“‘I love you, Sandy. I love you and I want to marry you. I don’t think it’s necessary to tell you that again.’
And he hadn’t.”
— Norm, the douchebag
How does one begin a review about a book that opens at night with a motorcyclist masturbating on a housewife’s front lawn? (It takes him 27 strokes to come, btw, because you were wondering and Blume tells all.)
Probably like that.
I chose this book because my mother followed the advice from the Cincinnati Enquirer on the back cover: “HIDE IT WHERE THE CHILDREN WON’T SEE IT!” She had shoved this book into the back of a drawer, concealing it behind some random knick-knacks and papers. I came across it in my youth and have always wondered why it wasn’t kept with the other books. I saw it as my Oedipal duty to read this book and discover what made it so scandalous.
Not only does this book contain some dirty fantasies–See Sandy be sun-fucked–it’s fucking hilarious. I shouldn’t have expected any less from Judy Blume. You’ll root for Sandy and push her into an adulterous affair because Norm, her husband, is a douchebag. There’s only so many times you can read about him calling her a bitch or him reminding her how he provides everything for the family before you start begging Sandy to dump the bastard.
I will not hide this book in a drawer. Before I return it to its hideaway, I will lend it to my friends.
My new favourite thing: Judy Blume adult novels.
Current Total: 4