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Every sex scene in this book is an incantation, and the spell it conjures gives the effect of shimmering black powder floating on the face of a warm, onyxite ocean, lit sharply and brilliantly by a white cold moon, that moves you around, gently, at random, until the whispering is over, and you’re back in your seat, reading your book.

It’s so fascinating how Baldwin is doing this thing of interlacing Eric’s dialogue with Rufus-isms whenever he’s feeling especially confident. That method of subtle, brilliant characterization like that is the kind of thing that comes to you in the middle of a free write and you run around the room celebrating. And Baldwin has one of these like every other page. It’s insane.