P-P Hartnett conducted extensive research for his first novel. He posted personal ads for a fictional "Bike Boy" in London's gay press, met with over 200 respondents, catalogued the results, and had his book. Call me follows Liam, an unemployed photographer, who uses the responses to the Bike Boy ad to "feed upon and be fed into the dreams of the not-so-nice one-timers." An intreaguing premise, promising a voyeuristic trip into the underside of London's gay culture, but the book quickly turns into a series of rancorous attacks on the people who answer Liam's ad. Hartnett hopes to show that Liam's anger is just merely a front masking a sensitive male pining for his lost lover, but the bloody detailing of Liam's violent fantasies are too heartfelt to be anything but a mean-spirited attack on the personal ad culture. I imagine that writing the book must have been cathartic, but absent any hint of redemption, it's ultimately only a journey into the dark side of Liam's soul. Not for the weak of heart.
This review originally appeared in The Weekly Alibi.
© Todd Meigs
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