give lof, the doefulmon is nigh, the Ardent-loc incarnate!

Succubi, by Edward Lee. I got this book after reading about Lee, and the interesting note that he just wasn't published anymore because his books were so over top. Curious because of my interest in extremes, I found the cheapest of the used copies I could find (pretty much the only way to find his books, turns out), and though I didn't see what was so special about it for the first half of the book, damn but yeah I see why the prevailing opinion makes sense now.

There's incredible, gross violence, but that's intertwined with sex like...whoa (so, interestingly, if you end up finding it erotic, you end up feeling somewhat disturbed at yourself). At some point I'm going to go back and use a whiteboard to make a semantic web to connect all the themes and variations of sexuality and monstrosity that Lee interweaves - his writing might be pornographic in the more general sense of the word, but he pulls it off somewhat skillfully, I have to say, that is, with some amount of purpose.

Also of note is the interesting (though I'm quite curious as to the accuracy and veracity) use of Old English throughout the novel. Which I'll also note is great to use in a horror novel, as in reading it one constantly feels as if they can almost understand what it says, but not quite - a perfect effect to accent this kind of novel. Which is in a sense kind of an echo of Lee delving into what other authors gloss over as "too maddening to be described."

An interview of a great artist, Hope Larson (look up Salamander Dreams)