#something spectacular

My Review:

There's something magical about Alexis Hall's writing. His books are hilarious and witty and full of unexpectedly profound truths about life and love and everything in between, and always wonderfully, unapologetically queer. I always find myself highlighting dozens upon dozens of passages and then agonizing over which to choose for my 'favorite quotes' section of my review blog posts. Again and again his writing has me collapsing with laughter and then startled into profound revelations when my guard is down. This book is hilarious and tender and incisive with biting social commentary. Every character is ridiculous and dramatic and I love them all. In this book we have Peggy, who is genderfluid - not only a woman nor only a man - and is often quite cross and contrary about it, and about how the world wants to box her in no matter how vehemently she protests. And then we have Orfeo, an agender castrati opera singer who is also neither man nor woman, simply beautiful. And though some of that was forced upon them, they would be neither man nor woman either way. Being nonbinary myself, I really appreciated seeing them struggle with and ultimately joyfully accept themselves and each other as they are. Their love story is at times stunningly gorgeous and at times hilarious, and it was a joy to watch them discovering deeper truths about themselves and one another. It was wonderful to see Valentine and Bonny and Belle and Sir Horley again, for they bring the sheer ridiculousness energy they brought in Something Fabulous. I do feel the Sir Horley marriage thread got dropped abruptly, but I'm hoping that's just because there will be a third book focusing on him in the future. I hope we get more of Belle, too, as her ending was also a little abrupt and I found her realization that she is aromantic, after a lifetime diet of nothing but romantic books and daydreams, very interesting, especially when contrasted with her twin Bonny, who is romantic to his core. I would like to see Bonny realizing that Belle, though his twin, is also her own person and they do not have to share everything and his dreams do not need to be her dreams. I really liked the addition of the Duke and Duchess of Marshalsea, and I hope we see more of them in future books as well. The final scene, involving four participants, struck me as one of the more profound sex scenes I've encountered. It was so unusual, and had so much love and care and trust in it, and such a striking lack of awkwardness, that I found it quite moving. And that's coming from someone who doesn't normally enjoy sex scenes. It's the kind of scene that's incredibly difficult to write well, and it's executed beautifully. Just four people who love and trust one another unconditionally, finding joy and even further closeness together. In case it wasn't already clear, I adored Something Spectacular. I adored Something Fabulous as well, but I may adore this even more. I will now commence hoping for further sequels. *Thanks to NetGalley and Montlake for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

(Yes, there are far too many, I know. But Alexis Hall is one of my absolute favorite authors and I have already cut 75% of what I highlighted.)

“Letter for you, darling.” Glancing up from her book, Peggy’s mother gestured with a forkful of bacon, causing the bacon to fly off the fork and land in her husband’s teacup. “Oh, bother.” Mr. Delancey de-baconed his tea. “Thank you, pet. I always felt what tea was missing was more meat.”

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“Oh my God.” Belle’s voice broke upon them as abruptly as if she’d dropped a piano on their heads from the floor above.

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It was at this moment that Belle popped up like a shark beneath a shipwreck, seizing both Peggy and Sir Horley. “Come. We need to be at the front”

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It was beautiful, but it was beautiful in the way that looking at the night was beautiful in winter, when it was at its blackest and coldest, and you felt as infinitesimal as the distant stars. It was beautiful as only the bloodiest sunsets and the most jagged mountains were beautiful. Terrible beauty, beauty that wanted to drive you to your knees and drink the tears from your eyes, the sort of beauty to rend skies and topple cathedrals, as impossible as the flame of Prometheus.

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Peggy had not come out tonight seeking a glimpse of the numinous, but the numinous was staring right at her regardless.

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“So…” Peggy lurched to her feet. “I’m not very—I”m feeling a bit…” She could taste blood at the back of her throat. Her breath was knives. Her pulse a stampede of wild horses. “I think I might…” Then the walls closed in, the ceiling rolled over like a dog wanting its tummy scratched, and the ground vomited itself into her face.

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It was almost imperceptible—perhaps so imperceptible that Peggy was probably imagining it, but something about Orfeo had changed. They offered the same warmth, the same curious gaze, the same tantalising play of humility and theatricality. But it was as though they had gilded themselves, somehow. Until they were nothing but the gleam of reflected light.

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She wondered if Orfeo would be like that, a lion and an eagle and a fiercely burning flame before they were finally just themselves, safe and spoiled in Peggy’s arms.

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“Perhaps had things been otherwise,” Orfeo went on, “I would have been a farmer like my father. Married some sweet. peasant girl. Had children of my own. Never dreamed in music and lived for the gleam of a thousand candles.”

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Someone who wasn’t her romance-oppositional best friend, an opera singer committed exclusively to their career, or a clergyman’s daughter with a fatal case of poetry.

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And someday she was going to like somebody who didn’t see their life as a story they were telling instead of something they were living. Or, then again, maybe she wasn’t. Maybe dramatic beyond all reason was her type.

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Because the soiree had been little more than a glimpse of this: the kind of beauty that did things to you. Hurt you and healed you and humbled you. Left you not quite the same.

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Peggy tried to draw her knees up even more but was prevented by the limits of her own body and the physical laws of the universe. “It’s what they want.”

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She didn’t bother calling for a carriage because having to call a carriage to take you to the other side of the same damn square was the sort of nonsense society inflicted on ladies. And she wasn’t—had never been—a lady, and she was through with letting people force her to pretend to be one.

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He was fucking with her. Peggy was increasingly convinced he was fucking with her. This was going beyond butler and into obstructive.

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“You’re not a coward, mio principe. Sometimes living, simply as we are, is the greatest act of courage there is.”

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George bristled. “Are you ridiculing me Delancey? These are my feelings, in this sonnet. Do you know how difficult it is for a man like me to have feelings? I’m very athletic.”

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In any case, Peggy liked the crocodile. For whatever reason, the taxidermist, perhaps not knowing very much about crocodiles, had positioned it on its hind legs, with its front claws extended before it and its long-snouted mouth open in an expression of mild exasperation. It was if it was saying “Oh, what the fuck now,” and it was exactly how Peggy wanted her visitors to be greeted.

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Peggy wouldn’t have known to describe a piece of music as “fostering a vocal sensuality” if it stuck its tongue in her ear.

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She could have told them that the world at large believed her made for certain things and that admitting she wanted them for herself felt like betrayal, triumph, and surrender all at once. She could have told them she thought that sometimes the only way to have a choice was to make it anyway.

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And Peggy wasn’t sure what was worse: resenting a piece of art for not speaking to you or having to face up to the fact it was.

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"All I want”—it was Valentine’s most tragic voice—“is to be a very rich, powerful, and well-dressed man who gets to sleep until a sensible hour of one or two in the afternoon, and bathe uninterrupted at length.” He flung his arms to the heavens. “Is that too much to ask?” As in answer, the sky darkened, and a few drops of rain plopped heavily down upon them. “No,” said Valentine. He subjected the weather to a ducal glare. “Stop it. Stop it at once.” Peggy patted him reassuringly on the arm. “We’re nearly there.” They were not nearly there. But she didn’t want to admit that to Valentine in case he burst into tears or threw himself from the vehicle.

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She had always chosen to be the naysayer, the sensible one, the voice of reason when dragged into the latest round of Tarleton hijinks, but she had never once said no. Because, at the end of the day, a world full of adventures, romantic reversals, grand gestures, and happy endings was simply better than a world without.

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