The self-indulgent navel-gazing of a high-priced call girl.
A few years ago, a notorious London working girl started publishing her journal on the Internet. Through her blog, the anonymous author gained a following in the U.K., and now her work is being brought to the U.S. Each of the 12 chapters (titled in French, for no apparent reason) represents a month in her life. Many pages are devoted to specific customer requests; one can learn a great deal about anal sex here. Rather than being titillating, the author exposes the sex trade for what it is—a commodity. This isn’t a feminist diatribe; the author goes through her assignments with no obvious feelings of degradation. Her apparent motivation is to earn enough cash to support her expensive lingerie habit. The author does have an affinity for rough sex in her personal life, which is—as expected—in shambles. Men come and go in a series of one-night stands and short-lived relationships. She collects old boyfriends like trophies and parades them out in public when she needs to feel desirable. Don’t expect any deep revelations or a grand climax. Other than the sexy bits, the author’s reflections are mundane and include inane observations and shopping lists. The author waxes poetic about a trip to Spain and mentions many of her everyday jaunts about London. In both instances, she painstakingly attempts to capture her settings, but to what purpose is unclear. Is she trying to impress the reader with her intellect? If so, perhaps she should seek out alternatives to her diet of pub-crawling and bed-hopping.
Mildly alluring in the racy passages, but overall, an emotionally detached and disjointed effort.
