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By M. Christian
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by Kit O'Connell
M. Christian is a writer who doesn’t let the reader off easy. I don’t mean that his books aren’t easy to read (he has a fine way with words and a unique, recognizable voice). The thing about his stories is that even at their filthiest, they also make you think.
As a reader, there often seem to be two ways to read erotic science fiction (as a writer, I doubt it's so cut-and-dried, but bear with me). Either the fantasy is so completely the focus of the story that the setting is constructed to suit it, or the author presents us with a fully-realized setting and then allows us to peek in on sexy activity happening there. Neither approach is inherently superior, but M. Christian's work is firmly in the latter category.
Take "Everything But the Smell of Lilies," one of his finest and most twisted moments. Our heroine is Justine Moor, a sex worker heavily modified by high-tech medical science so that her johns can kill her, have sex with her corpse, and then pay her when she starts breathing again. In the hands of another writer, our protagonist would be enough--an excuse to spin an edgy tale of erotic death where the victim is smiling at the end. While Justine may wear a satisfied smile at the end of this story, the readers' thoughts are likely to be far more complex because the author shows us not a typical transaction, but the moment when the script goes wrong.