What is this madness?
If you don't want this book spoiled, STOP READING NOW.
I have no issue with story-telling, even story-telling about stuff that squicks me out. But, dammit, this book is glor-fuck-ifying a relationship between a 15-year-old girl (one of those really "precocious" ones, like men like to imagine exist, and write fake stories about in Penthouse Forum to much acclaim and nausea) and a 30-something writer, and it is GROSSING ME THE FUCK RIGHT OUT.
Couple this with the absolute hand-job that the writer is giving to writing as the most-awesomest-and-specialest-and-life-affirming occupation that exists (seriously, writing gives life MEANING, people) and I am just about to throw up here.
Why do I do this to myself, you ask? Well, I paid like twelve bucks for this book, and I am going to finish it. Even if it kills me.
It had better get better.