From Thursday...

Just got home from a delicious dinner with friends at Eva in Tangletown. While the menu is fairly small, the food is very unique (we had a blue cheese flan appetizer) and beautifully presented. There aren't many vegetarian options (only one entree), but I really enjoyed what I had. The dish was like a mushroom, eggplant, and feta lasagna, only with thick spaghetti noodles and a lemon tzatziki sauce. Fantastic desserts too. The restaurant is cute and cozy-feeling with soft lights and pretty candles on the tables, but the tables are spaced out enough so can talk without being distracted by the other conversations going on around you.

Space was a good thing, because one of my friends asked what we had been reading lately, and I launched into a mini-book report/rant on The Surrender. I think I just needed to talk about it finally. Ok, Ok. Basically, the book is the author's memoir of her introduction to, and subsequent obsession with, anal sex. Let me say that my issue isn't with the subject matter. Writing a put-it-all-out-there account of personal experiences with an act that is still so clearly a sexual taboo here takes courage, and I appreciate that. But...

Toni Bentley’s writing style and tone was just too annoying. She spent a good chunk of time throughout describing and reiterating how sodomy changed her from atheist to believer. She is now closer to God. While I can see how this could be a transformational event in someone’s life, her statements grew grander (and more lengthy) in scope as the story progressed. This was a bit hard to swallow, because she chose to describe the happenings in crude and very non-spiritual terms. By the end, I had the impression that she believes world peace is now possible because she took it up the ass.

She engaged in anal sex on a regular basis for a couple of years (nearly 300 times; she counted) with a guy she called A-man. Chapter after freaking chapter, she pointed out that A-man's equipment was at least one inch too big for her teeny tiny dancer's bottom, but she took it with pleasure. She continuously applauded her endurance and attributed it to her rigorous physical training in dance. After reading these boasts a few times, I had the serious urge to toss the book down in irritation and shout We get it already! Him big. You small. Instead, I just rolled my eyes, shook my head, and continued on until the next mention of her small bum. If you remove all the repetitious information, this book could have, and should have, been a short piece.

The main problem for me is that the story fails to connect either emotionally or erotically. While there are some interesting facts on sodomy laws, and you may be fascinated to learn how many encounters a tube of KY will see you through, I couldn't ever really get where she was coming from in her long analysis of how and why she is drawn to anal sex. You get the sense that she loved this man in a non-traditional, non-monogamous, and completely obsessive way, yet she often fluctuates from passionate to coolly detached, so it's impossible for the reader to grasp her true feelings. I'm sure they are buried in there somewhere, but unfortunately her narcissism often overshadows her message. Sometimes I felt like she tossed in emotion just for the sake of adding emotion. As far as the actual details, things quickly went from somewhat steamy to disturbing. For example, to help ease her anxiousness in between visits with A-man, she saved the used condoms (his DNA sealed in with KY) in a fancy box. A box she still has. Ugh.

I think my book report would be a lot more effective if I made one of those shoebox dioramas as a visual aid for my presentation. I can glue down the props with KY.

By the way, our conversation went from books to movies, and I ended up following my review of The Surrender with a summary of 9 Songs. My friends now think I have a porn problem.