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Ethan in Gold

3/5. M/M. Apparently this is one in a series about gay porn actors which, now that I think about it, is Amy Lane’s jam. Hot guys banging each other a lot, with an emphasis on how they are all deeply unprivileged or traumatized in order to end up where they are, even if they feel good and sex positive about making porn. This one is about the guy who gets into it because he’s touch-starved, and the cute guy he meets at PetSmart. If you like two people getting together while a lot of really hard stuff happens to them and around them, that is what she writes.

And I’ll give her this: she brings an earthy realness to romance. At one point these guys have to have the ‘yeah, you grew up having conversations with people while they were in the bathroom, didn’t you? Yeah, no, I do not do that,’ conversation, which I do not believe I’ve ever seen in a romance novel before, but that was hilarious.

Content notes: Non-graphic child sexual abuse, abusive parents, various offscreen violence and mental illness, chronic illness, sibling death.
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Living Promises (Promises, #3)Living Promises by Amy Lane

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


M/M modern romance of her usual 'make lots of melodramatically bad things happen to these people and stick a wedding at the end' variety. I can't think of another M/M dealing with HIV off the top of my head, so there's that. And I did like this in a distracted, way-more-important-shit-going-on-give-me-a-book way. Even with all the emotional breakdowns and nonsense.

But – and I realize I sound like a broken record here – but. This genre does not understand homophobia. According to this genre, there are two kinds of people: there are homophobes who disown their queer children in dramatic fashion, and then there's everyone else who isn't homophobic. Riiiight. I mean, those homophobes do exist. But writing about that is writing the most cartoonishly villainous face of it, and entirely missing the grinding, subtle, every day corrosion. You know, the complicated parts. Like how a friend's mother gave the old family silver to the straight daughter and not the queer daughter because – and mom didn't articulate this or probably even know – because the straight daughter had the sort of family/table on which ancestral silver belongs, and the queer daughter and wife did not. When the M/M genre defines homophobia only by violence and blatant hate, it fails to get its hands around some fundamental truths of what it is to be queer. And also perpetuates homophobia, but it does that in a hundred other ways too, so.

I'll stop bitching about this eventually.




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Talker (Talker, #1)Talker by Amy Lane

My rating: 1 of 5 stars


M/M romance. Our "hero" "tries" to tell his best friend that he wants him, but he never actually, uh, uses his words. So he figures hey, the problem here is that the bestie is just refusing to notice him, and the bestie was recently raped and is really "fragile," okay, so the thing to do – he has a plan, you guys – the thing to do is to manipulate events so he and the bestie are in a sexual situation but the bestie doesn't know who he is until after there are orgasms.

This being a romance, this is fed to us as romantic instead of, you know, creepy and awful.



DO. NOT. WANT.




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Clear WaterClear Water by Amy Lane

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Basically I climbed into a psychological hole towards the end of this week and pulled this book in on top of me. For those purposes, it was great. Twenty three year old party boy with ADHD is trying to get his life together when everything goes to hell in one night, and he basically falls into the lap of a biologist studying toxic effects on frogs. There's this half-hearted afterplot about the pollution and an ex and blah blah blah, but honestly 75% of this book is just taking two guys and sticking them in a small space and watching them be ridiculously happy to have found each other, and then watching all their problems get solved. So, you know, aces for my purposes this week.

The thing about Amy Lane, though, is she's so damn committed to her kinks. She takes that whole 'older put together guy' and 'younger flighty struggling guy' thing, and then she brings all the kitten and bunny descriptions for the younger guy, with extra 'fragile' and 'slender' in case you missed the memo on the dynamic here. Which is all well and good for her, and probably for a lot of readers, but personally I like this trope in subversion, not straight-faced. So to speak.

Oh, but I do have to talk about the audiobook. And by "audiobook," let's be clear. I mean podfic. In a good way! This is the sort of production with a fair amount of unfiltered sound in the background, and a narrator who clearly has a lot of feels about this story, and who persistently says "kway" for quay. Basically it made me grin and want to pat them all and call them darlings. And I'm not talking about the characters.




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Making Promises (Promises, #2)Making Promises by Amy Lane

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Amazingly treacley small town gay romance – he’s a cop, he’s a dancer (not like that). Hit some buttons of mine, missed others, details uninteresting to anyone who isn’t me.

But this book did make me think about the value of romance as a genre. This is a story about two people coming together while one loses his adored mother to slow, wasting disease. And it’s about their friends’s struggle to keep a business alive, and a soldier come home but not the same, and making the best of the baby you didn’t want to have. It’s about *gestures* all the shit that just happens. And because this is a romance, it doesn’t have to mean anything, and we don’t have to, like, have a drum circle about the unbearable lightness of human existence or whatever. It just is. The shit that happens. The way people die and how money is short and sometimes there’s no condom, but you do your best anyway, and at least the company is good. “contemporary fiction” or whatever we’re calling it these days can never reach me like that, because it’s usually trying too damn hard to have a big fucking epiphany. This book was mostly trying to get a couple of guys laid, and somehow it managed to get so much vital stuff of life into every frame.

So okay. I’ll chalk one up for romance. Sometimes, it’s just about the shit that happens to you. And as a person to whom shit happens on a startlingly frequent basis, I appreciate that we don’t have to talk about what it all means.




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