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Henry AlfordBrian Antoni's candy-colored and warmhearted second work of fiction, would make a terrific opera. Though South Beach isn't camp—it lurks in the wings thereof, its bejeweled turban only slightly askew—it revels in a kind of surface detail that might easily be mistaken for it. Rich with club scenes and descriptions of offbeat forms of physical congress, this story of one man's moral and sexual flowering might best be described as an arrested bildungsroman with a predilection for the psycho-sexual…If Antoni's characters suggest an effort to portray one of each of Miami's demographic sectors—artist, check; Cuban refugee, check; person with AIDS, check; old duffer, check—that is because he means the book to encapsulate the social makeup of a city he clearly loves…What saves this schematic approach from sinking the book is the author's vivid imagination.
—The New York Times