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By Poppy Z. Brite

From the writer of Lost Souls, Drawing Blood, and Wormwood comes an exciting and chilling novel that bestselling writer Peter Straub says serves as a “guidebook to hell.”

To serial slayer Andrew Compton, homicide is an artwork, the main intimate artwork. After feigning his personal demise to flee from felony, Compton makes his method to the U.S. with the only real ambition of bringing his “art” to new heights. Tortured by means of his personal perverse wishes, and attracted to own and wreck younger boys, Compton inadvertently joins forces with Jay Byrne, a dissolute playboy who has driven his “art” to limits even Compton hadn’t formerly imagined. jointly, Compton and Byrne set their attractions on a gorgeous younger Vietnamese-American runaway, Tran, whom they deem to be the right sufferer.

Swiftly relocating from the dirty streets of London’s Piccadilly Circus to the decadence of the recent Orleans French sector, Poppy Z. Brite dissects the panorama of torture and invitations us into the brain of a killer. beautiful Corpse confirms Brite as a author who defies categorization. it's a novel if you dare trespass the place the sacred and profane turn into one.

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A CIP catalogue checklist for this ebook is obtainable from the British Library. ISBN: 1 85799 437 x published and sure in nice Britain by means of The Guernsey Press Co. Ltd, Guernsey, Channel Islands To my mom, Connie Burton Brite, who gave me the entire guts i'd ever want documents of the 1994 post-mortem of serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer exhibit that officers stored Dahmer’s physique shackled on the toes in the course of the complete technique, ‘such was once the terror of this man’, in accordance with pathologist Robert Huntington. (Milwaukee magazine - AP, 17 March, 1995) occasionally a guy grows uninterested in wearing every thing the area tons upon his head. The shoulders sag, the backbone bows cruelly, the muscle groups tremble with weariness. desire of aid starts to die. And the fellow needs to come to a decision even if to put off his load or undergo it till his neck snaps like a brittle twig in autumn. Such used to be my scenario past due in my thirty-third 12 months. even supposing I deserved every thing the area had heaped on -and torments after loss of life a long way worse than any the realm may threaten: the torture of my skeleton, the rape and dismemberment of my immortal soul - even though I deserved all that and extra, i discovered that i may now not endure the load. i noticed I didn’t need to endure it, you spot. I got here to appreciate that I had a decision. It should have been tricky for Christ himself to resist the agonies of the go - the grime, the thirst, the poor spikes raping the jellied flesh of his palms - realizing he had a decision. and i'm now not Christ, now not even via part. My identify is Andrew Compton. among 1977 and 1988 I killed twenty-three boys and younger males in London. i used to be seventeen years outdated while i started, twenty-eight once they stuck me. for all time i used to be in criminal, 1 knew that in the event that they ever allow me out i'd proceed killing boys. yet I additionally knew they'd by no means permit me out. My boys and younger males have been transients within the urban: friendless, hungry, inebriated and strung out at the first-class! Pakistani heroin that has coursed throughout the veins of London because the swinging sixties. I gave them strong nutrients, powerful tea, a hot position in my mattress, what few pleasures my physique may provide. In go back, all I requested was once their lives. occasionally they looked as if it would provide these as easily as the rest. I have in mind a sloe-eyed skinhead who went domestic with me simply because he acknowledged i used to be a pleasant white bloke, now not a bleeding queer like each one of these others that chatted him up within the pubs of Soho. (What he was once doing within the pubs of Soho, i can't inform you. ) He didn't appear susceptible to revise his opinion while I sucked his cock and slid greased arms into his anus. i realized later that he had a dotted line tattooed in scarlet around his throat, besides the phrases lower right here. I had simply to persist with instructions. (‘You seem like a bleeding queer,’ I’d instructed his headless corpse, yet younger Mr White England had not anything to claim for himself anymore. ) I killed many of the twenty-three by way of slicing. via severing their significant arteries with a knife or a razor when they have been insensible from drink. I killed them this manner now not out of cowardice or from a desire to stay away from fight; even though i'm really not a wide guy, i may have conquer any of my half-starved, drug-addled waifs in a good struggle.

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