I’m not one to shock easy, as most of my friends can tell you. I don’t act all offended in front of pornography (unless it involves feces or animals). I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen some stuff online that would warrant more than just a raised eyebrow. I’ve encountered people online that are pretty out there when it comes to their proclivities. And yet, “Lost Girls” can make me end up looking like that cat over there with some of the stuff within its pages.
I’m not shocked because deep inside I am actually a conservative. What shocked me was that “Lost Girls” manages to give these acts that you would normally only see on your friendly neighborhood porn sites a gloss of artistry and grace.
Just to keep everyone on the same page, aside from lesbianism, shoe fetishism, drug use (opium), patronage of pornography (how meta!), incest, and pedophilia, Alice, Dorothy, and Wendy have admitted to taking part in some BDSM (bondage, dominance, and sadomasochism), piss play (quite explanatory, I think), pseudo-bestiality, and the insertion of various objects — from chess pieces to braids — into vaginas.
DUDE. If I walked into a room and that was going on, I’d have that exact same face too.
From the very first page, Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie make it very clear that “Lost Girls” is most definitely for adults. And they never let up throughout the ten chapters of this first book, continuously exposing the reader to many different kinds of “deviant” behavior.
Here’s a quick list of what “deviant” behavior readers will encounter just in this first book: Lesbianism, shoe fetishism, drug use (opium), patronage of pornography (how meta!), incest, and pedophilia.
Will all of these squick readers? I’d understand why it would. But does it give those readers the right to ask that this book be pulled off the shelves, as some have wanted to do in the States? Hell no. I would suggest that they leave everybody else alone and do what Miss Miranda Priestly commands in that GIF above.
Yes, I know it’s already been out in the States since 2009, but this is the year that “Lost Girls” actually becomes available in Philippine bookstores. Actually, used to be available would be a better description as the three big bookstores the country has all seem to have sold out or have what copies they have already reserved.
If it weren’t for my stubbornness and persistence — as well as some helpful pointing in the right direction by RL friend Meann — I would not have been able to get my hands on this heavy and controversial work.
Actually getting the book involved about an hour and a half walking around three (interconnected) malls and some snickering from the sales staff when I asked them if they had a copy of it.
I live in an apartment that’s about a few feet bigger than the office of the lifestyle section of the paper that I work for.
Anybody who’s seen the office of our lifestyle section will probably think: “Well, that’s not a bad amount of space for a young urban professional out to conquer the world!” If I were the only one living in the apartment I’d be inclined to agree with you.
The problem is I share that space with other people. While it’s no big deal when the rest of the clan is out working (My workday starts in the afternoon), it gets a little tricky when we have to sleep. If I’m the first to arrive home, I get to sleep in the bed and my brothers can squeeze in if they can. If I’m the one that arrives late, I sleep on the floor because I have not been trained to be a contortionist.
Normal people would try their best to not complicate their situation and keep their shared living space as roomy as they can make it. I chose to cope by filling up every available space in our apartment with piles and piles of books.
No, this isn’t a post about the critically-acclaimed Markus Zusak book. More like an attempt to piggyback on that book’s popularity as I start this book blog. What this post is about is a book thief living in far less turbulent times and learning far less valuable lessons.
I started reading books at a very young age, mostly because my parents left me with relatives during the summer months and I had to make a choice between listening to “Matud Nila” or reading my cousin’s extensive collection of Sweet Valley High books.