This
fascinating erotic sci-fi novel was sent to me “over the transom”, otherwise I
would never have known about it. And that would have been too bad; Peggy
Barnett’s Lips Like Ice is an
exceptionally well-crafted piece of storytelling, effortlessly melding elements of classic feminist science fiction
in the best tradition of Ursula K. Le Guin and Margaret Atwood with an
intriguing—albeit sometimes hair-raising—vein of extraterrestrial erotic
romance.
A
young earth woman, Lydia, one day wakes to find herself transported to a cold,
brutal alien world, where she has been consigned to the role of a pet for the
spoiled, petulant, adolescent offspring of local royalty. The alien species on
this planet, which Lydia can only describe as “Ice-Elf Monsters” is born
genderless, and individuals eventually choose whether to become anatomically male
or female, though that choice is often influenced more by political exigency
and family expectation than the leadings of one’s heart. And woe to anyone who
chooses “wrong”.
The
story unfolds at a leisurely pace—sometimes, perhaps, a bit too languorously—focusing
on the heroine’s inner monologue, her torturous journey of identity accompanied
by a seemingly endless cycle of self-doubt as she struggles to discern her
place in this strange new world.
She wakes when the light of the
sun, filtered through the amber window, puddles golden and warm on her face.
The Prince is sitting on a deep, plush chair beside the head of the bed. The
spindly table that had once graced its position has been moved between the two
windows, flush against the wall. The lamp is still upon it, but Lydia’s writing
desk is on the mattress by her feet. It must be the weekend again. She isn’t
sure; she keeps forgetting to make a calendar. Her period is over, so that’s
been four days at least.
She sits up blearily and rubs her
eyes. The air is comfortable this morning, which means the Prince must be too
warm. He is wearing only a loose pair of trousers that end well above his
ankles and are held on his narrow hips by a silver sash. He has a loose,
linen-like shirt on as well, but the neck is unlaced as far as it will go, the
vee gaping obscenely and offering a glimpse of pointed collarbone and a glimpse
of the dusky blue ridge of his pectoral muscle. He hasn’t any chest hair. Or
nipples, as far as she can tell.
It seems strangely sensual and
modest after he had stood before her in all his proud nakedness the other
night. Knowing what is beneath the billowing drape of sleeve, the fold of belt,
makes her feel sort of squirmy inside, like she is privy to a secret that she
shouldn’t have even known is a secret to begin with.
Later,
when the Prince asks Lydia whether she chose to be female, she finds it
difficult to give a simple answer:
“We don’t choose,” Lydia says, “We’re
born one or the other.”
The Prince shudders and stills. “So
I would have been male right from the start?”
“Well . . . it’s complicated. It’s
not . . . there’s biological sex, and then there’s gender, and sometimes they
don’t match. Sometimes biological sex isn’t just one or the other, either; and
gender can definitely be fluid. And that’s not even talking about romantic or
sexual attraction spectrums. Humans are . . . we. we’re a fucking compli—ah! Ah!
God, are you actually-- !”
Her eyes slide shut as another
orgasm rocks his body, stiffens him against her, inside of her. More pulses of
heat, sweet and dark.
“Biology class is sexy,” the Prince
rumbles in her ear when he’s stopped clutching and shaking. He laves her sweaty
neck with his tongue. Lydia falls into her doze with a chuckle . . .
Lips Like Ice
offers readers adventure and palace intrigue, seeking out new life and new
civilization with a thoughtful exploration of gender issues, and a probing
reflection on the nature of free will, specifically, how one’s concept of
liberty defines his or her humanity.
Recommended.
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