Posts filed under ‘Saucy Saturday’
112 lbs., cigarettes 2 (but at hideous cost), fantasies involving Mark Darcy/Colin Firth/Prince William bursting in saying: “In the name of God and England, release my future wife!”: constant.
Salman Rushdie loves Bridget Jones, and you know what? So do I. If Helen Fielding is good enough for the author of The Best of the Booker Prize, then darn it, she is good enough for me, even if her books are technically chick lit.
The beauty of the first book, Bridget Jones’s Diary, was that Bridget had the same problems as everyone else, only a little bit more exaggerated. Her mother’s a little nutty, her job is terrible, and she constantly feels inadequate. Also, she drinks a little too much, overindulges from time to time in a Cadbury Milk Tray or five, and thinks she could stand to lose about five pounds. Sound familiar?
In the second book, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, Helen Fielding takes everything — setting, plot, everything — to the next level. (more…)
“He doesn’t love me, he loves Rebecca,” I said. “He’s never forgotten her, he thinks about her still, night and day. He’s never loved me, Frank. It’s always Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca.”
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier is generally acknowledged to be one of the great classics of modern literature and I have never been happier to agree with such a designation. For those of you who know me, I tend to avoid and dislike things written anytime after 1910, so it was a great thrill to discover this thoroughly amazing book. (more…)
I recently read two thoroughly excellent books pertaining to Egyptology and, happily for our dear readers, neither of them was remotely musty, fusty or otherwise academic. Rather, they both catered to the general public’s continuing fascination with ancient Egypt and a little bit to the more current fad of loving someone who also happens to be undead (see Twilight, True Blood, and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies). Saucy! (more…)
It had been too long, Tory thought, since she’d sat on a porch swing watching the stars come out and hearing the crickets chirp. A long time since she’d been relaxed enough to simply sit and smell the breeze….Even as she thought it, she realized it was likely to be a long time before she did so again.
Okay, confession time: despite previous posts, every once in a while, I deeply enjoy lapsing into escapism with a good romance novel. I do mean a good one, though, and Nora Roberts’ Carolina Moon definitely falls into that category. In fact, it was so good it left me feeling a little like Tory in the quote above, just enjoying the good read while at the same time knowing that tomorrow, I had to dive into Le Morte Darthur and Dracula.
Sure, this story has all the trappings of a romance novel: Tory is a psychic with a troubled past who moves back to her hometown to open a gift shop (why do women in these novels always run gift shops of some sort?), and Cade, the male love interest whose bizarre nickname comes from Kincade, a name so snooty the reader immediately knows he comes from money, is an organic farmer whose family owns the land Tory’s family used to lease and farm like 20th-century sharecroppers. There are puppies, remarks that would get the men who say them arrested if they were anywhere else but in the pages of a romance novel, and about three marriages before the novel ends.
However, this novel is more than just a frame for raucous sexual encounters, as so many romance novels tend to be. (more…)
Firstly, welcome to the new and exciting Saucy Saturdays here at Literary Transgressions, bringing you the sauciest and probably silliest books to fill your Saturday night. Why go out when you can read these saucy selections from the hardly hallowed sections of our Literary Transgressions bookshelves? This week: Katherine Swynford: The Story of John of Gaunt’s Scandalous Mistress.
‘Katherine Swynford was John of Gaunt’s mistress.’
‘John of Gaunt?’
‘Yeah, you know, Edward III’s third son.’
(pause) ‘And we’re apparently on a first-name basis with him in this household?’
And so went a conversation with my fellow history major and roommate, Sonia, when I started to describe Alison Weir’s Katherine Swynford: The Story of John of Gaunt’s Scandalous Mistress to her over dinner. Sonia’s confusion articulated a main problem I have with medieval scholarship in general: the sheer lack of source material which leads to a literal void of information about leading figures of the period. (more…)