Once upon a time...

...I read de Sade's The Crimes of Love over 4th of July weekend. Let me tell you, people, I am so glad to have wandered back into the 18th century.

I had a terrible moment of panic when I tried to read Defoe's Moll Flanders, and I'll tell you why (because I'm sure, as with every time I go off into the 18th century, you are all FASCINATED). I read Robinson Crusoe for class last year and it was right after we read Les Liaisons Dangereuses which is just SO FUCKING FANTASTIC. Robinson Crusoe, on the other hand...borrrrringggg. It's just...I understand the vague interest of it, conceptually. And I think I decided it was historically significant at the time that I was reading about it. But Robinson Crusoe was stuck on that island for, what, twenty years? Was there any reason we had to live through that in REAL TIME? Especially when you get to page 60 and you're torn between "YES I made it 60 pages in" and "holy shit I have that long to go?"...and that is the time Defoe chooses to say "Hey remember the last 60 pages? I just found my DIARY. It describes everything that happened in the last 60 pages. I think I will put it in now, so you can re-read every event you just read about, only this time with MORE LISTS of MUNDANE THINGS." ...then you get all excited because Crusoe's all building a ship out of a tree and you spend eight years of your life reading about this ship made out of a tree and Crusoe's like "holy shit guys, this is fantastic. It's a boat, but it's made out of a TREE." and then...he can't drag it to the water. So you're like, okay. SOMETHING has to happen soon, right? Oh, look, a FOOTPRINT! There are CANNIBALS! THIS is going to be exciting. And then the cannibals come all the way ONTO THE ISLAND. And...nothing happens.

Moving on. I then discovered, while spending far too much money at Bargain Books, where I do my retail therapy (this being a trip where I was particularly in need of it, too), that Defoe wrote two other novels, Roxana and Moll Flanders, which are about whores and sex and stuff and I was like, okay, it's going to be didactic and probably more than a little obnoxious, but at least it's WHORES and do you know how much I love whores in the 18th century? I told myself that it's just because of the particular content that Robinson Crusoe didn't float my boat (or his, for that matter. Pause for groan.) Even Defoe can't make whores TOO boring.

Yes, he can.

I got ~150 pages in, but it was so boring that I was moving slowly and painfully and taking lots of breaks to watch lots of West Wing...and I thought to myself, "have I stopped loving the 18th century? Am I losing that bizarre love that makes me me?" Insert further life-crisis-y remarks.

I took a step back, read Eula Biss, and started anew, with de Sade. Oh, lovely readers, I do still love the 18th century. (I also sort of consider 18th century literature to go until aboutttt 1820s, maybe a little later. Though I am seriously not an expert on the subject, my general understanding, not gleaned from a reliable source but merely the tiny spark of a theory from my own mis-matched head, is that 18th century literature ends with industrialization, ish.) I could sit down and write a paper on The Crimes of Love and I would be wrong seven times over because it was so complex while managing to be totally readable and fun!

And who doesn't love a story that is thus:
Man wants to marry. Man asks for wife 30-35 ish years old. His friend says, "I got one! This one. She is 34 and she has a fantastic character. Problems: No one knows about her birth, because she was set on this guy's doorstep as a baby. However, guy will vouch for her character. Also, she had this little thing with a guy when she was 16, had a baby, baby and dad are both gone. Other than that, she's perfect."
Man: "Lovely! Will you marry me?"
Lady: "Okay, but, see, I don't deserve to marry."
Man: "Awha? I know about your little indiscretion as a teenager. If I'm asking for a 30-year-old wife, it'd be totally unreasonable for me to demand that she also be a virgin. No worries."
Lady: "Wait, wait, wait. But there's more. Let me tell you my story. Then you'll never want to marry me."
Begin Lady's story:
"So, I went to stay with Depraved Guardian, who encouraged my inappropriate liaison with this guy who got my preggers and then left me. Lots of sad. When he left me, I went back to Paris and stayed with Moral Guardian, who got me back on the right path. Then we took this trip. A 17-year-old fell in love with me. He told me he loved me. I told him to GTFO and that I was too old for him. So then he tried to rape me. I grabbed scissors to try and stab his arm, but accidentally I killed him. I'm a murderess!"
Guy: Um, okay, I get why you are feeling bad, but that was totes self defense. Still want to marry you!
Lady: No, no. So I went back to Depraved Guardian for a change of scene. Only she died. Also, she was unsaved so I tried to convert her on her death bed because I am Moral. [insert only touching scene in pretty much entire collection of stories, of "Depraved" lady dying.] So since she was all dead, I went to this inn. And I saw a woman kill another woman. Then they made me be a witness and it was on my testimony that they sent her to death. I hate myself, because I also killed, but I got away with it.
Guy: I am sorry. Let us to wed!
[wedding.]
3 months later:
Knock, knock.
Man: Who is this guy?
Plot Twist: I am your son, remember me? I ran off with your Depraved Wife, who was a whore and took me with her. I was a Problematic Youth, but I must tell you something important, the tragedy of our family, which can no longer be hidden from you. Hi, New Mommy - I'm sorry the first time I meet you is at a time of crisis
Lady: Oh, that's fine, proceed.
Plot Twist: Okay, so, you remember that I left with your Depraved Wife? Well, I was also depraved. And when I was seventeen, I had this affair with a 16-year-old who had a baby. I took the baby and left her. I then left my son with a guardian and went to war. When I got back, I found out my son was dead. He tried to rape this older lady he was besotted with, and she accidentally stabbed him with scissors. So I went to see my mother, to seek her advice, and I found she was imprisoned and sentenced to death. Apparently, she stabbed a rival, but she would never have been caught if the testimony of some woman had not been procured. Anyway, I was talking to her the day before her death and she told me I had to come tell you that she gave birth to a daughter! She left the daughter on a doorstep of this guy [insert Lady's first guardian's name].
Lady: Shit son. So you are telling me that I have slept with my brother, my son, and my father? And also have sent my mother to her death? Methinks 'tis time to shoot myself in the head.
Men: Yes, and we will go live piously in a cave.
End scene.

Well, I enjoyed it. I'm not sure my little summary really captures the sentiments so well. However, in addition to that gem there is a fantastic trip into hell, a really gross incest story with the censored bits put back in, de Sade's attempt to convince us that he knows a lot about Sweden, and lots of very strange philosophies that are hard to decode. Like, it's really REALLY hard to tell where de Sade stands on anything. For me. And I know nothing about him or his work except for this one book. I need to sit down with my adviser (who is the one who got me into this whack-job of a century) and make her explain.

For palate cleanser before moving on to Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (come now, THAT is going to be fantastic) I am reading Philip Lopate's collection of personal essays called Getting Personal. Thus far, quite good! (Thus far = page 8).



Back to work tomorrow. Perhaps I will have fun anecdotes, because Monday is MAIL DAY and since I haven't done mail since last Wednesday it might be a pretty hefty bunch.