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My Secret Life with Kindle

May 17, 2011

The other day I read a romance novel. You know, the kind of improbable romance most of us would not confess to reading. You know what I mean by ‘us.’ People (OK, I’ll say it: women)  who went to college and read a few chapters of feminist philosophy. But who cares? One of the advantages to the whole digital book phenomenon is that a person can read a trashy book in public with impunity. And in this case, you can read a trashy novel with impunity for the price of a shot of espresso. Less.

I read the book to keep the author, who is also my sister-in-law, company.  I read to tell her what worked and what didn’t.

This kept me going for the first paragraph.

After that, I was hooked. I succumbed to the perfume, the porcelain skin, the fabrics, the sex. I fell into the world of fancy people and their lush surroundings, and the sweet luck of the young and beautiful. I didn’t begrudge them any of it because, like me, they suffered. In truth they suffered acutely, taking breaks only for sex and lavish parties, until suddenly they didn’t, and the book was over. I considered, with pleasure, that perhaps they would never suffer again and fill the pages of their days with more sex, better parties and eventually, a set of lovely children. And — like I sometimes have a second espresso after the first — I was ready, my ample breast heaving, for the next book.

Lucky for me it isn’t out yet, so I’ll pinch my cheeks and finish the laundry.


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2 Comments leave one →
  1. May 18, 2011 1:25 am

    Trashy novels are like White Castle and Banquet Fried Chicken. Every once in a while you crave it, surrender to it, revel in how utterly enjoyable it is, feel guilty (if not ill) afterward and forget about it until the next time it crosses your mind. Eat up!

  2. Matt Nicodemus permalink
    May 18, 2011 5:51 am

    Hmmm, now, I’ve read a few chapters of feminist philosophy, and I have found myself more emotional when mercilessly manipulated by romantic movies and television than I was before. Maybe it’s time I finally step into the world of trashy bodice-rippers! Hope I’ll remember the next time I’m in an airport bookstore. Which current authors would you recommend? Danielle Steel’s the only name I know.

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