王蒙：最美的愛情在小說裡
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灰體輻射
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心理學研究發現人有 negativity bias 的天性。但現下 "chick flick" (愛情喜劇) 很賣座的。
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刚刚去GOOGLE了一下《Bedtime Eyes》，这个评论很逗：
This was actually 3 novellas, and the last one was actually pretty good, except for its last page or so. But it was nowhere near good enough to save this book from the gutter, because the first 2 are some of the worst things I've ever read.
I guess I'm a little biased, but I just can't stand most feminist porn, because, I don't know, I guess I'm just simple, but can anyone tell me why self-identified feminists always write such blatantly abusive, masochistic sex scenes? I actually can't think of a single sex scene written by a feminist writer that wasn't violent, and the women in these scenes LOVE it, like, somehow it's a show of a strong woman to enjoy getting the shit kicked out of you. Here's a funny part:
"'Fuck me, you bastard!' I screamed.
'You dirty bitch...' Leroy's fingers stopped moving.
He gave me a look of utter contempt. I was crying now, desperate for his touch.
'So you want me to fuck you, do you?'
I looked up at Leroy, tears in my eyes, and nodded. He spit in my face.
'Why don't you just kill me?'
'No,' he said quietly. 'I can do better than that.'"
Here's another funny part:
"I moaned, and Leroy slapped me hard across my face. My lip split and blood poured out. He hated me now. But I knew he loved me, too. He continued thrusting, trying to humiliate and defeat me, and I let him do what he wanted. I'd pretended not to recognize his genius and now I was being punished. He could do as he pleased with me. He'd earned the right.
I could tell he was feeling the same way now that he had two years earlier when he had fucked me by the piano. As soon as people had begun to recognize his talent, he had started a new life as that pianist. I wondered what else I could possibly do for him. Perhaps the only thing I was capable of was crying to make him feel superior.
I nearly lost consciousness a number of times, and Leroy was obviously very satisfied with his work. When he had finished I couldn't speak. My hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat and he brushed it away with his fingers so he could look into my eyes.
'Now I'm going to be living for the touch of your hands,' I confessed."
This is pretty typical of the garbage that makes up the first two thirds of this book. The last story was about the trouble a new girlfriend has with her boyfriend's 11 year old boy, a tragic kid totally a child of parents who hate each other, and it was actually pretty interesting.
I get the feeling Amy Yamada really wants to be American, she's totally obsessed with black Americans and black American culture, music, food, and in the last story, I didn't even know where it was supposed to be set. The main woman is Japanese, and the ex-wife of her boyfriend is Japanese, but everyone else in the story, the women and men both, have English names, and the kid asks for 5 dollars to buy a cheeseburger. What the shit?
Anyway, no no no
