It must remain still. And it puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.What do you get when you take a battered 16yo kid, draft him into the military, put him on the interstellar equivalent of the Maginot Line, rough him up over the next three years, and then lock him in a room for ten days with the most famous prisoner of war in the galaxy, who may or may not be carrying a weapon of biological warfare intended to exterminate all of humanity, but who also says it won't happen like that and that everything is okay because the baddie is on his way to personally sort them all out, and if you could just be so good as to kindly ignore his throbbing erection, that would be lovely, thanks?You get a story that is by turns funny, bleak, hopeful, suspenseful, mysterious, terrifying, angry, violent, sexually charged, and horribly, horribly sad.You get an ungodly fuckton of great writing.You also get to have your cake and eat it, too. If you read this scandalously good book, you'll see what I mean, but I will decline to explain further—because I'll be damned if I'll let my friends with poor impulse-control ruin what is a fairly excellently deployed head-fake by clicking on a stupid spoiler tag.Lisa Henry, man... this is my first book of hers, but it won't be my last. Homegirl can friggin' write. I read this in one sitting and nearly wet myself with dread. Between the stabs of aching pathos and the surprising laughs, between truly ghastly violence and the sweet bloom of tenderness, I found myself marveling—and shuddering—with the highs and lows of a very, very expertly crafted emotional ride.Never mind the nauseatingly drawn-out and ruthlessly escalated suspense—ratcheting up and up, over and over—because when the inevitable happens and it turns out even worse than you'd feared, you're already freaking out about the next crisis before you've even managed to mop-up the diarrhea from the first one.This thing is scary, and dark. It's also tender, and sexy, and funny. It's just... that good. That ghastly.That fun.The shit—to quote a pop song of relatively middling antiquity—is bananas.