Smut?

So I finally finish ‘The Constant Gardener’ by John LeCarre and do you ever have one of those coincidences where you unintentionaly read two books that are actually along the same lines. Its ok to do that intentionally, but after Grisham’s The Appeal I didn’t really need another ‘Little man versus evil multi national corporation.’

But that’s what I got.

But in a far more complex, drawn out, evocative narrative. Sometimes you don’t want complexity. Those kinds of novels where you have to have a note book to hand to jot down who is who. I always think a book does itself a favour if it has a list of characters at the front with a short bio. Or maybe I’m just becoming more cerebrally challenged as I get older?

 

Think its time for a classic next, and ive picked The Trespasser by DH Lawrence. I know nothing about it but it cant be any more raunchy than the Chatterley Mellors tryst!

One for the ladies!

I’m about fifty pages in, and although its lacking the shock value of Chatterley, I cant help but feel that Lawrence was one sex obsessed dude. Or should I say sex supressed as this was written in nineteen twelve.

The two main characters in this novel are illicit lovers, but I’ve just read a paragraph which, shall we say, is describing the last moments of a romantic evening, and I had to read it again, and then read it to Debbie and ask ‘Have they just done it?’

In contrast, it reminded me of reading Ian Mcewans ‘On Chesil Beach’ which the pastor of my church had quoted from only the week before. So I took it as bedtime reading on a fishing weekend with the lads to the lovely Wye Valley. We intended to have a lazy start, visit the tackle shop before fishing mid-morning, so, as I had no requirement of the tackle shop, I took my book down to the breakfast room with the intention of having a leisurely breakfast and to start my book.

The restaurant was surprisingly full and my mates were all still enjoying their fried plates of protein so I went over and joined them.

‘what book have you got there’ asks my good friend Paul as he relieved me of it and started to flick through it.

‘Oh just a Mcewan novel I reply. Nothing special’

Paul has now stopped on a page and I notice his eyes widen and then to my horror READS ALOUD a pretty explicit description of a ( somewhat unsuccessful) honeymoon night!

The restaurant had gone deathly quiet with everyone looking at us, and all I could think to say was ‘My pastor recommended me that!’

This is NOT my Pastor and good friend Steve. He's much better looking, and younger!

But here’s the thing about DHL, (no, not the courier) in the morning ‘she tried to wash herself with the white and blue morning, to clear away the soiling of the last nights passion ’ which to me is a little bit more intimate than a description of a love scene? It’s as if he wants to titillate and shock, push acceptable boundaries, but not in an obvious way, or maybe just tell the world that he knows what goes on when men & women’s undercarriages meet.

And whilst I’m at it, back in Chatterleyland, why does he call a woman’s height of pleasure ‘Her crisis’?? A thesaurus gives us the following alternatives: Disaster, catastrophe! Emergency, calamity (hardly) predicament, crunch, watershed (alright I’ll give you that one!)

All I know is that when Debbie now burns a cake, and declares that ‘she’s having a little crisis’ there is a begrudging respect that she can multi-task”!

Mmm, looking good luv!

You know what, at the end of the day, its hardly 52 shades of grey is it! I'm mocking the man, but its actually a sad indictment of society today, as I would imagine 100 years ago Lawrence would have caused the same sized waves to literature as Jonny Rotten did to music. It would definitely have been lock up your daughters time!

Today, whilst Chatterley as a title is still synonymous with something a little shameful, it really is tame compared to rap lyrics, Nuts magazine or some pretty disturbing internet images which our children are only a couple of mouse clicks away from..We have been warned.