Tizzy arrives from the big city to meet her sister in Tramsville where the only bar that will admit her is a grungy hole at the Breckenridge Inn. When Edith is late, Tizzy finds out the hard way, that life in the South isn’t quite the same as life in the North.

 I was going to push some buttons, pointing out that the title was misspelled. After all, I happen to know that Bradley uses British spellings. What could be worse than misspelling a title? And then I realised that this is done with clever purpose. I suspect that it might be something that many people will miss.

 Bradley, as often is the case, explores racial tensions and inequity. The story isn’t about the sex, and certainly doesn’t glorify the treatment of Tizzy, but rather seeks to shock and expose racial inequity for the monster that it is. I was going to score this story with a zero in Eros, and that is probably what Bradley would expect and desire for this tale. I’d even scored it thus, until I began to write the review and think more about what Bradley had written.

You see, there is subtle Eros in the story, if only in the expression of humanity that instils this piece. Eros is not simply the blind application of sex, and the score below certainly does not reflect the quality, pleasure or heat of the sex scene that was inevitable in this story. No, rather, I’ve given the Eros score below to reflect the expression of humanity that Bradley achieved here, both with Tizzy, and her sister, and even the bartender. It is more of a sororal Eros, rather than a sexual one. I hope this doesn’t confuse too many people. Ah, read the story, if you want to know what I mean.

Now, having said all that, as you might imagine, the story is a downer. And while it is certainly a well-written, worthwhile downer, I wasn’t in the mood this time. Nevertheless, everyone should read stories like this, if for nothing else, the depth, and commentary.

Rating: [10,10,10,10]