I was about 9 when I found a discarded copy of Harold Robbins' The Carpetbaggers, which pretty much consisted of sex, violence, sex, torture, sex, violence.
ION, I just got a 404 message on a black page that said: "It is pitch dark. You are likely to be eaten by a grue."
I don't remember my first sex book, but I do remember trolling my mother's bookshelves when I was bored (this was how I picked up Steinbeck and Nathanael West), and happening upon a book of Anais Nin pornography.
Even at that age -- probably 16 -- I was pretty sure some of the things she was describing (in that old, shy language, but used in a bold, muscular way) were not actually physically possible, or if they were, probably not as much fun as she was making them out to be.
Wow.
Cat People
is really silly. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I've been expecting it...something more...for YEARS. Not here.
Miss Lonelyhearts?
Yes! It was an omnibus of that and
The Day of the Locust,
and Miss Lonelyhearts was first, and I got all the way through it in a single sitting. It was one of those weird, "Wow, not all that much happened in the story, but I dug it all the same" kind of moments that I associate with mature reading.
Cat People is really silly.
The Kinski/McDowell one?
Great Bowie song, though.
The Kinski/McDowell one?
Yeah. I mean, ow. The attempts at feline...
Great Bowie song, though.
True dat, homie.