The Beautiful Kind

When I was a kid my mom used to alternate between reading romance novels and true crime books. I ended up reading a bunch of both. Regardless of the genre, they usually involved women being impaled in some fashion.

In 7th grade my flamboyent, gay English teacher assigned everyone in the class the task of reading a romance novel and writing a book report on it. I thought that was so fabulously sadistic of him, forcing the boys to be seen with one, pushing our limits, putting our hormones in overdrive.

I just discovered this AWESOME book called The Bride Sale. Check it out:

A woman is sold at auction
. . . and bought by a mysterious lord

Verity Osborne was a young woman who had allowed others to direct her life, but now faced a situation so shocking she must find the strength to fight for her safety, her sanity, her virtue . . . and to fight against a dangerous attraction.

They called him Lord Heartless. James Harkness preferred a vile and fearful reputation rather than have the shameful truth revealed . . . until the healing power of love changed his life.

FUCK YEAH! When women read these books, they’re acknowledging, “Spoon feed me all the gender roles, mmm, I don’t care how wrong it is, it warms my crotch.”

Dr. Seuss wrote oodles of children books in the 1960’s with some timeless messages. The Lorax was an environmentalist who spoke for the trees. Horton the Elephant held his own against societal pressure, never wavering from his conviction that “a person’s a person, no matter how small.”

And then there’s Gertrude McFuzz, one of my favorites. I should read this book every time I start to think spending thousands of dollars to cut into my chest wall and insert water balloons is a good idea. Vain Gertrude is a bird unhappy with her one tail feather, and wishes she looked more like Lolla-Lee-Lou, who, with two feathers, is more endowed.

One droopy-droop feather. That’s all that she had.
And, oh! That one feather made Gertrude so sad.

Wanting her tail to grow, she seeks a doctor’s advice.

“Tut tut!” said the doctor. “Such talk! How absurd!
Your tail is just right for your kind of bird!”

Gertrude persists, and finally he tells her of a pill-berry vine. Although the berries taste terrible, she gobbles them down. She sprouts lots of feathers, and things get out of control. Before long, she finds herself weighed down with a large, unwieldy plume. In the end, after a lot of plucking, Gertrude, once consumed with envy, learns to be content with her one cute feather.

Oh fine, I’ll stick with padded bras and save the money for my kid’s college.

I’m reading Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz again. It’s a ten-state travelogue detailing ways the South still identifies with the Civil War. The North may have moved on, but you’ll still see plenty of the “Fuck You” flag in grit territory. Horwitz goes on a Civil Wargasm with the guy on the cover of the book, which involves hitting as many Civil War sites and battlefields in a one-week period as possible. In period attire, of course.

The difference between hardcore and pansy reenactors is explained. For one, hardcores are called “living historians,” and they’ll go to great lengths to create an authentic experience, marching barefoot, eating moldy food, doing just about everything shy of getting really shot. The pansies are called “farbs.” They’ll cut corners by wearing their modern day glasses or smearing themselves with fake blood.

In the book, Horwitz tells of a Confederate veteran that was asked years after the war to demonstrate a Rebel Yell. He declined, stating, “It cain’t be pulled off with a full belly.”

A few years ago I scored the book Men Are Not Cost Effective. It basically proposes that since men are such jerks and commit most of the crime and cause most of the trouble in our society, we should institute a gender tax. I find this sooo amusing.

An excerpt:

…In a 700-page required US history textbook, only 17 pages are about women. This overemphasis on male accomplishments tends to elevate man’s importance in society, and vicariously the boy’s importance in his world and the girl’s unimportance.

And what does the boy learn in these history classes? He learns about wars and generals and conquering territory. He learns about Napoleon, Caesar, Hannibal, and Alexander the Great, all of whom conquered other people, destroyed property and plundered. This gives the boy an understanding of his own privilege. The plunderer gets into history books.

What does the girl learn? She learns about Joan of Ark who was burned at the stake for speaking her mind, no matter that she had led the country’s armies to victory. She learns about Cleopatra, who killed herself when her lover was defeated. The girl learns that she will never be in the history books, and she has to admire boys for what their gender has accomplished.

The author tickles me, but sure, I’ll play along. Men can pay their taxes directly to me. Various forms of payment accepted.

OK this is one of the strangest kid’s books I have. It’s called Else-Marie and Her Seven Little Daddies, it’s from Sweden, and too bad for you it’s out-of-print in America (but you can look at my copy). It’s about a little girl who has seven little daddies instead of one big one like most other kids. One review I found online pointed out that it’s a great book that cleverly addresses alternative families (polyamory/GLBT.) This other review did a marvelous job “getting it” - the concept, the illustrations, the humor. Quirky Cute I’m telling you.

I can handle a kid having seven little daddies, but the thing I keep struggling with is the Mom and her relationship with the seven little daddies. How did she meet them? Is she a total kinkpot to be down with an 8some? What’s their sex life like? Do they take turns (one for every day of the week!) or is it orgy-style? And where can I get ME seven little daddies? Ha ha. Also, it’d be totally cool if there was a sequel: Else-Marie and Her Seven Little Brothers, cuz if you’re doing it with seven little daddies, surely there’s an increased chance of having a litter, like that McCaughey family did. (But they used fertility drugs. Then claimed it was God’s will. If it was God’s will, why did they feel the need to stack the deck?)

I love that Emily Dickinson is such an enigma to all the prying academics. They’re constantly debating about why she stayed home so much, if she was a recluse, if she was a virgin, if she was bisexual or gay, if she got it on with her sister-in-law, and even if she was incontinent! Here’s one of my favorite poems by her (she wrote 1789!), as well as two most fabulous quotes. Word.

Come slowly, Eden!
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars –enters,
And is lost in balms!

“The Truth must dazzle gradually/Or every man be blind.”

“The Heart wants what it wants–or else it does not care–”

I love that children’s books have all kinds of hidden (and not-so-hidden) meaning within their pages. This book is called The Adventures of Bert. Here is a page from the book. I really don’t need to comment, it speaks for itself.

Since I’m a book slut it’s only proper to share this HOT link. Scroll dowwwn….God this turns me on like you wouldn’t believe. Just imagine the things I could do in these stacks. Imagine the smells, the hush, the rustling, the echoes, the sound of a book falling to the floor - thud - the groping, the sighing, the hot bloom enveloping my body…read to me.

PS: Hell yeah I bought the book!