I will call this post "illayarainessecon," the act of discussing Wraeththu.

I should have known that a book I found clumsy and amateurish when I was a teenager would be even worse now.

Yes, I am talking about Wraeththu. Why did I pick it up again? Curiosity, I suppose. Despite the bad writing, I did enjoy it enough to finish it back then--and that's saying something because the thing is damn long. I can still see the appeal now.

But oh my God, I somehow managed to block out the floofy fantasy name syndrome even though it's right in the title. I did remember the hilariously flowery portrayal of everything sexual, though.

(Icon so totally appropriate for this post.)