![]() ![]() In time, love becomes a dense manuscript, a palimpsest of inscrutable, epic proportions, one love is overlaying another, thick and hot and stinking of beds. Summers is a macabre banquet of a suspense novel, serving up carnal and gustatory surprises. ![]() With the coming of words, love writes and is then overwritten love is marginalia illegibly scrawled in your own illegible hand. For those who can stomach it, A Certain Hunger, by Chelsea G. One love coats another, like the clear pages of an anatomy textbook, drawing pictures of things we can only ever see in fractions. This promiscuous mixing of feelings and touches, of smiles and cries in the dark, of half-pushed pleasures and heart-cracking pain, of shared unutterable intimacies and guttural expressions, layer in embellished bricolage. Summers A Certain Hunger introduces us to. Over time, one love comes to lay atop another, a mother's love, a father's love, a lover's love, a friend's love, an enemy's love. A satire of early foodieism, a critique of how gender is defined, and a showcase of virtuoso storytelling, Chelsea G. Love becomes describable, narratable, relatable. “Preverbal, love is the smell of a known body, the touch of a recognized hand, the blurred face in a haze of light. ![]()
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