COURTING THE ABYSS

"...I'm laughing at my own destruction." These are the blogs of popular diarist George Rostov, the leading faggoty fop of London's literary scene. Collected for the first time in one volume after discovering that he could publish them and make a mint, these journals attracted a sizeable online following, and could be found splattered all over the web, invariably nestling between John Prescott fan-sites and rather naughty pixellated pictures of someone's breasts. Composed during a five year period, this book chronicles Rostov's vulagr life, whilst busy being a)a rentboy suffering from a dose of VD; b) a schizophrenic dribbling in some doctor's surgery and frightening the receptionist or c) trying desperatly to get off the drugs and finally find a man who wasn't some married, panty-wearing bisexual nutter. It's debauched, disgusting, decadent. It's harrowing, horrific, hateful. It's rather alliterative, and it's George Rostov's fleeting life, preserved in prose.