The only Poppy Z. Brite which I've ever read was her most recent novel,
Exquisite Corpse, which I unfortunately had to finish because I was being
paid to review it by a major magazine on a short deadline with no time to
hand the book over to someone else. Damn it, though, the book very nearly
made me throw up. I know that Brite is considered a really hot writer and I
know that she's talented, and I know that she's particularly popular in the
gay horror-fiction reading community, so perhaps I'm being small minded, but
yuck! retch!
(Having written the above paragraph I then went on to briefly describe
some of the action in the novel, which involves SIMULTANEOUS torture,
murder, necrophilia and cannibalism, but decided to censor myself for fear
of sending some more tender minded soul into hysterics or a quick trip to
the bathroom, hand clenched over mouth.)
And I generally like horror fiction!
Mike Levy
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