Book Review - The English Professor by Rachel de Vine

 

 
 

Five Stars!

You know that feeling when you finish a book and then you're a bit sad because it means you can't read that book any more? There's probably a term for it - Reader Drop, or something. Anyway, that's exactly how I felt when I finished Rachel de Vine's The English Professor.

This is a wonderful book. The story spans twenty years and envelops the reader so completely that by the time you reach the last page, you don't want to leave.

Eleanor is in her final year of university when she meets English professor, Dan Jamieson. His admiration for her as a talented English student develops into something more and their feelings for one another develop over a mutual love of literature, classic erotica and, eventually, kinky sex.

This book has a lot to answer for.

Their brief love affair is beautifully described and scorchingly hot. Unfortunately, it is also inevitably doomed. Because he is her professor after all, and recreating scenes from The Story of O with one of the students in your class is generally frowned upon by University authorities.

The book begins with Eleanor expressing regret for the mistakes of the last twenty years and tells the reader that 'having met up with Dan again', she wanted the opportunity to tell both their stories. This serves as warning from the very first page that the paths of these two protagonists isn't going to be a straightforward journey to sexy, kinky true love.

And, my god, it really isn't. This book will tie your heart up in knots, then break it and then put it all back together again. In a good way.

Alongside Eleanor and Dan, there are a host of wonderfully realised supporting characters. The best of which is literary agent, Betty Conway, a no-nonsense lesbian with a fantastic line in dry humour and caustic comments who is nevertheless an understated champion of Eleanor and Dan's love.

The cover of this book - although very pretty - almost does it a disservice. This isn't a "Seduced by my Sexy Professor" XXXX bit of porny fluff (although to be fair, I do like a bit of porny fluff too sometimes).

This is a story of love, of life, of missed opportunities and a message to the reader that something that has been lost does not have to stay lost forever.

Rachel de Vine's The English Professor is available on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.

Netflix recommends... Erotica

I watched 365 Dni recently. It wasn't great but as I said in my review, I do want to see more of this sort of thing. So what other erotic, kinky delights does Netflix have on its virtual video store shelves for the girl who's already seen the infamous Polish bonkbuster and all the Fifty Shades films?

There's no actual 'Recommend' feature as such on Netflix. You can't count the little cluster of programmes that pop up when you've finished watching something, which are always whatever new thing Netflix is trying to promote. Those are often amusing in their incongruousness. My favourite 'thing to watch next' was Sex Education after gentle theological drama The Two Popes.

However, if you use the search function, Netflix finds the film you've searched and also includes a bunch of other films that it considers to be the same genre.

I searched for 'Fifty Shades of Grey', and watched the four films that Netflix also included on the list. Which is why I have been watching arty modern-day polyamourous romance Newness, lesbian love story Below her Mouth, sex addiction drama Addicted and, most incongruously of all, Stephen King's psychological horror Gerald's Game.

Here's what I thought of them.

Newness (2017)

Dir: Drake Doremus

Nicholas Hoult has come a long way since he appeared as gawky twelve-year-old Marcus alongside Hugh Grant in About a Boy. If Newness is anything to go by, he's a lot more American now, for one thing. Also, a lot more naked.

Hoult plays Martin who meets Gabi (Laia Costa) through a Tinder-like hookup app. They're a pair of concupiscent young things who fully embrace the easy come, easy go, casual shagging of strangers off the internet. In fact Gabi meets Martin almost immediately after having an unsatisfying shag with another chap. There's an instant chemistry between the pair though and in no time at all they are all love's young dream, enjoying happy romantic montages, deleting the dating apps off their phones and moving in with one another.

But then the joys of mutual monogamy start to pale and infidelity happens. In fact, in a massive stroke of luck, Martin and Gabi cheat on one another on exactly the same night. What are the chance of that? It makes the fall-out easier to deal with, I guess. After a bit of couples counselling, Martin and Gabi decide that the best way to deal with it is to open their relationship right up and embrace a polyamorous way of life.

Which all works fine for a while. They try threesomes. They shag other people. They tell one another about shagging other people. And then they shag one another. Happy days.

But this is a Hollywood movie and polyamory is never going to be anyone's happily ever after. Even for people who aren't doing it for voyeuristic reasons.

Everything inevitably goes horrible. Feelings get involved. Martin feels betrayed and tells Gabi that he was never up for the whole swinging lifestyle in the first place which is very unfair of him because he totally was. And, predictably in the end, true (exclusive monogamous) love wins the day.

Have there ever been any films where polyamorousness has been portrayed as a positive lifestyle choice rather than a dangerous disaster-ridden deviation from the right-and-proper monogamous norm? I honestly can't think of one.

Below Her Mouth (2016)

Dir: April Mullen

Below her Mouth is the most porn-like of Netflix's recommended movies. And I don't mean that in a disparaging way. I was looking for sex and there is a lot of lesbian sex in this film. It looks very real. I'm not sure if the actresses are doing the things to one another that their characters are explicitly indulging in. The actual practicalities of realistic-looking sex in non-porn art-house films are a mystery to me. Although I do know in the other popular mainstream lesbian romance Blue is the Warmest Colour, the actress wore 'prosthetic genitalia' for the sex scenes. So that was a distracting thought.

The film, set in Toronto, is beautifully shot and exquisite to look at. Its two leads, Dallas (Erika Linder) and Jasmine (Natalie Krill) are wonderful as the awkward realistic protagonists of their own tiny love story. Especially Linder whose breath-taking androgynous beauty and piercing blue eyes are hypnotic to look at. You can see why Dallas would have no trouble getting absolutely any woman she wants into bed with her, without the need for clever chat-up lines or indeed demonstrating any kind of emotion whatsoever. Which is good because Dallas really doesn't do either of those things.

There isn't much plot here to speak of. Jasmine is passing as straight and has a cosy life with her male fiance. She meets Dallas at a lesbian bar. The spark is there from the start, Dallas pursues her and given that the pair of them fancy the pants off one another, they manoeuvre themselves into a pants-free situation as quickly as possible. Set over only a few days while Jasmine's fiance is away on business, the film fizzes with lustful encounters and a very realistic portrayal of two fairly awkward people getting to know one another.

There is rather more smooshing together of vulvas than I would have expected in a lesbian sex scene. I mean there's fingering, oral and strap-ons to be enjoyed as well but the characters do seem to spend a lot of time just pressing their pelvises up against one another and banging in what looks like a simulation of heterosexual sex. Is that a thing? Given that both the writer and director of this film are gay women then I guess, yes, vulva-smooshing is totally a thing.

Erika Linder had no acting experience before Below Her Mouth and well, you can kind of tell. There's no great dialogue in the film and the actor's delivery is often stilted and awkward. I rather like that though. It adds to the realism. This isn't a slick Hollywood romance. This feels like two real people falling in love and dealing with the messiness that that can cause.

Addicted (2014)

Dir: Bille Woodruff

Zoe Reynard (Sharon Leal) is a wife, mother and successful businesswoman. She is also a sex addict. Her therapist seems very quick to diagnose sex addiction given that at that point in the film, she just seems to be having a common-or-garden extra-marital affair.

She cheats on her husband with an artist, Quinton Canosa (William Levy) who tries every seducer's trick in the book up to and including a tragic family backstory. Zoe is already a big fan of his work so that makes his job easier. That and having a chest that looks like is was sculpted from marble by a sculptor who was really, really into abs.

(Oh, and Quinton? That chat-up line you've got where you tell a woman that you want to paint her so you can hang her picture above your bed and wank to it every night? Pure class, mate.)

Having a nice-and-sexy husband (Boris Kodjoe) and a creepy-yet-sexy lover isn't enough for our Zoe though. And soon she's frequenting dodgy bars, banging strangers in the toilets and going to BDSM sex clubs.

This is the only film in the list which has even the tiniest glimpse of spanking. In the sex club scene, there's a quick glimpse of a flogger being wielded in the background. This is in no way a positive endorsement of BDSM, obviously. It's included to demonstrate the seedy, depraved depths to which Zoe has sunk.

As a member of the original and oldest twelve step programme, I really shouldn't be dismissive of the idea of sex addiction as an illness but I am a bit, sorry. It does come across as a very convenient excuse for being caught with your pants down. The film does seem to take the addiction part of the narrative seriously. Zoe's mum who spends most of the film looking pursed-lipped and disapproving, is very supportive of her daughter's addiction and recovery by the end of the film.

Mirroring alcohol and drug addiction, Zoe loses almost everything to her addiction including her job, her family and her sanity. But unlike a film about alcoholism, all of Zoe's sexploits are depicted in the most raunchy and titillating way possible. It helps that every single person in this film is almost impossibly beautiful.

It makes for a bit of a confusing message. Sex addiction is bad, folks. But meanwhile, looks at all these tits and bums!

Gerald's Game (2017)

Dir: Mike Flanagan

This creepy psychological horror story based on a Stephen King book doesn't really belong on the list. However, it does start with a premise which must be a recognisable fear for most BDSM enthusiasts.

What would happen if you were handcuffed to a bed and something unexpected happened and there was no-one there to release you?

The bondage scene in Gerald's Game doesn't get off to a good start given that married couple Jessie (Carla Gugino) and Gerald (Bruce Greenwood) are first-timers who haven't really planned the whole thing properly. They haven't established a safe word, let alone discussed how they want the scene to go.

If Gerald had properly explained to Jessie beforehand that he was planning a creepy, uncomfortable rape fantasy, then she probably would have taken a swerve on the whole endeavour. Communication really is key here, would-be kinksters.

Not that it really matters, as it turns out, given that Gerald dies of a heart attack early on in the proceedings, leaving his wife handcuffed to the bed, on her own, in a lake house, miles away from anyone. In Fairhope, Alabama, no-one can hear you scream.

This all happens in the first fifteen minutes or so. For the rest of the film, poor bed-(literally)-bound Jessie's only companions are the visions she sees in her increasingly weakened state. There's imaginary Gerald, her own imaginary self, Scary Demon Guy and Dead-husband-eating Dog.

What with that and the child-abuse flashbacks, this film really inst a fun-filled kinky sex romp by any stretch of the imagination. Which is fine. It's a great film and not every story which involves someone tied to a bed needs to be a turn-on. (I bet hardly anyone cracked on out to James Caan being tied to the bed in Misery either.)

But given that Netflix suggested this as a Fifty Shades of Grey alternative, they might want to do a bit of work on their algorithms.

So overall, over the last couple of days I've learnt that polyamory is a bad idea, lesbianism leads to infidelity, BDSM clubs are only attended by people with psychological illnesses and if you indulge in bondage, you'll probably end up with a dog eating your face.

I'm either going to have to rethink my lifestyle choices or possibly look further than Netflix if I want to find some kink-positive cinematic sexiness.

Or maybe I should just stick to books for this sort of thing.

Five Spanking Books I'd Love To See On The Big Screen

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Is this painting too erotic to exhibit?

This picture - Portrait of Ms Ruby May, Standing by Leena McCall was removed from display at London's Mall Gallery after a number of complaints earlier this week. The artist said this is because it was deemed 'too pornographic and disgusting'.

In a weaselly-worded statement, the gallery said:

"As an educational arts charity, the federation has a responsibility to its trustees and to the children and vulnerable adults who use its galleries and learning centre. After a number of complaints regarding the depiction of the subject and taking account of its location en route for children to our learning centre, we requested the painting was removed."

There's no mention of the number of complaints received nor any explanation of why they couldn't move it a less child-focused area of the gallery.

Not that I think they should have done that either. Art galleries are the best place for children to see depictions of the human form, surely? Definitely the most middle-class way to introduce to child to the idea that the human body can be beautiful, anyway. Having your child talk about penises by way of Giambologna's 'Samson Slaying a Philistine' is the sort of thing that makes you fell like you;re doing parenting right.

My daughter and I used to visit The Victoria and Albert museum a lot when she was younger. If you enter the museum from the South Kensington pedestrian tunnel then you come in at the 'Ideal' Sculpture gallery which is basically marble tits and arses as far as the eye can see.

Filth

Despite all the nudity (and violence, come to think of it), it never struck me as an unsuitable place to bring a kid. It's like Rizzo and Gonzo say in Muppet Christmas Carol: "Should we be worried about the kids in the audience?" "No, it's all right. This is culture!"

News coverage seems to be suggesting the hairiness of Ms Ruby May's mound that is behind the complaints about the portrait. That the trimmed topiary being sported is naturally more offensive than, say,
the smooth minge shown in Bronzino's Allegory with Venus and Cupid which has managed to remain on display at London's National Gallery for decades without causing any kind of national outrage.

Pubic hair was once considered to be what distinguished pornography from erotica. When D H Lawrence had his exhibition  at Warren Street Gallery in London raided by police in 1929 on obscenity charges, the thirteen pictures taken were all those in which pubic hair was depicted. Odd to think that the reverse is almost certainly true these days with a shaven mons pubis being very much de rigeur for a lady working within the porn industry.

Ruby May's provocative stance might also explain some people's negative take on the picture. Pipe-smoking, tattoo-sporting Ruby stares out of the picture aggressively challenging the viewer to find her sexy. She's a million miles away from demure, reclining nudes like Titian's Danae with Eros.

Obviously, I don't think Leena McCalls's picture shouldn't be considered pornography. (That said, I'm not sure how useful it is to tie ourselves up in knots distinguishing erotica from pornography, anyway. Does it matter? But I suspect that's a discussion for a another day.)

I suppose there's an argument for there being a correct time and a place for displaying sexually charged pictures of a semi-clad ladies. Maybe the people who complained were less bothered by the picture itself than by where it was displayed.

Thing is, I can't think of anywhere more suitable than an art gallery to stick a painting of a half-naked woman. Artists have been depicting people in states of undress since before there even were states of dress. It's what they do.

They're, like totally naked.

Maybe the biggest shock is that a piece of art made in 2012 actually looks like a recognisable woman at all. There's probably all kind of naked ladies in Nicholas Hlobo or Chen Zhen's abstract work but I'm far too much of a pleb to see it.

Reg Butler's 'Woman'. I mean, she's probably naked.
There's no clothes as such.

This particular instance may just have been a case of a gallery responding over-zealously to a few parents' concerns. McCall started a twitter campaign with the hashtag #eroticcensorship in response to what she understandably sees as censorship of her work.

Hopefully, this is a one-off. Galleries need to remain a place where artists can operate outside the restrictions that hamper mainstream commercial ventures such as film and television which rely on large corporate approval. Long may art galleries remain a place where we can all appreciate the human form in all it's magnificent, awkward, innocent, sexy and terrifying glory.