The Raunch Review: Book 12

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?

Front cover of The Ravishing of Lol Stein

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

The Raunch Review: Book 11

Violet Malice

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

The Raunch Review: Book 10

Violet Malice with a beard

Violet Malice has been reading pulpy paperbacks like nobody’s business this week. Beware of the sex robot. She has been ruminating on the use of keelhauling in the olden days and wondering whether taking the width instead of the length as punishment would be shameful. If you were unlucky enough to survive, of course. On the look out for a bedtime read that gets the sweat glands firing and the deep oval grape getting eaten. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that multifaceted question: can a good book ever be as liquid as a good fuck?

Pulp paperback by Ed Martin

Book title: Frankenstein ’69
Author: Ed Martin
Publisher of this edition: The Olympia Press
Copyright: © Ed Martin 1969
Publication date of this edition: 1972
Cover photo: Giles Lagarde

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: A castle-dwelling scientist Ygor and his insatiable wife Hortense (how do you make a whore tense?) conduct sex research on two students. Meanwhile, Ygor finally succeeds in bringing to life three beautiful virgins, constructed from metal pipes and screw bits, otherwise known as Frankensteinesses. The rub comes in the shape of a higher power: Appalled by the fact that one of Ygor’s students has become pregnant, while her virginity remains in tact, which means that she will give birth to an amphibian, the king of the mermaids orders two of his randiest stooges to go and ‘unpregnant’ her. Then it all kicks off – as one might expect.

Title: The title is pretty good – it certainly piqued my interest – even though it doesn’t really fit with the story. Yes – the mad scientist creates some robot sex humans but they are not really human or at least they are not made from human body parts like Frankenstein’s monster. Although Ygor and his wife do find themselves disgusted by their creations, and have to runaway on several occasions, because the sex robots won’t stop having sex with them or each other. It’s likely the title was given to Ed Martin before he’d started writing.

The ’69 aspect presumably relates to the year it was written. Although I like to think it refers to all the long flowery descriptions of oral hygiene and sexy root canals littering the pages. I think at least 83% of the book is dedicated to the art of facetime or facedowntime. Like right down there. Up the guts.

Cover image: Beautiful. Iconic. What’s not to like? Although, she could be in a morgue or on a butcher’s slab. And the necklace – from far away – could look like her head has been sewn on. Much like Frankenstein’s creature. But he was a hideous amalgam of corpses remember. Not a rosebud about to be introduced to a force 5 (Beaufort scale, yeah).

Best sentence/s in the book:

“I’d love to screw something up your asshole and ram it in and out until you come like a fucking fountain.”

“If his nuts got any higher he might, as they say a bit coarsely, spray his fuck.”

“Hey, big-tits, swim over here and suck my cock.”

“You keep that up, baby, and I’m going to come off in your hand.”

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

Overall sexual content: The BEST book I have ever read!

Not only is the sex amazing and glorious and poetically written, but it’s funny and warm and sticky and celebratory.

All of the characters love sex. All of the genitals receive a great deal of attention – literal and metaphorical. The mermaids have cocks and pussies and everybody gets off all of the time. Relentlessly. Gratuitously.

I’ve never read sex writing as good as this! I don’t know what else to say.

Even the bits about beastiality – when one of the mermaids has sex with a horse – are fucking ace-in-the-hole. Or when the virgin fucks herself with a log because she’s that way inclined.

Overall conclusion: 9.9 out of 10.

Titillation station: Liquid decadence has never felt this good. It used to smell like a hungry rainforest and now it smells like a sweaty man with a frothing mouth organ. I’m talking chocolate habanero (Scoville scale, alright).

Food for thought: This book is like if Shakespeare wrote some porn and wasn’t such a hairy conservative arsecrack, i.e. the dialogue and the description are fucking outstanding. As an example – because I can tell you’re doubting me – here are a few gems:

go ahead cook your tits —— (this had me literally pissing the bed)

a kind of relaxed mid-afternoon casual spontaneous prolonged fuck in the garden ———- (Jesus couldn’t have strung it out better)

they call the king of the mermaids a different term of formal address throughout the book, including: Your Quivering Prostate; His Permanent Erection; Centurion of Cuntjuice; Rector of Rectums; The Gaping Shaved Pussy; Master of the Triple Come; you get the picture…

What a gloriously fun book! The fantastical element – the mermaids and shit – is perfectly balanced in order to allow the reader to dip their toe into the deep dark pool of perversion without being pulled under. The virgin sex robot dolls element enables the writer to present sex from an entirely innocent and curious perspective without again careering into anything uncomfortable. And it makes for some great comedy:

Carole [the brunette sex robot] was still stretched out on the table. She had her pussy peeled down and was trying to fish inside for loose wires. “Someone has just got to fix my pussy,” she wails. And then later on she astutely observes: “Oh look, I’m getting the shit fucked out of me!” 

PLEASE, NOW!!!!!!!!!!! CLICK ME!!!! Sign-up to Violet’s mailing list: https://eepurl.com/hTKdsr

The Raunch Review: Book 9

Violet Malice

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?

Weird Fucks by Lynne Tillman

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

The Raunch Review: Book 8

Violet Malice has been lounging full bollock in the sunshine, during the hottest parts of the day, cracking one off every hour or so: it’s the ruddy bloody holidays, yeah! This week she has been cherry picking a short story or two, lapping up all that delicious mind tapas. Committed to finding a bedtime read that gets those glands producing in excess of the average 1500ml of saliva per day, metaphorical legs wrapped right round your mandibular ramus. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that chocolate flavoured question: can a good book ever be as Herman Count Van Rompuy as a good fuck?

Front cover of Granta: Sex

Magazine title: Sex
Publisher: Granta
Copyright: © 2010 Granta Publications
Magazine issue: 110
Short story title: THIS IS FOR YOU
Author: Emmanuel Carrère
Translator:
Linda Coverdale

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: Some sort of raging sex pervert has published a short story in a French newspaper and tells his girlfriend to buy a copy and read it on the train going from Paris to La Rochelle. The story – which is also being read by other people on the train – instructs her to reach orgasm between Niort and Surgères because presumably she’s bored of Slaughterhouse-Five. I know the feeling. Dishonourable discharge in a moving toilet.

Train travel: I am a big fan of the railway and masturbation (mutually exclusive, of course). The word train derives from the Latin trahere meaning “to pull, to draw”. A big engine relentlessly pulling off loads of carriages at speed through the countryside is a pretty sexy way to get from A(vignon) to B(rest). Plus the karzies are quite exciting – much like something from Jackson Pollock’s drip and shit period. There is some debate as to the origin of the intransitive verb masturbate. Some say it derives from some old shit meaning to “make yourself stupid” and/or “to disturb with the hand”. Following the invention of more or less everything, the hand has been made redundant.

I would also like to take issue with the making oneself stupid train of thought – I think our little friends serotonin, dopamine and oxytocin have tampered with the ball. You can’t make it taste that good if you don’t want us to eat it. And I certainly don’t come out of the other end stupid. The exact opposite. I find myself much better at exponentiation and domestic science (although I’m out of practice).

So, this short story piqued my interest. Mainly, because it’s very rare to find any sort of narrative written in the second person (you did this and you did that, you mother)! Sometimes (let me be clear, only in very limited sexual scenarios) we all like being told what to do. Obviously, I had to tie up the feminist in me beforehand and lock her in the room with the yellow wallpaper with some hard-backed political tomb to upset herself with. It’s a thrilling concept, to open up the daily newspaper and become part of somebody’s elaborate fantasy. Just like phone sex – there’s something desperately dirty about touching someone without touching them. A meeting in the dark recesses of the mind.

Stop being so hard to get! Sign-up to Violet’s whaling mailing list HERE. Buy Violet’s chapbook HERE. Come see Violet do some appalling shit HERE. 

Overall sexual content: It is massively titillating. In some ways, probably one of the most genuinely erotic pieces of writing I’ve ever read. The voyeurism element is nicely done but a bit annoying. The narrator refers to the fact that he wants to make the object of the story wet (his girlfriend), but also that the other women reading the newspaper at the same time should also be getting off. I suppose it’s a nice idea – some sort of train based wank party – but in reality my taste would be more along the lines of nobody else being in on the fantasy. But that’s probably because, contrary to popular belief, I am massively frigid and my internal organs contract even when just furtively beginning to think about logistics.

He says early on, “From this moment on, you will do everything I tell you to do”. What a lovely snuggly thing. I just hope she’s not on an off day or they haven’t broken-up from final edit to publication. He waxes lyrical about her having a good cum face. He says that most women have no sense of obvious abandonment, but that she – the woman he loves – betrays her cum face all the time during everyday non-sexual activities, such as looking around, eating penne and mountain biking.

Eventually he tells her and everyone else reading Le Monde to go to the bar car and buy a drink (either coffee or mineral water) and look around. This is supposed to be crackingly good bonk material, because obviously loads of people will be looking at each other wondering who SHE actually is, imagining the scores of knickers doing the breaststroke and all those hard-ons knock knock knocking against nylon.

Finally, he describes another woman who goes to the nearest toilet to masturbate. He describes her watching her own fingers disappear into her pussy in the mirror as she steadies herself (train movements as opposed to the thrashes of orgasm). The final few paragraphs I find terribly boring – he doesn’t describe the state of the toilet – which I think is a crucial detail. His description of this other woman wanking is so bloody boring that it near on shuts off the whole grid.

He climaxes with her almost crying out in ecstasy – desperate to shout YES, but afraid that the other people waiting for a shit and/or wank might hear. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I can barely type: disappointment. This is definitely not sexual fantasy material. I’m just spit balling here, but if this was my fantasy I would at least have her flooding the cubicle and then being plunged by the guard before you can say “look before you alight”.

Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10.

Titillation station: It did buckle my tracks for a bit. Mainly the first few station stops. Gets really boring towards the end, basically because the train slows down rather than speeds up. So I just got up and cleaned my oven, which I had been meaning to do for ages.

Food for thought: I think this dude might have been so worried about careering over that fine line between misogyny and fantasy, perineum and anus, that he fucking bottled it. It’s a real shame as it could have been the erotic equivalent of the Lake District (around number twelve of the seven wonders of the world). It’s also a shame that he more of less ignores everyone else on the train except the hot women. He’s waiting for her on the platform at the end – 100% confident that she has already gotten off.

Sign-up to Violet’s mailing list if you want it once a week in your inbox: https://eepurl.com/hTKdsr

Violet Malice

Suck It and See