A Woman's Love of Eros

For some time, I had been drowning in a lethargic and unstimulating university life, wallowing in an intellectual and emotional death that left me cold, cynical and afraid. But suddenly, there was a sudden and hesitant awakening: I delayed the completion of my courses due to illness, and began to read. O how it comforts one's heart to know that literature can cure a soul's miseries! I had not touched a pen (figuratively speaking) for over a year, and books were but mere obligations enforced upon me by aloof and indifferent professors, dry odourless leaves of staid and unbending knowlege. But now - O now! With my newfound freedom and leisure I am devouring shamelessly books of no masculine objective value, disregarding science and semantics, books of the inner life, books that have awakened my imagination and allowed me to survive the endless mechanical days while reaching in every direction for ideas and experiences, oblivious to others and them oblivious to me. O what a wonderful, sweet taste this is, the forgotten embrace of beauty!

I have recently begun to collect erotica, and among my precious collection is Anais Nin's short stories, tales of Parisienne trysts, sensitive gypsies and adventurous artists. They conjure up sepia-tinged worlds, but explore alike the depths and intricacies of human relationships and typical Freudian motivations behind sexual and social actions.

However, it was a brave move on my behalf to attempt D H Lawrence's Lady Chatterly's Lover, as I am a loyal reader of harsh Russian novelists and the likes of Kafka. But how rewarding it was! My heart had just been broken, but to immerse myself in his rolling poetry, his rather simple story littered with philosophical observations converted me to the realm of female feeling. It is indeed a wonder that a man should write this, as the woman's voice speaks sonorously with realism and sincerity.

I then read Colette's Gigi and the Cat, as well as The Vagabond. Her words are pure, absolute poetry that describe so precisely the feeling of Paris, the theatre, and her characters. In her short story, The Cat, there is a character whom I believe should be played by Lou Doillon if ever made into a film.

Next on the list? Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary and Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.