“A Career in Sexual Chemistry”

My look at the stories in Brian Stableford’s Sexual Chemistry continues.

Review: “A Career in Sexual Chemistry”, Brian Stableford, 1987.

Cover by Bruce Hogarth

While the preceding “Bedside Conversations” featured, in a sense, a child conceived sans sexual intercourse, this story is definitely concerned with sex (and, secondarily, procreation). Also, while “Bedside Conversations” handwaves its application of genetic engineering away with the phrase “tissue reconstruction”, this story is more specific in its biological speculations. 

The story opens with a discussion about people cursed with surnames having unfortunate historical associations, specifically Hitler and Quisling. Some change their names. Others adapt a “an attitude of defensive stubbornness” against the “mockery of the world”. Others see it as a curse and a challenge to heroically rise above the name. The name Casanova does not come with such associations. Men carrying it can see it as carrying a “mystique” which they could “wittily exploit”. 

But our hero, Giovanni Casanova, is not one of them. He is born in Manchester, UK on Valentine’s Day 1982. (Stableford actually says February 14th thus leaving the irony for the reader to catch.) His father was from a line of impoverished intellectuals unable, due to circumstances, to live up to their potential. He migrated to Manchester in the Depression to escape Fascist Italy. There, despite his good looks, he lived in “placid monogamy” after he married local woman Jenny Spencer. In the tradition of a “traditional working-class family” then, social mobility was regarded as being for sons only. Jenny was an apprentice hairdresser at 16, married at 17, and a mother at 18. 

Giovanni was cursed with looks and physique that were a “non-starter” in the romantic field. He can’t even flash his dark eyes. A bout of childhood measles left him very myopic and slightly crossed eyes hidden behind thick lens. (This is rather autobiographical. Stableford has written that a bout of childhood measles left him with very bad vision.) 

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The Monk

In 2006, I decided to read the works referenced in H. P. Lovecraft’s Supernatural Horror in Literature.

I did make it through most of the Gothic novels he mentioned except for the American gothic novels of Charles Brockden Brown. I didn’t review most of them though you will get a review of Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho at some point.

I did read the notorious William Beckford’s Vathek. Unfortunately, when I was in Bath, England, I didn’t get a chance to see his architectural folly Lansdown Tower.

And I agree with Lovecraft that Charles Maturin’s Melmoth the Wanderer is the best of the Gothic novels he covers. (Though, from Lovecraft’s letters,  he doesn’t seem to have actually been able to get his hands on the whole novel, just excerpts.) You won’t be getting a review of it from me though.

As for the rest of the weird fiction Lovecraft mentioned, I’ve read a surprisingly large amount of it under the impetus of the Deep Ones reading group, part of LibraryThing’s The Weird Tradition discussion group.

 A retro review from June 5, 2006 . . .

Review: The Monk, Matthew Lewis, 1796.Monk

It’s no coincidence that the opening epigraph of Lewis’ one and only novel is from Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure. Both works have pillars of public moral rectitude collapsing after encountering their first major temptation of carnality. Monk Ambrosio figures in for a penny, in for a pound, and starts the slide from mere sex to murder, incest, despair, and damnation.

Lewis’ streamlined prose abandons the detailed descriptions of Gothic architecture and Alpine vistas favored by his model Ann Radcliffe. And, in a plot of not two but four frustrated lovers, he crams many a gruesome incident and image. No Radcliffean rationalism for Lewis. Despite frequent criticms of the superstition of Spain during the Inquistion, this plot revels in the supernatural with curses, ghosts, Bleeding Nuns, Wandering Jews, and the Prince of Demons himself.

Yet, despite the melodrama, there is an air of psychological realism in how Monk Ambrosio rationalizes his escalation of evil. Perhaps more disturbing is the mind of Matilda, his first lover, and her willingness to advise and aid his evil even after he has sexually spurned her. Continue reading