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Somehow I feel that I’m to enjoy (or participate in? Well, you might also know that women are the big readers in Australia as well (I think that’s true. It’s a bit of a pathetic arcade, but it has a Dick Smith and this bookshop. Yay.) I realised I couldn’t tell if I’d wandered out of the Normal Books and into the formerly-known-as-pink book section. She was dressed in her usual black leather pants and silk shirt, looking lanky and predatory. And a vampire (I can’t explain the crucifix thing here, ok). Nor is it like Buffy where the characters deal with coming out and move on – monster attacks kind of taking precedence. And I love them all), does that mean I’m somehow culturally deficient? But because I like trashy music and trashy disco dancing…. Is it un Australian of me to not know the names of any of the 7 little Australians?

So, you know that romance novels (or pink books as they’re known in our family, because they used to be pink) are massively popular, right? Well, ok, so I’m exaggerating on the feminist political theme thing. Anyhoo, when I was browsing in a certain SF bookshop whose name I can’t remember (but it’s worth knowing about – they sell novels at or a bit less, have a shop in The Arcade on Elizabeth, sort of under Melbourne Central. The covers were black, we were talking serious demon hunting and vampyr slaying narrative action. In fact, I think I need to continue with the fashion descriptions, because these books seem to spend more than a little time discussing who’s wearing what. ” Ivy said brightly as she finished adjusting her jacket. If only because we’re looking at a particular female readership. It’s worth pointing out that Ivy is the protagonist’s flatmate. The protagonist (a witch, by genetics, with an athletic build, sparse bosom and curly/frizzy red hair) is heterosexual. The whole vampire-sex-violence-pain thing is kind of overworked, but … It’s not like in Tanya Huff’s books where queer characters are very much ‘normal’ – bi, lesbian, gay bloke, trannie, some combination thereof, whatever. Actually, if you’re easily shocked, you’d best not read it. Ok, so we all know that it’s nice to read a well-written book. But just because I also like trash (and baby, do I like trash – I have seen EVERY SINGLE CHICK FLICK EVER MADE. I love chick flicks – lady films as they’re known in our house. I spent a lot of time in gay clubs as late teen/early twenties person, and not because I’m a fag hag. Even when the SF I read inolves massively fat books, complicated politico/socio/ideological themes and complex characters?

I mean, the people who write miserable stories about nice things or heart warming stories about miserable things or uplifting stories about people triumphing in spite of adversity. I know that that last one’s not cool (nor correctly spelt, I suspect), but fuck. They starting moving beyond ‘real world’ plots, settings and characters and introduced detectives. And were about three times as long as the normal pink books. It’s kind of a give away when a paragraph like that is about a quarter of a page.

By the way, I’ve remembered another Australian author I used to quite like: Sue Woolfe. And I like Peter Carey’s short stories (but not novels). And is preceded by a series of paragraphs explaining every character’s outfit.

But lately I think I’ve strayed into even darker territory. I have no excuse other than the fact that my mother sent it to me in a package from Tasmania with chocolate. I’m not sure if you know, but romance novels went genre bending a few years ago (I know because my mother is a mad pink book fiend and I’ve had to spend far too many hours in Rendezvous Romance (don’t ask me to relive that, please)). Here’s what I do know:the authors are shocking dags – there are far too many discussions of ‘ankle high, vampire-made leather boots’ and “fingers flicked about the deep v-neck of her spandex shirt tucked into her leather pants” (The good, the bad and the undead, p 61). So, ok, I think we can assume I’m in pink book territory. In fact, there’s a lot of saucy talk and innuendo, but no real action. Where level 10 is out and out pron (you have to read it to believe it – those pink book shops, while they’re full of gauzy curtains and New Zealand bees wax candles and posters of chocolate are also stuffed to the gills with all manner of hawt lady pron action. Though a similar obsession with shoes, female ensemble casts and male eye candy. I’m also reading that book about Marconi and wireless telegraph and a crime novel the Supes leant me, but right now I can’t put this particular book down. But I think I’m wanting to say something about ‘literature’ and ‘reading’. And possibly hang a bit of shit on the whole idea of literature. I likes de trash (look, ok, I’m coming out on that one: I cannot read ‘real’ pink books, but I’m enjoying this stuff). Why is it that I still feel like I’m not doing ‘serious’ reading when I’m reading SF?

And before these I read another one by another author called … This stuff reminds me of Tanya Huff, except without the… I think I might have strayed into that land of no-longer-pink books. And now, even after two and a half of them, I’m not sure. Basically, think Charmed, but with a bit more grit. I think, really, for me, this stuff is only one point on a continuum of cultural consumption/practice.

And now I’m reading the second one (that’s it to the left, the image lifted from the site linked above). But I didn’t want to miss the demon-slaying/arse-kicking female protagonist action. Even the matriarch, who knows All Pink Books and has now begun flogging some of her (zillions and zillions – fuck, googleplexes) of pink books off on ebay couldn’t help me.

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And there’s an Australian bloke who writes crime novels (one was called Iron Rose) which/who I liked.

And I like Shane Maloney’s stuff about Coburg and Melbourne) Anyway, back on track, here.

I’ve been thinking about that Australia Day meme and how I couldn’t answer the questions properly. ) the systematic torturing, killing and general Bringing Low of women and other vulnerable people. If not, I made it up, and it’s a myth I’m sticking with). And then they suddenly exploded and were going crazy with the whole sf/speculative/fantastic fiction thing. Now, all this, on the one hand, is vaguely nauseating. The only color to her face was her bright red lipstick. In this stuff the queer thing is kind of background static – I smell ‘bi-curious’ and ‘female queer fantasy’ action where the women ‘are all lesbians’ but don’t do no deep sea diving. Is it wrong for me to not read poetry (and to have pretty much sworn off it so as to avoid flashbacks to my teenaged poetry writing phase?

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And especially, I’ve been thinking about why I don’t much like Tim Winton or those other difficult authors. Sometimes I read crime novels as well, but not too often as I tend to get upset by the implication that you’re supposed to get some sort of readerly pleasure from the in-depth description of torture and serial killers going about their work. So anyhow, a few years ago, as I’ve said, the pink books went genre bending. And they no longer had pink covers – they had black covers. A chain of black gold hung about her neck in place of her usual crucifix -which was now tucked into her jewelry box at home. She had gone further to paint her nails with a clear coat, giving them a subtle shine (same book, pg 100). Oh man, I’m totally having horrible flashbacks as I type this.

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