What can I say about this poem that has not already been said? I want to whisper it to myself every day for the rest of my life.

This was just great. I mean, as far as damnation stories go there's not much about Vathek content-wise that truly sets it apart, but the language is so intense, so passionate, and I'd fallen in love with Beckford after about a page of the introduction. I also found his depiction of Hell especially affecting. It's the kind of thing I want to learn most of so I can trail off quotes at unsuspecting types and make myself look even more pretentious than I already do.

I feel ridiculous giving this a three. I think this site should grade out of ten - One Hundred Years would get a seven, I think. It started beautifully, but I struggled so much with it in the middle. Just so ... cold, and unbearable, and impossible to be sucked into (NB: I recognise that not all great literature is sucky but c'mon, you need something to keep you going). The language was stunning - some turns of phrase were entirely humbling; the ending was spectacular. But, as a whole, it was a painful experience, and not in a good way. Sorry, Gabe.

Brilliantly ridiculous. I love Nietzsche: he writes his silliness so beautifully, and passionately. This may sound like faint praise. It isn't.

More delightful when seen rather than read, I'd imagine.

I can't find the words for this book yet. It was ... sublime, and disturbing, and glorious, and compelling, and rich, and moving. I hope I can review it more articulately later.

What I loved about Story of O was that it didn't at all feel like it was primarily a pornographic novel; I didn't feel as though it were frothy and meaningless and written for the sole purpose of titillating the reader. I thought O's character and needs and motivations were remarkably well-explored, and that as a reader I was almost forced into direct empathy with her, which, of course, made it that much more affecting. I also really enjoyed Réage's writing style: claustrophobic, compulsive, immediate yet lingering, and overwhelmingly feminine. This book really impressed me: it is a brave presentation of sexuality, particularly given the time at which it was written. I'd certainly read it again, although it didn't grab me in the way my favourite books do.

These are relatively minor points that are dwarfed by its positive aspects, but: it bothered me that O was the only character I felt was adequately explored, and overall I didn't feel the book documented a development as much as it did an examination of an unchanging state, which does not only O but the nature of masochism and sexuality a disservice. I appreciate that the anti-climactic ending suggested a continuing narrative (in fact, there's a sequel, although I'm not falling over myself to get at it just yet) and that stories do not require blatant endings; that said, its fairytale composition seems to lie uncomfortably against its consistency. I was very struck by the contrasting imagery at the beginning and end of the book, but felt somewhat let down that this was in no way connected to the actual trajectory of the narrative.