Bonk, by Mary Roach

If you are shy or uncomfortable with the topic of sex, then this is not the book for you. The title of the introduction is "Foreplay" and it ramps up from there. Bonk is subtitled The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex and this is not an exaggeration. From scientific examinations of the penis, testicles, and clitoris to coital imaging to sex toys to genital transplants and implants, this book has it all. Oh, and it is funny as hell, too!

Roach has an amazing writing style that allows the reader to delve deeply into the mechanics, psychology, and science of intercourse while maintaining a laugh-out-loud approach to the topic at hand. For instance, by taking MRIs of people in flagrante delicto scientists learned that after penetration the penis has the shape of a boomerang. Roach helpfully adds, "But not the precise dynamics. If you hurl an uprooted penis into the air, it will not come back to you. It will most likely, and who can blame it, want nothing to do with you." We also learn that sex hormones "make individuals perceive other individuals as more attractive than they'd normally perceive them. Hormones are nature's three bottles of beer." Even the footnotes are hilarious: "Nasal congestion is an erection inside your nose." "Who clubs a hamster? What would you even use to deliver “a blow” to a head that small?" "The Anal Pad should not be confused with a prior invention called the Anal Napkin, which, in turn, should not be confused with the dinner napkin." "Nominations for a Nobel Prize ... remain secret for fifty years. You make the claim, and nobody can prove otherwise until after you're dead. Add one to your résumé today!"

I enjoyed her earlier book Stiff (about cadavers, not erections) and this one was just as entertaining. If you are interested in how scientific research about sex is conducted or the physiology of the reproductive system (or simply want to laugh a lot), Bonk is a good choice. If, however, you are less interested learning in what an orgasm scientifically is and would rather learn how to cause an orgasm, maybe check out Ian Kerner's She Comes First.

First Sentence:

Albert R. Shadle was the world's foremost expert on the sexuality of small woodland creatures.

The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood

This novel tells the story of a near-future revolution that replaces the United States with the Republic of Gilead, an oppressive fundamentalist Christian theocracy. We are vividly shown the dark side of religion, what happens when those beliefs are taken to a tyrannical extreme: women are forbidden to own property, vote, read, or write; homosexuality and heretical ideas are punished by death. Basically, what Vice President Mike Pence would call an ideal world.

I found the book difficult to read not because of the disturbing content, but due to the stilted language: "I walk around to the back door, open it, go in, set my basket down on the kitchen table." The choppy writing gave me fits for some reason; I had to re-read sections often because I wasn't parsing the prose properly. Given the environment I was expecting to discover that the author was secretly writing down her thoughts to explain the odd syntax, but in the epilogue we learn the author recorded everything on tapes—meaning the writing should have been more fluid, not less.

I would have liked to see more about the mechanics of the revolution (an ongoing war is mentioned multiple times, and at one point the Republic of Texas is shown to be an independent country again) but given the author is a woman and therefore forbidden from knowledge and news the lack of detail makes sense. Regardless, this is a thought provoking read and should be required reading for anyone interested in a "fair and balanced" world.

First Sentence:

We slept in what had once been the gymnasium.

Bodyguards in Bed, by Lucy Monroe, Jamie Denton, and Elisabeth Naughton

I'm not exactly sure how this erotic anthology found its way onto my shelf. Three stories are included, and as the title indicates all dealing with a bodyguard that falls into bed with their protection assignment. Who's Been Sleeping in My Brother's Bed? by Lucy Monroe does an admirable job of trying to capture the will-they-won't-they vibe, but simple inclusion in this volume makes the answer inevitable. Acapulco Heat by Elisabeth Naughton is a straightforward thriller, with an ex-Army Ranger trying to save a supermodel mixed up with a Mexican cartel. The third entry, Hot Mess by Jamie Denton, is easily the best of the three, with the role of guardian being played by both sides of the couple at various points.

All three short stories are interesting but I felt each needed to be either shorter or longer. Monroe and Denton both craft characters that could carry a longer story; Monroe's tale in particular had more depth than most John Grisham novels. Naughton's entry dragged a bit and could easily be shortened—seven of the eight chapters were basically an extended chase scene. Overall this is a quick read, but felt more aimed at the chick lit crowd than my normal fare.

First Sentence (from Who's Been Sleeping in My Brother's Bed?):

Danusia wiggled the key in the lock on her brother's apartment door.

First Sentence (from Hot Mess):

Alyssa Cardellini considered herself a work-in-progress.

First Sentence (from Acapulco Heat):

His luck was in the crapper.

Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man, by Steve Harvey

The best thing about this book is its length: short. Written in the form of a man giving relationship advice to a woman, this may be the most sexist and misogynistic thing I've ever read. Harvey makes Andrew Dice Clay's views seem reasonable! According to Harvey men are driven by who they are, what they do, and how much money they make. If a man doesn't consider himself to be successful he cannot have a solid relationship. "His eye will be on the prize, and that prize may not necessarily be you if he isn't where he wants to be in life." Once a man has his affairs in order, though, he can concentrate on intimacy. "Once he says he cares about you, you are a prized possession to him, he will do anything to protect that prized possession." So we've already seen women described as both "prizes" and "possessions" — and this is in the first two chapters! He goes on to share such wisdom as wives must not have hobbies that aren't shared by their husbands and that men cheat because women stop trying to keep relationships fresh. I shudder to think that people read this and think this stereotypical drivel is actual advice. Steve Harvey is a comedian so it is plausible this entire narrative is intended to be ironic, but frankly he doesn't come across as clever enough to pull that off.

First Sentence:

There is no truer statement: men are simple.

Running With Scissors, by Augusten Burroughs

This is a troubling memoir of a twelve-year-old boy with mild OCD whose mother gave him away to her bizarre psychiatrist to be raised as a member of his own family. Unfortunately, this new family brings a new meaning to the term unorthodox, where children of all ages have no rules to follow, smoke cigarettes and pot, have sex, and live in a filthy and structurally unsound house. "The problem with not having anybody to tell you what to do, I understood, is that there was nobody to tell you what not to do." Some of the doctors patients periodically move in for extended periods of time as well, including a pedophile. Burroughs begins an intense homosexual relationship with this pedophile that is nearly twenty years his senior, but neither his mother nor his adopted family seems to have any issues with it. The book ends with a now 17-year-old Burroughs headed to New York City without any real plan of where to stay or how to make a living, but generally unconcerned about the situation. "Of course I can make it in New York City. ... Unwittingly, I had earned a Ph.D. in survival."

I'm sure parts of this autobiography are sensationalized but enough of it is clearly true to show just how disturbed some people in this world are. In Golding's Lord of the Flies we see a group of children without supervision devolve into madness; what is more unsettling about Running With Scissors is that there are uncomfortable similarities at times but it isn't fiction. I find it shocking that the only lawsuit that resulted from this was against the author for libel and not against any of the supposed authority figures who let this all happen. It is amazing that Burroughs came out of this squalid home and irresponsible upbringing with enough wit and wisdom to write a searingly honest bestseller. This isn't the sort of book anyone truly enjoys, but it is certainly worth reading.

First Sentence:

My mother is standing in front of the bathroom mirror smelling polished and ready; like Jean Naté, Dippity Do and the waxy sweetness of lipstick.

Naked Lunch, by William S. Burroughs

This was picked for our book club because of its common description as one of the most important classic novels of the twentieth century. After reading it, I can only assume the importance is due to the obscenity trials and censorship issues it spawned that forced a closer examination of our right to free speech rather than the novel itself. Naked Lunch is the delusional raving of a drug-fueled homosexual, with graphic descriptions of sadistic pedophilia and wild hallucinations. There isn’t much of a linear plot, as evidenced by Burroughs himself when he said that he intended for the chapters to be read in any order. It reads like the world’s worst Mad Lib which afterwards was randomly scrambled. “The nostalgia fit is on me boys and will out willy silly . . . boys walk down the carny midway eating pink spun sugar . . . goose each other at the peep show . . . jack off in the Ferris wheel . . . throw sperm at the moon rising red and smoky over the foundries across the river. A Nigra hangs from a cottonwood in front of The Old Court House . . . whimpering women catch his sperm in vaginal teeth . . .”

This book is a classic in the same way that Pollock’s paintings are: unique, random, and meaningless but holding great appeal for professors and critics. I know I sound like that old man at the end of the block shaking his fist at the world while yelling, “Get off my lawn!” but as far as I can tell Naked Lunch has no redeeming value whatsoever. Dull and non-nonsensical, this is a truly awful book.

First Sentence:

I can feel the heat closing in, feel them out there making their moves, setting up their devil doll stool pigeons, crooning over my spoon and dropper I throw away at Washington Square Station, vault a turnstile and two flights down the iron stairs, catch an uptown A train . . . Young, good looking, crew cut, Ivy League, advertising exec type fruit holds the door back for me.

Assholes Finish First, by Tucker Max

Tucker Max is as articulate and intelligent as he is debauched and misogynistic. I loved his first book, I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, so when I received Assholes Finish First for Christmas I was quite happy. Sadly, this outing didn’t capture the same horrifying charm as the first.

There is a lot of humor here, and again some of the phrasing is laugh-out-loud funny. “I love women, I love alcohol, and I love combining the two. If God invented anything better than drunk sex with a hot girl, he kept it to himself.” “She had one of those goofy permanent smiles, like the kind worn by people who watch The 700 Club without irony.” Really funny! Unfortunately, many of the stories here struck me as more vulgar than funny. I’m not pro-life by any stretch of the imagination, but the chapter titled Tucker Max: Baby Killer can only be described as somewhere between dismaying and disgusting.

While there are some high points (especially “Tucker Goes to Campout, Owns Duke Nerds” and “The Capitol City Clown Crawl”), overall it seems this book is more about self-gratification than storytelling. Assholes Finish First is funny, but compared to the promise of I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell ultimately disappointing.

First Sentence:

I went to law school at Duke, and as you may know, basketball is huge there.

Why We Do It, by Niles Eldredge

In 1976 Richard Dawson penned The Selfish Gene which expounded on a popular theory in evolution theory saying that genes whose attributes successfully promote their own duplication will be selected in favor of their competitors. More simply, evolution works at a genetic level rather than at at a sexual level; it is our genes that drive reproductive behavior rather than the desire for the prettiest women to mate with the most virile men. Eldredge is highly critical of this theory, and Why We Do It lays out his argument.

Reproduction doesn’t drive all aspects of our culture today; economics and society has a much bigger influence. To Eldredge this means that genes can’t be actually driving behavior but instead simply carrying information. This information is used to build larger organisms which then choose if and when to reproduce. The drive to eat and survive is stronger than the drive to procreate, and sex has become largely decoupled from simple reproduction—humans do not go into heat (Spring Break not withstanding) and choose our mates on features other than proximity. Sex exists for its own sake in society as recreational; Viagra doesn’t exist to help couples have children, and birth control certainly doesn’t either. Our genes don’t drive us to reproduce, and sex happens for fun much more often than for baby-making.

This is an interesting book, but Eldredge vacillates wildly between science and opinions, often losing his point in snark. He often castigates his intellectual opponents, calling their theories absurd or astonishing. He dislikes media as well, complaining they are “besotted with genes.” While I tend to agree with many of his theories, I found this level of disdain more appropriate for a religious or political text rather than a scientific one.

First Sentence:

Why do people have sex?

Lost Girls, by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie

This controversial graphic novel examines the erotic lives of three ladies: Dorothy, Alice, and Wendy. As the women tell each other sexually explicit stories from their past, we come to recognize them as the lead characters from the Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, and Peter Pan. The tales become wilder and wilder, starting with simple promiscuity and spinning into drug-fueled orgies and outright incest. Interestingly there are no consequences of any of these decadent actions; no pregnancies, no diseases, no apparent psychological trauma: clearly a fantasy.

While clearly pornography, the book is beautiful and can be appreciated on several levels. For example, a seemingly straightforward conversation between a married couple has an entirely different interpretation when the shadows they are causing are examined in the background. Elsewhere a journal entry is shared that is illustrated with both an opium-induced tryst and a depiction of the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand, with both sets of drawings make sense. In another place the seven deadly sins are juxtaposed with a lesbian seduction. Moore and Gebbie have clearly taken the term “graphic” in “graphic novel” to extremes here, with interesting results.

First Sentence:

Tell me a story.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses, by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos

The decadence of the French aristocracy is legendary, and Les Liaisons Dangereuses is an excellent illustration of this. The two main characters take delight in destroying people and reputations using the timeless tool of seduction. There is no remorse or hesitation expressed by the villains; in fact, their behavior is justified in their minds, as in this defense of adultery: “Either you have a rival or you have not. If you have one, you must please, in order to be preferred to him; if you have not, you must still please, in order to avoid having one. In both cases the same conduct is to be observed: why, therefore, torment yourself?”

French is said to be the language of love, though, and that reputation is well-deserved if this book is a typical example. “It was when I saw you that I saw light; soon I understood that the charm of love sprang from the qualities of the soul; that they alone could cause its excess, and justify it. I felt, in short, that it was equally impossible for me not to love you, or to love any other than you.” Finding such a poetic depiction of love being issued by a debauched aristocrat brought home how duplicitous these characters truly are. The ending is a bit abrupt but the lesson is clear: immoral behavior is punished in this world and not the afterlife; or in a more colloquial way, what goes around comes around.

First Sentence:

You see, my dear friend, that I keep my word to you, and that bonnets and frills do not take up all my time; there will always be some left for you.

My Horizontal Life, by Chelsea Handler

I’ve never watched Chelsea Lately, but I had this idea of Chelsea Handler being the female Tucker Max. As it turns out Handler isn’t anywhere near as depraved as Max, but she does have her moments: “My mother told me that life isn’t always about pleasing yourself and that sometimes you have to do things for the sole benefit of another human being. I completely agreed with her, but reminded her that that was what blow jobs were for.” This is a quick read with a lot of humor (“I realized it was time to formulate a plan. Step one was to start drinking immediately.”) but surprisingly not much sex. Don’t get me wrong—sex is the main topic under discussion—but Handler seems to concentrate more on the hilarious lead-up and aftermath of her coital encounters than finding humor in what happens between the sheets. If you are easily offended avoid this book; although, if you are easily offended you probably quit reading my opinions long ago so I’m not sure if that tidbit of advice matters!

First Sentence:

I was seven years old when my sister told me she’d give me five dollars to run upstairs into my parents’ room while they were having sex and take a picture.

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, by Tucker Max

Tucker Max is one of the most reprehensible human beings to ever write a book. It also happens to be possibly the funniest book I’ve ever read. I took I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell on an airplane and found myself literally laughing out loud more than once. The lovely British lady across the aisle asked to see what was so clearly amusing me and I passed her my copy. After she read the title and back cover, it was coolly handed back to me without a word—she wouldn’t even look at me for the rest of the flight. Yeah, it is that kind of a book!

Max sleeps with any woman he can, drinks himself to oblivion with his friends, and ridicules every one else he meets. He is rude, crude, and has an ego the size of New Jersey. Instead of these traits making him become that asshole at the end of the bar hitting on everything that moves, though, he started blogging about his exploits, turned the blog into this book, and the book into a movie. A big of a raunchy jerk as Max seems to be, I think I’m jealous!

Instead of a review, I will just post these quotes:

• “I barely remember what she looked like (thank you, Dollar Beer Night).”
• “We decide that we are starting to like Texas. Baby Dolls does nothing to derail our crazy train.”
• “Don’t let anyone tell you different: The only good part about Duke is that it is 15 minutes from UNC-Chapel Hill.”
• “He’s the type of drunk that makes you wonder why alcohol is classified as a depressant.”
• “You have not heard a girl scream during sex until you’ve heard a deaf girl come. It was literally like a cross between a retard scream and the noise a horse makes when it’s being slaughtered.”
• “She was 18 and had left Florida State two months into her freshman year because it was too difficult... She was literally just too stupid for Florida State. TOO STUPID FOR "FREE SHOE UNIVERSITY!"”
• “If you EVER speak ill of the McGriddle again I will personally force-feed you one while I fuck you in the butt using the wrapper as a condom and then donkey punch you when the infused syrup nuggets explode in your mouth.”

These perfectly capture the tone of the book: offensive, misogynistic, and laugh-out-loud funny.

First Sentence:

I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years.

Lady Chatterley's Lover, by D. H. Lawrence

Set in post WWI England, this is a story that examines the twin roles of sensuality and intellectualism in relationships. Lady Chatterley has a husband that is crippled from the waist down and unable to to sexually perform. Because they have a strong cerebral relationship at first the lack of physical intimacy isn’t an issue, but over time Lady Chatterley becomes less and less satisfied, eventually starting an affair. There are more than a few fairly explicit erotic sections which explains why this novel was banned in many countries for many years. More interesting though, is the message that Lawrence conveys: as important as an emotional and intellectual connection is in a relationship, a physical, sexual component is required for true happiness.

Written in the early part of the twentieth century, the style is stodgy but readable except when a speaker drops into the local, uneducated dialect. “Tha mun come one naight ter th’ cottage, afore tha goos; sholl ter?” And this isn’t the most obtuse passage! Lawrence has a sly sense of humor I liked, too. “Sex and a cocktail: they both lasted about as long, had the same effect, and amounted to about the same thing.” Overall I can’t say I loved the book, but I’m not sorry I read it either.

First Sentence:

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.

Strip Poker, by Lisa Lawrence

I hadn’t read an erotic novel since I was in junior high and there was one being passed around the school. When I saw this in a bargain bin, I thought I’d see if the same naughty thrill exists twenty-five years later. While it was less exciting, less forbidden this time, I still found this an enthralling book. As one character says, “The most underrated sexual organ is the imagination.” This book certainly stimulates... the imagination.

There is plenty of sex here; one or two scenes in each chapter. The episodes are both steamy and widely varied, like separate letters to Penthouse Forum. Stitching together the scenes is a fairly silly plot: a private investigator looking into threats made against members of an underground strip poker game. The rules of the game are vague; instead of money the participants use sexual favors as the stake, but the relative worth isn’t explained which makes the betting hard to follow—especially when players can check after a bet has been placed. Clearly though, an entertaining card game is not the focus of the book, the sex is! This is the first of a series, with the main character set up to apparently be some sort of sexual detective. Sherlock Holmes this isn’t, but I might give the next chapter a shot!

First Sentence:

Stretch limos don’t normally impress me.

Love and Sex with Robots, by David Levy

Can we fall in love with a robot? The first half of this book attempts to answer this question. The author spends a long time defining love (I could have done without this excruciatingly wordy definition) and shows that a machine could emulate these attributes with surprisingly solid examples. People love their cars, love their pets, and fall in love over the internet; is a “virtual person” so far-fetched? I don’t know if I buy Levy’s arguments, but he makes a compelling case. The most interesting question the author raises (yet doesn’t answer) is where will we draw the line between life and technology? Consider that we can currently replace arms and legs with increasingly lifelike prosthetics. Artificial hearts and pacemakers routinely keep us alive, and cochlear implants give us back our hearing. Mechanical replacements for our eyes, lungs, and liver aren’t that far off. With all these advances, at what point does a person become more robot than human?

The second half discusses the practicality of sex with robots. He claims in many ways society has already embraced the most important components needed: erotic machinery and a lack of personal attachment. Levy goes into great detail about vibrators and sex toys here, making an effective observation that a full robot versus simply mechanical parts is not a huge distinction. Lack of personal attachment is embodied by prostitution. Levy goes on to predict that once technology can adequately develop a believable robotic woman, prostitution as we know it will cease. (We also in this half get a brief biography of Magnus Hirschfeld, a sexologist and sexual reformer in the early 1900’s; could my friend Rob be a descendant? Makes me wonder what else he might be building... )

A funny story about reading this book: I’m a regular blood donor and took this with me while donating platelets one afternoon. As I read I discover that the second half of the book (the half detailing the history of sex toys) is populated with a large number of graphic illustrations! The phlebotomists (almost all women) would come by to see how I was doing and I found myself awkwardly hiding the pages like a kid caught reading a comic inside his textbook in class. Embarrassing.

First Sentence:

Why on earth should people fall in love with robots?