Tag Archives: The Sexual Revolution

On Oswald Schwartz And Sex

Ever since I first had the theories of Freud and Jung pounded into me by lecturers labouring under the preposterous assumption that such theories were indispensable aids to literary criticism, I’ve been deeply suspicious of psychology and psychoanalysis.

I warmed to Freud somewhat after I discovered that he had a cocaine habit for a while, but I can’t say I’ve ever been bowled over by any of his major theories.  I hasten to add that even in translation it’s obvious that he was a skilful prose stylist, and I do dip into him from time to time (I have tiny soft-spots for Totem and Taboo and The Future of an Illusion).  I frankly can’t get myself excited about Jung, though.  And I have tried.  Nada.  Maybe next year. Continue reading


Martin Amis’ The Pregnant Widow

If you read Martin Amis without a pencil handy, you’re setting yourself up for trouble.

The kind of trouble that involves searching, later, for the really great bits.  Which is the more troublesome because you’ll get distracted by all the bits that are merely very, very good.  Which means that when you’re looking for the perfect little Amis passage on the English novel, or fellatio, say, or even on beauty, you’re going to have to read the whole book again.

Not that re-reading Martin Amis is ever a chore: but you’ll be impatient to get to a real, world-stopping zinger. Continue reading