Lust for Life: Tales of Sex & Love, Publisher: Véhicule Press, Paperback $18, ISBN: 978-1550652031, Page count: 180 pp., Released Dec. 2005

Lust for Life is a collection of 21 short stories that claims to be “an orgy of sensual fiction that explores with wit and insight our profound longings for each other.”

Yeah.

Needless to say, quality fiction with an erotic theme is as rare as a winning lottery ticket. Sadly, Lust for Life is yet another losing ticket. Claiming to be the best of 500 pieces submitted from around the world, I can’t help but wonder just how bad the others are. In this collection, some stories involve the erotic couplings of rats with orchids, and gloves porking with feet that were blown off an astronaut’s body during a shuttle explosion.

…Yeah.

Some of the stories try to come off as quirky or romantic by introducing foibles and embarrassing situations. But these texts are so filled with amateur prose and senseless hate that I wonder if the editors chose them because they’re angry that they had to sift through all this literary trash, or if they think they’re being risqué and artistic by publishing stories in which the protagonists hate their former rape victims, take advantage of holocaust survivors, and clone their dead lover’s genitalia (note: these are from three separate stories).

Yeah.

This lottery ticket wins you three prizes, however: J.R. Carpenter’s “The Prettiest Teeth” is a wonderful serving of flash fiction that’s refreshingly romantic. “The Adventures of Ultima” is the most graphic and hilarious piece of smut in the collection, centering on a superheroine whose powers are activated by getting randy. Finally, we have Lust for Life’s only quality erotic fiction piece: Nairne Holtz’s “No Parking.” It’s got slice of life, the sluttish chase factor, and the harsh reality of dating a self-absorbed, self-proclaimed “bisexual,” all without even remotely coming off as “another bull-dyke story.” But are three stories enough?

Nah.

Publisher: Snare Books, Paperback, ISBN: 0973943831, Page count: 70 ppl, Released Sept. 2006

I’ll admit I’ve never seen the appeal of prose-poetry. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m an inexperienced twenty-something writer. A part of me always wants to accuse the writer of masking pretentiousness with poorly structured prose. “Sure, it’s badly written,” I imagine they would reply with a roll of their eyes, a snap of their fingers, and a sip of their expensive vendi-trendy-mocha-whackochino (probably coming to Starbucks by 2011). “But that’s just because you’re not enlightened enough to understand that that’s the point!”

Fucking ignorant, am I right?

So colour me impressed when I actually found myself laughing at half the poems in this collection –when I was supposed to! Though that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve been completely converted to the realm of

it does mean I’ll grab my fork whenever someone plops down a large plate of verbal wit in front of me.

Zoe Whittall’s works in The Emily Valentine Poems will have you smiling, sneering, smirking, and just plain irking in no time at all. At times it seems Whittall is intentionally poking your inner poet with a drollness that all writers should possess whenever addressing the issues of breakups and hang-ups, ending one such poem with the line “Writers make poor housewives, but excellent stalkers.” Other poems will have you laughing in agreement at her observations on the abominate nature of socially successful others (22-year-olds who own their houses piss me off too, Zoe!).

However, I’m not sure this is a collection I should recommend. Sure she pokes our inner poets, and yeah, some works tug on our heart strings, but what about our black-heart strings? If you have ever written a poem or lived in a downtown area at thirty-something, give Whittall a read. You’ll need to look elsewhere for your naughtiness fix, though.

Publisher: Penguin, Paperback, ISBN: 0140183213, Page count: 128 pp., Released Feb. 1996

Colette’s Ripening Seed (translated from the French Le Blé en Herbe) is the story of Phil and Vinca, two co-dependent teenage lovers in the process of evolving from a childhood romance into a serious adult relationship. At least, that’s what they both claim to want. The 15-year-old girl and 16-year-old boy are budding adults and, although they’d never actually make a note of it to anyone other than each other, demand (at least internally) to be treated and addressed as such.

Except, of course, for when they don’t. It’s obvious that the two are feeling torn between their current, younger selves and the adult beings they’re on the verge of becoming, but because the novel is exceptionally slow in its pacing, and because the portrayal of the characters are so bland and formless, rather than coming across as a typical coming-of-age story, Ripening Seed almost ostracizes the reader with superfluous whining on the part of Phil and Vinca.

Enter Mme. Dalleray, Phil’s lovely “Lady in White” and resident seductress/plot device to the story’s rescue. Phil fancies himself the master in his (randomly) verbally abusive relationship with Vinca. The story then follows his challenge to maintain that role once seduced by Mme. Dalleray, as their tryst results in transforming the dominant Phil into a crybaby sub. This change is noted and repulsed by Vinca, but when knowledge of the affair comes to light, she too swaps roles and seduces Phil.

It should be noted that Colette’s descriptions of the landscape are beautifully woven in such a way that they always parallel Phil and Vinca’s relationship. However, they fail in their purpose (i.e. to add to the supposed romantic mood of the text), which leads this reviewer to believe that Ripening Seed’s saving grace has become lost in translation.