I picked up this book and couldn’t put it down. I read it at the beach, in the car, and even in-between class periods while at work. Naranjo’s story is expertly crafted and beautifully horrific.
“There is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer,” opined my husband’s favourite poet; I had learned something of the nature of that similarity on my marriage bed. And now my taper showed…