Laurell K. Hamilton has famously called those readers who don't like her direction post-Narcissus in Chains "prudes." You know what, nudity can be beautiful, and arresting in isolation. But I think there's nothing less sexy than a nude beach. Often with depiction of sex, less is more. And there's nothing more unintentionally hilarious yet embarrassing than badly-written pointless sex. Of which this is an exemplar. Perhaps not quite as egregious as Incubus Dreams at 752-pages with its novella-worth of plot, but up there. I find her chapters of ardeur-fueled sex as appetizing as watching a Coney Island hot dog-eating contest.
Hamilton has pointed out that her sales only went up after turning this series into soft porn. My theory is that these later books are for the kind of woman who doesn't want to be caught with a title and cover that advertises she's reading a porn book. Or doesn't want to admit what she's reading is a porn book. And certainly hasn't read enough decent erotica to know she's getting a raw deal. Believe me, the appeal here isn't intricate world-building or or suspenseful plots or complex and developing characters. And the hell of it is that it used to be. I wish Hamilton had taken her ambitions for erotica into a different series and let Anita stay a kick-ass heroine instead of a porn star.
