Note: This review contains material suitable for adults only.
I had read Joey Hill’s The Vampire Queen’s Servant, and didn’t much like it. Sometimes a paranormal romance is so heavy — everything is deep and earth shattering — I start to giggle. And while I have no problem understanding why a submissive male would seek a dominant female, I never could figure out why the hero in that book wanted to spend his life as a servant: it was a Big Black Hole where the motive should have been, IMO.
However, I know Joey Hill has a legion of fans, and not just in erotic romance. Readers who otherwise don’t really read erotic romance, never mind BDSM erotic romance, love her books. If you read this blog, you know I believe book reviews are objective in many ways. If a host of reviewers think an author is really good, and I don’t think she is (this is different from thinking she IS good, but just not my personal taste), I think I must be wrong, and I try again. The fact that I enjoyed Natural Law so much suggests that my system is a good one.
Natural Law is the second in Hill’s Nature of Desire series, but can be read as a standalone, which is what I did. All the Nature of Desire books are explicit erotic BDSM romance, most with female Doms. Most of the protagonists are at least loosely connected, many having spent time at The Zone, an “exclusive”, “high class”, “upscale” (and adjectives like that were so frequent in the text that I became really curious what a “low class” one looked like) BDSM nightclub.
In this book, BDSM isn’t a kink, but a sexual identity. As the heroine puts it:
D/s wasn’t a game to her. It wasn’t something she played at. In the last few years she’d been able to admit her sexual submissiveness was integral to who she was.
(Although, I must admit that at times the book did read a bit like a lesson on how not to be prejudiced against BDSM identified people.)
Mackenzie “Mac” Nighthorse is a big, brawny, rugged, successful homicide detective investigating a murder in Tampa’s BDSM community. Mac is BDSM-identified, and a submissive. The conflict in this book is not about how others can accept BDSM-identified individuals, but more about how Mac’s internal struggle to accept his own identification as a submissive (and there’s external conflict as the murder case heats up towards the end). So while the scene when Mac convinces his boss to let him go undercover at The Zone by revealing his sexual identity was very compelling reading, it merely paves the way for Mac’s introduction to Violet, a BDSM-identified Dom who is attracted to Mac the minute she sees him.
Romance novels create worlds, and just as it’s hard for me to say whether the Regency England historical romance writers create is “accurate” (as a philosopher, I would spend all my time figuring out what is meant by “accurate” anyway), it’s hard for me to say how “realistic” Hill’s portrayal of the Tampa BDSM scene is. As a reader, the world an author creates -whether it comes out of her imagination whole cloth, or is her version of a world that exists outside the novel — has to hang together, and this one did. I was fascinated, not just by the behavior and practices, but by the psychology governing them. Little things, like Violet’s immediate realization that Mac is a sub, from not only his silver cuff with onyx inlay and scrollwork, but his bearing, made the world feel very real.
A number of books telling the love story of those with marginalized sexualities focus on the inner conflict of one partner accepting his identity, or the external conflict of the outside world accepting the lovers. What I really liked about Natural Law was that neither of those categories really captures the conflict. The major issue preventing these two people who are very attracted to, and like each other, from getting together is that while Mac appears to have accepted him sub identity on the surface, one trip to the rentable private “playrooms” below the club’s glass floor reveals that he hasn’t: on some level Mac needs to keep the control in his sexual encounters, distancing himself from his own true nature and from true intimacy with Dom women. Violet nails it instantly:
You like to test yourself. That’s what you’ve used your Mistresses for. They’re just an extension of your workout, testing your skills to resist weakness.
Yes, Violet and Mac get it on … and on … in very creative ways, sometimes with partners, but the book is really about their emotions and their psychology, and that’s what makes it much more than erotica. Just as in any other romance, one partner understands the other in a way no one else ever has.
If Violet’s big insight into Mac had been “you’re a sub”, I would have rolled my eyes. It’s like an m/m where one partner teaches the other that he’s gay. I mean, can you imagine an m/f where the big breakthrough is getting the woman to admit she is hetero?* This book is beyond that, and that’s why it was good. (*I know, I know, the issues ARE a bit different for a sexual identity society tells you over and over you are not supposed to have.)
On the other hand, I am curious about why this sort of book would appeal to a kind of genre reader (i.e. me, and anyone who reads romance) with a pretty limited set of expectations about her male hero. I think in some ways Hill does in the text what Mac tries to do in his life: present a sub who … is still an alpha — EVEN, and this is key, in those moments of hard core BDSM play when he seems at his most submissive. Consider this line:
an alpha wolf who chose the role of beta in the bedroom, but only for the right woman
You have here all the earmarks of alpha masculinity that define the genre: “alpha”, “wolf”, “chooses” (he is autonomous), “only for” (again, he has control). So while I think we have in Hill’s novel a “new version of an alpha”, we don’t have a really mold breaking hero.
As I was reading Natural Law, I was asking myself why I read erotic romance at all, when I get more of an erotic charge out of a long delayed kiss in a historical romance than the marathon sexual gymnastics I encounter in erotic romance. Then it hit me: I love reading love stories, and I especially love contemporaries. I think erotic romance is some of the best contemporary romance out there, and this book is a case in point.
That’s what a good Mistress did. Break him down to the core, so he was open to her, both finding ultimate completion in a total connection of the mind with the body.
Isn’t that union of body and soul just what an HEA is in any romance? (although see a different way to read this passage below).
The other part of the book I really appreciated was Violet and Mac’s bringing their relationship out into the world beyond the BDSM community. How do a male sub and female Dom translate a relationship forged in the crucible of a rigid, clearly defined social world to regular society, especially with its opposing gender expectations? Little bits of conversation like this are indicative of what I mean:
“I want something, Mac,” she said. “Anything, Mistress.” “No. I’m…I’m not asking it that way.”
I haven’t said much about the murder subplot. I generally don’t expect much from suspense subplots in erotic romance, but actually, I was quite drawn in to this one. I had no idea whom the culprit was and was genuinely on the edge of my seat at the climax when our hero and heroine are in real danger. The book was just entertaining all the way around.
But what about the subtitle of this review? I did notice a subtle privileging of BDSM relationships as better able to get at the essence of romantic love than “vanilla” relationships. And even the word “vanilla” has a negative connotation, of boring, unimaginative, perhaps even unsatisfying sex. At one point in the text, the phrase “mundane world” is used, making the subtext text, as they say.
Here are some quotes that get at what I mean:
Sometimes, you just were what you were. Unfortunately, this was one of those things that only those who felt it would understand.
it was, in fact, beyond most people’s comprehension, like a choice of religion or lifemate.
To be given the trust of a sub… Every Mistress, every Master longs for that. It’s a gift beyond comprehension to the vanilla world. Maybe even to subs.
If I compare this language to language I have seen in m/m or used by gay men and women, it’s different. I don’t recall hearing “beyond your comprehension” when gay people talk about their sexual identity to heterosexuals. Nonetheless, it’s probably accurate.
one of the most intense forms of sexual interaction there was.
but she knew D/s went deep into the psyche of each individual, with often unpredictable reactions.
That’s what a good Mistress did. Break him down to the core, so he was open to her, both finding ultimate completion in a total connection of the mind with the body.
She knew he sensed the rousing of the Dominant in her
I put this one in there because it reminds me of books where the heroine is a wolf or shapeshifter — and the beastly part of the “essence”, the “real” part. In that sense, maybe this language has a corollary in “mate” talk in paranormals?
This place isn’t about games. It’s about getting past the games.
What does this last line imply? To me, in the context of all the other bits of text I have quoted, it implies that “vanilla” relationships are bound by mass society’s games, but BDSM relationships penetrate to the core or essence of the partners. To me, any sexual identity is social (and political) most of the way down. Why is BDSM a “natural” law while heterosexual relationships are socially constructed? And why the implicit aligning of “nature” with “essence” and “depth” here?
This is not the first BDSM romance I have read in which language is used that suggests not only that “vanilla” folks “won’t get it” — which is fine, because they usually don’t — but that “vanilla” folks are just not having the kind of relationships, sexual or otherwise, that “penetrate” or get at the “essense” or are as “psychologically deep”, or as “extreme” in some valuable way, as BDSM ones. There’s a kind of unfavorable comparison going on that makes me uncomfortable.
My personal guess — which is more than possibly wrong, so please share alternative views — is that BDSM identified folks are so sick of others telling them they are merely playing games, that BDSM is a “kink” that is merely a break from “vanilla”, and has nothing to do with who they are, the way a heterosexual or homosexual identity does, that this language is meant in some way to emphatically combat that, and portray BDSM as essence, not experiment.
But in doing so, heterosexual identity is “othered” in a way I don’t appreciate overly much. You can’t dismantle the master’s house with the master’s tools, not even if they’re whips and chains.
I’ve rambled on long enough. But this book was a lot of fun to read — a quick read actually – and also gave me a lot to think about. Can’t ask for more than that.
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#1 by Victoria Janssen on February 7, 2010 - 10:26 am
You can’t dismantle the master’s house with the master’s tools, not even if they’re whips and chains.
*happy sigh*
#2 by Angela/Lazaraspaste on February 7, 2010 - 1:50 pm
What I’m always curious about when reading certain erotic romances–which as you said, seemed to be concerned with outing some core identity that one of the protagonists has yet to come to terms with–is the very question of identity. Is sexuality really the defining essence of a person? If I choose never to come to “terms” with or “come out of” whatever my particular closet is, am I not a person? Do I have no identity because I chosen to acknowledge this certain aspect of myself? What the hell is natural anyway and why is my alternative–that is an identity contrary social norms (whatever norms are)–only ever a viable option if it somehow natural? I mean, if I choose to be a submissive rather than call it some innate being, some irreducible quality of self, is that any less of an identity than me saying its just who I am? Why is identity only valid if it is natural and not a choice?
These are only some of the questions I have. I’ve been really trying to get a handle on this because, I’ll be honest, the othering of heterosexuality to me is just as bothersome as the othering of homosexuality (the “gay” villain in historicals much?). I find this a very odd phenomena both in BDSM erotic romance and m/m erotic romance.
#3 by Ann Somerville on February 7, 2010 - 3:36 pm
[Just a FYI, black people - especially black lebsians - can get extremely angry about Audre Lorde's words about racism in feminism being appropriated by white people to use in context utterly unrelated to what she was talking about.]
It bothers me that you are using a term ‘Othering’ for a group which historically ‘Other’ others. It sounds terribly close to an accusation of reverse discrimination and I’m sure you’re smart enough to know why that’s troublesome.
Since ‘heterosexual identity’ is very much the default, majority position, and is used to erase or oppress those with any kind of alternative sexuality or identity, it’s hardly surprising that people within a sexuality which is not only taboo, but illegal to practice in many parts of America and the west, would show some contempt for the ‘straights’ – and you know, I can’t see how there’s any harm in them expressing that anger, or how it wouldn’t be realistic. Any minority group – even people into knitting – tend to believe they have a secret to happiness that is denied to the mundanes. Even Romance promotes the idea of that the couple in any given story is uniquely, blessedly more in love and bliss than any other in history – until the next couple in love, of course
But BDSM does create extreme highs and lows of emotions, and is incredibly intense for the participants. Much more intense than my own vanilla experiences of sex (gosh, can I even remember back that far?) S/m especially actively works to create extreme rushes and endorphin highs, so it’s not surprising that participants sound like drug addicts in their attempts to describe it.
As for the ‘games’ bit – there are lots of people who play around with BDSM, and puff themselves up as the ‘one true dom/sub’ and that kind of thing. They’re not admired in within the community. And those devoted to 24/7 type relationships can see those who aren’t – and that’s most, from what I have gathered – as not *really* serious or committed enough. (Which goes down well with people not into full-time D/s, as you can imagine.)
In short, I’m not disturbed by what you’ve quoted or described – it’s pretty standard for any book talking about the activities of a subgroup.
#4 by Jessica on February 7, 2010 - 5:13 pm
I agree with you, members of an oppressed group don’t have that kind of power over oppressing cultures, and BDSM identified individuals can’t really Other a member of a majority sexual group, least of all by writing a novel with this kind of language. I should have made that clear.
It may help for you to know I am pretty consistent in my rejection of this kind of reversal though, when it comes to both theory and political practice. To give an example from my own work, while I am very supportive of ethical theories grounded in women’s experiences, such as care theory, I have never liked it when my feminist colleagues say the feminine moral perspective is superior to traditional masculine moral ways of thinking. I figure male/female relations are so messed up, that neither side forged in the crucible of our sexist society could really be perfect. What we need is a different way of relating, not a reversal of the values.
I realize that these feminists hardly have the power to immediately effect any actual reversal in the dominant moral values of our culture. My point is, I doubt we should, even if we could.
I appreciate your perspective on it. I get it that heterosexuality looks inferior to some BDSM identified individuals (certainly my reading of such books has made that clear). And if I have to “deal” with my sexuality being called inferior in novels (truly, I wasn’t all that bothered by it, but I did notice it), at least I don’t have to deal with it being outlawed and stigmatized in RL. I never forget that.
@Angela/Lazaraspaste: The sexual identity versus gender identity versus every other kind is never easy to grasp, for me either. Sometimes when I am reading m/m or BDSM I marvel at how the sexual identity seems so central. But then I remind myself that (a) I am reading erotica, and (b) perhaps an aspect of one’s identity that is oppressed might well feel more central in many cases, and (c) my heterosexual identity is probably just as central, but it is so seamlessly reflected in the dominant culture that I don’t even notice it.
#5 by Sarah Frantz on February 7, 2010 - 11:15 pm
Um, I doubt Violet said what you wrote in the first quote.
And definitely (b) and (c) in your comment above. When some people (who shall remain nameless) identify with an alternate sexuality, whatever that is, it becomes pretty central to their being, precisely because it is other. Some people, though, know other people who would definitely be *labeled* with an alternate sexual identity by those outside the community, who does not label hirself as other, much to the chagrin of hir partner.
#6 by RfP on February 8, 2010 - 12:34 am
You think this is sort of a “black is beautiful” moment? Bearing in mind that there’s a magazine called Essence
That’s interesting. The only contemporary I’ve read that had much BDSM content was a Lora Leigh, and it was no surprise that the language very much paralleled her werecreature “Breeds” series. (I disrecommend her recent books, unfortunately, which includes most of the books with explicit BDSM themes.)
I absolutely agree.
#7 by Merrian on February 8, 2010 - 1:27 am
I like Joey Hills books because the people in them struggle, make mistakes and grow. Whether they are paranormal or contemporary characters they have an intensity and purpose that is appealing. If she has a standard message/theme in her stories, I think it is about redemption and sometimes this is about a person redeeming themselves by claiming what is un-owned in themselves; a plea for living authentically (whatever that may mean). She also really does write romances – her books are about people coming together, finding the one that is the match for their authentic self and often making a community of friends as well.
I think this is what I would say in answer to your earlier comments Angela; that no relationship can be authentic if there is stuff that is unowned and hidden away. That simply means that you are not fully present to yourself or the other person so you can’t be fully in the relationship.
Regarding the ‘othering’ of the vanilla world of heterosexuality I don’t just read this as hit against a rejecting mainstream but the reality of where people have come from. It is their actual experience. For them the vanilla world/heterosexuality was just that – mundane. They became fully alive in claiming their BDSM identity.
Also, I really agree most of the best contemporary is written in erotica and often m/m.
#8 by Angela/Lazaraspaste on February 8, 2010 - 10:53 am
Yeah, I don’t buy that. Identity is complex and fluid. What is hidden is sometimes revealed and what is revealed is sometimes hidden, even from ourselves. I do not doubt that there is power and peace in claiming an identity, especially if it is one that has been troubling you for a long time. There is power in naming things. But different aspects of people’s identity dominate at different times, depending upon their experiences, their upbringing, their values, their . . . let’s call it spirit and their temperament. All serve to coalesce into identity. Who I am today is not who am I yesterday nor 50 years from now, nor when I was 5. If there is some fundamental, essential self (and I think that there is), it is not something that is easily gotten at. The frog at the bottom of the beer glass and all that. It is unnameable. You can only name the parts, you cannot every really name the whole because the whole is not something you can see.
Nor do I think that things hidden necessitate an inauthenticity of being or some kind of bad faith. Nobody is ever fully present. They can’t be because they exist in time. If I were to actually be fully present in a moment all my past selves and my future selves would have to be there and they just aren’t. They can’t be. It is exhausting to be fully present, not to mention impossible. I am always myself but I am never entirely myself because even I cannot know who I am completely.
People reject the idea that masks need to be worn, that performances need to made in order to get on in the world. But they do. They are necessary. Even in a romantic relationship. In the words of Bataille “In bed next to a girl he loves, he forgets that does no know why he is himself instead of the body he touches”. Even if I sat in bed with my lover and said all the things I could say about myself, reveal everything that was hidden, they would still not know me, not be me and I would not be them. There would be lines between us. My words, my claims would be meaningless not because they are not true, not because they don’t have meaning but because they fail to describe who am I.
If I say I’m straight, I’m not telling the full story of my identity anymore than if I say I’m gay. There are parts of me that cannot be described by those words. If I’m gay and I decide to go into the priesthood and take a vow of chastity, am I denying my homosexuality or am I identifying myself more by my spirituality than my sexuality? Some people would say yes, but they are making a judgment based on their own expectations of what is authentic. They have no idea how this person came to this decision. The interiority of the other is always, utterly beyond comprehension, beyond comparison because it cannot be known.
Look. It isn’t as if I don’t understand what it means to claim something about yourself that is not culturally appropriate. I do. It’s empowering. But conversely I do not believe that because a person does not claim something about themselves openly, publicly that that makes a) it any less true b) them inauthentic or c) them capable of being in a relationship or d) them weak and cowardly.
And that was really long, off topic and tangential but there you go.
#9 by Sarah Frantz on February 8, 2010 - 11:29 am
@Angela/Lazaraspaste: Yes. You’re right, of course, and express it beautifully.
But when you’ve been struggling either with denying your own sexuality OR with defining it because it has previously been undefinable to you, being able to name it and act on it and find other people to talk to about it or find a partner who complements you in it, THEN it FEELS like authenticity, it feels like coming home and finding yourself, it feels like being real and true and brave. And your previous self, in comparison, feels fake and inauthentic and weak and cowardly and not able to be true to a relationship. Which is not to say that anyone still back in their own closet is any of those things, necessarily, but it’s really such a huge sea-change in one’s perspective. It really changes the world, that having gone through it, it’s difficult not to proselytize the benefits and demonize anyone who chooses not to do it, for whatever reason.
Hypothetically, of course.
#10 by Angela/Lazaraspaste on February 8, 2010 - 1:30 pm
@SarahFrantz
Yes, its like a conversion experience. An overwhelming shift in the way that you see the world. It’s hard not to be blinded by the light.
I think my subliminated maternal instincts just make me want to cuddle those people who are between two selves or groups. It is a extraordinarily lonely place to be. To be wrong on one end and inauthentic on the other, merely because one made a choice that does not sit well with either group, has to feel isolating, especially when it feels inauthentic to deny either aspect of yourself, publicly or privately.
Like say for example, if you were a socially liberal Christian in academia. You’d probably constantly be defending the one group to the other and feeling like a fool in the process. . . . hypothetically, of course.
#11 by Emmie on February 8, 2010 - 9:54 pm
Interesting review! I just wanted to comment on your statement about erotic romance and contemporary romance. Similarly to you, I don’t necessarily need the anatomical detail that comes with some erotic fiction. But I love a good contemporary romance story with heart and a touch of heat. I’ve found erotica is one of the best sources of great stories with real heroes that I lust after.
I love the occasional category romance, but sometimes the alpha heroes are SO alpha as to be ridiculous. I like alpha heroes, definitely, though, and I would probably be unlikely to read a story with a male sub.
Sorry, not adding a lot to your fascinating debate about sexual identity, but just wanted to let you know I agree — sometimes erotic romance rocks!
#12 by Merrian on February 8, 2010 - 10:23 pm
I want to join the conversation again but am at work and need to write minutes and count clinical auditing software in general practices in my state…. so briefly; I also agree with you Angela. My identity at 20 isn’t my identity now at 50 even though who I am is made up of the same elements. How that identity is expressed has been winnowed and shaped by the life that has intervened between those two points in time. In the sense that I live with chronic disease, my identity is continually being re-shaped as my body is re-shaped by illness. Not only am I faced with the issues of the identity I have as perceived by other people but have to experience my changed identity in order to know who I am at this point in time. So I am not saying we are either one thing or the other (closeted or authentic) but that to be known we have to know ourselves… For me this relates to the capacity to make informed own-my-own choices as opposed to a life made up of reactions…. Actually as I am typing, I am wondering if the BDSM identity is an embodied identity similar to how I experience my chronic illness mediated identity….? I know BDSM identified people talk about it as an identity that isn’t a choice but is who they are in the same way that GLBT people describe their identity.
#13 by Sarah Frantz on February 8, 2010 - 10:34 pm
@Merrian: I’d have to say that yes, absolutely, BDSM *identity* is an embodied experience. There are people who just *do* kinky stuff, but for the people who *identify* as kinky people, their sexuality is very much an embodied one, embodied in marks and bruises and scars and bites, in pleasure through transcendent pain (whether recipient or inflictor of the pain). It’s very much of the body and experienced because of the body but that moves into being an identity, something without which life is much poorer (although I’m sure you don’t think of your own pain that way). But as Angela says, it’s truly a conversion experience that affects the way you think about it and explain it to others.
#14 by Jessica on February 9, 2010 - 9:16 am
Just wanted to say thnaks to @Sarah Frantz: and @Angela/Lazaraspaste: for a stimulating discussion, and to @Merrian: for asking good questions that provoke said discussion.
@Emmie:
Thank you!
@RfP:
Don’t get me started. I am knee deep in Louise Antony’s essentialism debate with Martha Nussbaum at the moment.
#15 by Merrian on February 9, 2010 - 8:15 pm
@ Sarah, that’s really interesting. I have lots of surgery scars and am slowly tattooing them over, sort of re-drawing my body in my image rather than living with the image of my illnesses. I own my own scars in a different way now that I have given them new meaning. This isn’t covering them over/out of sight. Tattooing hurts! but it is a pain with an outcome whereas other sorts of pain are simply to be endured/experienced. There is power in choosing the pain, so I really get what you are saying.
I would certainly not want to have the body I’ve got if I was given a choice about it but the truth is I don’t know who I am now without this CI identity, eg. I know my own strength through pain and loss and I like that about myself. I struggle with stuff always, with who I want to be and how I would like to be eg. I have a job and not a career because I can’t make the commitment needed for that. But the self who actually makes it in to work is dong pretty well and I am proud of her. I have also in a sense had to choose being ‘in’ or ‘out’ re my health and chronic illness. Because it affects my life so much I am forced to be ‘out’ so the language of identity in this discussion really resonates with my experience.
I didn’t mean this to be so confessional but I realised recently that I am reading more and more BDSM themed fiction. This discussion has helped me realise some of the why.
@ Jessica your thoughts on the werecreature/shifters led me to remember a radio show I heard last year. A philosopher called Mark Rowlands was interviewed about his book ‘the philospher and the wolf – lessons from the wild on love, death and happiness’ pub by Granta. He lived with a pet wolf ‘Brenin’ for 11 years. The whole inerview is interesting as it riffs over what does it mean to live in time, the meaning of death and the notion of immortality and where does human intelligence come from. He says the book is about moral contracts, decpetion and power. Aren’t these constant themes in our romance genre? The link with the wolf comes in what he says he learnt by being in close proximity with Brenin. Eg. that the most important things you learn are not things you consciously think, that there is a basic, visceral level of learning that emerges later in action. The interview ends with a story about Brenin showing him that it is the way you conduct yourself in the knowledge you are doomed that matters, that it is not about not having a hope but it is how to behave when in fact there is no hope.
I can’t get the links to work so hope you can follow the info below!
http://www.abc.net.au Philosophers Zone 1 August 2009 – The Philosopher and the Wolf
http://search.abc.net.au/search/click.cgi?url=http://www.abc.net.au/rn/philosopherszone/stories/2009/2640128.htm&rank=1&collection=rnhttp://www.abc.net.au/rn/philosopherszone/stories/2009/2640128.htm
#16 by RfP on February 14, 2010 - 2:34 am
Not sure whether this counts as inciting you to start, but is this something new, or the at-least-10-year-old dogpile about essentialism, feminism, logic, subjectivity, etc, etc, ad infinitum?
#17 by Jessica on February 14, 2010 - 4:56 pm
Not new, it’s feminist philosophy for undergraduates, mainly philosophers and women’s studies majors. We were in the section on gender. The Antony is the 2000 Ethics article. She’s critiquing Nussbaum’s defense of a modified essentialism (Nussbaum, as you probably know, but other readers probably don’t. feeling an essentialist definition of human nature is required for an objective ethics, on the basis of which we can critique various practices that harm women). I’ve thought about posting a little on what we’re reading. But it’s often too exhausting for me to contemplate.