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A review by katie_is_dreaming
Fanny Hill, or Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure by John Cleland
Rating: 0/5
It's a mystery to me why this book is on Boxall's list because I'm pretty sure no one needs to read this before they die. No one could really call this literature: it's porn disguised as literature. Not to say that erotic novels can't be literature, of course they can, but this isn't (it's not even erotic, in my opinion). It's just a series of sex scenes strung together by the flimsiest and most convenient of plots. If there are even fifty pages of plot in this book, I'd be surprised.
I do give Cleland some kudos for acknowledging that women have sexual needs, but he doesn't acknowledge that for women's sake: he does so for the sake of his narrative, which seems like some kind of wish-fulfilment for his own desires (and his male readers). If Fanny isn't ashamed of her need for pleasure, it's only because that's what Cleland needs. I also had issues with how she realised her need for pleasure - it just didn't work, especially because it was basically rape.
I don't know how many instances of rape there are in this book: several anyway, and Cleland seems to be saying that rape is ok as long as the woman's unconscious, or the man is sorry, or the woman gets pleasure from it. Ugh!
The hypocrisy here was also mind-blowing. Cleland is clearly homophobic, but only when it's two men together: two women together is perfectly fine. And he has no problem describing male beauty in detail.
So, porn, but not even well written porn. I'd recommend giving this one a pass for anyone else who's reading through Boxall's list.
It's a mystery to me why this book is on Boxall's list because I'm pretty sure no one needs to read this before they die. No one could really call this literature: it's porn disguised as literature. Not to say that erotic novels can't be literature, of course they can, but this isn't (it's not even erotic, in my opinion). It's just a series of sex scenes strung together by the flimsiest and most convenient of plots. If there are even fifty pages of plot in this book, I'd be surprised.
I do give Cleland some kudos for acknowledging that women have sexual needs, but he doesn't acknowledge that for women's sake: he does so for the sake of his narrative, which seems like some kind of wish-fulfilment for his own desires (and his male readers). If Fanny isn't ashamed of her need for pleasure, it's only because that's what Cleland needs. I also had issues with how she realised her need for pleasure - it just didn't work, especially because it was basically rape.
I don't know how many instances of rape there are in this book: several anyway, and Cleland seems to be saying that rape is ok as long as the woman's unconscious, or the man is sorry, or the woman gets pleasure from it. Ugh!
The hypocrisy here was also mind-blowing. Cleland is clearly homophobic, but only when it's two men together: two women together is perfectly fine. And he has no problem describing male beauty in detail.
So, porn, but not even well written porn. I'd recommend giving this one a pass for anyone else who's reading through Boxall's list.