I prefer science fiction, fantasy, and horror without the spaceships, dragons, and zombies.
I think it's possible that one day a psychiatrist will give a name to the peculiar disease of the mind that makes one predisposed to truly enjoy Wol-vriey's books. Until then, I'll just have to live knowing that I'm afflicted with an as-yet-to-be-named mental disorder that, if I had to guess, impacts about 0.001 percent of the human population. But I don't mind, really.
Really, I don't.
And it's not like I'm looking for a cure.
Here's a little test to see if maybe you're a sufferer of this rare mental illness.
Would you like to read a book that features:
-strange, and yet quite useful, genital mutations?
-taboo sexual practices which have magical healing properties?
-impaling, decapitation, and dismemberment (all played for laughs)?
-cringe-worthy dialog written in the most insulting dialect imaginable?
-sex scenes that raise interesting philosophical questions on the subject of bestiality in fantastic literature?
If you answered 'yes' to ALL of the above, then you and I likely suffer from the same mental disorder, and you should read this book.
To those who answered 'no' to ANY of the above: you've been warned.
Note: I received a sticky electronic copy of this filthy book from this smutty author in exchange for an honest (non-reciprocal) review.