The Book is Not Tempting

Having such difficulty finding novels, I succumbed to listing a couple of nonfictions on the 2011 blog list for lust. One from this niche is Tempted Women by Carol Botwin, a book I found way, way too pop psych for my tastes. Written in 1994 by a "sexologist" from NYC, it already seems terribly dated. Botwin extrapolates the reasons for American women straying from their marriages in the main from letters. Most of these women end up having affairs with co-workers, more often than not bosses. The perspective seems to be a lagging view of the perils of the economically emanicipated female, reminding me almost of those big game "farms" taking the place of African safaris and making it so much easier for the male hunter to take a trophy. Very few of Botwin's subjects suggest an adulterous affair was worth the thrill.

Although this text pretends to be rooted in reality rather than the analysis of literary amorous affairs by Paz or Llosa, and accordingly, one I found less relevant to the Slackers's search, I found myself culling out some conclusions to impose upon great love stories. Kipnis does not in her book resolve how humans can have it both ways; Botwin recommends cultivating a "almost as good as" relationship with one's spouse. Neither throws the question back to the woman as to what she is placing her want ad for.

Botwin does not make any global conclusions or see any philosophical or culture truths common within marriages and adulteries. In Against Love, at least the author acknowledged there was a mental calculus going on subconsciously in selecting a spouse. Since my son is writing resumes, looking of a job, and because the face to face book club is reading The Reliable Wife this month, I found myself mentally making up "want ads" for husbands and lovers. The qualifications are miles apart. For a husband -- can be a solid, masculine role model for children, confident in job skills, outwardly focused. For a lover -- dedicated to relationship with partner, clever and spontaneous, craves excitement. These seem mutually exclusive.

Maybe it was because of all the power implicit angles in Botwin's capitulation of office affairs that my mind wandered to tabloid accounts. I reached the realization that great love stories have no "volume two" or sequels. Struggle and separation are key elements to never-ending passion, passion that can spark hot for years but not day to day. No one really wants to read about the next act of the former South Carolina governor because we assume his "soul mate" will soon ask him to pick up bread and milk on the way home.

I also compared marriages and affairs to sports (I guess I really had trouble falling asleep last night). Affairs are snow boarding, marriages snow shoeing. And to food: marriages are grocery lists, affairs are menus. Keeping with that analogy, think of how automatic and irresistible it is to see your favorite food on the menu. If it shows sweetbreads or sea bass or raspberries, I have no will power. The sensory overload I am looking forward to is inevitable, cherished, and craved, all the more intense in its infrequency. So far, none of our authors make similar observations about the chemical/physiological match of passion.