Some of the best stories are simulations of the more sinful desires, and BDSM certainly falls into this category. While Whyte Yote offers up a story that is absent of the bondage or sado-masochistic aspects, he creates a story with a starkly defined dom/sub binary- and does it with a muted, even disaffected touch that enables vivid imagery. Issues of class and race (as far as they can be somehow projected upon furry animal pseudo fantasy-people, or whatever) give the story a special bite, one that can often cause conflict between writer and reader.
And for those who were looking forward to a little bondage: If I don't learn to stop futzing with my hoodie zipper during recording session, you can presume in future recording sessions that my hands are cuffed behind my back.
While I'm sure racists see themselves as members of a superior race, I can't for the life of me imagine somebody in contemporary society believing themselves to be a member of an inferior race. Are there any black homeless guys in New York today that feel a "temptation to honor a superior race" when confronted with a white businessman? No, really, are there?
ReplyDeletePerhaps just another indication of how broken the tiger was. Ok, the tiger is broken. I still don't get what the point was. There were two dysfunctional people, a lot of description of an opulent penthouse, and a not very engaging sex scene. If Whyte Yote’s intention was to make some sort of commentary on poverty, capitalism and society, I feel that he’s bashing in open doors.
Sorry about the “agenda” comment, it was definitely unnecessary.
I agree. A point I'd forgotten to mention was that the story was clearly geared toward the interests of an upper-class reader: descriptions of elegant homes and fancy meals appeal to the tastes of those who are able to access them.
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