books whose poison get under my skin

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so far, i've encountered three books whose essence manages to seep into my skin, temporarily making me agitated with their genius. all, incidentally, read during my university career.

story of o by pauline réage. it made me want to be whipped til i bled and violated by several anonymous men. such debasement, yet so willingly endured. to want to submit to such degradation may seem un-feminist, but i think the opposite. o chooses her fate, albeit originally sold into it by her lover.

a clockwork orange by anthony burgess. a bit cliché, perhaps. makes me want to go out for a bit of the ultra-violence, the old in-out-in-out. i don't entirely feel that alex is evil. i feel almost empathetic. also raises an interesting question about freedom of choice, and whether man is still man without it.

unbearable lightness of being by milan kundera. yet another cliché, but the first book which made me feel all crazy. it absorbed me. i could feel it, how full of passion. a virginal experience, how quaint (insert smirk here).

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last updated 04.01.02