to be told with however many words may be required, and some of them are quite long indeed. The language is not overly dense or difficult, the narrative seldom inaccessible or overly obscure, and yet, the writing is so dazzlingly fecund, so spendthrift in its vivid, varicolored descriptions, that the reader is immersed in wonder, engulfed like a drowning soul in a state of helpless bliss. Images of water and the supernatural permeate all these stories, forming loose relationships, a kind of magnetic coherency or some form of sub-molecular bonding. Water in all its ineffable forms, life-giving or lethal, calm or chaotic, rain, tears, tides, lakes, rivers, oceans, sea brine, blood, sexual fluid . . . Love-sick demons, the ghosts of the drowned, vampires, mer-folk, muses bearing gifts of madness and otherworldly inspiration. Wondrous! Rarefied! Ineffably gorgeous! Read it and weep with joy!
Frankly, I'm delighted. I wasn't expecting that.
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I found the link on Facebook of all places, because Google content-blocked me from being notified about the blog. Which is terribly stupid, but the review made my night.
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Thank you!
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We historians never get it quite so florid! :o)
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I was entirely surprised and pleased by it.
We historians never get it quite so florid!
I hope at least once you do!
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It was! And much better to sleep on than anything else I'd seen online all day.
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dazzlingly fecund, so spendthrift in its vivid, varicolored descriptions ---NICE
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I'm just still happy about it.
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There's a reviewer who gets you!
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It does wonders for my self-esteem as a siren.
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I'm still delighted!
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It is a deserved good review! *puts a little sprinkle of dry cat kibble out on the windowsill for T. Witt.*
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You can still write a review. I . . . won't stop you.
It is a deserved good review!
Thank you!
*puts a little sprinkle of dry cat kibble out on the windowsill for T. Witt.*
(Oh, God, he's so piteous when he presses his tiny face up against the glass.)
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"The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in—let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. ‘Ludwig Linton,’ it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton)—‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’"
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HEATHCLIFF
IT'S ME, YOUR CATHY
I'VE COME HOME
I'M SO TIRED OF PLAYING LANGUAGE GAMES
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Thank you!
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Thank you!
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Wow, they just Got It, didn't they? VERY nice.
Also: An Underwater 'Ghost Fleet' of Shipwrecks Is On the Move
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Thank you!
Also: An Underwater 'Ghost Fleet' of Shipwrecks Is On the Move
Oh, that's so cool.
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It still makes me happy!