In Which We Discuss Sex

Let's start this post with a confession, just for a change.

When I was a little girl - about nine or ten - I thought being a prostitute didn't look like a bad career choice. Mostly, this was due to Pretty Woman. Sex and money, what could be bad about that? Of course, as I got older I learned a little more about it, and decided it wasn't for me. I'm not a girl who can separate sex and romance, or my homelife from my worklife, not to the extent required.

Still, I remain fascinated by the sex industry. A book I found very interesting was Dawn Annandale's Call Me Elizabeth, the true story of a woman who worked as an escort- (or call-) girl in order to fund the education of her six children. An articulate middle-class woman in her thirties, in many ways she didn't fit the typical idea of a prostitute - but, in another way she did. She'd been sexually abused by her father as a child, and although these events don't appear to directly influence her decision to sell her body, it seems telling that she saw fit to include this part of her history. Annandale had been away from her father for many years before she began work as a call girl, and it was in response to mounting debt, rather than, say, drug addiction or pressure from anyone else.

Another book about the sex industry which I found absolutely fascinating was Miranda Austin's Phone Sex, another set of memoirs. These are mostly anecdotes from Austin's time as a phone-sex operative, and make for a very interesting read. The book is absolutely laugh out loud hilarious, while still getting across the creepy feeling Austin got from certain clients. Austin actively enjoyed sex, and had always been told she had a sexy voice. She hadn't been abused, and nor was she on drugs.

Earlier, I bought a copy of Confessions of a Working Girl, by 'Miss S'. This one is the 'true story' of a prostitute who works in a brothel ('massage parlour', since brothels are illegal here in the UK), rather than on a street corner or going to client's homes, like a call girl. The blurb on the back cover reads as follows;

Miss S is smart, sassy, sexually frustrated and broke. With the rent money due, she spots an ad for a student job with a difference - in the massage parlour at the bottom of her road. Suddenly she can earn money doing something she is good at and get all the sex she needs.

Offered a job on the spot by Mrs B, an ex-working girl herself, Miss S quickly gets to grips with the rest of the girls. They include; Bella the house 'Domme', Carry the resident shrink, Tina the house snitch and Suzie the amateur porn star. That's not the mention the cast of clients; Mr Suck It Bitch, Mr Gay, Mr Pacemaker, Mr Councillor and Mr Willy Whacker...

Confessions of a Working Girl is the true, intimate diary of Miss S's extraordinary first year in a brothel and reveals exactly what a Gemini half hour really involves....

Honestly? My first thought at this point was "bollocks". Then I wondered why I thought that. I suspect it's because it sounds too happy. Do I honestly believe that every single prostitute in the world is unhappy, and dismiss entirely the idea that they aren't? I guess, instinctively, I do. And that can't be right, can it, to instantly disbelieve something just because it doesn't fit my preconceived stereotypes? After all, I can't exactly claim to have any intimate personal knowledge of the sex industry.

So, I started reading it. I'm now halfway through, and it turns out that while the blurb is complete bollocks, the book itself is really quite interesting. Most of those 'characters' only show up once, and the whole sexually frustrated thing is more understandable when explained in depth. Then there's the fact that although Miss S herself seems happy with her choice, and doesn't feel forced into it, or bad about herself, she does have some problems. Like condoms splitting, other girls on drugs, gossip, cattiness, and the paranoid idea that everyone around her knows what she's up to. Plus, it becomes clear after a while that she is the lucky one; she seems to be more of an anaomly than the majority. The other girls aren't middle class university students with high sex drives saving up for school supplies and their future - some of them are indeed on drugs, some have been kicked out by their families, some are single parents, and so on.

So, I guess what I'm saying is, my world view is restored. I don't know what that says about me. It's not that I want women in the sex industry to be unhappy - it's that I've always learned that the majority of them are. If they were all as happy and secure in their choice as Miss S, and if all brothels were as well kept as her workplace, it would become difficult to argue against the legislation of them. That would be a good thing, I think. Austin also seems happy and secure in her choice, but then, there's quite a distance between phone sex for money and physical sex for money.

To be honest, I still feel inclined to call shenanigans on the book, but the feeling subsides more as I get further through it.

In Which We Discuss the Devil that is WHSmith

So, I'm back in Aberdeen.

I was very good about packing books into my hand luggage. I'm staying for five days, so I was quite restrained and brought some of my library books - The Bachman Books, 'Salem's Lot - I'm on a King kick at the moment - The Telling, and The United States of Europe. Oh, and a copy of Y Tywysog Bach and a Welsh dictionary. The Little Prince is a book I find very useful for languages, incidentally, as it's been translated into so many. I've bought copies in Latin and Spanish, for friends who are studying those.

So, yes I was quite restrained. Until I got to the WHSmith in the airport, and noticed that they had everything on 4 for 3.

I didn't intend to buy anything. I was just going to look.

I started in the biography section. I enjoy biographies - people are fascinating. However, I did turn my nose up at Cheryl Cole's. I don't believe she's had enough life to justify one really. In all honesty though, I must confess that I simply dislike her.

Anyway, then I picked up Confessions of a City Girl, the book of the column. In this case, the column in question is City Girl, from thelondonpaper. It's the memoirs of a female merchant banker. Since I really liked I Don't Know How She Does It, and Trixie Trader, I had a look at a few random pages. The writing style seemed like it would be absorbing and readable, so I picked it up.

Then I noticed Derren Brown's Tricks of the Mind next to it. Although I don't expect to find out any of his secrets, I do find the man quite watchable, and a skim of the pages looks like he'll be readable too. And I had to make up four, didn't I?

I went over to the chart's display then. Found Ben Goldacre's Bad Science, which, I gather from another quick page skim, discusses the science shown in the media, including a chapter on Gillian McKeith. It looked interesting, and I suspect it will be good for debates and bits of random trivia.

My final choice was Nick Hornby's latest effort, Juliet, Naked. I enjoyed his other books, and I'd been looking at it in the last WHSmith I passed ( there was one at the train station, one before security, and then another one after), so that was that.

...and then I picked up a magazine, too.

...and a copy of Confessions of a Working Girl in the third WHSmith.

Godammit.

Oh, I know I still had two reviews and a conclusion to write about the Lisa Jewell thing. I lost interest, and forgot what I was going to say.

In Which We Discuss Vince and Joy

I personally found Vince and Joy to be the most frustrating of Jewell's novels. In short - and this section is going to contain spoilers - two people meet, and are perfect for each other. Due to a series of ridiculous misunderstandings, they remain apart for the next twenty years or so, having relationships and even children with other people, while continually catching glimpses of one another, but never saying anything. And then, eventually, finally they get together.

One of my pet hates is stories where every one except the main characters knows what's going to happen. Supporting cast, audience, everyone. And then, the entire story is basically waiting for the heroes to stop being idiots.

This is the main reason why I dislike Jewell's more straightforward love stories, like this and Thirtynothing, and even, to an extent, Ralph's Party. It's not so much 'will they, won't they' as 'get on with it already'.

In Which We Discuss A Friend of the Family

A Friend of the Family is the one novel that feels quite different from the rest of Jewell's style.

The friend in question is Gervase, an ageing rocker with a strange ability to empathise and see problems that people wouldn't normally confide in other people. The family is the Londons; mother, father and three boys, Tony, Sean and Ned. These boys each have their own problems - Tony feels that life has passed him by, and wonders how he went from being the catch to the chubby older brother. Ned just got back from three years in Australia with a crazy woman, and feels like he's fallen off the track at some point or another. He doesn't know where his life is going. And Sean, well Sean has it all - a best-selling novel and the fiancé of his dreams. Until, that is, he gets a bit more than he can handle.

It's hard to analyse why this is my favourite of Jewell's novels. It may be because it's less of a romantic comedy/drama, and more about a family. The point of it isn't to get the girl, it's to get the life (although in a few cases, the girl comes with it).

Perhaps it might help to compare it to my least favourite, Thirty-Nothing. What annoyed me about that was that I could very clearly see the ending from the first few pages. You've all seen or read stories like that, where absolutely everyone know who's going to get together, and it's just the very frustrating case of waiting for the two main characters to stop being idiots. That kind of scenario also shows up in Vince and Joy, and to some extent in Ralph's Party. While A Friend of the Family does include a bit of waiting for people to stop being idiots, at least Gervase is there to tell them that.

There's one element that did rather annoy me about the book. When one character becomes pregnant, she says that five years ago, she would have got an abortion. But, as an engaged woman in her early thirties, she doesn't have that option. Well, why not?

Later on, she also asks "Why would be propose if he didn't want babies?". Well, there are a number of responses to that - because he wanted to marry you being the most obvious.

In Which We Discuss One Hit Wonder

Lisa Jewell's third novel, One Hit Wonder ties for favourite, in my opinion, with her fourth, A Friend of the Family. One Hit Wonder was published in 2001, while A Friend of the Family was published in 2004. Before and after those novels, Jewell released one novel a year.

One Hit Wonder focuses on the sister of one hit wonder, Bee Bearhorn, after her suicide. Bee's sister, Ana, never really knew Bee as an adult, due to a large age-gap and a complicated family.

Ana had an idea of Bee's life as being like Bee - loud, vibrant, and generally quite sparkly. The line that I feel really sums up Ana's mindset in the novel is as follows;

My sister, the one person who made being alive look any fun, killed herself.

Following Bee's death, Ana is sent to London to pack up her belongings. Once there, she meets Bee's friends, and start to find out more about her sister's life.

In Which We Discuss Thirtynothing

Lisa Jewell's second novel is probably my least favourite.

The storyline focuses on Dig and Nadine, two people who've been friends since secondary school, and who have just turned thirty(nothing). Despite everyone thinking they must be together, and despite having dated for the grand total of one day, they are emphatically not interested in each other.

You can see where this is going, right? So could I. From the very first page.

Then, the girl who broke Dig's heart, Delilah, shows up. Her disappearance was just as mysterious as her reappearance, so Dig tries to solve that mystery while falling for her over again. In the spirit of revenge/competition, Nadine calls her ex, Phil, and then shenanigans ensue.

I think I dislike this book because of it's predictability. The character's spend pages and pages obsessing over why they shouldn't do what we all know they will, and I find that very frustrating. Honestly, you want to just slap some sense into them.

This book doesn't involve as many people or links between them as Ralph's Party did, but it does delve deeply into the past, and how events there formed people's reactions today, a theme Jewell revisited in her later novels.

As I said, Thirtynothing is my least favourite of Jewell's novels, but it's still better than some by other authors.

In Which We Discuss Ralph's Party

So, I finally got started on my Lisa Jewell campaign.

I first read Ralph's Party several years ago. At the time, the drug use really bothered me. I think I was about fourteen, and I just wasn't used to a world in which drug use was so casual. I'm still not a huge fan of them, but now I barely bat an eyelid. It's not like Kilo where the entire point is drug use - it's just people who occasionally smoke weed. And, at one point, cocaine.

As well as being the first Lisa Jewell book I read, this is also the first one she wrote. It began as a bet, much like Frankenstein, or Ozymandias (although, of course, they were challenges between writers, and this was a bet so, as the story goes, Jewell didn't spend all her time on the dole being depressed).

Ralph's Party is about a large house in London, split into flats were five people live, with another moving in at the beginning. In the basement flat, Ralph and Smith are best friends with nothing in common, who are looking for a new flatmate. They get Jem, short and sparky, who believes the flat is her destiny.

In the middle flat live Siobhan and Karl, who have been together for years. They're quite happy, for a given measure of happiness.

Finally, on the top floor, there is Cheri, a blonde, beautiful ice queen.

I'm about halfway through my reread now, so that's all I'll say about this one at the minute. Here's the rest of the list, in order;

Ralph's Party (1999)
Thirtynothing (2000)
One Hit Wonder (2001)
A Friend of the Family (2004)
Vince and Joy (2005)
31 Dream Street (2007)
The Truth About Melody Browne (2009)

In Which We Discuss Chart Throb and Lilly Aphrodite

...okay, I'll get to the Lisa Jewell thing just as soon as I'm done reading all the library books I had reserved.

Chart Throb, by Ben Elton (who worked with Richard Curtis on Blackadder) is about reality TV shows, particularly those along the lines of Pop Idol. It describes a man who's come up with the very epitome of what made pop idol work, and done it so well that he's ousted Simon Cowell (presumably, this is so Simon Cowell doesn't sue). The story focuses on his quest to have a certain person win, based purely on clever editing, and, in doing so, exposes many of the tricks pop idol uses. It's definitely worth a read. One of the things it points out is the sheer impossibility of the judges actually seeing the seventy-five-thousand-plus people who usually show up for these things (up to ninety-five-thousand for the book). At ten minutes each, with ten hour days for the judges, it'd take around three years. It's well-written, absorbing, intriguing and hilarious.

Another book I read recently was Beatrice Colin's The Luminous Life of Lilly Aphrodite. It's fiction written as if it might be fact, focusing on the career of a German silent film star, Lilly Aphrodite. What I found most interesting was the portrayal of everyday life in Berlin throughout World War I and before World War II. It's something I've thought about but not really seen before. Turns out, it wasn't so different from here, except for the fact that they lost.

In Which We Discuss Lisa Jewell

I've settled on a new project for myself and this blog. In short, to read the complete works of an author, in chronological order, reviewing each one, to see how he or she has changed over time.

My favourite authors are Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, and Sheri Tepper, but each of those has a bibliography as long as my arm. Instead, I'm going with Lisa Jewell. Her bibliography, in chronological order, is as follows;

* Ralph's Party (1999)
* Thirtynothing (2000)
* One Hit Wonder (2001)
* A Friend of the Family (2004)
* Vince and Joy (2005)
* 31 Dream Street (2007)
* Roommates Wanted (2008)- alternative title for 31 Dream Street
* The Truth About Melody Browne (2009)

Of those, I've read six; the first six, actually.
Thirtynothing I find to be sickeningly sweet, while One Hit Wonder and A Friend of the Family are two of my favourite novels.

So, I'll be starting with this just as soon as I'm done reading my current library books and Tepper's Arbai trilogy. That'll give me time to get used to typing on this new notebook.

In Which We Discuss the Problems with Not Proof-Reading

I like the book (and the film) of The Devil Wears Prada. They're both fun and interesting. But the book has two major mistakes and every time I get to them, I just want to go find Lauren Weisberger - or, possibly, her editor - and ask them how they could possibly miss something so obvious.

Firstly, the following;

I had Googled her and was surprised to find that Miranda Priestly was born Miranda Princhek in London's East End. Hers was like all the other orthodox Jewish families in the town, stunningly poor but devout. Her father occasionally worked odd jobs, but mostly they relied on the community for support, since he spent most of his days studying Jewish texts. Her mother had died in childbirth with Miriam and it was her mother who'd moved in and helped raise the children. And were there children! Eleven in all. Most of her brothers and sisters went on to work blue-collar jobs like their father, with little time to do anything but pray and work; a couple managed to get themselves into and through the university, only to marry young and begin having large families of their own. Miriam was the single exception to the family tradition.

After saving the small bills her older siblings would slip her whenever they were able, Miriam promptly dropped out of high school upon turning seventeen - a mere three months shy of graduation - to take a job as an assistant to an up-and-coming British designer, helping him put together his shows each season.

Firstly, there aren't that many Orthodox Jewish families in London, and it's highly doubtful that any of them would survive by donations, let alone have eleven children.

Miriam did not save bills. We have pounds and pound notes. She would have saved notes, or coins. Not bills.

Miriam did not drop out of high school. She would never have attended high school, since we don't have those in the UK. And even if Andy was just translating it into American, and meant 'secondary school' then Miriam would have left at sixteen. And she wasn't three months shy of graduation whenever she left, because we don't graduate (except from university, around the age of 23).

Oh, and London isn't a town.

Goddamit, do some fucking research.

The second mistake is minor compared to this one. A character says something to Andy at the start of a chapter, Andy goes into an inner monologue, and then, when she comes out of it, finds out that the person in question has been in a coma, and couldn't possibly have been around to say whatever it was, that Andy doesn't acknowledge anyway.

In Which We Discuss the Hindi-Bindi Club and Racial Identity

My father is Indian, my mother is a mixture of English, Irish and Welsh. Since my parents cannot stand each other, this causes problems. My mother spent many years insisting that I was British, pure British, which was a bit pathetic, since people would spend five minutes looking at me, and then ask "What are you?".

I'm not purely British. But, because my father is second generation and a lazy alcoholic to boot, I'm not really Indian. He's my main link to the culture, and he barely knows anything about it himself. My grandparents see me as one of his problems, not their grandchild (it probably doesn't help that my name is Kali).

In short, although my face loudly proclaims that I'm not white (for lack of a better term), I feel like a fraud pretending to be Indian.

I do read a lot of books by Indian and South-Asian authors. Very few seem applicable to me. Most South-Asian people on TV, in films, or in the media in general, are Pakistani Muslims. Indians tend to be from the Punjab, or the bigger cities like Mumbai or Kolkata. The mixed race characters tend to live with both of their parents, rather than be entirely cut off like I am. The few times I've visited my aunts or cousins in the last few years (less than five times in the last nine years), they've insisted on treating me like a baby and giving me badly cooked English food. They don't see me as one of them. But I'm not white either.

The Hindi-Bindi Club is about first and second generation Indian immigrants in America. One of them is mixed, but, as observed above, she lives with both parents. The three daughters refer to their mothers as the Hindi-Bindi club - because they speak in Hindi and wear bindi (bindi being the 'red dots').

A little note about Hindi. Although true Hindi is the main language of India, each region has its own dialect (and these differ from each other far more than most people would expect). For instance, most people have heard of chapattis. My family, who are from gujerat, call them rhotli.

Anyway, the book reminds me of Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club. Both books focus on first and second generations (Amy Tan's are from China), and how the mothers and daughters view each other and their culture, in short. The Joy Luck Club focused on the growing bridge and lack of knowledge between mothers and daughters, while The Hindi-Bindi Club focuses more on the different values held by mothers and daughters. It's also mentioned that, in Indian culture, love is shown via food. By the offer or refusal to make someone's favourite dish, for instance. Between every chapter, there are recipes. Most of them I don't really recognise. I've never eaten Indian food, except that cooked by my dadima, and she always gave my sister and I the most basic stuff. Since she didn't (and still doesn't) speak English, we never did find out what was in any of it. But I think I could make a passable rhotli, since the recipe given for chapatis is similar enough to what I've seen my dadima do. And we do have an anglicised potato and chicken curry. My dadima taught my mother how to make it, and she passed the recipe onto my grandmother. We've now successfully bastardised it, by adding more potatoes and leeching out spices.

Another issue that The Hindi-Bindi Club brought up for me was the importance of sons to Hindu families. I knew that they were important, since many of my father's issues stem from his having two daughters, but I never knew why. Now I do.

It seems that, for Hindus, only sons can perform the necessary death rites. In other words, my father won't make it to the Hindu version of heaven....because of my genitals. Considering that someone once thought it perfectly acceptable to call me a mutt, and I've been criticised for using the term "mixed race" to refer to myself (by someone who isn't actually mixed), I am now more thoroughly mixed then I usually am.

It was a good book though. I like Cowboy John best. I particularly liked the way one character described him as an American who had become Indian, much as their daughters were Indians who had become American.

In Which We Discuss Mary-Sue

Mary-Sue is a slang term used in fan-fiction and role-plays. It's when the writer, usually female, writes a version of herself into the story. Only, this self is incredibly beautiful, intelligent, good at everything, and a main character.

Every teenage girl (and possibly, boy) goes through that stage. I did, but fortunately, I was over it before I knew about the internet. It's great fun for the author, but quite annoying to everyone else, who does not identify with this fantastic, fantasy character.

I've said, in a previous post, that Harry Potter, Twilight, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer seem, to me, very Sue-ish. They are so successful because every teenager (and many adults) who read the books want to be the main character. They identify with them, and so, support them. And, as with any Mary-Sue, to anyone who does not identify with the main character, this habit is extremely annoying.

However, one adult book did manage to carry this off - Marianne Stilling's Damsel in this Dress. In many ways, it's an adult Mary-Sue, but, instead of being annoying, it succeeds in being hilarious. I don't know how she's done it, but it manages to be funny, reminiscent of my own mildly embarassing teenage fantasies, and highly enjoyable. Well done.