Ok. I almost never write bad reviews. I hate doing it. It doesn’t feel nice. Authors spend months on a project–sometimes years–just to have someone like me tell them it’s crap? I don’t like it. I’m friends with authors. I AM an author. I know what it’s like to be written about negatively. Therefore, what I do on Reader/Eater is recommend books/series/narrators/types of gin. It’s why I don’t post as frequently as other book bloggers. It may be cowardly of me, or it may just be my Ohio politeness showing in spite of having lived in NYC my entire adult life, but there it is.
That said. Sometimes, well, sometimes a book needs the review. Negative or no. Sometimes, a book with an inexplicably high rating is so bad it’s offensive. Mostly, because a large portion of the text itself was/is offensive.
(FYI, if you’re one of those people who seem to embrace a culture of “not being politically correct” because it’s cache to do so in your circles, while it actually means “gays/immigrants/Planned Parenthood/Taco Bell Breakfast can go fuck themselves” you might want to hold off on reading this post. Or perhaps, you’ve found the wrong blog. Might I direct you…here. Or…here. Or even…here.)
I read a book a few days ago which was so grossly disrespectful to women, to the LGBT population, to minorities, and, you know, to words in general, that I found myself desirous of a bag to punch, or a wall to bang my head against.
Ok, so here goes…
So I read this:
SO MANY SPOILERS AHEAD. SO MANY. If you want to read this, like, actually want to read this, DON’T READ MY POST.
Nice cover, highly rated, decent blurb that made me think to myself: “might not be a bad way to expunge my brain of text from having to read Bartleby the Scrivener, again.”
Twentysomething Kat Reid is loving life as an in-demand Hollywood makeup artist. She has absolutely no interest in rock ’n’ roll, but in order to pay the mortgage, she agrees to work on the set of a rock video for the world-famous rockers known as Bad Habit…which brings her face-to-face with Nico Nyx, lead singer of Bad Habit and Adonis in the flesh.
However, the fiercely independent Kat isn’t impressed by the hard-living, womanizing rock star. But when Nico’s model girlfriend shows up to the set drunk and Kat is tapped to replace her as the video’s sexy bride, her combustible chemistry with Nico suddenly threatens to consume the set. Nico feels it, too—and becomes determined to win Kat over, body and soul. Yet behind his rock god swagger, Nico hides a dark secret. Can he rock Kat’s world forever, or will he just break her heart?
So, why would I rather read a book written by a transcendentalist with a hard-on for text as dry as three day old toast, about the world’s worst employee-turned-airbnb squatter?
Well, as much as I hate Mellville, and I do hate Mellville, he never makes me wish I hadn’t learned the English language as to prevent myself from having the ability to decode the pages.
Sweet as Sin starts out with racism, and ends with a real bang.
“Honey, I can spot a fellow egg roll a mile away.” (says the half-Japanese walking gay stereotype.)
“Egg rolls are Chinese.”—“…You know what I mean.”
The MC is half Japanese/half Irish.
“So, what did they call you?” (in school) “Rucky Charms”
I mean, really. REALLY. No, REALLY.
This is not ok. It’s just not. Whether or not JT Geissinger read this as “funny,” is irrelevant. It didn’t move the plot forward, it barely served to bond the two characters interacting at this point, and it just makes the author seem like some backwards-ass, racist, white girl who comes up with mean nicknames she can use in the future, couched as “comedy.”
“The called me Gookemon.”
Yeah. That’s not a typo. It appears on page SIXTEEN. Not even 20 pages into this motherfucker, and I already wanted to close the POS and go hug my half-Chinese kids, and tell them if any dumbass hooligan shitcunt ever calls them ANYTHING like this, that I will find them, hunt their parents, and SOCIAL MEDIA RUIN THE FUCK OUT OF THEM.
So next, I would go on to talk about how she then makes fun of transgender people and “midgets,” (I don’t use that word) but apparently, there was SO MUCH BACKLASH related to her joking about the “so called” disgusting nature of “transgender and midget strippers,” that she edited that out, and now that particular bit is whittled down to a joke about multiple (average, I assume) strippers, who are probably gay, with a fetish for foot bondage or wet works.
Wet works, I can only assume, is this:
And then came the buckets of creepy misogyny, juvenile behavior from a 31 year old man, scary possessiveness (I don’t mind a little possessiveness because that means you care.–gag) and borderline borderline behavior.
All the breath left my body as if I’d been punched in the chest. Nico had slept with this…this…slutty maneater! And holy…those legs! Those boobs! That silicone-filled, glossy mouth that looked like it could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch!
“Nah darlin, you were never my lady, Or probably anyone else’s lady. More like the village bicycle. Haven’t taken a ride on that rusty, second-hand bike in what, six months?”
This is the love interest saying this. The guy whom I’m supposed to get all swoony-lovey over, is in fact, a juvenile shame peddler who delights in cutting down women in front of large groups of his peers and hers. Well, done you!
Of course this devolves into a fist fight between two women. Because, don’t you know, that silly extra X chromosome we ladyfolkdickreceptecals carry seems to make us irrational. Incapable of controlling our emotions. Hormonal.
Yes, authors, let us cater and pander to every notion of feminine hysterics assigned to us by men over the ages.
“I wasn’t kidding before, Kat, when I said no other man got to have you. That especially includes seeing you naked.” He paused, his voice dropping. “And get a fuckin’ female gynecologist. Any man who has that job is nothin’ but a perv.”
Let me say this. If ANY MAN, ANY guy I was even minimally interested in, said ANYTHING EVEN VAGUELY RESEMBLING THIS LEVEL OF CUNTFUCKERY, I would ghost on him like fucking Casper with his ectoplasm set on fire like dead greased lightning.
Oh fuck this. I hated him. That was it. I hated him, and I was done. “Get off me!” Shoving had exactly zero effect. Nico didn’t budge, but he did grasp my wrists and hold them against my stomach so I couldn’t scratch my eyes out, as was my plan.”
That is not sexy. That, my lovely little scamps, is ASSAULT.
Let me say this ONCE for any and all people wanting to put a pen to paper and make sexy:
Bondage is only sexy because it is a safe way to express darker urges, while maintaining a truth in action, safeguards for comfort, and a mutual respect and prior agreement to terms. If I want my husband to tie me up and spank me while doing the dishes or dressing like a Doctor Who companion, that’s my business, but we would have a safe word to prevent the shit from going full-Dalek.
It would be “astrophysicist.” Because he’s out of this world…(gagging at my own words)
“If you ever want to go lezbo, I’m totally on board. I’ve been a certified man-hater for years. The only thing they’re good for is their cocks. And half the time they’re not even good for that.”
I was unaware that manhating was the chief requirement for being a “lezbo.” And here I was thinking it had to do with personal and sexual connections. Silly me.
Also? WHO THE FUCK THINKS “LEZBO” IS OK? WHO?! Ok, probably this lord master of laxativedicks:
I won’t tell you the *twist* at the end, but I will tell you that it is…something else. This book had all of the charm and romance of colonoscopy with no sedative or lubrication, with none of fun imagery.
Sweet as Sin is a book that tells readers that it’s ok to fall in love with an overbearing egomaniac who doesn’t take “no” for an answer. It’s ok to be a racist, misogynist, homophobic person–as long as you say nice things occasionally. And that the threat of rape is still the best way to terrify a woman in any novel. It’s not an easy out! NO! It’s…ok, it’s an easy plot device. But use it anyways, authors, because Goodreads reviewers seem to eat that shit with a spoon and share it like this week’s featured fro-yo!
This book taught me that far too many women must think far too little of our gender, because this book’s ratings on both Goodreads AND Amazon are spectacular, and that is mind boggling. This book was not an escape, it was an extraction.
As for today’s recipe? I find I’ve lost my appetite. Come back tomorrow for a reading list and some delicious hummus. Have a beer. Don’t read this book.