Books on everything

When I fist began this blog, one of my first posts was about a book I came across on being a male escort. Today I came across another that also made me think about the kinds of reading out there - The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men. Turns out it's part of a series of sorts on sexual practices. There is one for anal sex and women, fellatio, strap-ons, lesbian pregnancy, etc. Yes, they will publish anything.

In today's society where it ok to talk about sex, if not mandated, these kinds of books are expected. Sex and sexuality are taught as classes in college; students major in the study. The library I work in not only holds the aforementioned male escort tbook, but also The new topping book as well as many older books written on various sex subjects. t Television and movies no longer sensually hint at the act but show the characters in flagrante delecto (I have no problem saying that people are having sex, intercourse, coitus, etc. I just love that phrase!). Books and series like Sex & the City or Straight up & Dirty have told women, at least, that it's not just ok to be sexual, but to declare it to world! With details!

I know that I am not the only one who has looked at this openness and wondered, is it all it's cracked up to be? Have we lost all sense of modesty, or of romance? Are we too quick to rationalize our sexual desires, name them and put a psychological reasoning behind it all? Can you really have irrational, spontaneous passion if you'd been planning it all day like you read in Redbook? Sex as reproduction is what we all in the animal kingdom do. And for a few of us lucky(??) extra-intelligent species, there is enjoyment in it. I am sure that there is a lot for psychology to say about the reasons why we are a culture obsessed with sex, yadda yadda yadda, but I don't really care. We are. Besides, a lot of it is just due to past repressions, anyway. But now we are obsessed with talking about sex, and apparently, reading about it. I wonder, with all this expose, if sex can still be personal, intimate? Many would make us think that if we don't share openly our sex lives or don't openly experiment with different positions that we're prudes and stuck in the dark ages. Women are attacked for not being feminists and embracing their sensuality. But this isn't the place for one of my rants on sex and culture. This is about The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men.

I have this thing with sex instruction books like the Ultimate Guides mentioned above. Yes, these books in particular normalize previously "underground" "unspoken" practices, and that's good in a way. But I can't help but feel like it also sterilizes them! It takes something that we do for pleasure and turns it in to school! I can't imagine desiring to study for my next date. For centuries people have been having sex of all kinds with all sorts of people and things - sometimes it was good, sometimes it wasn't. They learned and grew. Lesbians aren't new, and I highly doubt strap-ons are that novel, either. Must we all go in to our first experiences as experts? Where's the fun in that?! Sure, sex ala Bushnell's Samantha may be fun, but so is the journey there. First times are awkward, weird, fun, and memorable. Did I mention fun? The mystery of it is part of that.

So, it's great that you know a lot about anal sex and want to share it. And I understand that someone wants to learn about it. But why take the leap a little blindly? You can know how to be safe without getting a master's degree on the subject. Enjoy growing through experiences! And for pete's sake, don't take it all so damn seriously!!

10.09 EDIT - Just came across The Lesbian S/M Safety Manual edited by Pat Califia. The synop on the back begins, "This handy guide is an essential item for the leather dyke who wants to be well-informed about how to play safe and stay healthy." Ok, for safety (in BDSM, certain scenarios), I get having a book.

on teachers and writing....and Lincoln

Checked up on my old NYU writing teacher, Josh Shenk, to see what he's up to these days. Not teaching at NYU, for one. Also, seems he finished that book about Lincoln back in 2005. We have it at work, so it may be on my near-future reading list. Sadly I had plans to read through parts of Gimbutas's Civilization of the Goddess and Handbook of Landscape Archaeology next. Though non-fiction, Josh's Lincoln's Melancholy: how Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness is probably the easier read. I've been v. immersed in fiction of late, and I need to focus on some more useful reading. Gimbutas and Landscape are not falling away, though.

I liked Josh's class a lot. My writing in high school was always good enough that the teachers could ignore me and worry about those who couldn't string a coherent sentence together. That meant that I never got any better. Writing the Essay - the introductory writing class mandatory for all Arts & Crafts students at NYU - was usually dreaded. It was often taught by old near-retirement professors who didn't give a damn or graduate students who forced their own writing upon their captive audience. I had neither. I had Josh. The first time I had to get used to calling a teacher by their first name (I have no Ph.D, and am not Professor. And Mr Shenk is my father."). It was 15 students at 8am in the morning in a small library classroom. Since being in the library meant coffee had to be snuck in, ha had it changed to a room in the Expository Writing building ("I don't know about you, but at 8am, I need my coffee"). Fifteen students, mostly freshman, with a slightly crazed writer who loved his iPod like a child and bounced a MoMa bouncy ball on the subway platforms during his commute from Brooklyn (it was so gross).
Josh didn't have an ax to grind or anyone to impress. We read one small part of the then-in-progress Lincoln book and one article of his (it had already been published, so it wasn't like he was looking for positive affirmations). Other than that, he actually focused on us and our writing. It was the first time anyone had ever taken the time to really read my writing and work with me on improving it. I felt, for the first time, that I had truly learned something. He taught that the essay should be like his bouncy ball - bouncing along from image to idea to image and so forth until your final idea was reached. It was a journey that had two intermingled parts to it. At the end, he bought us all two-colored bouncy balls, a reminder of essay writing. I still have it. I still remember and try it that way.
He expanded what an essay meant, what it could convey. In addition to reading the essays from our textbook (edited by the head of Expository Writing, of course) we analyzed the essay-like qualities of poetry and music. There was much Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen played from the iPod. Long before encountering the inimitable Shea, this was my first experience with a teacher who thought outside the status quo, who pushed us to think.
This experience, sadly, set my standards too high. I transferred to a state school that didn't expect/demand that students write a proper paper until junior year. A school that held the little dears' hands through college so that they didn't have to learn too much and hurt themselves. Technicalities made it necessary that I take the intro writing course my senior year (they didn't have my WtE grades - I got an A-). It was taught by a misanthropic moron who liked rebel poets, and not much else, it seemed. He and I clashed from day one. And he barely helped those kids learn to write. I don't think he inspired anyone to write, or write better. I helped get a classmate through it, not him.
I missed Josh's class over the years. I missed teachers like him. So I want to read Lincoln's Melancholy. I'll let you all know about it when I'm done.

too.many.books

Haven't we all said it at one time? Thought it? Considered buying the t-shirt? "Too many books, too little time."

Now I find myself living it.

I am continuously caught in the trap of reading two to three books at once. Or picking up a graphic novel or two on the side. Ordering books from ILL as I see them, despite surely NOT having the time to finish them before they're due. Suddenly the overdue notices spring up on you!
I am currently reading the novelization of Fritz Lang's film Metropolis by his wife Thea Harbou, a version illustrated beautifully by Michael Kaluta. I keep being torn from it by other things and life. I must focus on this one.
I had begun The Threepenny Opera but I think I'll drop it for now. I can learn of the play's plot later.
Recently author John Scalzi released a new book, and reviews of it (on one or more of the various blogs I read that would mention such things) mad me think that I should read Old Man's War first. I'm 50 pages in and I love it. Good sci-fi and humor - just what I need right now. Space travel is my favorite.
While at the public library looking for something completely different I stumbled upon the comic Marvel 1602. It's Marvel characters in the year 1602. Not a big X-men fan, so it's not doing too much for me. I can only pick out a few of the characters anyway. Not sure if I'll finish it or not. Depends on how soon the due date sneaks up on me.
Another sci-fi book is (perhaps) on its way to me via ILL. It JUST came out, so I'm doubting anyone will send it. Prolly better that way - gives me more time to read the above! TI's called Sly Mongoose and I can no longer remember what it's about. I read about it online (BoingBoing?) and ordered it two seconds later. Damnit, libraries will be the end to me, I swear! In addition, a book about food culture and growing, Animal, vegetable, miracle: a year of food life by Barbara Kingsolver was recommended to me. Depends on how the next few weeks go before I think of cracking the cover. I also want to read, at some point, the same author's Poisonwood Bible.


I've been thinking lately about my reading. I am always reading something - I often carry a purse that a book will fit in. But lately I think my reading has been taking my time, energy, and brain power away from other things in life. Important things. Like my future. I'm caught at the moment in a paralyzing fear and detrimental stasis regarding life and my future. I have been wasting my life away at a worthless job (albeit in a library, thus providing me with plentiful books!) and avoiding doing all that needs to be done to move on. This fear has, lately, truly come to mind and I think that I may be subconsciously distracting myself. Sink my brain in to wondrous other worlds rather than face reality.

Web Catalogs and book talk

I started a conversation about the perfect man. I mentioned a character from David Eddings's Belgariad series, and before I could explain the book series, she was disagreeing with me. I have yet to meet anyone, besides to person who first started me reading this author, who knew the series. And this woman has read them all! What a small joy to add to my day.

Usually I have no one to discuss these things with. I have considered utilizing the discussion boards on LibraryThing for this purpose. Also, I have just signed up on Goodreads. Not sure if I can use it differently than LibraryThing. On LT I have two catalogs - one of my reading since early 2007 and the other of my personal library. The latter is coming v. slowly - there are just too many other things to get done besides listing all my books. So, I think I'll explore Goodreads a bit. It may lead to the opportunity to talk about what I'm reading. I have no time for book clubs and pick up my reading in a v. helter skelter manner anyhow.

When I first learned of LibraryThing I was overjoyed. I have long excel schedules of books to read, books I've read. It's hard to keep track of things. And this links to Amazon and other catalogs to fill in all the information! I can catalog to particular copy I own, with the particular cover. Sometimes you need to input the information, but that is a small joy for me - knowing that my book is NOT in these other catalogs.

Readers are strange and wonderful people. Booklust drives us as much as the crave for information, imagination, or the warm fuzzy feeling of curling up with a good book. I like that these social networking/cataloging sites offer up the technology for us to talk to each other and discuss books, and revel in our obsessive need to organize and list our books! And share. I miss my freshman year of college when, in this one Japanese lit class, I had the most wonderful discussions on the historical nature of the readings, the characters, the plot, and all that deep, juicy goodness that makes up a work. I also remember the shear boredom and resentment I had senior year when I was forced through technicalities to take a freshman writing class with the most idiotic teacher they had. The man's depth of literary criticism was shallower than a puddle in the Gobi. I nearly threw an anthology at him one day. Did he not realize that taking the time to delve into a story is better than ice cream on a hot day? The discovery of something the writer wasn't even aware of, another facet of a character. Even to the non-English major these tidbits make the act of reading that much more pleasurable. And by not teaching this joy he was not encouraging his students to read, or read well. The discussion alone brings to light so much, expanding the breadth of meaning for the reader. It's fun, dammnit! I wanted to yell out loud in class.

Currently reading:
David Eddings - The King of the Murgos 9book two of the Mallorean)
Thea von Harbou - Metropolis (illus. by Michael Kaluta)

Trio

Not sure how it happened, but I recently found myself reading three books at once. Three very different books. I was cheerfully reading through the chick lit book mentioned below and a quick book made up of letters and postcards that's part of the Griffin & Sabine series, then came a plane trip and the need for a small, light mass=market paperback to take. Finished the Chick one, and the new Chuck Palahniuk came in through ILL. Then, within two days, I'd finished all three. Weird.

Chick Lit

What is it about chick lit? THere isn't a specific genre of writing pertaining to men, but we definitely distinguish those books by and about women. Chick lit. After reading Palahnuik's Choke I decided to let the brain mush a bit with some YA chick lit, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares. I liked it. It was feel-goody teenager lit, and I could close my eyes and imagine the cute boys from the movie. I then picked up an adult chick lit book recommended by a co-worker. THere is a great difference between the YA and the adult kind. The latter is often akin to Sex and the City. My current reading is a memoir by a New York City gal who is recently divorced, Stephanie Klein's Straight Up and Dirty. It really is like Sex and the City, only FAR less annoying and no having to look at Kim Cattrall's old lady tits. Plus Klein is hysterical, especially when describing the men she dates. Carey Bradshaw's running commentary was too nice. She never would have described a man's too-small penis as a button mushroom, and then giggled at the thought later while in bed with him. I like Klein's neuroses, because I have some of them, too. I like her bluntness, her honesty, the fact that admits to most of what's wrong with her. More human than those fembots on HBO.
Every once in a while she groans on about something really stupid and fem-culture and I want to hurl. There is only so much I have in common with my gender, and only so much I can take of them. That's why I don't read too much chick lit. It would get to me. Sci-fi and fantasy I can usually take in large doses and often. But chick lit is usually the same - man troubles, shopping, dieting, how do you take your martini?, sex, shoes, men, bitching about other women. You need to space them out so you can forget what happened in the last one.
Why do we like these books, though? Whether fiction or memoir, most are the same or similar. And all are based heavily on mainstrean media and cultural stereotypes about what our culture really is like. I read these words and am amazed that this is a real woman and not fiction. I think that I learn more about the modern woman through these books. Yeah, I am a modern woman, but I've spent a lot of time estranged from my gender culturally. Not in a trans kind of way. They just tend to annoy me. Books and TV help me remember what people are usually expecting when they look at me and see the breasts.

Thus far Stright up and Dirty is good when she's being funny, and drags when she gets too philosophical. I want to sit with a pencil and annotate it (ie "This is like ex-boyfriend so-and-so") and then give it to my cousin to read and do the same. There are sections, I swear, she could have written.

More intrigue! More postcards!

Alexandria
by Nick Bantock
Book 2 of the Morning Star Trilogy, sequel to the Griffin & Sabine trilogy
San Francisco : Chronicle Books, 2002
ISBN: 081183140X

I finished up the second book to the Morning Star trilogy, Bantock's continuation of his Griffin & Sabine story. I wrote about the first trilogy here.
The story continues to keep me guessing, keep me enraptured with these fabulously mystical people and places. And the artwork is just as breathtaking as the first one. I am very sad the the third book is on it's way and this journey will be over. I don't want to wait longer, though, because I want the story to remain fresh in my brain.
I keep going back to the way in which Bantock is telling the story, using the postcards and letters. It makes each page so fun - looking over the beautiful artwork on the postcards and envelopes. Does anyone still send postcards that are more than "Having fun in Florida!" using a fifty cent mass-produced card they bought a tourist store? Or put time and effort in to creating handwritten letters and hand-decorated envelopes? I love ephemera so much and collect vintage and antique post cards. I prefer ones that have been sent over the blank ones. They give dates, provenance, and illuminate a moment in two people's lives. Today we sent emails with e-cards for holidays instead of postcards and letters. I feel nostalgic for times I never saw.
It makes me want to send postcards and letters to people, but also to make them beautiful like the ones I collect or the ones Bantock creates for his books. Sadly I have no artistic abilities at all. I have tried, and failed. They come out looking like a 6yr old got herself into the colored pencils, markers, stickers, etc. Cheesy is a good word for it,infantile as well. Crap and "My eyes, they bleed!" work, too.
I have tried all my life to create beautiful things. I've tried drawing, painting, writing, photography. I am successful at failure, though, and I think I do so beautifully. That's something, right?
Last night while reading one of the letters that you full out of the envelopes, I had that wicked feeling of spying come over me. We, the readers, are looking in to these characters' lives from the outside, reading private thoughts and words. Mayby that is part of what makes the postcard so interesting, though. Private thoughts aren't kept private. The other day someone had one on Post Secret that was about wanting to amuse the postman with his/her Post Secret cards. But the letters definitely give that feeling of voyeurism. Here are words spoken written between lovers, secret information about the mystery not to be found by the mysterious and possible evil Frolotti. Here is life being lived, explained on paper, read by strangers. It almost makes the characters, despite the magic and mysticism, seem more real than in others novels. There are no passages detailing their appearance down to the freckles of their face, Gogolian jaunts into their pasts. And yet I think that I know them more than if even Dickens had sat down to write their tale. Their own words speak to so much.
Collecting things like postcards makes me feel like I am sharing in these people's lives. I am not a part of it, and not quite the voyeur since much of what has occurred did so fifty plus years ago. I am sharing because of the tactile action of holding the card in my hands. I had that feeling, too, last night with Alexandria and reminded myself that the letters had not actually been sent by these people. But all of the books I have read have been borrowed. Though I think that some day I will own the two trilogies, at the moment I get all of them by Interlibrary Loan from the library. They come from public libraries and universities. I don't know if I am the first person to read these, but I feel like there is something special about all us strangers gently taking the stiff folded paper out of the envelope, reading it through, and gently re-folding it and putting it back. I have yet to encounter and of these pages ripped or dirtied in any way. Perhaps in a few years I will seek library copies again, seeing if time changes their condition. There is a library subject classification for books with movable or removable parts. They have decided that these books are special. I think they are because they demand an interaction with the reader, but I think librarians may just view it as "things that can and will get lost."

So writing to someone is sharing, communicating, connecting to them. The book, especially when not privately owned but library borrowed, holds its own form of connecting people. Even when it is owned by one person, it holds that special potential because it may be later sold to a used bookstore, given away, lent to friends, sold at a yard or estate sale. These items live lives beyond our creating, using, and owning them. I love old books, not only because they have pretty leather bindings and such, but because they hold history in their pages, they hold lives. I love it when I find one that years ago was notated in the margins. It's this meta conversation between myself and that distant reader. Sharing with a stranger.