Much of this book reads as if it’s an attempt to shock the reader. But anyone who has read Edmund White knows his background, knows the context he came of age in, and knows that people have sex. Some of us (like White, apparently) quite a bit of it.
I don’t really think my life has been enriched at all by learning about his partners or his own particular preferences. Nothing here is really that interesting, nor does it change much of anything about the way I think about White, his legacy, nor about gay men or gay sex. It all feels a little self-indulgent. I would have said self-gratifying, but well, White took care of that already.