(no subject)

[d_aulnoy]

Have you ever read a sequel to a much beloved book?  Has that sequel ever managed to recreate the initial experience?  I'm thinking, no.  It's like asking if you've ever managed to recapture a first love ...  You might find something new, something different, which is as marvelous in its own way, but never, never, will you manage to recapture that intangible something - the dart of the eyes, the quirk of the brow, the brush of the skin - that spells "first love" to you.  Well, inversely, I've just found the literary equivalent of the attempt to rekindle an old flame: it came complete with the first surge of delight ("It's so good to see you again!), the stilted efforts at previously comfortable conversation ("So ... the NIN album, hm?") and the eventual floundering sensation of realizing that the protestations of undying love ("It's amazing how nothing's ... changed ...") are ringing falsely enough to make Shitzu's howl.

Tanith Lee's Metallic Love. 

I'm off for a nice rebound relationship with Skin Folk ...