Dangerous Joy of Dr. Sex


Kennedy, Pagan. The Dangerous Joy of Dr. Sex and Other True Stories. Santa Fe: Santa Fe Writers Project, 2008.

When I requested this book from LibraryThing’s Early Review program I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Sure, I had read the paragraph and *thought* I knew. It’s like when you think you know the way, and so for awhile you think you are going in the right direction, until you’re not. Then you realize you didn’t know the way and and still don’t; suddenly, there you aren’t. You are lost.

Pagan Kennedy’s Dangerous Joy is a series of nonfiction essays with two central themes: invention and humanity. You could call them short stories, mini biographies because each chapter focuses on the life of someone creative – ranging from Alex Comfort to Pagan’s own mother. As readers we are drawn into not only the science behind their inventions, but the personality behind the answer to why they did what they did. Every story is peppered with humor and science – an unlikely combination that works.
Kennedy’s first story is about Alex Comfort, the man behind The Joy of Sex. Who knew that Alex was a British biologist hell bent on reinventing orgies as the norm for sex? His story is compelling and completely tragic. Kennedy goes on to introduce us to Amy Smith, recipient of the MacArthur Foundation’s Genius award; Dr Irene Pepperberg, trainer of a brilliant African Grey parrot named Alex; Cheryl Haworth, Olympic weight lifter; and Conor Oberst, a tormented musician…just to name a few.

Deep in the Green

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Raver, Anne. Deep in the Green: an Exploration of Country Pleasures. New York: Vintage, 1996. 

For LibraryThing: Anne Raver is a writer and gardener but it’s hard to tell which came first. Her enthuasism for growing things (outside for she doesn’t deal with indoor plants well) shows in every word she writes in every essay. In the beginning I wanted Deep in the Green to be one of those nonfiction journals about a gardener making a life for herself after divorce. Diving into the growing after a relationship dies. Instead, Deep in the Green is best described as a series of essays that barely connect to one another but have a central theme…gardening & growing. As a columnist for the New York Times I guess it’s easy to string a bunch of essays together and call it a book.

Favorite quotes:
“You know how the army is. they send you here , they send you there. Vietnam. Ohio. ‘I learned Thai no trouble, but I never did figure out what language they were speaking in Cleveland'” (p 24).
“Still we are drawn homeward, unable to erase our bloodlines” (p 42).
“I like to learn this way. Like learning to float or ride a bicycle. You can’t imagine doing it before you do it, but you have to imagine it in order to do it. And then you never forget” (p 155).
“I’m not sure what their religion is. Food, maybe” (p 173).

Thanks to this book I learned the latin name for a favorite flower I never bothered to look up (clematis jackmanni) and an interesting fact about poppies being illegal to grow (makes me think about how many times I’ve seen the federal law broken). Probably my favorite part about reading Deep in the Green is that once I got over the disjointed essays I read it with a salivating imagination. Anne Raver writes like I eat – straight from the garden, the bush or tree. I’ve tried to describe that foraging feeling – that satisfaction which comes from eating off Earth’s plate.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter “Gear Up For Gardening” (p 96).

Here First

Krupat, Arnold, and Brain Swann, eds. Here First: Autobiographical Essays by Native American Writers. New York: Modern Library, 2000.

Here First was, well, here first so I’m reading it first. I’m a little over 100 pages in and my first reaction is voyeurism. I’m peering into lives and seeing cultures I know little to nothing about. There is bitterness in their words, humor on the surface. Poetry in pieces. I’m having a tough time with the prejudice because I’m one of Them (being white) and not them. A perfect example is a favorite quote:
“The neighbor boy pointed to the screen laughing at the hooting Indians being chased by cavalry and told her that she was an “Indian.” I hugged my heartbroken daughter and said, “But you are an Indian.” She told me right back, “But I’m not that kind of Indian.” None of us are.” (Bird, Gloria. Autobiography as Spectacle: An Act of Liberation or the Illusion of Liberation? p65)

Booklust Twist: Categorized as “American Indian Literature”, (Book Lust, p.23).