He whipped his tongue vigorously against the abrasive undersides of his teeth; like a sex-starved cougar looking for just the right little prick.
Calling H.H. Neville a real writer–like his genre of choice–would be fiction. At the rare points that he does manage to write, he fashions his work with visceral visuals, razorblade sharp style and shotgun brutality. He draws equal inspiration from Victoriana literature, fables, Japanese pop violence, grindhouse genres, neon-flavored pop culture, french new wave, and fashion trends. He is, if anything a proponent of style over substance. Who needs plot if it’s pretty?