Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno, #2) - Sylvain Reynard
"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate!"

I want to start this review by saying a couple of things about Gabriel's Inferno. As I said in its review, the book was promising at the beginning. I kind of enjoyed the way the author build the story based on a very significant piece of world's literature, and was fascinated by the thorough research done by the author. But unfortunately, that's about all the positive stuff I can say about the book. So, the story in Gabriel's Rapture picks up right where Gabriel's Inferno ended. After a whole book of tormented love in the dark, Gabriel and Julia are finally together together and have done the dirty. The beginning of the book is complete waste of space and had me constantly rolling my eyes. Please, behold:

"The blue sky blushed to see such passionate lovemaking, while the Florentine sun smiled down, warming the lovers despite the gentle breeze. Beside them, Julia's coffee and milk grew stone cold and sullen at being ignored."

Who writes like that? And more importantly, who likes such writing? I dont know what you call that, but I call it lazy-ass writing. Further on, right after encountering this absolute treasure of literary writing, we find a terrible inconsistency:

"And it isn't my bedroom, it's our bedroom."

Authors probably think that similar statements make women's panties drop instantly, but I personally find them very irritating. Especially when nothing on the matter has been said previously. I actually re-read this part of the dialogue a couple of times, just to make sure that Julia hasn't specifically said anything about his/hers/their bedroom. And she hadn't. So, when things like that just pop up in the middle of nowhere, I start seriously thinking whether I should continue reading a book.

And to make things even worse, Gabriel and Julia attend this event where Gabriel is giving a lecture about Botichelli's art and how he represents different female archetypes in his works (I guess Gabriel is a specialist in all things Italian). Gabriel is practically confessing his love for his girlfriend before the eyes of the highest of the highest in the art and literary world (it's still unclear to me why he keeps referring to her as his fiancée, but that's probably because of my underdeveloped brain or something; there is actually some conversation on the matter later on), and actually compares Julia to Beatrice (I bet you didn't see this one coming), Venus, Eve and Mary (yes, Eve as in Adam and Eve, and Mary as in the mother of baby Jesus). So I say, let's give it up for Julia, goddess of all earthly and heavenly beauty and virtue.

I used to think that Gabriel is a pretentious prick and I almost hated him about it. But now that I started this book:

"Only barbarians drink coffee with milk after breakfast. Haven't you ever been to Italy? And by the way, Miss Peterson, skim milk is for wankers. Or fat girls." Bitch, there is absolutely no doubt that I hate you now.

And, as if pompous dick Gabriel is not enough for us, we are supposed to go through a narration so dull, if my brain had a heart, it would need defibrillation:

"He ended his email with an explicit and detailed suggestion of a prospective sexual rendezvous, possibly in the late spring. Then he finished his cigarette in the darkness and joined his wife in their matrimonial bed." What? I ask again: What?

Dear readers, I made it all the way to the 13% and the end of chapter 4. My brain refuses to let my eyes read this shit and this goes straight to my will-never-finish list. I tried, God knows I did, but some things are more powerful than I am. I will not be rating this because I usually rate unfinished books after I've at least reached the middle, but I guess it's pretty obvious what my rating would be.