Ahem. American Wife is Curtis Sittenfeld’s forthcoming novel about a quiet librarian who marries the wild son of a prominent Republican family and ends up in the White House. Does that remind you of anybody? Radar thinks it should, what with the whole librarian-who-runs-people-over thing. They may be on to something.
Here are a couple of excerpts from the imaginary world of George and Laura because, really, why should I be the only one to suffer?
Falling in Love!
“His butt was small in the way that I always forgot a lot of men’s were; how could he possibly be an unscrupulous politician with such a cute little butt? Back in bed, he knelt on the mattress—I was lying flat, and he was above me—and perhaps it sounds crude to say that this is the moment I knew I could love him, when I saw his penis. With men in my past, the penis had seemed to me an odd creature, both comic and forlorn. But I felt a great devotion to Charlie when I first got a look at his, the ruddy-hued, upward-pointing shaft, its swollen veins and cap-like tip. All of it was so completely of him, and I felt how there was no part of his body I wouldn’t want to touch, no way I wouldn’t allow him to touch me.”
“He bent his head to kiss my sternum, my navel and belly … to open me up, and he brought his face in and was licking me, he was licking me firmly and repeatedly, and it seemed both difficult to believe (Charlie Blackwell’s face burrowed between my legs?) and also entirely inevitable: beyond logic and language and decorum…. His cheeks between my thighs, his bobbing head, and his earnest assiduous lapping—very quickly, it was too much to bear, and I gasped and cried out. It was like tremors, and I felt my thighs clenching around his head, and when he came up a few seconds later and kissed my forehead, I said, ‘I hope I didn’t suffocate you,’ and he said, ‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’
I really hope that was an advance copy that still needs major work because otherwise, it won’t be the White House that will be outraged when this book comes out – it will be every single romance writer in America whose work gets sneered at as “silly bodice rippers” while this manual for bad sex is billed as “a masterful highbrow-lowbrow mash-up that satisfies as ass-kicking literary fiction and juicy gossip simultaneously”. Somebody should send Radar a book to read.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pour bleach in my eyes to get rid of the bad, bad images.