Monday, November 29, 2004

More Family Values from Lynne Cheney?

As Lynne Cheney's political star rose her early stabs at purple prose went the way of a stool pigeon wearing cement shoes -- down, down, down, down, waaaay out of sight into the cool dark blackness of oblivion. They buried this novel so deep we thought it surely must be swimming with the fishes, but wonder of wonders, it's been unearthed! It lives! Thanks, TBogg, for finding it on LiveJournal. Let's see what Madame Chairwoman, the woman once (and now) entrusted with our nation's cultural education, had to say about gender politics and the sexual revolution in the 70s...

As Wilson moved toward Sophie, she stood, but the dog growled menacingly, and she dared move no farther. Wilson grabbed her by the shoulders and put his face on her neck. He mumbled words she couldn’t understand.

She tried to steel herself, control her revulsion. All her instincts demanded that she fight him, that she kick, bite, anything to push him away, to get his hands off her. But her mind was moving rapidly. What would happen if she did? It wouldn’t change the outcome, merely delay it and bring her more pain and injury. She tried drawing within herself to a place he couldn’t touch, to a place from which she could watch him and hate him with a pure and unalloyed hatred.

He kissed her then, full on the lips as before, and he began to fumble with the buttons on the front of her dress. His breath, the whiskers scratching her face, his filthy hands on her flesh–suddenly…..

That is some clunky-ass "prose," good Lord. Let's just say Mizz Cheney should stick to her day job of being an unparalleled harpie harridan moralizing tool of the jackboot class. This load of tripe stiii-yinks, but then, I expect no less from tightly wound fetishists. Let the rape fantasies go, banshee, jeez. [Though I cannot help but feel one teeny weeny little ounce of sympathy for her, seeing as she is, after all, married to Satan. That'd cast a pall on even the healthiest of imaginations.]

Read it to see what all the fuss is about (not much), but unless you enjoy descriptions of kissing as "evocative" as "full on the lips," you won't get much out of it (besides despair). "Full on the lips"? Is she kidding? What is this, the 4th grade? And, like, "filthy hands"? I could be here all day w/ the Freudian-cum-Derridean analyses.

More adventures of Sophie here if you've the stomach for it.