Really must start noting where I get my book recs from. The library system delivered A Burnable Book to me last week: the fact that I kept the hold active while several dozen other people finished it suggests I very much wanted to read it. And possibly I do, though my attempt last night was interrupted by the mysterious hideous thigh cramps that sometimes assail me while sitting on the couch. So I didn't get very far with it.
I may hope that not all the female characters will be prostitutes or mistresses or Woman As Sexual Being, as they have been to date. This is the drawback of reading male writers. They may turn out to be Frank Miller.