For readers familiar only with Christian's rousing erotic short fiction, this horror-tinged fable about the foibles of queer identity may come as a welcome literary surprise. There's no sex, and there's really only one gay character, the narrator. Actually, there are multiple gay characters, but they're all the same fellow, which is where the one-of-a-kind craft of this delicious novel comes into play.
When first met, he's a quintessentially stylish queer "boy of summer" – blond hair, clear skin, good looks, just the right amount of muscle, endowed within reason, with a honed fashion sense, an Ikea-furnished apartment, and a sensibly sporty car. He revels in a self-satisfied life of conspicuously consumptive consumerism, fueled by a day job as a Starbucks barista slacker. All is good. Until other boys of summer start to take over the narrator's world, befriending his friends, rearranging his apartment, living his life. Being him. Evil twins? Doppelgangers? Creepy figments of the imagination? Christian never explains, which is why this horrific, terrific novel manifests quirky dread so well.
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