Chaos Magic by Jay Lygon


To prepare myself for writing a character who is into BDSM, I asked my Goodreads buddy, Kate, what were the best BDSM books she’d read. She named a few, half of which I already had, but one I hadn’t was “Chaos Magic” by Jay Lygon.
Crappy cover, no headless torso or hunky guys to perv over, just lots of purple and yellow and what looked like a shrine.
I started reading.
By page 3, I had emailed Kate to say that the book rocked. Well, actually the comment was “…love it already. That's what subs are like, horny as fuck. Hope the standard stays that high.”
By page 24, I was searching the web to find out who Jay Lygon was.
By page 65, I was searching for my credit card and hoping Torquere Press’s 15% off offer was still valid so I could buy everything else he/she had written. You can never be sure nowadays. Doesn’t matter. At least there was no giggling gerties, chicks with dicks or any of the other things that put me off when I’m reading m/m.
By page 150, things started to turn sour. From now on I’d be judging all my attempts at humor against this and mine would come up wanting.
By the end, I was ready to hand in my Writer’s Union Card. Sometimes for an author there is nothing more depressing than coming across one who does all the things you’re trying to do, but, oh, so much better.
You’re laughing but you’re crying.
According to its hero, Sam, mirth pours from the outside corners of people’s eyes, sorrow from the inside.
Mine were watering from both ends.
Why? Because this book does another thing I’ve been trying to do and does it brilliantly, ie deal with difficult subjects in a way that ensures the reader appreciates the message while still being entertained.
At first glance, the book might be about BDSM, at second glance it might be about a weird sort of real world ‘magic’, but underlying all this is an incredibly powerful story about fear, depression, loss of control, lack of self worth and most of all domestic violence.
I’d read advertisements and articles in gay newspapers about support groups for victims, quoting stats that say the incidence is much higher in the LGBT community but often because of various factors is never reported. It’s a subject that’s rarely if ever included in m/m romances which is understandable in a way. Yet this difficult but real problem is at the heart of “Chaos Magic” just as it is at the heart of its hero, Sammy.
Jay Lygon uses humor, like the white ropes that Sammy loves so much to wrap that subject up. Winding it around and around with cunning knots, exposing just the vulnerable parts. Making the process bearable and at the same time increasing the intensity when the harsh reality is inflicted.
The main ropes are the Gods that Sammy sees. Like Angelena the God of traffic:

“From Simi Valley to south of Tijuana is a solid band of humanity, probably 20 million people, and every single soul, no matter what religion they think they follow, prays to the Goddess every time they hit the road. That’s an impressive power base. I mean, think about it.”

This Ducati restoring God is aided by Deal, the God of Negotiation, and the Thai born Crash, the God of computers. These beings take on a life of their own as they look after Sam and try to steer him on the right course. Mind you even they argue amongst themselves much as the Gods on Olympus used to:

“You pray to the Goddess of Traffic every day,” the Lotto God complained. “No one thinks of me until the pot reaches thirty million.”

But at the heart of the story are Sam and his new Master. The question is, will the past continue to haunt Sam or will he be able to overcome his fear and find out who he truly is.
Okay, maybe it’s a case of ‘What rock have you been hiding under, AB?’ because everyone else has heard of “Chaos Magic” and read it. But if you haven’t and you love reading a story where the sex scenes are an integral part, and if you want an emotionally satisfying read that packs a punch, get on the back of Jay Lygon’s bike, hang on for grim death and let him take you on the ride of your life.
I’d give it six stars if I could, failing that I’m happy to take one off every review I’ve ever had for one of my stories, just to put this one up that little bit higher. Jay Lygon is the God of writing.


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Trey #3 by Bryl R. Tyne
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Another great book from Bryl Tyne. This is my version of how it came about....

“Thwack.”
I opened my eyes, or tried to at least. What, in God’s name had I drunk last night? A large shape loomed before me, tapping what looked like a large stick against one hand. He didn’t look happy.
“Who.. who… are you?” I swallowed. If he was who I thought he was. I was in deep shit.
“I believe you refer to me as Big Daddy, Bryl.” He glared at me. “I’ve had it up to here…” He stopped to make a menacing cutting motion against his throat then resumed tapping, harder and faster this time. “.. with you taking my name in vein.”
I untangled the sheets from around my legs and struggled to sit up. Once an editor always an editor. “Um, it’s V-A-I-N not….”
The stick… no, now my brain had started functioning properly I could see it was a rolled up bundle of papers… sped up. The voice thundered. I winced and covered my ears. Turn down the volume, dude. You’re the all seeing, all knowing… you know what my head feels like!
“I’d get you to do three Hail Mary’s, but somehow I don’t think that’s your style.”
He threw the bundle on the sheet beside me and, as they spread out, they made a neat fan shape. Well, I suppose if anyone could pull off that trick, he could.
“Instead you’re going write me a story.”
That didn’t sound too hard. I was a writer after all. I picked up the top photo. Dark, curly hair, short clipped beard, white Chesty Bond singlet, an impressive set of muscles. I could do him. “Afro-American?”
Big Daddy snorted. “Mexican, Brazilian? I don’t give a damn. Dark, tough though. Nothing like your sweet Zigzagel. Name’s Travon.”
Okay. I picked up the next photo. White, blond shaggy hair flopped over an impressive pair of shades. Enough fuzz on his chin to stop him looking too girly. Cool. Hot.
“That’s, Drew.”
“So what’s the plot?”
“I don’t give a shit.”
My eyes… no gaze… Bryl, get it right… jerked up from my contemplation of the next photo. If Travon looked tough, this guy looked downright dangerous. All attitude and power. Big too. Huge. Menacing. Below him was someone who looked like Danny de Vito’s twin brother.
“So I can write whatever I like?”
The smile that curled Big Daddy’s lips made me swallow. This was not good.
“As long as you include…” He started ticking points off against his fingers. “Jewellery, a car chase, blackmail, handcuffs, sex, lot’s of sex…” He paused and the smile turned into a downright leer. “You do like writing about sex, don’t you, Bryl?”
I nodded. Yeah, this guy knew me inside out.
The ticking off continued. “Bribery, armed robbery, adultery…”
This was starting to sound like a warped version of the Ten Commandments.
He looked confused for a moment. He was running out of fingers. He’d used one for sex and another for “lot’s of sex”, but I wasn’t going to correct him. I had a feeling my job was going to be hard enough as it was.
He shrugged as his forefinger struck the last digit. “… and Brut deodorant.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” I scrambled to my knees. I hadn’t been in this position since… what the devil had the guy’s name been??? His dick had been nice though.
Big Daddy shook his head. “Nope. The story must include Brut deodorant.”
I sat back on my heels and groaned. Just including something like that would wreck my street cred. The almighty, all powerful sure knew how to turn the screws. One last photo stared up at me from the pile. Whereas the other characters seemed like they belonged in the world Big Daddy had portrayed, this guy seemed different. Like an accountant. Conservative, short hair, straight, boring.
“Who’s this?”
“Tray.”
“Like in one of those flat things you use to carry stuff?”
“T.R.E.Y.”
An idea started taking shape in my mind. He thought he was punishing me for writing stories about his minions with pinions. He was dead wrong. It sounded like just the sort fucking challenge I loved. Guns, murder, mayhem.
He started to turn but stopped. “Oh, and it has to have a happy ending for everyone.” He glared at me for a second. “They are possible you know, Bryl.”
I buried my face in my hands. Now I was well and truly fucked.

(I'm pleased to report, that Bryl succeeded.)

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