As anyone who cares to scan back through the books I've reviewed so far this year will see, I like quite a wide range of fiction. There may be a slight lean towards the horror genre, crime and fantasy stuff in general, but I tend to read a lot of different genres.
One genre I don't like is romance/love stories. Who's sleeping with who is a sub plot, useful for character motivation. A well written sex scene is always welcome but I really don't think that who's in whose bed is an interesting enough idea to be the centre of the plot. It's the stuff of soap opera, not a serious attempt at storytelling.
So then we come to Kink, by Kathe Koja - a love story, a cautionary tale, a novel about sex, and who's in whose bed, with whom...
And it's an easy contender for the best book of the year. I've enjoyed every word of this book. The prose is amazing. The story sucks you in and keeps hold. I wish I'd had more time for long reading sessions these last few weeks as this book was so difficult to put down.
Koja doesn't write like anyone else I've ever read. Angela Carter is close, but I've nor read any of her long fiction yet to judge on this properly... Like Angela Carter, there is something disconcerting in Kathe's prose style. Read it too long and you can find yourself feeling like you're vaguely intoxicated.
She doesn't follow usual rules of grammar, run on sentences abound, words cascade, like water rushing over you as the dam wall breaks, feelings intensify as her story pulls you under through sheer force of narrative. Immediacy of language: rules ignored but it all works, stream of consiousness; we are in the narrators head, his thoughts, his feelings. We feel with him the intensity of his love for Sophie and his obsession's genesis for Lena - her dark beauty encapsulating his and our entire being. Paragraphs can run for whole pages, as well as whole sentences, switchback ride from action to thought to observation with no delineation; normal rules of writing gone by the wayside
and it works so damned well, dragging us, the readers deeper into Jess's being and experiencing with him his fortunes and misfortunes and loving his loves then hating and suffering with him as the story moves through myriad combinations and convolutions.
I give up. I apologise for trying to ape the writing style and failing so miserably. Kathe Koja is an amazing writer. Open the book at random and copy a paragraph for a taster
And the blending duet, Lena and Sophie trading stories and me in the middle content to listen, to look, Sophie effervescent with wine and hilarity, Lena chin on fist and smiling, those dark and shining eyes: as if we could tell her anything, everything, the trivial to the vast: from Sophie's passion for sourball candies to my own failed attempts at writing there was nothing off-limits, nothing that, once words were found, might not be said- and not only said, but without words understood: how rare is it, a friend like that?
This is a tale of obsession, set in an all too real backdrop of seedy clubs and night haunts. A complicated love triangle at the centre of the story. I guess I liked it as much, not just because of the prose, but because, despite the storyline being contained 100% within my most hated genre, it's a dark tale indeed. Love gives way to obesession. Obsession is rewarded with betrayal and hurt. Jess's head is not a comfortable place for we the readers to inhabit, but Kathe Koja plants us firmly in the middle of it. Seeing life through his kinks is maybe not for the faint of heart but is a rewarding experience in many a strange way.
I seriously cannot reccommend this book highly enough. 9/10
It is available second hand on Amazon, or there is a chance that Ms Koja might have some in her own store
https://kathekoja.com/buy-books/
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