I’ve realized lately that I read erotica like other people read the Red Eye or the daily news. It’s not some kink I have; it doesn’t get me hot to read about sex on the crowded Lawrence bus, I swear. A lot of it is just damn good writing (much better than the Red Eye, I can tell you) and working here, it’s become more accessible than the public library. (My embarrassment about returning a book one year overdue makes the library a little less accessible than I’d like.) I’ve tried to branch out some and read some “regular” books again, so this week it was The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin. I thought I’d share a piece I really liked:
“The word sensual is not intended to bring to mind quivering dusky maidens or priapic black studs. I am referring to something much simpler and less fanciful. To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread.”
Lee
