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23 Sebastian Horsley
Horsley
lives in the heart of Soho, tucked behind a door that proclaims: ‘This
is not a brothel. There are no prostitutes at this address.’ Inside, he
has created a red velvet haven – or hell, as he prefers to term it.
There is an open fire and a throne and the walls are plastered with
photos of himself, Guns N’Roses (he’s a big fan) and, occasionally, his
muse (he hates the word girlfriend) Rachel Garley.
‘Living in Soho is like an ongoing orgasm,’ Horsely enthuses. Indeed, talking about Soho is the only thing that seems to excite him as much as talking about himself. ‘God created the country, Satan created Soho. It is proof that hell is full and the damned walk the streets. It is a madhouse without walls.’ It suits Horsley perfectly, but he worries that it’s going downhill: ‘Ten years ago, on a good night here you could get your throat cut. Now there’s even a health club in Soho! Can you imagine that? It has really got worse. The air used to be clean and the sex used to be dirty, and now it’s the other way around. The only pocket of resistance is my house.’ Feature continues
The problem with Horsley’s
witty lines is that they’re quotations from his book. He’s the first to
admit it. ‘I don’t talk, I quote. I can’t help it,’ he says. ‘It’s
better to be quotable than honest.’ Although his book reads like
fiction, he is adamant that everything is true – or almost everything.
‘Little stories are changed around. I say that I injected cocaine into
my knob but that was actually heroin.’ Whatever you think of ‘Dandy in
the Underworld’, he protests that he never wanted to be a writer
anyway. ‘I am not an intellectual. An intellectual is someone who looks
at a sausage and thinks of Picasso, whereas I just say “pass the
mustard”.’
Horsley’s views are extreme and often offensive (he
has described Texans as ‘living proof that Indians screwed buffaloes’,
and proclaimed that nearly all women are ‘astonishingly stupid’), but
he’s quick to defend himself. ‘Let’s just say for the sake of argument
that I am a misogynist,’ he purrs. ‘If I want to dislike women I should
be allowed to. As it happens I love them. Women to me are privately
worshipped and publicly disdained. I just like pissing people off. I
like language and it excites me to write violently against things that
I love. Everyone knows it isn’t right to go and chop women’s heads off.
Why shouldn’t I be allowed to say stupid, outrageous things? If you
don’t like them, you can suck my Nazi cock.’
Unlikely though
it may seem, Horsley is actually good and charming company. When asked
about his sordid exploits, he replies, ‘I consider myself to be very
correct and proper, an upright citizen. If you took away the drink and
the drugs, I would be a policeman. Think of how many boring, blameless
lives are brightened by the blazing indiscretion of me.’
Interview: Sonya Barber. Portrait Rob Greig.
‘Dandy in the Underworld’ is published by Sceptre at £16.99.
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7 comments
Stewart Home is a genius -- if you don't like his books I will follow you around and annoy you -- forever. Starting now.
No two people will ever agree on a list of this sort, but as the author of thirty erotic novels I feel I at least have a better grip on the subject than most. Aside from the controversial and almost certainly incorrect attribution of "Walter's" work to Ashbee, Freud and Ellis seem very peculiar choices in that neither was an eroticist at all. A few other entries seem eccentric, or somewhat random, but in general the list meets with my approval. ;o)
One other thing... It may be true to say that anyone can be pornographic, although Mary Whitehouse might have struggled, but it is not true to say that anyone can write erotica, or pornography if you prefer the term. Just as with even romance or horror, it may appear simple but to do it at all well requires both dedication and a great deal of background knowledge.
"Walter" was not Henry Spencer Ashbee. Only Ian Gibson thought they were the same, which only shows that he has no notion of chronology,and a cloth ear for writers' styles.
Walter has been convincingly identified as a military officer, of no distinction except for having written his memoirs.
Ashbee was a bibliophile, and a much better writer than "Walter" (and utterly different in style), but he had no sexual experience.
Ashbee quite possibly died a virgin, while "Walter" quite clearly was not writing porno fantasy, but real - and often unflattering - experience, a sort of sexual Henry Mayhew.
You are missing out on a book that makes your toes curl!
IN MY PRAYERS WITH MY LEGS WIDE OPEN
By Jatana A. Williams
Wow, what a title and the same goes for the content of this novel! Miss Thang has undeniably written a spell-binding story that covers her difficult and haunting childhood days along with the various sexual trysts that continuously occur during her adult years. This novel is one of surprise, surprise, surprise.
The main character, Jasmine loves to have multitudes of passionate sexual encounters with Mr. UPS, Mr Coffee, Mr. Gas Pump and Mr. Grocery Store, even though Mr. Husband is surprisingly close by and considered to be super fine. Her sexual desires are whacked and she believes it stems from a demonic curse placed on her deceased grandmother many years before. This intriguing tale of sex and pleasure will have the reader clinging to page after page because of its shocking revelations.
Be prepared to be mesmerized when reading this testimonial work of fiction because once you start the read, you will be hooked. The author made the statement, "Never let life take away your music." In this novel, the music is definitely playing a potent beat by beat. Zane has some serious competition with Jatana Anita Williams now on the literary scene, THAT'S FOR SURE!
Reviewed by Emily Means-Willis
Literary reviewer and author of "Looking for that Silver Spoon"
In My Prayers with My Legs Wide Open
By Jatana A. Williams
Paperback 116 pages
April 2008/Asta Publications
ISBN 10: 1-934947-08-3
ISBN 13: 978-1-934947-08-1
Trade Paperback Retail Price: $14.95
wow
Why is Anais Nin not on this list?
What about Rofl Lundgren and his erotic tales?