The Raunch Review: Book 18

Violet Malice has been hedging her bets by rubbing her balls with sandpaper and/or sweetened saliva. You can easily get your hands on some of the sweet stuff by eating loads of meringue nests and then decanting your spit into an old milk bottle. Under Law 41 of the Laws of Cricket, the ball can be polished without the use of an artificial substance, or towel dried if wet. In the event that it gets covered in shit, the ball has to be cleaned under strict supervision. Throw some balls at Violet’s crease, she likes that. She’s tampered with a few leathery ones in her time. Anyway, let’s crack on. Time is money after all (or that’s what all the pinstriped pigs want us to believe). Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that interhuman question: can a good book ever be as blindingly dystopian as a good fuck?

Book title: Now The Night Begins
Author: Alain Guiraudie
Translator: Jeffrey Zuckerman
Publisher of this edition: Semiotext(e)
Copyright: © Semiotext(e) 2018
Translation copyright: © Jeffrey Zuckerman
First published: 2014
Cover art: Paul Klee

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: The book tracks the comings and goings of a strange sexual relationship between a 90-year old patriarch (who is known as Grampa in the book) and a 40-year old family friend called Gilles. The book begins with Gilles stealing Grampa’s underwear off the washing line and masturbating into them in front of Grampa and his daughter who are dozing on the sofa. The daughter calls the police about the stolen underpants (as it’s happened three or four times now and she’s getting well pissed) and so Gilles hangs them back on the line full of cum. The police then go on a horrifying rampage when they discover the culprit. Gilles then begins a fiery sexual relationship with the police chief, who he witnesses murder another man. So pretty spicy dystopian stuff!

Title: A pretty boring title given the content of the book, which is hardcore to put it mildly. If it was mustard it would be eye-wateringly English. The blandness of the title is funny, like calling a perverse dystopian sex book Cupcakes and U-Bends or One Pretty Foggy Evening in June. I reckon Alain was having a laugh with the title. Gilles does end up going to visit Grampa at night because of the police presence and obviously ‘night’ and ‘darkness’ have connotations of suffering and the loss of humanity. 

Cover image: A nice bit of cubist surrealism by Paul Klee. Very shifty and in keeping with the impending darkness that surrounds the image. This work is called Fire at Full Moon and was completed by Klee in 1933. It certainly entices us into the dystopian world under the covers. 

Best sentence/s in the book:

I’m so turned on that in no time I’m spurting in Grampa’s underwear. 

“It looks like ejaculate,” says the chief. 

Then I see his balls dripping with shit. 

I shake my head to rid myself of this shit rag, I can’t hear anything anymore, I struggle and wait until someone shoots me in the head.

After all, yes, I’m pretty sure this little bout of masturbating in her father’s underwear hasn’t made her happy. 

I feel like he might bite off my dick with his teeth. 

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Overall sexual content: Lots of very interesting sexiness. The chemistry between Grampa and Gilles is really interesting and challenging, particularly given society’s aversion to sexualising older people. This book is exciting in that it opens up a whole host of other types of sexual relationships that do not fit the rules, which go way beyond the simple ins and outs of body bits. 

The sex is hot and there’s lots and lots of it. The dystopian feel to the book with its ultra-violence and its strange drives, gives a desperation to the sex and a kind of horror. Gilles ends up falling in love with the police chief who forced a baton up his arse in the opening pages, but despite the mutual attraction their intimacy is tainted by Gilles’ growing fear that the chief will kill him in the end.

Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10.

Titillation station: Horny badger in a dark dark forrest that is feeling around for some warm flesh to sigh into. That said you can’t really let yourself go when there’s all that mass horror swirling around the pages, so this one might be more for the specialist wanker. 

Food for thought: An absolutely fantastic book, which has obviously received a lot of bad press given the challenging subject matter. Some critics/idiots have called it deeply offensive, which I can’t get my head around at all. It seems people really don’t like thinking about 90-year olds having any sort of feelings left. Given that Gramps is well up for it (although we’re never really sure what it is) then it’s hardly an abusive situation. And the whole point anyway is that neither of them actually want to have sex with each other, but there is this powerful desire between them that drives them both to want to lay in bed together naked talking in a dialect (Occitan) that only they share. 

The murder never gets solved and we never find out what the police chief is really playing at – whether his relationship with Gilles is some strange trap or whether he genuinely loves him. The characters are all exploding and bloated with unsaid and unanswered questions much like life. Thrashing around with shackles biting into our ankles. 

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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.”

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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!” 

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New Writing: Private and Confidential

Violet Malice on the beach
Violet Malice
Fire doors and dressing gowns

Violet Malice has some hot smut cooking on the tarmac off the A-road by the Happy Shopper. Here is some writing. She has written. With you in mind. FYI the Raunch Review will return next week. Violet has been up in Edinburgh this week (hence the silence) watching the fringe pant. 

They sleep together. All over the place. The two of them.

In her living room. On the kitchen table.

Inside the duvet cover like ghosts. All over his bed. And then spilled on the carpet.

Against the wash basin. One leg bristling. Under the shower.

On tip toes behind an old English Master. Constable.

In the cold glow of the fridge. By the pre-tossed salad. In his living room.

Up against frosted glass. Under a bare bulb that flickers and teases moths mouths most nights. In the rain. In the driving rain.

In the middle of 12 Angry Men.

Between the mast and the rigging. Shrimper. Mainsail. And Boom!

Underwater.

Following two hardly dressed hamburgers topped with glassy tomatoes sliced and extruding. Tickling the ivories. The back teeth and all 206 bones. The sternum and the stapes. Intermediate phalanges.

Driving through the rain. The driving rain.

Starting in Times New Roman and being found face down in TNT Battenberg. Bold. Italics. Tits underlined.

On the corner of Christopher Street and Howard’s End. Trails.

In the mirror. In the mind’s eye. This way and that. Tossed. The other way around. Bouncing off iris. Lids closed shut for the weekend.

At their house. On their pressed sheets. It will happen. Tea sandwiches and finger rings.

And then. In the afternoon sun. Twenty-days on. Rises one towering Dracula. Hot bloodied and sex eyed. Desperate for a crisp IPA in the shade of their exhaustion.

Watch Violet’s poem about icecream

The Raunch Review: Fuck Sticks (Book 6)

Violet Malice

Violet Malice has been sweating like an Alsatian in a chip pan fire, so that you can find ruddy bloody good reads. She has been loitering between patches of shade and licking way too many Feasts (the ice cream variety). Dedicated to finding a bedtime read that kicks like a sawn off and hoses down the steaming nag after it throws its shoes off during the final furlong. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that hairy question: can a good book ever be as delicate as a good fuck?

Edition 69
Edition 69

Book title: Edition 69
Authors: Jindřich Štyrský, Vítězslav Nezval, František Halas
First published: 1931
Translator: Jed Slast

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: A collection of English translations of three Czech masters of erotic literature (and members of the surrealist movement). The stories and poems were originally published in the 1930s in a six volume imprint called Edition 69 (the print run was only 69 copies and 69 is the best number yeah) launched by Jindřich Štyrský. The series was of very limited run and never available for sale. Copies were distributed only to friends and collectors due to the extreme nature of the content! Think seXXXually explicit photomontage with images sourced from German and French pornography plus some of the best fucking poetry ever written.

This edition, published by Twisted Spoon Press in 2020, features a selection of erotic writing by Štyrský, Nezval, and Halas, as well as Štyrský’s artwork and an essay by psychoanalyst Bohuslav Brouk, which ends beautifully: As each person comes into the world at the end of an umbilical cord only inevitably to become dust, let us find pleasure in everything our abilities allow us. 

Sexual Nocturne by Vítězslav Nezval: A short story about a man recalling his early sexual experiences, particularly masturbating in public and his first taste of penetrative sex with a woman in a brothel.

Highlights from the text of Sexual Nocturne:

I was fifteen years old, that is, at the age a woman’s face is what a boy notices most. We want to be loved, and the eyes play the greatest role in this. Head after head insinuate themselves into our fantasies. 

I was unable to form a clear picture of what a pussy looked like. I just supposed it was a very big hole, large enough to take the willy of a fifth former. 

I said FUCK to myself over and over as I shambled along the footpaths with an unflagging erection. 

During school vacation my grandfather came for a visit and gave me a one-crown piece. I used it at the stationer’s to buy a porcelain doll with a rubber hat. It could be filled with water, and when the hat was pressed down it peed. I sent it to the object of my adoration. 

The word FUCK is diamond-hard, translucent, a classic. 

Saying the word SYPHILIS made me delirious. It was a newly illuminated word: WOMAN. 

Her hand removed my pants. I plunged into her cunt which was so unexpected and so singularly proportional. I dared not move. This was entirely different to the practiced hand under the cloak opposite the promenade. Her vagina engulfed me in a hot nonexistence. I was fucking. I was fucking and I spurted into her cunt, which itself was somehow moving like a slug.

One of Štyrský’s illustrations for Sexual Nocturne:

Thyrsos by František Halas: The book contains eleven erotic poems by Halas. Looking at the state of his metaphors, one can only assume that Mr Halas knew how to pleasure a woman. Two poems that poked me in the eye:

The Taste of Love 

To have all vulvas spread open wide
and to kiss that warm alley they harbor
to taste a thousandfold yet never plunge inside
that familiar rose splayed to your ardour

Incomparable beauty of the mons
that ancient routine has you disdainfully vexed
it isn’t love when on her breasts you lie prone
and grind her lovely flowering sex

The extended clit gently massage
take a long swig of that vaginal wine
drink until drunk on that rare vintage
more pungent in taste than any aged vine

We’re gifted a tongue not only for speech
its key unlocks delight elsewise hidden
when lubricious spasms convulse a breach
adeptly slip your fingers all the way in

Pucker your lips in the shade of her pubis
let the mucous dew her petals of rose
the touch of your lips driving her delirious
until her rapturous skin blissfully glows

To have all vulvas spread open wide
then to stay there and sleep
to taste a thousandfold yet never plunge inside
only to suckle tenderly and deep

Sound Advice

In a pussy’s sweet folds
be sure to keep in mind
next door is another hole
for your finger to find

Gently push it in good
lightly massage the breasts
and at once your waning wood
will become stiff as a mast

Emilie Comes To Me In A Dream by Jindřich Štyrský: The original colophon reads that the book “should be kept in a secure location and out of the reach of minors”. This is a story of recollection, which centres on the narrator’s obsessive memories of Emilie. Explicit memories that melt into other women in a surreal dreamscape. 

Highlights from the text of Emilie Comes To Me In A Dream:

The heavens sleep, and somewhere behind the hedge a woman sculpted from raw meat awaits you. Will you feed her ice? 

You will feel an intense fear lest they come crashing down onto the pavement, a fear similar to the pleasure you felt in childhood at your first convulsive erection and the terror you felt when your sister taught you to masturbate with her tiny alabaster hand. 

Any man who has enjoyed the salty taste of Cecil’s twat would sell his rings, friends, morals, everything to sate that monster hidden under the little pink skirt. 

I saw her sex swell and spill out from her womb, increasing in size until it overflowed the bed and extended over the floor like lava filling up my room. I quickly got up and ran from the house like a madman. I stopped in the middle of a deserted town square. When I looked back, Marta’s vulva, resembling a giant, monumental tear of unnatural colour, was surging out my window. 

Later I placed an aquarium in the window. In it I cultivated a golden-haired vulva and a magnificent penis specimen with a blue eye and delicate veins on its temples.

Two of Štyrský’s photomontages for Emilie Comes To Me In A Dream:

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Overall sexual content: If there is one thing in the world that I love, it is obviously… without doubt… surrealist Czechoslovakian literature! They knew how to shag up a sentence. Grab syntax and decency by the gonads and ride them roughshod all the way home.  So I already have the hook in my mouth on this one. Štyrský was the artistic partner of the phenomenal Toyen, just so you know! What ruddy bloody sort of special magic was happening in that tiny part of the world at that moment in time.

Lots of the text in this book focuses on the act of giving female pleasure. All books should obsess over this. There are a few slides into huge monstrous vulvas that want to consume everything in their path, but I suppose female sexuality can be frightening, maybe. The endless orgasms that stretch and strain into infinity. Oh the pressure.

The illustrations and art are fabulous, funny and explicit all at the same time. And as highlighted previously, were cut out with scissors from some rather racy porno mags. Glue all over the place. Up the back of the TV.

Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10.

Titillation station: Hot as hell. The pink rabbit’s nose was twitching.

Food for thought: And finally. To finish you off. The Czech word for fuck is mrdat, which originally meant to move back and forth, or wag.

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The Raunch Review: Sex Book 1

Violet Malice has decided to review erotica. Not dirty books. Erotic literature. There is a difference. Erotic literature is supposed to have some literary merit. Violet is going in search of a HOT and STIMULATING bedtime read. And will also, obviously, be assessing the level of titillation achieved, in order to answer that yearning question: can a good book ever be as exciting as a good fuck?

Used copy of book being reviewed: The Girl Beneath the Lion
The Girl Beneath the Lion

Book title: The Girl Beneath The Lion
Author: Andre Pieyre de Mandiargues
Translator: Richard Howard
First published: 1959

Back cover blurb that caught Violet’s attention: Few novelists have been able to catch the essence of a woman’s erotic impulses with quite such truth and poetic feeling, nor in a prose of such distinction. Violet’s response to this was, “yeh fucking right, we’ll just see about that.”

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: A young virgin called Vanina (nice, one letter off vagina) gets all horned up on holiday in Sardinia and tells this dude who she sees staring at her on the beach to do a few things in order to eventually have it off with her in some woods one evening. She never allows him to speak, which is actually quite a good strategy to not get disappointed by someone’s personality.

Front cover: WTF? A badly photoshopped pic of some random dude. The book is about a young girl’s sexual awakening! Who in their right mind chose to represent this by putting some haughty looking middle-class looking male slapped up the front in a turtleneck. On the plus side, a shite front cover makes me more interested to know what’s under the covers. Wink. Wink. Stink. Stink.

Best two-word phrase in the book: Couldn’t decide between musky melons and faecal zone. But I do like to have my erotica caked and eaten.

Comments on the title: Our Vanina fantasizes about having sex with a lion and the general vibe is that she’s into S&M and being dominated by a violent animal/man.

Best sentence in the book: It is not absolutely necessary that he love me; it is not even indispensable that he have a soul, that he be inhabited by a kind of seagull. 

Sexual content: Bit sparse. But refreshingly strange. On page 80/1 there is an interesting passage about a man in a cheese shed that rubs cream cheese up Vanina’s thighs as some sort of skincare routine. She is 8 years old at this point so it’s unsavoury to say the least. The main sex bit on page 104 onwards is pretty boring – metaphors such as burning rod of iron and grand statements after the fact such as the limits of her self-hood dropped away are pretty rubbish and sentimental. But I suppose it’s an accurate depiction of a man imagining what a woman’s fantasies might be.

For proper sexual content buy Violet’s chapbook Tinder Bender: https://violetmalice.com/product/chapbook-tinder-bender/

Overall conclusion: 3 out of 10. None of this rings true. Very reductive. Boring erotica. No sexy describing words or hot lust action. Just overly sentimental horse shit – too much detail about nature and the sea which is obviously a metaphor for stupidity – with no actual pay off. Overuse of the word love – which is a total burn off – because love obviously is all a young girl cares about.

Titillation station: Two fingers down (dissatisfied)

Food for thought: He does end it in a very surprising way. After they’ve had it off, you learn very abruptly that her parents were killed by a violent bunch of young men and that she witnessed all of this as well as her mother been raped by these men. She then runs away from her so-called ‘lover’ and leaves Italy without ever wanting to know his name.

Finally, I have a problem with erotica that paints kinks as always linked to damage. I think this book should have been about the guy on the cover having it off with a fridge. I would have enjoyed that more. Stick to what you blow.

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Violet Malice

Suck It and See