I have never hidden my fascination with Sasha Grey. I follow her on twitter and instagram, and read her articles around the net. If you don’t know who Sasha Grey is (poor yous), SG in a nutshell is that she used to be a porn star, then stopped, but never really got far away from any sex subjects, which is OK in my book. She knows her sex, and she likes what she does, she has that rare passion that a majority of her former colleagues don’t share. I like how she is part of that wave of mainstream porn stars (James Deen, Stoya, etc) who have come up to show the rest of the world that being in porno is not shameful, and that they are having great fun, but also doing shitloads of work. Entertainment business is pish.
So I don’t know why I was so surprised when I started reading her début novel The Juliette Society, that it was all about sex. I mean, I was pretty aware that sex will definitely be involved, but my god, so much details made me blush while reading it. By myself. In my own room. I was blushing. And that is definitely a good thing. With all the 50 Shades of Grey bullshit, the world really needed an actual Grey to come and tell everybody how good sex works – and everybody should listen carefully and take notes. It is clearly visible where Sasha Grey’s strength lays in.
The problem with the novel is that it often doesn’t know whether it wants to be an erotic novel, a thriller, a melodrama, or a philosophical essay. It has parts of everything, and it’s all very well written, but not in the best combination possible. First you’ll get a lengthy and very distracting description of a sex orgy, and two pages later you’ll stumble upon a voluminous gathering of thoughts over the symbolism in Hitchcock’s Vertigo. Information is not well spread throughout the pages, and is sometimes hard to swallow. Some of the characters, questions and issues remain unsolved by the end of the book, and that could be annoying, to say the least. Did Marcus really have sex with Anna? Did he kill her? Did Bob kill her? Did Bob kill anybody at all, or he was just a pure moron? Was I the only person who figured out midway that Bob was the masked hot stranger? And other questions that bug my mind.
It’s just frustrating to finish a book that has so much potential but it’s lost you because of the terrible quick end.
Having said all of that, I did enjoy the novel as a whole, and I don’t regret the £4 I paid for it. There are moments I’ll definitely remember and there are one or two things that I learned along the way. It would’ve been the perfect summer read, if it didn’t come out end of August. And I’ll keep following Grey on twitter, and enjoy the shit out of her face, and I really hope she finds a slightly better editor for her next writing endeavour.
PS. Was I also the only one to imagine her as the main character all the time?