Interview With the Vampire - We revisit Gustav Levi

Gustav Levi is the hero of my Unbreakable Trilogy, about to be re-named The Silver Chain series as his brother Pierre's story is released. In the first book, The Silver Chain, Gustav meets his heroine, the photographer Serena Folkes, and offers to finance and launch her debut exhibition in return for her company and sexual favours. As they get to know each other and overcome the damage wreaked on them by her wretched childhood and his abusive marriage, the arrangement swiftly moves past the professional, and they become passionate lovers. From being reserved and mistrustful, Gustav has been won over by Serena's naïve yet single minded passion and has asked her to live with him.

But just as they are celebrating the success of her sell-out exhibition and are making plans to travel to New York together, Gustav's estranged, manipulative younger brother, Pierre, appears out of the blue. With Serena’s encouragement Gustav longs to restore their old closeness, but in The Golden Locket Pierre's presence in their lives re-opens old wounds and threatens their hard-won security.

I won't reveal how their story ends for those who haven't yet read the series, but to whet your appetites we're going back in time to meet Gustav halfway through their tumultuous story.

He's torn himself away from Serena's side in their stunning new penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side, to have a chat with us tonight.

1. The dark night when Serena first met you she had you down as a Halloween vampire. What is your family background?

Did she? Cheeky minx. Well, she would make a very juicy Dracula’s victim, I must say. That beautiful pale skin of hers. I can just imagine piercing her long, swan-like throat with my teeth… but going back to your question, she wasn’t far off the mark. My family did originate in the mountains and forests of Transylvania but both sets of grandparents travelled and settled in Paris, which is where I was born and raised.

2. How did losing your parents at an early age and raising your little brother shape the way you are today?

I was 15 and Pierre was 3 when they died in a fire at our Paris apartment. I was a normal, rebellious teenager when it happened but I had to turn myself around to take care of Pierre. We became incredibly close as a result, which I guess is one of the few good things that came out of the tragedy. I wanted to prove to them and to him that I could do a good job, and that meant making a new life for us in London, working hard to make a home for us. But I became obsessive, I think. I wasn't with him as much as I should have been. Without the guidance of my parents I made some terrible choices when it came to women, too, which ultimately caused the rupture between Pierre and me.

3. Which brings us to the awkward question of your first marriage. Can you tell us a bit about that?

As the song goes, where do I begin? With all the diasastrous couplings since the world began.Adam and Eve. Samson and Delilah. Antony and Cleopatra. I was lonely. I was a rich young man, living like a single father, and Margot was a heat seeking missile. But there are no excuses. I was like any other man in the end at that point. I was led by what's in my pants. I was blinded with lust, but I told myself a female around the house would be good for Pierre, too. But not long after we were married she became, there's no other way of putting it. Toxic. A couple should enhance each other, but we just consumed each other. She was a very strong personality, quite a bit older than me – oh God, this is turning into a bit of a therapy session, isn't it? Maybe I thought she would lead me? But I should have recognised before it was too late where we were going. I worked hard all day, and at night I'd come home and it had become her world. She wasn't just a hyper-sexual woman. She was a professional dominatrix. Punishment, obsession, addiction were her bread and butter – and strangers in my house were queuing up to be part of it. What on earth kind of menage was that?

My poor brother was left on the sidelines. I kept it from him as much as I could, and he never, until he was a grown man, actually witnessed anything, but of course he sensed things were deteriorating. I sent him off to boarding school and then university to get away from the situation, but the rot had set in by then. It was no longer our home, or his haven. It took me five years to recognise what was happening to us and when I found the strength to tell Margot the marriage was over her revenge was to carry out her threat, which started off as a joke in the early days but became deadly serious, of corrupting Pierre and taking him away from me, so I was left with – sorry, this chokes me still to remember it. I was left with nothing.

4. Is that personal history the reason you refused to let Serena anywhere near you without a professional agreement?

I warned Serena from the beginning, or tried to, that my life experiences had killed my trust in people. Either I wasn't articulate enough, or she just wasn't paying any attention. Thank God. But I honesly thought I was no good for anyone. I was better alone. I had been battered emotionally, and physically, by the wrong woman, and then I'd lost the one person I loved most in the world, Pierre. Oh, I knew deep down that not all women would be like Margot – no-one could be as evil as her – but I couldn’t let my guard down until Serena wandered into my life. I am a red blooded male. I needed sex from time to time. But as soon as they started trying to get closer, burrowing into my life, my house, although I accept that it was natural for them, it was anathema to me. I couldn't risk letting any woman under my skin again.

5. What about the silver chain you made Serena wear when you were together? Jewellery, or restraint? Symbol of permanence, or sign of insecurity?

All the above. I can't deny it. I wanted to give her something, but not reveal anything of myself. I wanted it to symbolise our agreement, and to make sure she wouldn't get away. She had never had any jewellery, so the bracelet I gave her to hook the silver chain on to was the first precious thing she'd ever owned. She was furious when I once left her chained in the house in Lugano, but the little wildcat chopped it off with an axe or something and got the chauffeur Dixon to disobey orders and drive her to the airport! Secretly I saluted her for that show of defiance, even though it was my fault for leaving her there. Anyway, it became part of our life. And a very kinky part of our lovemaking. It still is. But I'm planning to give her another special piece of jewellery for Christmas..

6. Serena comes from a very different background from yours. What, apart from the obvious physical attraction, is it that draws you to her?

Maybe that’s exactly it. Her total individuality and.. difference. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. And as for her background, that's an unknown. She was adopted by a pair of monsters. She was a little newborn foundling. I would love to know what her biological background is. No-one has ever come forward. I suspect she comes from someone beautiful, artistic and big hearted, because how else has she come through all that neglect still determined to find someone to love? I guess that’s your answer. She doesn’t even know it, but she has this fire, this determination, to see the beauty in life, not just through her camera lens. I’ve never thought of it before, but you could say she’s the polar opposite of my ex-wife, and that's why I'm so lucky to have found her. Serena turns her strength of spirit into something positive, and she’s pulled me into her orbit as well

7. You and Serena had a business arrangement which became personal. What was the moment when you fell for her?

Everything in my life has to be written down, a contract. Since my parents died. It’s my clumsy way of feeling safe, I suppose, and my arrangement with Serena, though it looks ridiculous now, had to be on the same terms. She doesn't know this but she was the missing piece of my jigsaw, and that lightbulb moment was when she was standing in my gallery after we'd signed that contract. We were just leaving, and she stopped beside my favourite photograph, entitled 'Rapunzel', which was part of an exhibition of sepia images of French prostitutes awaiting their turn in a bordello. I collect pre-Raphaelite studies and sketches, and she looked so like the beautiful, pre-Raphaelite girl in the photograph, that face that's so mournful when in repose, those rivers of golden treacle-coloured hair – it took my breath away. I reckoned she was the face I'd been searching for. My pet name for her, when we're alone, is Rapunzel'.

8. She's younger than you. What has she taught you?

She's brought a kind of fresh air into my life, light, sunshine, an incisive viewpoint. She surprises me every day with how beautiful she is and how much she loves me, even though she had to work so hard to win me round. She's actually like a magic camera. You see life differently when you're with her.

9. You have made your fortune now. Are you ready to retire?

I could retire tomorrow. Financially that's true. But I'm only just 40, so there's no way I'm going to sit around doing nothing, especially with such a young girlfriend to keep on my toes. And she would tell me I was an old git if I did, to use her charming turn of phrase! If the businesses are in good hands and Serena's photography is launched, I would like to extend my pre-Raphaelite collection and also to launch a trust fund related to the arts which could benefit abandoned children.

10. When you're not acquiring businesses and properties, what are your hobbies?

Travelling and cooking for pleasure, rather than necessity. My current project, when we have time, is teaching Serena to cook. She can just about boil an egg. And I love drawing and sketching.

11. What's next now you're both ensconced in New York?

Well, most of that is under wraps for now. We have some tentative meetings with Pierre to negotiate, now that he's come back into my life. He's been living and working in New York all these years, and the most extraordinary coincidence is that he's been dating Serena's cousin Polly. So I'm determined to find a way to forgive each other for what's happened in the past. Serena's my othe priority, of course. She already has several prestigious commissions here from people who have seen her work in London, and I aim to stand back and let her make her own way.

12. Tell us an unusual thing about you?

I play jazz trumpet. Pierre plays piano, and we used to jam in little clubs around London before I met Margot. Not even Serena knows that, and please don't tell her. I'll surprise her one day, but I haven't played since I met my first wife. She thought it sounded stupid.  

Meet Rosa, the new heroine in 'Pierre'. Here she has a pep-skype with her sister

‘Flirt with him. Bustle about. Bend over a lot. Are you sure he’s not getting a hard-on every time you swish by in your tight little uniform?’

I think of the unmistakable reaction when I washed him that first morning. The soft shape warming up, firming up in my hand like a delicious pastry.

Any man with red blood in his veins would get hard, being handled like that. It was nothing special. I unzip my dress. As soon as the expensive, silky embrace falls away from me I stop being the poised, confident woman I was when I was wearing it.

‘I think he quite likes me, but it’s just a job, Fran. I’m just his carer, a servant really, just like I am to all the other spoiled, rich malades in that clinic.’

‘Don’t be so tough on yourself, cara. You’re coming down after your glittering performance tonight, that’s all. Anyway, if this Levi bloke won’t look at you twice, someone else will. You’re a catch for anyone.’

‘Maybe. It won’t be that long before he’s discharged or I’m sacked or I quit. I won’t see him again and then I can go properly hunting.’ I hang up the dress, aware that if the connection is working my sister can see me in my bra and knickers. ‘Look, Fran, I can’t chatter on. The signal’s hopeless tonight. You might all be chilling out over there in New York, but I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m absolutely done in.’

‘How did the gig go tonight? You look great, by the way. Although satin and silk isn’t normally your style?’

‘I was going to pick up something from the Kate Moss range at Top Shop but my employers insist on high-end cocktail dresses so they sent me to Bond Street. They give me a credit card and a personal shopper. The dress code at the club is very strict for everyone on the premises, staff and members alike. They’re all men.’

‘Who, staff or members?’

‘All the members are men. And most of the staff. They have to wear black tie. Or white tie, if they have military medals, no matter what time of day it is, because the idea is that the minute you walk through those doors you are in another zone. Day and night become meaningless.’

‘Classy! Or pretentious. Sounds like the Starship Enterprise!’ Francesca chortles. ‘All a bit antiquated, though, isn’t it? Black tie? What’s wrong with kilts, or some sharp tailoring? They sound like a bunch of pompous gits. So where is it again?’

I reach into the thin fitted wardrobe for my kimono. If I don’t cover up it won’t just be my sister who sees me semi-naked. If I don’t close the shutters on these portholes anyone motoring down the river or walking along the embankment at this time of night can see me, too.

‘I’m not supposed to say, but you know what? I don’t give a shit. It’s the London branch of the Club Crème.’

And here's a random pic of a cool Italian...

Wow! magazine interviews Pierre Levi as he recovers from his near-fatal accident

This is the first interview Pierre Levi has given since being badly injured in a hit and run in central London. We visited him at the exclusive Aura Clinic where he was transferred out of intensive care.         Thank you for seeing us, Pierre. Can you tell us how bad your injuries were and how you're doing now?
     Let me count the ways. Cracked pelvis. Two broken legs. One femur, one ankle. Nothing else broken. She saved the face,apart from the black eye.
     You mean the driver? We understand that Margot Levi was driving the car.
     Yes. My ex sister in law. My ex lover. She ran me down deliberately.
     And the police are looking for her in connection with the accident. Why do you think she did that?
     I think because she wanted my brother back and if she couldn't have Gustav she'd make sure no-one did. But then I came galloping to the rescue so hey, why not kill both birds with the one stone? Thank God it wasn't Gustav.
    But the injuries are healing now?
    Bones heal, don't they? But the real scars are inside. In my head.
    That's pretty intense. What do you mean?
    Nightmares. I make quite a spectacle of myself, apparently. I keep these poor nurses on their toes But it's not Margot causing the nightmares. It's me. What I've been like in the past. I made life hell for the people I should have been looking out for. Get this. I broke my brother's heart not once but twice.
    How did you do that? And why?
    I ran off with Margot, his first wife. Yep. The same woman who tried to run me over. How mad is that? Gustav and I were estranged for five years. Then I tried to break up him and his new girlfriend by seducing her.
    Why?
    Margot Levi persuaded me. Both times. And I was bitter and twisted enough to go along with it.
    She sounds like a very powerful influence.
    I was very young the first time. Totally bewitched. But the second time? It was her idea, sure, but I took it and ran with it, no question. I knew exactly what I was doing. What started off as a sick joke became a genuine addiction. I was mad about her.
    Who? Margot Levi?
    No. Serena Folkes. Gustav's fiance.
    But you didn't succeed? I mean, they're still together?
    They're unbreakable. You'll never witness love like it. I think that's why I wanted to destroy it. I was jealous. Still am. But I'm paying for all that now.
    That sounds harsh. Maybe even a little self-pitying?
    I don't pity myself. I pity everyone who comes into contact with me. I deserve everything she's thrown at me.
   Who? Serena?
   Ha ha. No. Margot. By rights I should be dead. At the very least maimed for life. It's my punishment for everything I put them through. I'm rotten. People should stay away from me.
   Ah, looks like matron is cutting short our interview. Two more questions. You've had to pull out of the reality show pilot you were making in LA before this happened. What do you think the future holds? I mean, professionally?
    Haven't you heard? The waters close over your head if you're out of circulation creatively. What's your second question?
   You famously revelled in your playboy image. Are you looking for love again?
   You mean, a love I can call my own rather than trashing other people's?
   Simple, really. The love of a good woman. You won't be short of offers once you're on your feet again.
   Are you flirting with me?
   Oh, that came out wrong, I - well, maybe?
   Cute, but listen up, sweet pea. I'm not safe to be around. I should have a health warning slapped on. Women can steer well clear. I don't know what's in my future, but I'm not up for any involvement. Apart from the fact that my body is fucked. No. Celibacy is definitely the way forward.
   

You heard it hear first. Pierre Levi plans to join monastery.
    Funny. I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much. Can I take your number?

PRIMULA AS BOOK DOCTOR

1. Read. As a book doctor and writer of critiques, I am astonished by aspiring writers who claim to be too busy to read. Any good writer will be a passionate reader and will learn from the writers they admire, from how they physically set their narrative out on the page to plotting, characterisation and dialogue. On the same token, don't sneer at TV and film. Watch good dramas, movies and soaps. They are a masterclass in plot structure and realistic, character-driven dialogue.
2. Watch and listen. What's happening outside your window, on the station platform, in the park? Eavesdrop on conversations, remember anecdotes. Keep a notebook with you, especially in the bath or by the bed, because flashes of inspiration will be forgotten if you don't write them down immediately.
3. You are transporting your readers to a highlighted version of real life, so create interesting characters, exotic settings, glamorous clothes and delicious food. Use smell, touch, scenery, your own travels. Or discover the erotic potential in the most mundane of relationships (husbands and wives, teachers and pupils, neighbours), settings (a suburban street, an office, a shop) or encounters (an awkward family gathering, new wife meeting her stepson for the first time, a comely landlady inflaming her lodger with her full English, or a convent girl falling for one of the nuns).
4. If it helps you, see the action unfolding as if it's on screen, and you are the director.

GETTING DOWN TO IT

• You are writing about sex. It must turn you on to be convincing but even more importantly be aware of your audience and what will turn them on. Sex with aliens or men in galoshes might not be everyone's taste, and keep it consenting and legal.
• Discard self-consiousness. To hell with what others think. The reader is your confidante. Be honest (emotionally, if not factually) till readers writhe with recognition.

• Separate fact from fiction, or rather fact from fantasy. So a RAPE fantasy doesn't mean you want that, but desire to be overwhelmed, relieved of decision making, violently desirable, but NOT harmed or injured.

• Having established your characters, make us care about them well before they have sex. They may come from different worlds, or have a difference in age or power between them, but they are still magnets. Their attraction is what drives your story, and once we know how this dynamic works, we will know how and why they fancy each other, and your readers will fancy them, too.

• Sexy environment. Depending on their age, athleticism the back of a clapped out Ford Cortina or the bins behind the Plaza cinema might be just the place for a quick, rough first time, and that will do it for some readers. Any good erotic writer, like the old Martini adverts, can create a sex scene any time, any place, anywhere! But others are after escapism from mean streets of real life. So hie your characters off to a place you'd like to be. A moonlit beach, sumptuous hotel room, or a rug in front of a roaring fire.
• FIVE SENSES. Make sure there is low lighting and great music. Garish lighting and deadly silence are not always the sexist ambience, at least for the first time.
• Have fun as novel progresses, having them so hot for each other that after the first seduction they'll do it anywhere. A lift, a restaurant. A riding stable. An art gallery.
• PLAY WITH DYNAMIC too. Meek heroine takes the lead, for once. See how the hero responds to that.

• SUGGESTIVE conversation either blatant and in your face, or playful, teasing. don't stand woodenly about like actors in a bad am-dram.
• Eating, drinking, dancing, singing, involve us
• Clothes, how they fit, are they too formal or tight, how good does it feel as they come off? Unbuttoning cut-off jeans can be just as sexy as unzipping a ball gown.
• Tense, breathless, but take it slow.
• Keep it reasonably real. The first time you have sex is often urgently desired but ends up fast and disastrous. There will be hesitation, shyness and teasing (unless fuelled by alcohol, I suppose), mixed with the intoxicating desire to get their hands on each other. Make that clear, but prepare the way for a more leisurely, climactic second time
• Talking of climaxes, here is how to build it up. There's the first sensation of skin on skin starts the action. Think of a movie scene. Imagine yourself as involved, generous, hands-on director, make sure the bed is soft, the studio is warm, and soon they'll take off on their own.

• Make it dramatic, but human. Not impossibly athletic, but not mundane either. The characters will already be attractive or arresting .
• The men will be strong, well hung and experienced unless they are being educated by a cougar.. in which case keep in the well hung bit!
• The women are curvacious, soft and wonderfully proportioned, and if not experienced, then primed and ready to learn – or teach!
• If this is a romantic setting, lots of kissing and stroking, exploration. If this is more down the BDSM route, then the participants will get their kicks from spanking, binding, roughness and pain. But there is always room for sensuousness and tenderness.
• The rhythm of your narrative should be similar to the rhythm of sex. First time fast and furious. After that think Strictly Come Dancing – Argentine Tango. Slow, slow, quick slow.
• EROTICA LOVERS tend to come together but there's room to be more realistic. Let one come before the other and show who is the generous one, who the thoughtful, who the selfish? Or are they both equally considerate, and if not, will they become so as the novel progresses. This is the basis for their relationship out of bed, as well as in.
• LANGUAGE. Keep it simple, punchy, evocative, but not obscene or anatomical. Your challenge is to find evocative language to describe something we've all done, we all know about, we've all talked about, but readers look to you to find something sensation to say about that rush of ecstasy, as if it's something new. But don't use euphemism or flowery words or ugly symbolism.

My review of 50 Shades of Grey

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY FILM REVIEW BY PRIMULA BOND

 

 

This is a film to be savoured in the communal atmosphere of a darkened cinema. The solidarity of those eager, giggling bodies around you, some women dragging along sheepish male partners, most tripping in with a shoal of girlie mates, all bearing glasses or even bottles of wine and/or champagne, made the experience enjoyable from the off.

            As I waited for my three girlfriends to escort me inside, two others emerged po-faced from the earlier showing. I stopped them for a quick vox-pop. In unison they muttered, tipping away their bottles of warm wine disguised as mineral water: 'Disappointing.'

            As the lights went down, two nattily dressed Chinese boys rushed to the front, which made us wonder if a) this trilogy has already become a gay destination event along the lines of those sing along SoundaMusic or Mamma Mia viewings (everyone whispering huskily iconic lines such as 'Enlighten me!' or 'Fuck the contract' or b) they thought they were seeing a film about interior decorating.

            Disappointing it may have been to some, but the auditorium was already hot and steamy by the time we took our seats. One of my friends hadn't read the book, so was coming to this box-fresh, but you'd have to be living in Outer Mongolia not to know something about this film. Even so,  as my sister pointed out on hearing I was going to see it, there's bound to be at least one fan even in Outer Mongolia.

            In other words it would be impossible to have absolutely no preconceptions. But I do wish I hadn't watched the Lego spoof trailer beforehand. I don't mean that a clutch of plastic figures with no joints and only one expression had more animation than the actors in this film. But it did make me splutter on my smuggled chardonnay when Ana first arrived to interview Christian. Watch it. You'll see what I mean.

            Also, it doesn't help that my real name is Anastasia (and Ana for short) so that every time Christian uttered it in that soft, hectoring accent I felt my subjective faculties evaporating.

            Ah, Christian. I was relieved that Jamie Dornan's previous, mesmerising incarnation as Paul Spector in The Fall was soon dissipated, because once I'd accepted the lack of beard, and that this role was not a natural fit for him, I was able fully to focus on the strengths and weaknesses of the movie, some of which were unexpected.

            As an erotic author, my critical antennae were exercised by the uneven pacing of the action and scenes and the introduction then abandoning of secondary characters such as the flatmate and the families - although, and maybe it's my age, I found myself identifying more with the naughty, feisty moms than with Ana, and wanting to see more of them. And what was the point of Rita Ora/Mia in that hideous syrup? The one line she spoke was, I think, supposed to be in French, but I certainly couldn't understand it.

            The dialogue, impeccably faithful to the original text, was sometimes clumsy ('What am I doing here, Christian?' Answer from the back row of the audience: 'Duh!'). Such distractions drained the central relationship of its essential intensity, and more fatally highlighted the inconsistency in the relationship between the ill-matched lovers.

            I'm all for a coup de foudre, but I also like a little foreplay before getting down and dirty. Any film needs dramatic tension and an erotic film needs sexual tension. We had two hours.  What was the rush? But we moved too quickly from one stage of their 'relationship' to the next. Within days of their first meeting, Christian had bought some equipment from a hardware store, cut short a meaningless cup of coffee, and was then storming into a night club to shove Ana's poor male friend aside for trying to kiss her.  Meanwhile Ana was already teasing him for playing push-me, pull-you (and inadvertently summing up a central flaw in her own story) as if they'd known each other for weeks.

            I can buy the idea of a troubled, solitary man blowing hot and cold with an enthusiastic, wholesome virgin, but this is a successful billionaire who doesn't seem wholeheartedly to believe in or enjoy his actual work. And who has an appalling taste in casual wear. Nor can he converse naturally or easily in his home life. His default tone is conversely both to lecture and conceal.

            In the fantasy world of fiction we expect to travel with our characters in order to care about them, to see them evolve, witness a flowering and development of their dynamic even if conflict arises and they argue or separate along the way. But Christian loses our belief in him when in one breath he's telling Ana he doesn't do romance, or sleeping together, or even making love, tells her he won't touch her without her written consent (which raised another laugh from the audience), yet does all the above within their first night together.

            Similarly Ana, who also has an unnervingly childish dress sense, dilly-dallies over signing the contract in order to get to know and test him– some of the best and unexpectedly comic scenes in the film – agrees to some of the punishments, admits she is falling for him, then after allowing him, indeed asking him to show her his worst, throws a massive strop when he makes free with the riding crop and stamps back into that goddamn lift. Not that I blame her. The initial slapping on the rump moments are unintentionally comical, and there seems little relevance or eroticism in that Red Room of Pain. Christian appears agonised as he practises his reef knots and brandishes the cat o-nine tails. Even then Ana is way ahead of him, sighing and gasping before he's even touched her.

            Nevertheless Dakota Johnson was a revelation and it was a bonus that she was relatively unknown. First off, am I the only person who thinks she looks like a younger version of the writer E L James? Secondly, by pure chance I'd seen her in The Social Network  climbing out of Justin Timberlake's bed just a day or so earlier, and thought her cute in those few screen moments, but she truly owns this film. She's not quite sexy or alluring enough for an erotic heroine, but she's charming, has an infectious giggle, and is believable to look and listen to, knocking spots off her co-star.

             9 and a half weeks this wasn't. Or at least, parts of it were. Parts of it were also  pure Pretty Woman. The sex was graphic, as you'd expect, and beautifully and daringly choreographed, but oddly untitillating. After a while I found myself wishing it would end so we could hear what Ana had to say next. Which, as I say, reveals both a terrible weakness and an unexpected, delightful strength.

            I'll leave the last word to the audience. About halfway through we were disturbed by some heavy breathing from the row behind us. Had Sam Taylor-Joynson, Dornan et al succeeded in 'moistening us' as one reviewer promised?

            No. It was one of the champagne wielding ladies. Fast asleep.

 

© Primula Bond 2015

THOUGHTS ON EROTICA TODAY - PART ONE

EROTICA TODAY – OLD AS THE HILLS, SO WHAT, IF ANYTHING, HAS CHANGED?

BY PRIMULA BOND

The publishing world seems to be in two minds about erotica. On the one hand, the explosion of that trilogy two years ago cannot be ignored. It sent editors rushing to get their star writers to emulate the success of the three books which overnight introduced the phrase 50 Shades into common parlance around kitchen tables and water coolers, not to mention Facebook and Twitter.

On the other hand, those of us who have been writing erotica for 20 years or more are still mostly rebuffed by an industry which sees erotica as smutty at best, second rate at worst.

Much was made when 50 Shades came out that what it revealed about the mainly female readers was even more interesting than the story itself. To put it very simply, it transpired that no matter how successful and high-powered they were, women responded to the escapist, relinquishing theme of strong man educating submissive woman.

Love it or loathe it, what the advent of that trilogy has also achieved with its focus on the emerging relationship of Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele (when they are not busy in his Red Room of pain), is the rise of the more accessible genre of adult, or erotic, romance. This has given seasoned writers like Sylvia Day and me, and newer arrivals like Jodi Ellen Malpas, the chance to flex our creative muscles after years of toeing an increasingly restricted line of stereotypes and sex scenes and we are now freer to expand and modernise an age-old theme, let rip with some really intelligent, credible, enjoyable story telling and introduce more complex characters and relationships.

Meanwhile our widening market of eager readers can openly buy and display books with their understated 'grey' cover designs and bury themselves in a compelling love story which is every bit as hot and explicit as before, but can, and should, hold its head up with any other type of popular, well-written literature.

Many historical examples of erotic writing, previously banished, are now resplendent on literary book shelves, to wit the works of the Marquis de Sade (1740-1814) who chronicled torture and cruelty as well as blasphemy against the Catholic Church, The Story of O (1954) which also deals with sado-masochism, and Anais Nin's Delta of Venus (1940s). These all explore fairly extreme, even brutal, examples of sexuality rather than the wilder shores of love.

The much misunderstood Lady Chatterley (1928) comes closer to the deeper, more involved erotica that appeals to today's 'woman on the Tube' – in other words, the readers I am after. Whilst the Anglo-Saxon language is fruity and was considered shocking for its day, it perfectly expresses the awakening and wonder that occurs between the characters. Describing it as obscenity clouds the central tenet of the book.

I like to open erotica workshops with a discussion on the stark difference, in my view, between pornography (visual, blatant, unimaginative, demeaning) and erotica (written, evocative, inspiring, celebratory), using Lady Chatterley as an example of misconception.

The growing tenderness between Mellors (an articulate ex-Army officer, not a rude mechanical as is so often assumed) and Connie is not the overdone housewife-beds-plumber scenario, if only people would take the trouble to study it more closely. It's far more subtle, a release for both of them from the shackles on his part of a frustrating marriage and his withdrawn personality, and on her part from a loveless marriage and a stifling class system.

This analysis of whether my chosen genre has evolved piqued me when I was asked recently if male and female characters and their motivations had changed with the times. I pondered this question as I wandered round the supermarket one weekend filling my trolley with such mundane items as spuds, sausage rolls, felafel balls (currently an obsession), beer, yoghurt and, ooh go on then, cucumbers and Magnum ice cream.

Yes, we erotica writers see the suggestive everywhere we look, but we still have to eat, entertain and feed our families. And no, we are not paid enough to have lackeys to do it for us. The illusion our readers have of us lounging around all day dressed in leather bondage gear or baby doll nighties tip-tapping on our laptops and requiring a touch of flagellation before stepping out the front door is just that: a carefully constructed illusion. Some of us even masquerade as respectable matrons and pillars of the school gate.

I am an Oxford educated mother of three sons who has juggled legal work, lodgers and family with writing newpaper and magazine features, and although I have a colourful smorgasbord of 'real life' experiences ranging from single motherhood, depression and Catholicism to living abroad, chronic illness and older parenthood to fill many an article, my real passion lies in fiction.

Since I was a little girl scribbling in a grubby exercise book, the emphasis has always been on romance. Sometimes light, sometimes pretty dark. I dreamed of Mr Right, or more often Prince Right, during a mournful teenage listening to 10cc, university struggling with Shakespeare, twenties peppered with break-ups, and then the wonderful challenge of unexpected motherhood. My musings were consistently rejected until I submitted one to Mills and Boon. This time the rejection was at least constructive: my writing was great, but my sex scenes were too explicit.

And so my erotica career was born.

Tune in tomorrow to hear the next instalment!  

WRITERS WILL DO ANYTHING TO PROCRASTINATE ; ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A WRITER

A crazy day yesterday. Started with email going down, having to rush to school, do reading club, cancel coffee with my darling friend Lou to get the email sorted, wrestle with someone at BT to give me back my f***ing password, check issue to do with work sorted out, find number 3 son's lost saxophone, take it back to school, come home to find two polite strangers on my doorstep asking if they could possibly take a picture of the house, as they grew up here when the house was brand new in the 60's, asking them in, showing off our splendid extension, hearing great anecdotes about the old days, getting quite teary, agreeing the house has a lovely vibe and amazingly after 50 years has only had 3 families living here, wave goodbye, do a chapter of my 'serious' novel, chop onions for loussaka/masagna, Tweet to some 50 Shades sites in an effort to suggest something rivetting to read (my Unbreakable Trilogy, natch) while they are waiting for the movie to come out, including a  French site where it is called 50 Nuances (lovely French word) who I chat to in French (yeah, get me!), doorbell rings, 6 enormous schoolboys come with Number 2 son to watch football along with dazed looking man to read the electricity and gas meters, let them in (the boys that is), switch my huge TV over from Wimbledon to World Cup, shut teenagers firmly in the playroom, order the meter man through the tradesmen's entrance, add mince (to the frying pan, not the meter man), try not to overhear disgusting conversation coming from playroom, open tin of Italian chopped tomatoes, glance at Nadal winning next round at Wimbledon on tiny kitchen telly, doorbell rings again, my boss arrives wondering if we are having a family row because there's so much noise coming from the house, explain that it is the teenagers roaring at their mobile phones, note that she is looking fragrant and gorgeous while I am in old maxi dress and 'keep calm and carry on cooking' apron and no lipstick, collapse with her on the patio for five minutes, drink lemonade but long for chardonnay, say goodbye, grate loads of cheese with one egg and crème fraiche to make my version of béchamel, lodger and student return home and dump bags of washing in what number 2 son used to call the 'nativity room'... and on it goes. Total writing time: 1 hour.