Friday, August 7, 2015

A Subway Interlude

I will freely admit I am a book pusher. I am also a movie, TV, and miniseries pusher as well. But first and foremost I am a book pusher. I think most everyone I know has heard me extol about the pleasures of Lauren's books, if not received one or more of them as a gift. I have one friend in particular whose tastes eerily align with mine. We share some secret bond where often she says something and I look at her with this dumbfounded expression because I was just about to say the same thing. Needless to say I recommended The Secret History of the Pink Carnation to her. I might have even bought her it knowing that she would feel the same way I did. Sadly we now live far apart, stupid New York, and stupid relatives that screwed me over last summer which meant I didn't get to go to New York last August to see her. But recently she visited Wisconsin for the wedding of one of our friends. When she dropped by my house in my office I had a pile of Lauren's books on my desk to aid in my Dream Casting for "Pink for All Seasons" and she picked up The Mark of the Midnight Manzanilla and looked at me enquiringly, to which I sadly answered, no, I don't have the final volume yet. Because, what other question could there be? Simpatico. We two are one.

Another love we share is for that of miniseries by Andrew Davies. Why am I bringing this up? Because of Fanny Hill. Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure is the very erotic novel by John Cleland written in 1748. In 2007, right after I had discovered the "pleasures" of The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, the BBC came out with a miniseries of Fanny Hill adapted by Andrew Davies. She and I both watched it and sent copious emails back and forth as to it's merits, in between talking about the new show Torchwood. She is just like me in that she must read the source material of adaptations, so of course she read Fanny Hill. As she said at the time "I liked the miniseries better than the book. Andrew Davies makes everything better." I couldn't agree more. Another thing we have in common is we blush easily. My friend Matt has for years taken advantage of this with her by trying to make her uncomfortable by repeating the word "moist" over and over again. It's her trigger word. When I recommended The Secret History of the Pink Carnation I said, there's two sexy scenes. Now, compared to the riotous and graphic descriptions of John Cleland, Lauren's writing is very tame. My friend didn't blush once reading Cleland, but because of my warning she wrote me to say that she was commuting into work from the upper west side and her face was aflame the entire way because she felt naughty reading the book in full view of strangers. Lauren Willig, inadvertently embarrassing her readers since 2007!


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