Once again the NY Times is packed full of nonfiction reviews, which I've decided to skim, leaving a bare whisper of fiction to check out after removing their take on the latest Harry Potter (big, highly edible, no surprise).
Then, happy surprise, Elissa Schappell bitchslaps Tilly Bagshawe's Adored. Sure, it's easy to take down a slutty, flighty beach read. But for being not tawdry enough?
To my mind, books of this kind exist largely to provide teenage girls with illicit, mostly faulty information that will completely warp their ideas about what sex will be like. Really, I'll hear waves crashing and bands of angels singing hallelujah?
Meow! I'm not going to run out and buy Jackie Collins or Jacquelyn Susann, who she lauds for their "literary flows of sordid sex, suicide and drug orgies," but if I see The Stud in a thrift store I might now be tempted to bring it home. In the meantime, I've added Schappel's Use Me to my to-be-read pile.