35 Books Like Jill

I first became acquainted with this 20th-century classic when it was turned into a popular miniseries, and I felt compelled to read the novel for myself.

Although the narrative traverses settings from London and a great English country house to Europe and even the Americas, the inception of the story is grounded in post-WWI Oxford, where the narrator introduces us to Waugh’s memorably charming but doomed character, Lord Sebastian Flyte.

Waugh’s portrayal of the exuberance of youthful college high-jinx juxtaposed against the perils of dissipation powerfully depicts the inner struggle of his narrator’s search for love, meaning, and ultimately faith.

I greatly admire Waugh’s hauntingly lyrical prose, which vividly captures the aching beauty and mystique of Oxford.

This was only published way after Forster’s death–and I can quite see why: it would have whipped up a storm of unimaginable controversy with its story of homosexual love between two Cambridge students and then (steady yourself!) one of those students in later life and a rough-and-ready groundsman.

Forster wrote this in 1913/14, revised it in the 1930s and again in the 1950s, died in 1970, and Maurice finally appeared in 1971. So the book, which concerns hiding, was deeply hidden for over half a century. Forster is sentimental in terms of love and brutal in terms of fate.

Love bucks polite society’s norms in the face of the danger of arrest, public scandal, and disgrace. But such love is so delicate and dangerous that any affront to it has to be met with the most decisive action to protect everyone involved–even if the price is loneliness and a life-long… show more.

This is really terrible–if highly moreish–stuff: a thin, junky, first-drafty picaresque. But it formed the basis of a film starring Jackie’s sister, Joan. The film even had a tie-in aftershave (heavy on the ginseng), promising all kinds of advantages for the wearer. The film and the book both try to suggest a deluxe, upmarket, classy melding of disco culture with the post-permissive society sexual freedoms now available to the 1970s bachelor and (as an ill-informed nod to feminism) the businesswoman.

This imagined milieu was a million miles from the sleazy, criminal experience of London’s Soho, which had traditionally been where all this erotic access was clustered. The aspiration was shared by Paul Raymond, who worked to translate the risqué stage shows of the 1960s (think pre-fame Christine Keeler) to more contemporary fare for the proto-Thatcherite managerial class, keen to see what secular society had to offer them and their new… show more.

This shamelessly self-regarding autobiography seems to have been a ghost-(re)written into a biography so that the author’s boasts are afforded a bit more credibility: “Harrison Marks is 40, reasonably good-looking, black hair, a black mustache, tanned and fit”; “His life is women, some of the most beautiful women in the world” etc.

Marks was the epicenter of the post-war British erotic revolution, moving from producing kitsch postcards of topless glamour models snapped in his cat-strewn Soho studios to the direction of truly dire British sex comedies (Come Play With Me is the best remembered), and with 8mm loops for home entertainment being churned out behind the scenes.

Disconcertingly, he often appeared in his work too. By the 1980s, he was reputed to be found, very refreshed, slumped in the corner of the film set while the others got on with the business at hand. This book comes from Marks’s… show more.

Bear is a slim, easy-to-read story about an archivist who travels to a remote northern cabin to catalog its contents, discovering surprising insights about herself and the world. It is funny, it is insightful. It is also marketed as “a tale of erotic love between an archivist and a bear.” Yup. I promise you, though, that somehow it’s not weird – just delightful and strange and highly enjoyable. 

As a young archivist, did I make my first professional conference presentation about this novel? Yes!

Did it limit my career? 

Possibly! 

Does that paper hold the record for most times “bestiality” was mentioned in an Association of Ontario Archivists conference? 

I hope so!

With her singular art style and effortless storytelling skill, Emily Carroll has long been a favorite of mine. When I Arrived at the Castle is a tour de force in erotic horror, comic artistry, and, yes, a very complicated catgirl x vampiress relationship. This is one of those books I am shocked even exists, so thoroughly does it cater to my deepest desires: lush shots of catgirls in bathtubs, peeks at vampiresses through their bedroom keyholes, metaphors so subtle I always find something new when I reread. Carroll outdoes herself with suspense, sexuality, and a sexy red-black-and-grey limited color palette.

This anthology showed me what is possible. Tan’s vision of what speculative fiction could be, inspired me. She wrote: “So I dream of a world, a country, a society, where honoring sexual desire is a part of the foundation upon which it is built, where celebrating eroticism and diversity of desire adds to the order of things.”

Quick note—this series is (IMO) the spiciest of the 5 recommendations I include on my list. And Pearce takes some liberties with historical accuracy. However, her characters are deeply damaged and it takes a powerful love—and storytelling ability—to make them whole and able to fall in love. Those elements are particularly well represented in this tale. I try to avoid recommending book 2 of a series and yes, you really should read book 1 first, but this book does stand alone and I find it the most powerful story of the series.

Thomas’ book taught me that, when we adopt a colonial analysis, we have to rethink every category of analysis: “masculinity” and “femininity,” “heterosexual” and homosexual,” and so on. I also came to accept that there is a deeply sadistic eroticism in all racial and colonial oppression.  

I learned that Western colonialism simultaneously positions African-descended people outside the category “human” while also projecting Western categories of gender and sexuality onto these colonized peoples in order to unjustifiably blame them for the worst behavior imaginable.  

Thomas convinced me that modern theories of gender and sexuality not only fail to provide sufficient critiques of oppression but that they re-inscribe oppressive conceptions of identity by smuggling colonial ideology in the back door, inspiring me to rethink everything I thought I knew about identity.

Beginning with O came out in the 70s, when a feminist or lesbian poet could fill an auditorium, and often did. Broumas's poems are physical, compelling, and intelligent, like this one, which reaches for a forgotten language from a time when women were whole and unafraid of their power.

Again, let me get out of the way and quote: “I work / in silver the tongue-like forms / that curve around a throat // an arm-pit, the upper / thigh, whose significance stirs in me / like a curviform alphabet / that defies // decoding, appears / to consist of vowels, beginning with O, the O- / mega, horseshoe, the cave of sound. / What tiny fragments // survive, mangled into our language. / I am a woman committed to / a politics / of transliteration, the methodology // of a mind / stunned at the suddenly / possible shifts… show more.