Imagine me, if you will. sitting by a fire in a book lined room. Brandy in one hand, martini in the other, furiously typing away, with a cigar in one hand and a cup of strong black coffee in the other, a bottle of half empty wine at my elbow, a glass of sherry in my hand, and a pipe clenched between my teeth which I periodically take out and wave about to make a point. I am writing a Book Review. If you are able to peer over my shoulder and see through the mingled cigar and pipe smoke, this is what you would find on my computer screen:
... is the silliest book I have ever had the misfortune to read.
It is supposedly an erotic retelling of a classic but I have been more aroused by Sweet Valley High books.
You should grab a copy to read if you like your fiction badly paced, derivative, completely unsexy, yawningly mediocre and peppered with ridiculous, one-dimensional characters.