Take a photo of a barcode or cover
incrediblemelk 's review for:
The Happy Hooker: My Own Story
by Xaviera Hollander
I found a very worn and well-thumbed paperback copy of this book, with yellowed pages and the binding falling to pieces, in a holiday house where I was staying after Christmas. I picked it up just for laughs but found myself devouring the entire book in a day.
The Happy Hooker is a landmark in sex-positive writing. It's still controversial that a woman will enjoy sex – let alone enjoy building a business empire out of having sex for money – without feeling ashamed or degraded. In a culture where prostitutes are still seen as immoral, shameless, lacking in dignity and deserving of abuse, Hollander's frank and blasé attitude to sex with both men and women still carries a frisson.
I enjoyed Hollander's rise from an emotionally naive, bisexual secretary who enjoys 'fun times' to a powerful New York madam in control of every aspect of her business. I liked the logistical aspects of the book best – the way she calculates how many dudes she needs to fuck per day to earn a living in Puerto Rico, and the way she arranges her brothel, organises her employees, maintains detailed client records and sets up an elaborate system of in-kind support and kickbacks. I also liked her awareness of her sexual power, and her pride in her skills.
The descriptions of bodies and sex acts are still quite explicit, and I imagine that in 1972 this would have been extraordinary in such a mainstream publication. Australia's censorship restrictions were loosened with the creation of the R rating in 1971. I imagine that The Happy Hooker would have been a formative reading experience for adolescents who'd previously passed around furtive copies of [b:Lady Chatterley's Lover|32067|Lady Chatterley's Lover|D.H. Lawrence|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1388355518s/32067.jpg|3249302] or devoured the lurid sexploits in pulp novels.
Of course, it's no literary classic. It's totally ghostwritten. Much of the atmosphere and voice was provided by [a:Robin Moore|84003|Robin Moore|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/authors/1309570377p2/84003.jpg], who pioneered a blockbuster blend of reportage and fiction in his books [b:The Green Berets: The Amazing Story of the U. S. Army's Elite Special Forces Unit|1508568|The Green Berets The Amazing Story of the U. S. Army's Elite Special Forces Unit|Robin Moore|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1347260034s/1508568.jpg|1500131] and [b:The French Connection: A True Account of Cops, Narcotics, and International Conspiracy|607485|The French Connection A True Account of Cops, Narcotics, and International Conspiracy|Robin Moore|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1328852404s/607485.jpg|593998]. But most of the actual writing of the book was done by Yvonne Dunleavy.
In many ways, it's not a very sophisticated book. Its racial essentialism is especially dated and problematic. Hollander, whose father was a Dutch Jewish doctor, grew up in what's now Indonesia, and explains that she spent her first three years in a WWII internment camp. When she lives in South Africa, there's a disturbing lack of attention paid to the privileges she enjoys under apartheid and the black servants who enable her pampered, hedonistic colonial life. Later, she's most attracted to Jewish men – without ever really exploring why – and reluctant to fuck African-Americans.
There's an especially cringeworthy section in which Xaviera expounds on the anatomy and sexual preferences of men of various races and nationalities. The most racist was possibly the "Orientals" in which Xaviera tells an anecdote about a Japanese man who wears a fake penis because his own is so small ("Well, rots of ruck," she wishes him as he leaves), and explains that she fucks the staff of the local Chinese restaurant in exchange for free food ("Noodles for doodles").
Some other bits of the book were so corny I had to vent my embarrassment by reading them out loud to my friends, who probably had no interest in hearing them and thought I was a complete creep. There's a terrible anecdote in which a horny, frustrated Xaviera has sex with an alsatian. Well, she only sort of frots the dog while jerking it off, but I was still disturbed by that, and the following scene in which a small boy gropes Xaviera's boob and gets a mini hard-on. Maybe I am vanilla, but I preferred the encounters between consenting adults.
Not that I found this book really titillating. It's most interesting more as a historical artefact: a time capsule of prostitution and sexual attitudes in late '60s America.
The Happy Hooker is a landmark in sex-positive writing. It's still controversial that a woman will enjoy sex – let alone enjoy building a business empire out of having sex for money – without feeling ashamed or degraded. In a culture where prostitutes are still seen as immoral, shameless, lacking in dignity and deserving of abuse, Hollander's frank and blasé attitude to sex with both men and women still carries a frisson.
I enjoyed Hollander's rise from an emotionally naive, bisexual secretary who enjoys 'fun times' to a powerful New York madam in control of every aspect of her business. I liked the logistical aspects of the book best – the way she calculates how many dudes she needs to fuck per day to earn a living in Puerto Rico, and the way she arranges her brothel, organises her employees, maintains detailed client records and sets up an elaborate system of in-kind support and kickbacks. I also liked her awareness of her sexual power, and her pride in her skills.
The descriptions of bodies and sex acts are still quite explicit, and I imagine that in 1972 this would have been extraordinary in such a mainstream publication. Australia's censorship restrictions were loosened with the creation of the R rating in 1971. I imagine that The Happy Hooker would have been a formative reading experience for adolescents who'd previously passed around furtive copies of [b:Lady Chatterley's Lover|32067|Lady Chatterley's Lover|D.H. Lawrence|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1388355518s/32067.jpg|3249302] or devoured the lurid sexploits in pulp novels.
Of course, it's no literary classic. It's totally ghostwritten. Much of the atmosphere and voice was provided by [a:Robin Moore|84003|Robin Moore|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/authors/1309570377p2/84003.jpg], who pioneered a blockbuster blend of reportage and fiction in his books [b:The Green Berets: The Amazing Story of the U. S. Army's Elite Special Forces Unit|1508568|The Green Berets The Amazing Story of the U. S. Army's Elite Special Forces Unit|Robin Moore|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1347260034s/1508568.jpg|1500131] and [b:The French Connection: A True Account of Cops, Narcotics, and International Conspiracy|607485|The French Connection A True Account of Cops, Narcotics, and International Conspiracy|Robin Moore|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1328852404s/607485.jpg|593998]. But most of the actual writing of the book was done by Yvonne Dunleavy.
In many ways, it's not a very sophisticated book. Its racial essentialism is especially dated and problematic. Hollander, whose father was a Dutch Jewish doctor, grew up in what's now Indonesia, and explains that she spent her first three years in a WWII internment camp. When she lives in South Africa, there's a disturbing lack of attention paid to the privileges she enjoys under apartheid and the black servants who enable her pampered, hedonistic colonial life. Later, she's most attracted to Jewish men – without ever really exploring why – and reluctant to fuck African-Americans.
There's an especially cringeworthy section in which Xaviera expounds on the anatomy and sexual preferences of men of various races and nationalities. The most racist was possibly the "Orientals" in which Xaviera tells an anecdote about a Japanese man who wears a fake penis because his own is so small ("Well, rots of ruck," she wishes him as he leaves), and explains that she fucks the staff of the local Chinese restaurant in exchange for free food ("Noodles for doodles").
Some other bits of the book were so corny I had to vent my embarrassment by reading them out loud to my friends, who probably had no interest in hearing them and thought I was a complete creep. There's a terrible anecdote in which a horny, frustrated Xaviera has sex with an alsatian. Well, she only sort of frots the dog while jerking it off, but I was still disturbed by that, and the following scene in which a small boy gropes Xaviera's boob and gets a mini hard-on. Maybe I am vanilla, but I preferred the encounters between consenting adults.
Not that I found this book really titillating. It's most interesting more as a historical artefact: a time capsule of prostitution and sexual attitudes in late '60s America.