Delicate, Erotic & Unraveling

The adjectives chosen to title this post refer to the book I just finished reading: Netsuke, by Rikki Ducornet. An interesting novel, that delves into the life of a psychoanalyst particularly interested in seducing his patients, or allowing his patients to seduce him, for therapeutic value.

I am reviewing an uncorrected galley, provided by the publisher. My opinions are my own, uninfluenced, because my brain's a pretty hard one to control. ;)

For the length of time which this book covers, it is clear the the psychoanalyst has been indulging in his studies for some time. He has had several failed marriages previous to the novel's beginning, and admits that he is extremely neglectful towards his current wife in favor of the flavor of the moment.

The psychoanalyst is not merely obsessed with the concept of sex, and how it can destroy or heal another person. He also becomes infatuated several times throughout the course of the novel with a certain client, and makes it clear that, at one time, he was infatuated in such a way with his wife.

It is clear, almost from the beginning, that the psychoanalyst is at least as disturbed as his patients. It is unclear whether or not he is actually affording any of his clients any help. He is trying to save himself through lustful encounters, trying to find the right person who can save him, and convincing himself that what he is doing is naughty, but helpful to the other people in his life.

The writing style in this novel is very interesting. It meanders a bit. There are very short chapters. It is, in fact, a very short novel. Yet it is pleasant to read. While the exact ending was not a foregone conclusion, the entire novel is heading towards an unpleasant ending.

I enjoyed reading this novel, which was released last month. The author has written eight novels, though this was the first of hers that I've read. I'm curious, now, to read some of her other material.

This novel got me thinking, and dealt with some issues which interest me. The concept of an obviously very intelligent individual indulging in self-destructive behavior is one that is come across often in life, and it was interesting to see it in this novel. It was that concept, however, more than the sex which was interesting. This is not erotica - the novel deals with sex, often, but is unlikely to turn you on. This is a book meant to challenge your intellect, rather than stimulate your libido. And it is worth reading.

Okay, this Book Really IS at least Partly about Sex

Today, I am reviewing Permanent Obscurity, by Richard Perez. He has a really cool website set up that details his inspiration for the book, and some of the ideas behind it. His book is concerned with some graphic subject matter - chiefly, drugs, sex and massive alcohol consumption. My feelings toward this book are somewhat divided.

I will begin with the cursing. The book primarily takes place in some not-very-nice parts of New York city. It makes sense, then, that the characters swear profusely and have a crude sense of humor. Initially, however, I was having trouble with the book because of the manner of speaking. I don't expect perfect English in novels - people don't talk that way, so neither should fictional characters. I understood WHY the characters talked the way that they did - still, it put distance between me as a reader and the characters, and made the characters less sympathetic.

On a related note, at times, when characters were joking, I wouldn't have known if the author had not specified it. The author may have been doing this on purpose, in an attempt to show that the characters are so inebriated that the things they find humorous aren't really funny. Again, it created emotional distance between myself and the characters.

Now, I will talk about the characters. Obviously, most of them do drugs and drink profusely. Most of them also consider themselves artists, and a big theme in the book regards art. There are the artists who ignore their calling in favor of a regular, 9-5 job so that they can afford to pay rent and buy food. There are the artists who have crappy, low-paying jobs so that they can continue to create art, but who usually favor getting wasted instead. Then, there's Serena. Serena is the protagonist's "best friend." She is a performance artist, but her band's not doing that well. As a result, she picks up some kinky modeling work. She also seems to live off of her male friend, whom she dominates, and whom she doesn't particularly seem to care about.

Serena seems to be one of those charismatic people who gets away with a lot of bullshit for a really long time because those who are close to her are hypnotized by her charm. Her life has been hard, and she has rather sociopathic tendencies, as a result.

Most of the art created by the characters in this book is pornographic in nature. Throughout the book, the idea of the protagonist and Serena creating a fetish pornography film is discussed, planned, and ultimately, carried out. The idea of the slippery slope with regards to modeling, stripping, etc. is introduced and/or implied several times.

The book is reminiscent of Hunter S. Thompson, both with regards to subject matter, and in terms of an unreliable narrator. Ultimately, the book ends with several serious questions.

I will say that the last 100 pages or so flew by. Pairing that with the admittedly slow-going beginning, I would say that overall, the book is okay.

I feel that the author probably accomplished what he was aiming for. The book just wasn't as interesting as I thought I would find it. It did raise some questions that I like thinking about. Then again, I wasn't particularly fond of the narrative tone. Overall, I found this book okay. I'm not sorry that I read it, but I don't know that I would read it, again.

To the right person, however, this book would be amazing.

A la mode

For a guy, it is as American as apple pie to lose your virginity at sixteen. This is when all of my friends did - relating the fulfillment of a long-term relationship or drunken luck at a large party to me the following day.

So here I am, seventeen, the only one of my friends to retain the purity valued in women and scorned in men.

I guess my problem is that I don't have females figured out yet. I'm a nice guy. Or, at least, I'm not an asshole. Yet when I work up the courage to ask a girl out, she tends to be busy. A smile and a half-hearted apology should lessen the blow of rejection though, right?

I'm too old to be a virgin. So, since I'm not charming/asshole/nice/Robert Pattinson clone enough to seduce my peers, it is time for more drastic measures.

* * * *

"Room 13? Are you serious?" I ask. Not that I'm superstitious, but it doesn't indicate a long, fulfilling sex life, to lose one's virginity in a motel room of an unlucky number. "I thought motels skipped 13."

"Relax, kid,"Trixie says, fidgeting with her shiny gold top. With a name like Trixie, which she assures me is her real name, no matter how many times I ask, a person has to wonder if her parents foresaw what her career would be. "It's just a room. It doesn't mean anything."

I have to wonder, for a second, if Trixie maliciously picked room 13 to screw with me because I'm just a kid. Then I realize I'm paying her to screw with me, so if she does it in the figurative sense as well, I'm probably getting double my money's worth. We walk to room 13.

It's not really that different from the more expensive hotel rooms I've shared in the past with my parents and younger sister. The carpet's a little more worn, the television's a little older, the bedspread's a weird brownish-purple color.

Trixie leans forward to kiss me, and I feel nervous, suddenly - even though this is what I want. "So, how did you lose your virginity?" I ask her.

She raises her eyebrows. "You do realize you're paying me by the hour, right?"

"Well, yeah. But it's just - too weird, to lose 'it' to some chick I don't even know."

"Okay. If you must know - I was raped. Under a stairwell during a school assembly. Other students were cheering while a guy I knew took advantage of the fact that they wouldn't notice my screams."

"Really?" I ask.

"Nah. I lifted that story from a movie," she says, smiling. "Do you mind if I smoke?" I shake my head. She lifts a slender white cigarette to her mouth, lights, and inhales deeply. "What does it matter where I lost my virginity, or who I am? You know where I end up, so it's not a happy story."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not. If I didn't have an unhappy story, you wouldn't be about to get laid."

I nod my head. She's right.

"So - are we done with this 'getting to know you' shit?" she asks, placing her purse on a square table to the left of the door.

I take a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm ready."

She kisses me, with firm pressure, with her soft mouth, and I taste the smoke that lingers in her mouth.

* * * *

"So, kid, do you feel different?" Trixie asks.

"I'm not a kid," I answer.

"Sex doesn't make you a man," Trixie says, lighting another cigarette.

"I know." I find my pants on the floor, and retrieve my wallet. As I count out the proper number of bills, I say, "I do feel different. Not grown up, but...okay with myself."

"That's good, kid. Let's hope it's not just afterglow." She takes the money from my outstretched hand and walks out of the motel room.

The room's still paid for a half-hour. I turn on the television, and sit against the headrest of the bed.

*This story is a piece written in response to the kt literary blog. I hope you enjoyed it.