Neither porn nor romance

But Sasha Grey absolutely did not write an erotic romance in The Juliette Society; it’s more dangerous, for one, and follows more faithfully the tradition of erotica. That is: Grey’s book isn’t a romance with graphic sex scenes, which usually [tediously] involved forays into a poorly conceived BDSM culture. Sasha Grey isn’t a hanger-on of James’ [utterly frustrating] success—I am arguing that Sasha Grey, with The Juliette Society, was writing under the house of Anaïs Nin, even of Pauline Réage. [Continue reading.]

Two ends of the erotica spectrum

He is now in bed with me the first time, and in broad day; but when thrusting up his own shirt and my shift he laid his naked glowing body to mine . . . Oh! insupportable delight! Oh! superhuman rapture! What pain could stand before a pleasure so transporting? I felt no more the [...]

“The churn of a secret life.”

Our unnamed diarist in her happy-enough marriage with the Dependable Husband. Sure, he’s flawed, but these aren’t shattering imperfections. They’ve dealt with it—she has, she loves him, she knows she does. Why wouldn’t she otherwise? She’s not really unhappy. But. You know. Being not unhappy yet happy-enough doesn’t guarantee your being happy. Being not unhappy [...]

On Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin

Notes made while reading Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin: • I guess it’s only natural that after I’ve read ten [mostly] kitschy erotic romance novellas in quick yet listless succession, I’d go for the tried-and-tested kind. Still. This is just my first encounter with Nin—she scares me. Or, well, I’m scared that she’ll disappoint [...]

Stuff I’ve Been Reading While I Disappeared from the Glittery World of the Intarwebz

It’s definitely an improvement: I’m guilty about abandoning this blog for fewer hours in a day. The usual excuses: Work’s been crazier than ever, I like sleeping, I like reading, I am lazy, blah and blah. Still, though, I owe it to my O.C. tendencies to kick-start this blog with a moratorium of the books [...]

Quick thoughts on Kung, Ishiguro, and Fish

It happens. Every once in a while, I read a book or two—or maybe four in sequence—that inspires in me reaction that’s zilch at worst and feeble at best. I began it with the tired rant of One Day—although, because I am dorktastic, the feedback I got and the Much Loved Status of the book [...]