I never know what to write in a review, or in feedback, or in anything that has to do with books and my way of reading them. I don’t think this would have been the same experience had I not been emotionally tainted by the current events of my life. I think everyone should pick up a copy of the and hold off watching the movie if you haven’t done so.
I’m almost at the end of Wonder Boys, which is taking a lot longer than I originally thought I’d take. Sadly, I’m not the best of readers that I used to be, because I took a less time reading it the first time than I am now.
The next book I’m looking at is House of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski. However, the first time I read that book, it took me a month to get through it, losing myself inside it and becoming a part of its world. Not sure if that has ever happened to you, but it happens to me with only a few number of books.
It’s either that book, or I’m picking put Lolita or Innocents next. Or even Memoirs of a Geisha, though I’ve been hearing a lot of pretty bad reviews of that book from the inner circle - well, the outer circle, considering my inner circle’s made up a few small people. I suppose, we’ll see, right?
Do, you readers, have any suggestions? However, if you mention any religious books, be prepared for a public mocking by me and the Philosopher. Just a warning.
I think what got me into sex writing and the love of erotica, not just my early escapade with pornography, but also Susie Bright. While I find most of her essays trite and boring, the books she compiles are awesome. The first book I ever read where she was the editor was, of course, one in The Best American Erotica series. It was the 2002 edition and I quickly fell in love with stories by Maggie Estep, Simon Sheppard, Stacey Richter, Gary Rosen, and Tsaurah Litzky.
I think what caught my attention with Maggie Estep’s story was this paragraph:
“Joe wondered why it was that tumors were always compared to fruit. He wondered if the nurse liked to have sex with fruit. Susan did.”
The beginning of the story had already hinted to the more than odd sexual preferences of Susan. But it was that line that, for some odd reason, that caught the attention of my 19-year-old mind.
The fact that “In Deep” was the first gay erotic short story I ever read that left me feeling all giddy inside helped Simon Sheppard. This book was the pathway I needed, like the porn when I was a kid, to a more mature level of sexuality.
Stacey Ritcher’s “When to Use” brought back the memories of sex. It’s short and reads like an instructional guide for the obvious womanly hygienic product.
It even inspired my at-the-time girlfriend to read. In the lines of something like, “If more books were written like this, about sex, I would read more often,” she confessed to me and a few of her male teachers who constantly asked her to read the texts. The girl wasn’t a moron, she was brilliant, though she did some silly things once in a while, but who can blame her? We all do them.
Anyway, I got off subject there. The difference between pornographic writing such as most of the stories found in the collection entitled Aroused and those found in The Best American Writing - though I can’t really say that for all the stories is that BAE stories have a more poetic charm to them and Aroused has more of a fuck me hard and fuck long sorta tone.
I don’t know, sex is sex and some of it’s great and some of it bad. The writings reflect that. I just love sex, what can I say?
Anyway, earlier, all that sex writing started to get me hungry. I started preparing fish earlier to bake, but I was tired of the same ol’ same ol’ fish. So I decided to use an old recipe I had for chicken, changed it around for fish and made that. It was a garlic fish marinate that I prepared. I was supposed to leave it for longer but “hunger gets what hunger wants,” right? I toasted two slices of bread threw them in the food processor with just enough black and cayenne pepper and enough seasoning to give the breading flavor. After that, I added just enough corn flakes to fill up the bowl (I have a small processor) and broke that up and dumped it in the bowl with the bread crumbs. I mixed it all up and then took out the fish and rolled it around, placed on it on the cookie sheet, covered that with foil because I was doing this in a toaster oven and not the actual oven, and baked for 30 mins at 350. I liked it and so did Jyg who got the last slice not too long ago for her lunch.
And now that I made that transition, the more I read Wonder Boys the more I realize that I’m more and more in Grady Tripp’s situation, minus the dead dog, the creative writing student, the being sorta Jewish and the pregnant mistress. Okay, I’m nothing like Grady Tripp, but what I meant is that one day he just woke up and his wife was gone. I guess that’s the reason why Michael Chabon’s stories capture my attention - they’re so three dimensional that you find yourself relating with them through out their adventures.
So I was reading the book today and I came across when Grady returns to his in-laws’ home for the Seder:
“I walked out to the driveway and started down toward Kinship Road, looking up at the mesh of branches overhead for signs of a blighted elm tree against which it would be kosher for me to piss. The air smelled cool and slippery like we bark, and although my wife’s refusal to let me share her nakedness, however reasonable, had hurt me - even though it mad my heart ache to think that I might never get to see my Emily naked again - I was feeling very glad to be out of the house, alone, carrying the happy clenched fist of my bladder inside me.”
It struck a cord with me. I almost wanted to cry, even though it was stupid to, because I feel that I will never hold Jyg or touch her in the way lovers do. With every fiber of my being, I’m attached to her. I don’t know if it’s because it has been five years, but it feels like something else. Of all the people in the world, I though I’d be the last to want to get married, and in many ways, I am. However, with Jyg, that’s all I wanted to do for a very long time. And I blew it by not going with my instinct. I only looked at rings. I only talked about plans. I never took action and I really just want things back.
Damnit.
Anyway, I’ll leave you with a list of books I’ve read and enjoyed by authors I’ve met in person. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.
I actually got to speak to the first two and that last one. I only briefly met with Ana Castillo at a book signing, speaking to her as quickly as possible. However, I was a little disappointment that she didn’t know how to spell my name. Sadly.
I think I’ve poisoned myself with some sort of romantic ideal. I thought I had a handle on these emotions, but I guess that I don’t. In fact, I’m not sure why I’m even writing when I have no motivation at all.
Heading for a brick wall, I think. The washing sounds of the wind blowing through my hair, entrapped in my ears, spiraling into my skull. Tomorrow’s a new day and I can still concentrate on my writing, my reading. I’m not a writer as I never realy allowed myself to live. I think I need to start living.
But the echoes of the Barnes and Noble clerk still lingers within my mind. You know what Jack Kerouac said about writing? he asked.
No.
Just write.
