peter rietbergen

Very impressive. If only for its unique gay "slant" on the traditional Western, the entire tale has the makings of a compelling film or TV-series.

Dear WL, A good point: tragic, or not. I think I can follow your implicit interpretation: it is a story about A Life, and therefore has many ingredients that, we, your readers, recognise.

To make me continue believing these two, or rather your take about them: next time perhaps a little less sex and a bit more emotion?

“Why are you crying?” “Because you made me very happy,” Reese said honestly. This is a moving chapter.

Interesting. However, the "by-sexual" in the tags seems misleading. Since it is manifestly obvious where this is going, the fact that there are "girl-friends" in the background - even, perhaps,being "sex-partners" - doesn't really make the two men bi-sexual. Complying, in puberty, to heterosexual cultural/societal expectations is quite another thing.

"I love him, sir," Theo said. The three words hung in the air, simple, unadorned, and absolute. "I offer him the truth," Theo said quietly, each word measured and deliberate. "And I offer him my life. I stood in front of a bullet for him, Mrs. Sawyer. And he did the same for me. I have that in writing, signed in blood and fire. Can your society friends offer him that? Can their loyalty survive anything more testing than a misplaced dinner invitation?" Eleanor stared at him, her mouth a tight, shocked line. The silence in the dining room was profound, broken only by the frantic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. The maids had frozen in place by the sideboard. Then, slowly, with immense effort, Eleanor picked up her linen napkin and dabbed at the corners of her lips. She looked at Theo not with approval, but with a new, stark, and grudging appraisal. She had tested the metal of him, pushed him to his limit, and he had not broken. He had sharpened. "The soup is cold," she announced to the room at large, her voice once again a model of controlled composure. But the targeted venom was gone. The battle was not won, but a wary, respectful stalemate had been declared. Yes: perfect.

it's a cute story - but let's stop pretending that Five is straight and only is serving the tittillations of his so-called girl-friend. So the "dilemma" is: P and F, or P and E. Or P with both?

a - not unexpected - turn that'll allow the story to unfold in more surprising ways...Great.

Obviously, a "simple" happy end was never in the books. Topher's Tales mostly aren't easy reads - the more reason to admire him and his mastery of the craft.

of course you're right - and the global danger sits, especially, in these plural presences. I am reading Spengler, these days - admittedly not recommended reading with Christmas coming up. But even in the 1920s he was at least partly prophetic.

Americans don't read charts, they watch vibes. A Tragic Truth that has brought the world a Maniac.

THE HORSE did give a brilliant performance of equine ballet, outdoing the Lipizzaner in Vienna's Hofburg....

Of course you are. Bringing these boys in with such (loving) detail wasn't perhaps necessary for the story you're now running but does pave the way for future ones. However, bridging the gap from their present precocity to characters that more convincingly can be protagonists won't be easy.

Soon or late, we all have to confront our other self, whatever our position in life: commanding or following, talking or writing.

I must confess, as I've been doing over the past weeks reading this story, that I find Lynton increasingly, indeed unbelievably irritating. A self-centred so-called moralist who's not even honest about his own feelings.

Levesque sparkled with amusement. “I would tell you that the fillies like scars, but I doubt that you’d care much about them.” He glanced over to Sawyer and back to the young Theo. “Takes grit to fight for what you care about. Just heed my warning and don’t wait too long, you nearly lost him today.” Theo swallowed and nodded, “Yes Mister Levesque, sir.” Nearly there, I feel.

Obviously, I, perhaps more than any of your readers, am emotionally moved by this chapter. For yes, we do owe Canada an enormous debt of gratitude. To see it come to life in your story - with, also, enough detail to show you did study the context! - is special indeed. So, if ever the need arises, I'd be among the first to stir on our politicians to repay that historical debt. Whether, in actuality, Mark Rutte would have the guts (and, to be honest, the power...) to take and implement such a momentous decision, is quite another matter...Unless asked to, I'd better not dwell on that question.

One may very much doubt if F is as straight as is suggested...

ah, dynamite inside and outside (the cottage).... What "accidents" will happen next?

J is not a boy. He is a man. He could have fought - his grandfather's guards, and, why not, the old man himself. And, supposedly, his grandmother has financial means. He could leave, with her help.

Maximilian 'Max' Delacroix was draped over a chaise lounge, a living monument to excessive expenditure. Max looked like the aftermath of a glitter bomb detonated inside a designer boutique: he wore a single, sequined purple blazer, impossibly tight leather shorts, and towering, silver platform boots. His face, beautiful and angular, was framed by a shock of magenta hair, and he was currently holding court with two young admirers. Yes, definitely spectacle - but even more: no taste whatsoever. And yet it needn't be so: I remember parties that "effortlessly" managed to combine both. But no, I won't share any photographs...

Agian: as exciting as we, your readers, love... [By the way: these are repetitons, I think... "The Agency appreciates your cooperation, Agent Sawyer," White whispered, the words a venomous secret shared between them. "The Catamite Harding boy is now a closed account." Sawyer's blood ran cold. *Closed account.* In the sterile, brutal language of the ledger, a closed account wasn't one that was paid and forgotten. It was an account that had been zeroed out. Liquidated. Written off.]

Probably "The Parborough Nudes", or some such...After all, as another reader has suggested, Engeland is home to the "Hugillverse". Soon, there will be booked excursions to all the towns and villages in it...and we'll tell eacht other: "This was the spot where..." And: "Do you remember X pointing that out to Y...".

Don't we have people.... Come on people... That is a good one.

The Sawyer-Levesque exchange is moving!