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There isnt a single narrator, but Purnells work tends to operate from a semi-autobiographical space.
100 Boyfriendsfront-loads its best work into the first two acts, Army of Lovers and 100-Page Breakup Letter.
666, whose stroke game was at about 58 percent.
Then theres the on-again, off-again relationship in Damn a Lover Comes Home to Die.
You are going to come back to me.
The public square winks with possibility.
Gas stations become libidinal pump-and-dumps.
No politics or inhibiting concepts, no closed rules or fixed responses.
The great thing about anonymous sex is spontaneity.
Writing in this genre has usually held a romantic view of cruising.
That tapping foot could belong to a trucker or a senator.
Delany holds such spaces in awe and channels their otherworldliness into his science fiction.
He respects a transcendent sluthood.
The paragraph-long snippets begin to feel repetitive.
They blur together, as casual sex is wont to do.
(There are only so many sexual positions under the sun.)
What are we left with at the end of it all?
Certainly not marriage (thank God).
Theres desire itself, an unslakable thirst.
My only desire is to be desired, one of Purnells narrators thinks to himself.
