SophieC

Violet Malice is hopping mad after lifting one of the heavyweights of literature this week. A dumbbell of a book, laden with knee tremblers and electrolytes. Sticky with the sweet and sour chicken balls of lust and vasopressin. A book that turns the pages for you and rolls off the tongue. Thrashing underneath the covers. It’s the wild eyes leaning out the window of the soul. Get ready for the long slow shadows of autumn. The soft tumbling of clothes like leaves off the trees. Violet’s weekly adult book review – as always – attempts to answer that tragic question: can a good book ever be as haunting as the best fucking fuck you ever had?

Book title: The Ravishing of Lol Stein
Author: Marguerite Duras
Translator: Richard Seaver
Publisher of this edition: Pantheon Books
Translation copyright: © Grove Press Inc 1966
First published: 1964
Cover photo: Christine Rodin

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: One day a married woman – Lol Stein – follows a man who unbeknown to her is having an affair with a woman that she used know in her youth. Lol lies in a field of rye and watches them have sex through a hotel window. The man becomes aware of Lol Stein’s presence in the field, which heightens her pleasure.

Title: The title is as complex and loaded as the book. The act of voyeurism is a powerful act of intense inactivity. To watch and to be watched. To be known and unknown. The use of the word ravishing therefore is very interesting, both an adjective and a verb, passive and active all at the same time. A pair of eyes on stalks – obsessively observing – an obliteration of the self.

Cover image: The naked woman with cascades of brown hair in the hotel window. To watch two people framed by a window as you lay down in a field presents a partial view of the activity going on inside. She could have stood up and got a better view. Maybe even packed some binoculars. But she chooses to lay down and look up at their naked bodies slowly fucking into the night like a smoking gun. I think she wanted room to fill in the blanks, because sometimes not seeing is even better than seeing.

Best sentence in the book:

“The rye rustles beneath her loins. Young, early-summer rye. Her eyes riveted on the lighted window, a woman hearkens to the void – feeding upon, devouring this non-existent, invisible spectacle, the light from a room where others are.”

Sign-up to Violet’s mailing list HERE. Buy Violet’s chapbook HERE. 

Overall sexual content: An exquisite work of literature. Complex and poignant. Like gazing into the well of our own behaviour and coming up with questions.

The book takes on huge subjects such as betrayal, madness, obsession, want, desire and our own relationship with the self. Maybe sometimes we might want to escape ourselves – just for a while. Disappear down someone else’s rampant rabbit hole. We are – in the internet age – all voyeurs. Watching each other. Thinking about being watched. Wanking into the void.

The actual sex in the book is rather minimal but that does not detract from the intensity of the eroticism or the power of the story. Marguerite Duras is a writer of great cliterature. It is a gift that she wrote this book. That she presented an unusual angle of female sexuality in all its glory and did not seek to explain it away or apologise for it.

The story is narrated by a male character – the man being followed who becomes the lover in the hotel window – which is a beautiful twist to the question of who is actually being watched and how much of what we are told is someone else’s interpretation of someone’s behaviour. Especially the behaviour of a beautiful woman. We all watch beautiful women closely don’t we? Obsessed with their every expression. Imagining them having it off all the time. Wondering how they look covered in cum.

The sex is as complex as I’ve ever read. When Lol Stein eventually fucks the lover she has been watching in the hotel window it is haunting and entirely forgettable. Like it’s probably better if she just watches. Objects watch.

Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10.

Titillation station: Very sexy without being explicit. The power is in the anticipation. The obsession. The act of sidelining the self and letting someone else lead. If you like using your imagination – filling in the blanks – this book will get you off. Even the sad sex is beautiful. Where the act of unity pushes us further apart.

Food for thought: The beauty of this book is in its vulnerability. Lol Stein has never got over being abandoned by her first love and the shame of being jilted in front of everyone at a party. A decade later she is happily married to a man who has taken care of her since that loss. The love she had for the fiancé that left her burnt out on the hard shoulder is dead, but despite her seemly chocolate box of a life there is something that keeps Lol Stein endlessly walking the streets as if she is looking for something. As if she is rushing to get somewhere, to find something watching the barbarity of someone else’s love.

Also, what is it with French women and following people? Artist Sophie Calle in her book Please Follow Me details the time that she followed a man who she loses in the streets of Paris. Later that evening she is introduced to him at an art opening and he tells her that he is due to visit Venice. She follows him there without his knowledge. She finds his hotel and watches him as he makes his way through the city covertly taking photographs of him. Sometimes, and I’m not one for boasting, I’ve been known to remove my knickers on public transport and put them in strangers pockets.

Do yourself a favour. Follow Violet for a bit: https://eepurl.com/hTKdsr

Violet Malice has had a steaming dog shit of a week. It’s her birthday and she is unwell and alone, which is ironic. She always finds her birthday difficult: she thinks about how her mum had no visitors in hospital. Violet’s mum always says, “You were my only visitor” and tells the story about how she would go for a bath during visiting hours so people wouldn’t stare at her, searching for the reason, why was she on her own. How she asked the midwife to give her a cuddle when she was empty and exhausted. And how the nurses gave her all the brown flowers and half eaten boxes of chocolates because they felt sorry for her. On this day – Violet allows herself to feel sad, sad that we are not all born out of love and that it only takes one orgasm to make a baby (when at least two should be mandatory, surely?).

When all else fails, read more erotica. On the hunt for a bedtime read that gets the cream turning and the train slamming on its brakes. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that cake covered question: can a good book ever be as complete as a good fuck?

Book title: House of Holes
Author: Nicholson Baker
Publisher of this edition: Simon & Schuster
Copyright: © Nicholson Baker 2011
Publication date: 2011
Cover art: Steven Wilson

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: Loads of people find themselves sucked into a sex crazed pleasure resort called the House of Holes, where you can basically do whatever your heart desires. For instance, people can get bigger cocks or arses, have it off with loads of headless men/women, experience what it would be like to have a different set of genitals for a week, have sex with a tree, have a butchers in the hall of penises etc etc

Title: The title is pretty trashy, which is not a bad thing. The book is 99.9% porno so there’s no point beating around the bush really. The ins and outs of it are that you know, any hole is a goal – or so it seems. The men get charged extortionate amounts of money to stay at the House of Holes because obviously man invented money and women don’t have any or need to pay for that sort of thing because women can get fucked any fucking time they want right? Women are basically a house of holes – nice knee-length tablecloth, red cheeks from the oven, and lots of grateful holes for the toads to choose from.

Cover image: Boring. A circus tent where her pussy should be and one of those hats that looks like a cock – fucking brilliant [sarcastic].

Wurst sentence/s in the book:

“In general I come hardest when I put something in my ass. My husband is away a lot, and I read one of my erotic romance books about bad assfucking vampires, and I start to get a little wild, and I put a screwdriver in a latex glove and put the handle up my ass.”

“I think you may have just crapped the bathtub.”

“I’d love to see your whole gaping snatch hole just munching on that orgasm, just chewing on that big sweet piece of half-melted pleasure that’s hidden inside you.”

“Yes, Mr. Fuckwizard, we want that fully spunkloaded meatloaf of a ham steak of a dick.”

It’s her fucking birthday so do the right thing and sign-up to Violet’s mailing list HERE. And maybe even, if you’re feeling bloody generous for once, buy Violet’s chapbook HERE. Did I mention it’s V’s birthday. 

Overall sexual content: The book starts very promisingly – a young woman finds a disembodied arm in a quarry. The arm knows its way around a pair of pyjama bottoms wink wink nod nod (i.e. the disembodied arm is very good at fingering). And rather than speaking, the arm communicates through the written word, which is fucking ideal. Speaking is so tedious and ineffectual. 

The book is full of massively trashy surreal sex stuff that teases you a bit with its potential – no holes barred is a nice ideal on paper – but it sadly falls short!

Don’t get me wrong there are some passages that are very sexy, but the childish language used again and again to describe sex organs and sex acts is very jarring – pussytwat, slippy sloppy fuckfountains, cockitude, pornsucker, dickmeat, peckerdickcock. I am a big fan of swear words and vulgarity.  In this book however it just really misses the mark – it’s neither funny nor sexy, both of which are crucial ingredients for a good omelette.

Overall conclusion: 5 out of 10.

Titillation station: It’s much too ridiculous in the main. However, there were a few passages that got me hot under the collar – including the bit when the guy that has had a cock transplant watches the woman fuck him with his own cock. It’s funny because she asks him to suck his own dick and he refuses for some reason.

Food for thought: This book could have been a belter! But sadly it’s too male and lazy. Too hetero and obsessed with its own cock size.

I will list some specific issues below:

– When asked if you could have anything what would it be – man replies I’d like  every woman in the world to see his dick

– Why does everyone want to change themselves to be more attractive – everything bigger bigger larger harder – I think the sexiest bodies are real bodies – please stop trying to pull us all down into the capitalist shit heap

– Certain men are given an ‘ass-squeezer’s license’ which means that they can squeeze the arse of any woman they want – sadly this is a bit too close to home, we’ve all met a few of these cunts out in the wild, in the workplace or in a bar – that’s why I have a taser

– Certain men are told they have magic sperm – HAahahah HahahHhaha

– No women have multiple orgasms in this book! WTF!

CLICK ME!!!! It’s my birthday. Sign-up to Violet’s mailing list: https://eepurl.com/hTKdsr

Violet Malice has been lashing out this week. Shouting at the seagulls and all the fucking little internet moles that pop their heads up when someone’s arse gets licked. On the hunt for a bedtime read that stirs the bag too hard and ruins the dinner party. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that hypothetical question: can a good book ever be as weird as a good fuck?

Book title: Weird Fucks
Author: Lynne Tillman
Publisher of this edition: Peninsula Press, 2021
Copyright: © Lynne Tillman 2021
Publication date: Earlier versions of the text published in 1980 and 1990
Cover art: Alice at Loggerheads (2009) by Hilary Harkness

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: A young woman catalogues a series of fleeting sexual encounters with men during the 60s and 70s.

Title: I noticed the book in a shop window, the London Review Bookshop on Bury Place. I remember it exactly. It was raining and I was hurrying down the road with just a coat and shoes on. I did a double take and thought “I have to read this book.” As an expert on weird fucks, I felt as though this book had been written for my eyes. And like a total cunt, I bought it the next day on Amazon because it’s convenient, I also needed some cream for a very aggressive yeast infection (the London Review Bookshop doesn’t sell cream, unlike Amazon), and to top it off nowhere takes my dirty money anymore, so what’s the bloody point.

Cover image: It could be a reflective surface. I have, many a time, sat slumped at a trestle table with one of my tits hanging out, a pint of cider between my lips and a fluffy dog stroking my fingertips. Carpet burn on my forehead. Words to describe the woman on the cover’s face: bored; morose; forlorn; totally shagged-out; miserable; down in the dumps. Putting two and two together it seems that she’s not really enjoying this weird sex stuff, so much so that she’s forgotten to put her tits back in.

Quotes on the back cover: Overwhelmingly positive quotes by other writers, saying it’s the best book ever, like better than actual sex. I would surmise that these arse lickers just want to see their sucky sucky quotes on the backside of the book so they get paid. There is no way on earth this book is better than sex or in anyway anything other than totally disappointing and badly written. The only good thing about it is the title and the blankness when it finishes.

Sign-up to Violet’s mailing list HERE. Buy Violet’s chapbook HERE. 

Overall sexual content: I can’t tell you how frustrated I am with this book. The title conjures up this fucking magnificent promise that weird fucks will happen. That the pages will be jammed with interesting and/or unusual sexual activity. Sadly, it is in no way the case. There are roughly 13 instances of sexual activity (mostly your standard vaginal penetration), all of which are briefly glazed over. These encounters are in no way weird, except maybe at a stretch that some of the guys are a bit awkward and/or end up being married/separated.

To make matters worse the novella focuses entirely on the narrator’s encounters with men so the lack of meat on the bones is even more stark than it would have been if there was a sub-plot or other areas of interest.

I am a self-proclaimed connoisseur of weird fucks so I feel massively short changed. If the book had been called boring fucks or completely forgettable fucks, I would have no beef. But if you’re going to put a flag up and call it weird fucks you’re going to have to follow through on the sheets! In my fuck book anyway.

Let me illustrate what I’m champing on about:

“The guy at the far end of the loft is snoring. Scott and I are fucking. ‘Did you come?’ he asks. ‘Not this time,’ I answer. ‘Next time,’ he says. ‘I trust you,’ I say. But I can’t sleep. The wine, grass and sex. Parched throat. Water.”

Ball breakingly boring. I mean for fucks sake. I want to know about weird fucking sex. That’s what I’m fucking here for. Not some boring loved up romance shit à la Jane fucking Austen.

Overall conclusion: 1 out of 10.

Titillation station: No descriptions of sex. No real descriptions of anything even remotely interesting. The book is totally forgettable and coma inducing. She does slap the word cunt in there a few times, which made my eyes glimmer for a slim second. If only I could jizz out a book like this and get massive dong out of it.

Food for thought: I have a big issue with idiots saying “making love” in the context of casual sex. Maybe I’m old fashioned but it sticks in my gullet. There’s lots of objectionable things in this book – like when some dude refuses to go down on her but makes her suck his cock – and the casual way in which she mentions that one particular guy rapes her and then another situation in which she is “unable to refuse” sex.

I wanted this book to be about empowerment and the exploration of sex as a fucking glorious life enhancing activity in its own right, not something that limits us and exploits us and makes us less than we are. Left dirty and dry with our balls hanging out in a Wetherspoons. Because that tells us that we shouldn’t explore sex. That weird is a bad thing. That magnolia is the only pot of paint for the shitter. That even though we think we are in control when we decide to have casual sex, we are not – that that way only leads to ultra lonely ready meals for one (because obviously sex is an escape from our own innate loneliness) and therefore the only real option for all us vulnerable women is to put a fucking sock in it and/or a (meat metal) ring on it.

BE BRAVE. Sign-up to Violet’s mailing list if you want her to keep going with this complete shit: https://eepurl.com/hTKdsr