Any Woman's Blues: A Novel of Obsession by Erica Jong

By Erica Jong

Any Woman's Blues, first released in 1990, is a story of dependancy and narcissism-the dual obsessions of ourage. World-famous folks singer Leila Sand emerged from the sixties and seventies with addictions to medicines and booze. Leila's most recent habit is to a more youthful guy who leaves her sexually ecstatic yet emotionally bereft. The orgasmic frenzies trump the betrayals, so she retains coming again for extra.

finally, Leila frees herself by way of studying the foundations of affection, the Twelve Steps, and the main to Serenity in an odyssey that takes her from AA conferences to dens of sin, events with "names" worthy shedding, and erotic gondola rides.

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Extra resources for Any Woman's Blues: A Novel of Obsession

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The Office. Golf. The salt mines. Tennis. Outer space. Deep-sea diving. Basketball. Las Vegas. Another woman. It’s all the same flight. The man I love has constructed a museum to macho in my garage. Power saw. Punching bag. Motorcycle. Barbells. I love him in part because I cannot tame the wild creature that dwells inside him. For this is another paradox of the sexes: whatever we love in the other we seek to kill. My love is a con man, a hustler, a cowboy, a cocksman, an addict, an artist, a fancy dancer, a dandy.

Whereupon he retreated to the nearly impassable sun room (filled with newspapers, cartons, never-unpacked appliances, and clothes) to obtain a series of envelopes of assorted sizes and two waxy boxes from the florist’s shop. “Oh, Ven! How sweet of you,” Mrs. Donegal said. “One for you! ” Mr. Donegal said, giving each of the ladies a florists’ box. I opened mine with trepidation, for not only do I hate corsages, but I was wearing a very thin chamois dress, which would be ruined by a pin. In the box was a corsage of somewhat wilted Tropicana roses, festooned with orange and gold ribbons.

Mrs. Donegal asked. And without waiting for a reply, she prepared me some, with the following commentary: “I’ve been eating caviar since I was three, which was when Mummy first gave it to me. Finished a whole pot of Beluga with a baby spoon. You can imagine how cross my nanny was. But Mummy said, ‘Don’t punish her, Nurse Frith’—she was my first nanny. ’ ” I laughed with some strain. The story seemed so manifestly canned—as if it had been told many times in these circumstances for the same reason.

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