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August is a Wicked Month

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August may be a wicked month for Miss Edna o'brien [sic] but it's one of the busiest in the calendar for local fashion watchers. This frees her up to enjoy her summer vacation from her job as a theatre critic and on a whim, she books a trip to the south of France. She languishes on in France where flirting now becomes a compulsive distraction as well as a physical need. Along with the characters she meets, Ellen throws themselves into a hedonistic situation where nobody appears at all happy and are only able to show any sense of enthusiasm for the trappings of wealth and a series of sexual encounters in which none appears to invest any emotion. The trilogy was banned in Ireland because of its broke the silence on sexual matters and social issues during the repressive period in Ireland history after World War II.

She is the recipient of many awards, including the Irish PEN Lifetime Achievement Award, the American National Arts Gold Medal, the Frank O’Connor Prize, the PEN/Nabokov Award For Achievement in International Literature, and the David Cohen Prize for Literature. There she meets men she finds attractive who aren’t interested in her or misguided men who find her attractive though she’s not vaguely tempted by to them. Great tale about how what we have never seems enough and then we are disappointed with our dreams at times. For more than 60,000 years, stories have formed, and continue to form, an integral part of the culture and traditions of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders.But first to address what is possibly the funniest and most patronising review I've ever read on the back of a book.

Cheers for that Gav, "an expert on girls (and you know he would have pronounced it 'gals') and their feelings". The language has a slow, langurious quality to it, in which everything seems to be happening in the half-realized manner of a dream, interspersed with the frenetic quality of extreme loneliness.BTW I couldn’t add this to your A Year of William Trevor page, and you’re on a break at Twitter, so here’s the link to Fools of Fortune (which I read this month to tie in with Cathy’s Reading Ireland month). Her 1960 debut novel, The Country Girl, was banned in her native Ireland for its groundbreaking depictions of female sexuality.

Not all men look like Daniel Craig, you're not always the prettiest one in the room and then even harsher news from home breaks the last threads of the spell and before you know it, you've tried to shag half the men in the resort to no avail, suffered a massive personal tragedy, financially ruined yourself and the only souvenir you're taking home is a massive overdraft and suspected syphilis.This started out in a light hearted way - a sticky August, the beginnings of a potentially stickier liaison and then the decision to abandon London and head to Cannes where a holiday might promise the luxury of fast men, faster cars and nights of heady passion as surf crashes on beaches and the Moroccan zephyr flutters the luxuriant drapes of the master bedroom. It’s also a fascinating insight into a woman’s interior life, her sexual desires and her hunger to live life to the fullest. I picked this up thinking, ooh a nice summery read, something on the 1001 books list and possible some guilt-free, liberated and escapist, pseudo-feminist sex frolics (somewhere in a middle ground that is neither the weird dirty old man kinkiness of Michel Houllebecq and isn't Jilly Cooper either) .

Broke and shocked, Ellen makes her way back home only to discover that the actor she wanted so badly may have given her an STD. Separated from her husband and young son, Ellen leaves behind the loneliness of London for a new life of excitement and sexual freedom:a 'jaunt into iniquity' on the gorgeous French Riviera. This is not a book I will recommend to most people as many of my friends do not like unsavory characters and negative emotions.First published in 1965 this book was initially banned in Ireland because of its sexual content but by today's standards it is pretty tame. The writing isn't up to O'Brien's usual high standard and I was left wondering what the message of the book was. A brilliant and prescient 1965 exploration of the darker aspects of the 1960s sexual revolution and how it introduced new oppressions for women, in particular: seemingly mandatory promiscuity and a stress on slimness that causes neurotic calorie-counting. This is more of a precursor to the Charles Manson darkness with which that decade culminated than a celebration of excess. It left me with very mixed feelings about Ellen, whilst she was in France I wanted to go up on her, shake by the shoulders and tell her not to be so stupid but whilst in the UK I wanted to give her a big hug.

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