Bondage, six pack abs and those who love them

I should get some flipping nice hits for today's subject line but I needed a bit of a break from my recent seriousness. My regular readership must think the real Lisa has been captured and held ransom, possibly killed, her blog hacked by the killer – a terribly serious southerner with a chip on her shoulder and a thing for William Faulkner.  I felt I needed to reassure you such was not the case, that I'm alive and well, just a little cross-eyed from reading Ulysses, which is still a delight, by the way (believe it or not), especially with Frank Delaney's leading me by the hand. And Frank Delaney's Irish accent, which I've never heard him without.

By the way, totally unrelated, my favorite word to hear an Irishman say – aside from "let's run away," technically a phrase – is "Ireland." If you'll notice, they say it far differently than we Americans. It's not quite a roll of the "r," but there's a definite lilt to it – a give me a sturdy surface to hang onto or I'll turn to liquid lilt. Or, maybe it is a roll of the "r." Like it matters.

Somehow I doubt there are foreigners who go weak-kneed over any words spoken in American English (Say "Big Mac!"). At least I've never been asked to repeat anything and I traveled extensively in the blush of my youth. My only experience with anyone  hanging on my words occurred while visiting my southern cousins' school. The class was entranced with my American mid-western accent, distinguished for being the universal accent used by news broadcasters. It's apparently the one "clean" accent everyone can understand. And I don't think they were as weak-kneed as mystified real people, off TV, speak like that.

Once upon a time I had an e-friend from Dublin who came to stay with us for a week, to visit and see Chicago before heading to California to visit another friend. When she spoke I could hardly hear the Irish in her accent, it was so light. It's not like going out into the small towns of Ireland, where they don't sound as if they're speaking English at all. Or so I've heard and know that's the case in Scotland, from embarrassing experience. It's one of those cases in which you keep nodding yes, laughing when they laugh, realizing you probably just agreed to something unsavory and their laughter is actually directed at you.

Speaking of accents, laughter and Big Macs, let's go forward and discuss something totally unrelated, as is the ideal in any good essay-like piece of writing (eat that, Sister Jeanne!). Let's talk about pornographic writing and pretend there was a logical segue. Specifically, I was drinking my coffee this morning while reading Publishers Weekly, a typical day. Turning page 23 I nearly spit my coffee all over my desk. Want to see what I saw?:

Iownthedawn

 

Let's think about this. We see Adonis in dogtags – hinting he's some sort of veteran, though of what, bondage school? – a woman standing behind him, holding a gun in a particularly non-threatening posture. Maybe a person normally hugs her victim before shooting him? I don't have much experience with murder and feel ill-equipped making that judgment. Not to mention there are so many different styles. For her, maybe this works.

The funny thing is – well, one of many – the man has actual breasts. Maybe his are more impressive than his gun-wielding "assailant," and that's why he's in front. It's the message, though, that's the best part of all:  let's have sex, then I will kill you. What is she, a praying mantis? And, you  may have a hard time with this (har!), but the author is actually a man. A man! Does that mean this is some sort of male fantasy, being attacked in an ineffectual way by a half-faced woman?

The author states, and I quote:

Writing love stories engages him "at the deepest emotional level… The deep, deep connection between characters, whether driven by plot or emotion – that's what brings a book to life for me. When I stumbled upon the idea of writing whole books about that wonderful moment of finding the right person and falling in love, as I was fortunate enough to do a decade ago, I was sold. I'm fascinated by that moment of total exposure and self-discovery that we enter into on the road to happily ever after."

Happily ever after: it always starts with a gun to the throat.

And, purely from a stylistic standpoint, could he have made more mention of the words "deep" and "deeper"? Is he familiar at all with Freud? Can he pronounce Freud?

What a complete, raving idiot.

 

Loverunexpected

But that isn't the only book in the "Suite 69" – kid you not – series. There's also – and you need to whisper this – Lover Unexpected. This time we've switched the gun for a mask and both main characters seem to have forgotten to fully dress. Gosh!

Aren't you always running into half-naked men unexpectedly? No? Then you're hanging out in the wrong places. And encountering masked men with perky breasts? All the time! They're as common as Americans with a mid-western accent. ("Hanging out" is a total freebie, by the way.)

The string tying these two topics – accents and pornography – is a bit of a stretch. It violates every rule of writing, and a few of good taste as well. Sorry about that. But I had an awful lot of fun writing it. Never let it be said of me I particularly follow instructions. But I'll read this to you in an American accent, if you like, if it makes any of this more legitimate.

Didn't think so. I promise I'll be back to normal in my next post, dour and grim-faced, serious and spouting off about how only Literature with a capital "L" matters. Maybe I'll even post something with an actual theme

But don't hold your breath.

 

 

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