Historical Reprints
Fiction
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As the sex and pedophile scandals rock the Catholic and Protestant worlds one has to wonder if these erotic tales of the church were more than just fictions!These British erotica books were seldom distributed in America. With impassioned cries of righteousness, certain segments of society are perpetually seeking to foist their ideas of moral indignation on the rest. As a result, many people with normal human drives become pressured into thinking that their needs and wants are perverted.
Who sets these people up as the rule makers? Usually it is the feeling in every one of us that there has to be some kind of order to our lives, that there must be a definitive right way which means there must be a definitive wrong way, as well.
Though the topics and themes are much the same as American erotica, the British use of English adds a luster to the stories, missing from the vulgar used in America. For all the Bible thumpers, sapphism was not banned in the Bible anywhere!
Though the topics and themes are much the same as American erotica, the British use of English adds a luster to the stories, missing from the vulgar used in America. A young Emily is forced to marry the foppish son of a wealthy landowner to supposedly save her parents from the poorhouse. Caroline is the story of an extraordinary woman - beautiful, strong and mischievous. Putting her looks and wit to good use, the young Caroline seduces her friend Harry and his sister Adelaide. Once married to Harry, and living comfortably with him and Adelaide, Caroline enlarges and enlivens their menage by creating an "academy" for young - and not so young - women requiring in initiation into the rites of love...
As the sex and pedophile scandals rock the Catholic and Protestant worlds one has to wonder if these erotic tales of the church were more than just fictions!
These British erotica books were seldom distributed in America. Though the topics and themes are much the same as American erotica, the British use of English adds a luster to the stories, missing from the vulgar used in America.
It was my privilege, many years ago, to make the acquaintance of the obscure literary hermit, whose talk I have tried to reproduce in the pages that follow.
Some years ago I met my old master, Sir Frank Benson-he was Mr. F. R. Benson then-and he asked me in his friendly way what I had been doing lately. "I am just finishing a book," I replied, "a book that everybody will hate."
One night a year or so ago I was the guest of a famous literary society. This society, or club, it is well known, believes in celebrating literature-and all sorts of other things-in a thoroughly agreeable and human fashion. It meets not in any gloomy hall or lecture room, it has no gritty apparatus of blackboard, chalk, and bleared water-bottle.
After two years we are turning once more to the morning's news with a sense of appetite and glad expectation. There were thrills at the beginning of the war; the thrill of horror and of a doom that seemed at once incredible and certain; this was when Namur fell and the German host swelled like a flood over the French fields, and drew very near to the walls of Paris.
It was somewhere, I think, towards the autumn of the year 1889 that the thought occurred to me that I might perhaps try to write a little in the modern way. For, hitherto, I had been, as it were, wearing costume in literature.
It was somewhere, I think, towards the autumn of the year 1889 that the thought occurred to me that I might perhaps try to write a little in the modern way. For, hitherto, I had been, as it were, wearing costume in literature.
Dreams, magic terrors, spells of mighty power, Witches, and ghosts who rove at midnight hour. The first idea of this Romance was suggested by the story of the Santon Barsisa, related in The Guardian.--The Bleeding Nun is a tradition still credited in many parts of Germany; and I have been told that the ruins of the Castle of Lauenstein, which She is supposed to haunt, may yet be seen upon the borders of Thuringia.--The Water-King, from the third to the twelfth stanza, is the fragment of an original Danish Ballad--And Belerma and Durandarte is translated from some stanzas to be found in a collection of old Spanish poetry, which contains also the popular song of Gayferos and Melesindra, mentioned in Don Quixote.--I have now made a full avowal of all the plagiarisms of which I am aware myself; but I doubt not, many more may be found, of which I am at present totally unconscious.
Miss Lucile Wollaston was set to exude sympathy, like an aphid waiting for an overworked ant to come down to breakfast. But there was no sympathizing with the man who came in from a doctor's all-night vigil like a boy from a ball-game, gave her a hard brisk kiss on the cheek-bone, and then, before taking his place at the table, unfolded the morning paper for a glance at the head-lines.
The principal character of the novel which the reader is about to have under his eyes is a woman, a courtesan of antiquity; but let him take heart of grace: she will not be converted in the end. She will be loved neither by a saint, nor by a prophet, nor by a god. In the literature of to-day this is a novelty.
I do not know what the public may think of "Susan Lenox." I scarcely know what I think. It is a terrible book--terrible and true and beautiful. Under the depths there are unspeakable things that writhe. His plumb-line touches them and they squirm. He bends his head from the clouds to do it. Is it worth doing? I don't know.
For years I had been preoccupied with thoughts of love--and by love I mean a noble and sensuous passion, absorbing the energies of the soul, fulfilling destiny, and reducing all that has gone before it to the level of a mere prelude. And that afternoon in autumn, the eve of my twenty-first birthday, I was more deeply than ever immersed in amorous dreams.