I got a giggle, glance and uptight squint from a few people who noticed this, and the title, when reading it in public. A book can be a good person filter. I’ve discovered this over time with books. And, you can judge a book by it’s cover… or its radiated reaction it would seem. It drew the right sort in. The more interesting people, the kind I don’t mind so much, smiled and asked me about it early on.
So, I knew I was onto a good thing.
Paul Heatley’s Motel Whore was like sharing a bath with David Lynch and Charles Bukowski – purist filth, pain and the bleakest kind of beauty. It’s a kind of bath that leaves you a shed-load load dirtier than you went in!
I loved it… the pages are filled with dirty-real characters, their intimate stories, bitter existences and all in such rich tasty detail. I couldn’t get enough and looked forward to each spare moment I could get to jump back in with them all.
So, another Paul Heatley fix is needed. I can’t resist dipping a toe back in or going for another full soak when no one’s looking.
Motel Whore’s deliciously real seediness is both revolting and addictive; it left me needing the next hit; page, chapter, whore-tale and book.
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