It’s an explosive meeting of the erotic and the literary. The whole thing is brilliantly voyeuristic– like you’re reading the innermost thoughts of a real person at their dirtiest, their most depraved.
Secret’s prose is gorgeously intricate– the pacing is divine– but the protagonist, Sylvia, is the real draw to this piece. It’s a sexy down-the-rabbit-hole sort of narrative as Sylvia becomes more and more wanton, more and more immersed in her own power to claim her sexuality.
Every story is a different sort of conquest– to the point where I wasn’t even sure who was claiming whom anymore, and I loved it.
You don’t usually feel this classy after delving into the erotic– it left me in need of a man with an Irish accent and a glass of wine.