Boredom

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  After a minute she turned to us and said, “No hauling water from the windmill this time. And if you wait a minute, it turns clear and gets warm.”Mama flicked a light switch on the wall. She and Betty Ann stared at the ceiling, as if to marvel at the result. It wasn’t that we had never experienced modern conveniences; we just never knew when to expect them. We followed Brother Terrell through the kitchen, dining room, little square living room with a couch that folded into a bed, and into the hallway. Three bedrooms opened onto the hall: one for Brother Terrell and Betty Ann; one for Brother Cotton and his wife, Laverne; and one for me, Pam, Randall, and Gary to share. Mama would sleep on the sofa. I pushed through a fourth door. An indoor toilet. I started toward it, but Pam cut in front of me and settled on the seat. She kicked her sturdy tanned legs and beamed a guileless smile, her daddy’s smile, dimples denying any wrongdoing.We unpacked the boxes, placed our plates on the shelves and our flatware into the drawer. We took our clothes from the suitcases, shook out the wrinkles, placed them in the chest of drawers and chifforobes, and smoothed our sheets on the stained yellow mattresses of the beds. Once we settled in, the hours and days turned tedious. It was Saturday and the revival didn’t start until the following Friday night. We were people built for the mountaintop experience, not the humdrum routine of everyday life. The mundane grated on us, and we in turn grated on one another.Everything turned hard. One night as Brother Terrell worked to help lower the tent before a windstorm hit, the winch he turned flew loose and pummeled his arm. Within minutes the arm had puffed up like an inner tube. He prayed for it, and without a call to the doctor, put it in a homemade sling. The tent men dropped one of the big speakers while setting it up under the tent and argued over who was to blame. The house key disappeared and Brother Terrell had to drive across town to pick up another one. And that was just the beginning. The newspaper ads had the wrong dates, and since it was the advance man’s fault, we had to pay to run them again. The constable showed up and informed the tent workers that we had filed the wrong permits. My mother went with Brother Terrell to the courthouse to help him read and figure out the permits. They were gone a long time. When they returned, Betty Ann wouldn’t speak to either of them.The four of us kids took refuge in the falling-down barn behind the house and tried to figure out what to do next. We sprawled on the hay and went through our list: Play church? We had exhausted ourselves on that one. Red rover? Not enough of us for two teams.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  their disdain for convention: Théophile Gautier's red vest, Oscar Wilde's Sometimes, however, the green velvet suit, Andy Warhol's silver wigs. The great English Prime Min- tyranny of elegance became altogether insupportable. A ister Benjamin Disraeli had two magnificent canes, one for morning, one Mr. Boothby committed for evening; at noon he would change canes, no matter where he was. The suicide and left a note female Dandy works similarly. She may adopt male clothing, say, but if she saying he could no longer does, a touch here or there will set her truly apart: no man ever dressed endure the ennui of buttoning and unbuttoning. quite like George Sand. The overtall hat, the riding boots worn on the — T H E GAME OF HEARTS: streets of Paris, made her a sight to behold. HARRIETTE WILSON'S Remember, there must be a reference point. If your visual style is to- MEMOIRS, EDITED BY LESLEY tally unfamiliar, people will think you at best an obvious attention-getter, at BLANCH worst crazy. Instead, create your own fashion sense by adapting and altering prevailing styles to make yourself an object of fascination. Do this right and you will be wildly imitated. The Count d'Orsay, a great London dandy of This royal manner which [ the dandy] raises to the the 1830s and 1840s, was closely watched by fashionable people; one day, height of true royalty, the caught in a sudden London rainstorm, he bought a paltrok, a kind of heavy, dandy has taken this from hooded duffle coat, off the back of a Dutch sailor. The paltrok immediately women, who alone seem naturally made for such a became the coat to wear. Having people imitate you, of course, is a sign of role. It is a somewhat by your powers of seduction. using the manner and the The nonconformity of Dandies, however, goes far beyond appearances. method of women that It is an attitude toward life that sets them apart; adopt that attitude and a the dandy dominates. And this usurpation of circle of followers will form around you. femininity, he makes Dandies are supremely impudent. They don't give a damn about other women themselves approve people, and never try to please. In the court of Louis XIV, the writer La of this. . . . The dandy has something antinatural Bruyere noticed that courtiers who tried hard to please were invariably on and androgynous about the way down; nothing was more anti-seductive. As Barbey d'Aurevilly him, which is precisely how wrote, "Dandies please women by displeasing them." he is able to endlessly seduce. Impudence was fundamental to the appeal of Oscar Wilde. In a London theater one night, after the first performance of one of Wilde's plays, — J U L E S LEMAÎTRE, LES CONTEMPORAINS

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Stars create illusions that are pleasurable to see. The danger is that people tire of them—the illusion no longer fascinates—and turn to another Star. Let this happen and you will find it very difficult to regain your place in the galaxy. You must keep all eyes on you at any cost. Do not worry about notoriety, or about slurs on your image; we are remarkably forgiving of our Stars. After the death of President Kennedy, all kinds of unpleasant truths came to light about him—the endless affairs, the addiction to risk and danger. None of this diminished his appeal, and in fact the public still considers him one of America's greatest presidents. Errol Flynn faced many scandals, including a notorious rape case; they only enhanced his rakish image. Once people have recognized a Star, any kind of publicity, even bad, simply feeds the obsession. Of course you can go too far: people like a Star to have a transcendent beauty, and too much human frailty will eventually disillusion them. But bad publicity is less of a danger than disappearing for too long, or growing too distant. You cannot haunt people's dreams if they never see you. At the same time, you cannot let the public get too familiar with you, or let your image become predictable. People will turn against you in an instant if you begin to bore them, for boredom is the ultimate social evil. Perhaps the greatest danger Stars face is the endless attention they elicit. Obsessive attention can become disconcerting and worse. As any attractive woman can attest, it is tiring to be gazed at all the time, and the effect can be destructive, as is shown by the story of Marilyn Monroe. The solution is to develop the kind of distance from yourself that Dietrich had—take the attention and idolatry with a grain of salt, and maintain a certain detachment from them. Approach your own image playfully. Most important, never become obsessed with the obsessive quality of people's interest in you. Se- ducers draw you in by the fo- cused, individualized atten- tion they pay to you. Anti-Seducers are the opposite: insecure, self-absorbed, and unable to grasp the psychology of an- other person, they literally repel. Anti- Seducers have no self-awareness, and never realize when they are pestering, imposing, talking too much. They lack the subtlety to create the promise of pleasure that seduc- tion requires. Root out anti-seductive qualities in yourself, and recognize them in others— there is no pleasure or profit in dealing with the Anti-Seducer. Typology of the Anti-Seducers

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  This is the lure of the exotic. In your role of seducer, try to position battles have been won, that there is no longer an yourself as coming from outside, as a stranger of sorts. You represent Create a Need—Stir Anxiety and Discontent • 209 change, difference, a breakup of routines. Make your victims feel that by American frontier. • But I comparison their lives are boring and their friends less interesting than they trust that no one in this vast assemblage will agree had thought. Lawrence made his targets feel personally inadequate; if you with those sentiments. . . . find it hard to be so brutal, concentrate on their friends, their circum- • . . . I tell you the New stances, the externals of their lives. There are many legends of Don Juan, Frontier is here, whether but they often describe him seducing a village girl by making her feel that we seek it or not. . . . It would be easier to shrink her life is horribly provincial. He, meanwhile, wears glittering clothes and back from that frontier, to has a noble bearing. Strange and exotic, he is always from somewhere else. look to the safe mediocrity First she feels the boredom of her life, then she sees him as her salvation. of the past, to be lulled by good intentions and high Remember: people prefer to feel that if their life is uninteresting, it not be- rhetoric— and those who cause of themselves but because of their circumstances, the dull people prefer that course should they know, the town into which they were born. Once you make them feel not cast their votes for me, regardless of party. • But I the lure of the exotic, seduction is easy. believe that the times Another devilishly seductive area to aim at is the victim's past. To grow demand invention, old is to renounce or compromise youthful ideals, to become less sponta- innovation, imagination, decision. I am asking each neous, less alive in a way. This knowledge lies dormant in all of us. As a se- of you to be new pioneers ducer you must bring it to the surface, make it clear how far people have on that New Frontier. My strayed from their past goals and ideals. You, in turn, present yourself as call is to the young in representing that ideal, as offering a chance to recapture lost youth through heart, regardless of age. adventure—through seduction. In her later years, Queen Elizabeth I of En- —JOHN F. KENNEDY, ACCEPTANCE SPEECH AS THE gland was known as a rather stern and demanding ruler. She made it a point PRESIDENTIAL NOMINEE OF THE not to let her courtiers see anything soft or weak in her. But then Robert DEMOCRATIC PARTY, QUOTED IN Devereux, the second Earl of Essex, came to court. Much younger than JOHN HELLMANN, THE KENNEDY OBSESSION: THE

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  The employers of the elect insisted that they show up for work, revival or no revival, and that kept the morning and afternoon services small, quiet, and dull as dirt. The only movement was the occasional flick of a fan fashioned from the “Repent and Be Saved” flyers we printed and handed out as advertisements. Beyond the rows of empty chairs, beyond the rolled-up canvas curtain, beyond the hot white light reflected off the dusty automobiles parked in neat lines across the gray clumpy field, beyond the field and the sticky tar of the highway lay the world with its oscillating fans, water-cooling units, and air conditioners . I eyed the glare beating through the tent above me and wondered why it never stormed during the morning services.Brother Terrell perched on a chair in the middle of the platform. He was early into his latest fast and already everything about him seemed sharper, more focused. He had declared fasts before, for a week, two weeks, thirty days. This time it was different. This time he wouldn’t eat until he heard from God. Fasting mortified the flesh and honed the spirit, and that made it easier to get to God. He was dark as a crow with his black hair and black suit. The Bible lay open on his lap and his finger traced Jesus’s red-letter words. “Verily, verily I say unto you . . .” The visiting ministers sat behind him in rows, all dressed in the same dark suits. My mother had moved away from the organ bench and arranged herself at the end of a row, legs crossed, face eager, her body pointed toward the true north of Brother Terrell. Under the dark heavy fabric of her ankle-length skirt, her leg pumped back and forth. Mama had taken to wearing long skirts and dresses as a consecration, a sort of secret pact between her and God. Despite her high-necked, long-sleeved blouse and heavy skirts, she looked unfazed by the heat. I picked up my paper fan and moved it across my face. Hot air. My mother, the preachers, and Brother Terrell seemed so removed up there on the platform. Their zeal for God turned the ordinary comforts of life into something as unnecessary as a dime-store whatnot.Down here in the valley things were different. Pasted to the back of my chair with nothing to distract me, I counted seven new beads of sweat rolling down my body. I slumped in my seat, head lolling on my shoulder. My dress, petticoat, panties, and socks were soggy. I was indeed a poor little thing. My eyes rolled up to Laverne, Brother Cotton’s wife, searching for pity. She bent over her Bible, following Brother Terrell as he marched through scripture, hup, two, three, four, verily, verily.Gary and I sat through the services with Laverne now instead of Betty Ann. When Betty Ann became pregnant, Mama said it was too much of a burden on her to watch us.

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  In all that time, he had not once roused the audience to its feet, danced across the platform, or asked a single person to run around the tent for Jesus. His Bible lay open on the pulpit and his finger moved across the page. “Hebrews, chapter eleven, verse one. ‘Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’ ”The thin slats of the wooden folding chair cut into the backs of my legs. The crinoline petticoat my mother forced me into sawed at my waist. A three-year-old’s version of hell. I yawned and squinted across the curved backs of all those people, leaning over the Bibles flapped opened in their laps. Hungry, hungry, devouring every morsel of spiritual food Brother Terrell handed down.“Now what does that mean—faith is the substance of things hoped for? Everyone thinks Paul is talking about miracles here, and he is. But that ain’t all he’s saying. He’s saying faith is a real thing in the world. It has substance. It is substance. Amen?” He looked over his shoulder at the preachers lined up behind him on the platform.“Amen. That’s right.” Their heads bobbed in unison.Brother Terrell pulled at his nose, put his hands on both sides of the pulpit, and rocked forward. “Let’s go on a little deeper in the Word now. Hebrews, chapter eleven, verse three. ‘Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear. ’ ”He moved out from behind the pulpit and strolled up and down the platform. He held the microphone so close to his lips, it was almost in his mouth. “Saints, this means the world and everything in it was spoken into existence by the world of faith. What Paul is saying here is that the very earth we walk on, the earth we are made up of, was created by faith. Are y’all with me?”Amen, they were.He walked over to the song leader, who sat with the ministers on the platform. “Brother Cotton, what time is it?” The man looked at his watch and mouthed back the answer.Brother Terrell turned back to the audience. “It’s eleven thirty. Time flies, don’t it? Y’all ready to go home?”The crowd yelled, “NO!”I groaned and dropped my sweaty forehead into my hand. I had faith that if something didn’t happen soon, I would die of boredom and go straight to Beelzebub. My legs pumped back and forth, hitting the underside of my chair. Betty Ann reached across Pam, grabbed my knee, and applied pressure.“What?”She shook her head from side to side. My brother lay with his head in Betty Ann’s lap and his body curled in the chair on the other side of her. My legs slowed. A stream of drool oozed from his sagging mouth onto Betty Ann’s skirt.

• From Detransition, Baby (2021)

  Reese smiles at her, hoping the inadvertent insult has passed. Katrina takes a sip of her bitter water and asks Reese mildly, “Are you friends with many women, Reese?” The question would have had more bite, maybe even bite that Reese deserved, but Katrina suddenly adds, “cis women, I mean.” She says the word “cis” like she’d just learned it. Probably she had. Well, now they’ve both committed faux pas. So much the better. At that moment, the crowd around them begins to buzz and move. “Ts the dinner starting?” Katrina asks. A man passing by responds as he walks, “Sarah Jessica Parker just arrived. She’s not going to the Met Gala this year, so she’s going big with her fashion here.” “Thank you,” says Ames to this unexpected docent, now hurrying away; then to Reese, “You two go gawk, I'll stay here and save our seats.” At the center of a scrum of people, Sarah Jessica Parker smiles tightly in a massive confection of silk. Two women beside Reese discuss whether it’s the same gown they had seen in an Elie Saab show. Katrina looks bored and then suddenly Reese is very bored too. She remembers a certain definition of glamour: the happiness of being envied while not envying back your enviers. To her surprise, Reese has no envy to instantiate and fuel the glamour engine. She just sees a tired woman tolerating encasement in what appears to be a very expensive sissy dress. Back at the couch, Ames asks how it was and Katrina replies, “Sarah Jessica Parker is all right, but I was hoping she’d arrive with her husband. I always had a thing for Ferris Bueller, but I didn’t see him. Or are they divorced now?” “God I hope so,” Reese says. “You hope they’re divorced? Why?” Katrina asks. “T love divorced cis women,” Reese says. “Divorced cis women are my favorite people on earth. Have you ever been divorced?” “You must know I have been,” Katrina says. “Yes, Ames told me. But I was trying not to sell him out for once.” Ames speaks up. “It’s fine. I told Katrina all your secrets too.” Reese waves a dismissive hand. Her gel nails flash in the light. “As if you knew my secrets.” Reese turns back to Katrina. “The only people who have anything worthwhile to say about gender are divorced cis women who have given up on heterosexuality but are still attracted to men.” Katrina leans in. “Really?” She’s interested, Reese can tell. She’s asked the question with a plain curiosity.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Ellington was an Aesthetic Rake, a type whose obsession with women the nurturer of love. In fact even if the lover is can only be satisfied by endless variety. A normal man's tomcatting will oppressed not by genuine eventually land him in hot water, but the Aesthetic Rake rarely stirs up ugly jealousy but by base emotions. After he seduces a woman, there is neither an integration nor a suspicion, love always increases because of it, and sacrifice. He keeps them hanging and hoping. The spell is not broken the becomes more powerful by next day, because the Aesthetic Rake makes the separation a pleasant, even its own strength. elegant experience. The spell Ellington cast on a woman never went away. — ANDREAS CAPELLANUS The lesson is simple: keep the moments after the seduction and the ON LOVE, TRANSLATED separation in the same key as before, heightened, aesthetic, and pleasant. If BY P. G. WALSH you do not act guilty for your feckless behavior, it is hard for the other person to feel angry or resentful. Seduction is a lighthearted game, in which you invest all of your energy in the moment. The separation should be You've seen the fire that lighthearted and stylish as well: it is work, travel, some dreaded responsi- smolders \ Down to nothing, grows a crown of bility that calls you away. Create a memorable experience and then move pale ash \ Over its hidden on, and your victim will most likely remember the delightful seduction, embers (yet a sprinkling of not the separation. You will have made no enemies, and will have a lifelong sulphur \ Will suffice to rekindle the flame)? \ So harem of lovers to whom you can always return when you feel so inclined. with the heart. It grows torpid from lack of worry, \ Needs a sharp stimulus to 4. In 1899, twenty-year-old Baroness Frieda von Richthofen married an elicit love. \ Get her anxious about you, reheat Englishman named Ernest Weekley, a professor at the University of Nother tepid passions, \ Tell tingham, and soon settled into the role of the professor's wife. Weekley her your guilty secrets, treated her well, but she grew bored with their quiet life and his tepid love-watch her blanch. \ Thrice fortunate that man, lucky making. On trips home to Germany she had a few love affairs, but this past calculation, \ Who can wasn't what she wanted either, and so she returned to being faithful and make some poor injured caring for their three children. girl \ Torture herself over him, lose voice, go pale, One day in 1912, a former student of Weekley's, David Herbert pass out when \ The Lawrence, paid a visit to the couple's house. A struggling writer, Lawrence unwelcome news reaches wanted the professor's professional advice. He was not home yet so Frieda her. Ah, may I \ Be the

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  That would make for a very tepid seduc- tion. Which is not to say that only evil or wild behavior is seductive; good- ness, kindness, and an aura of spirituality can be tremendously attractive, since they are rare qualities. But notice that the game is the same. A person who is kind or good or spiritual within the limits that society prescribes has a weak appeal. It is those who go to the extreme—the Gandhis, the Krish- namurtis—who seduce us. They do not merely expound a spiritual life- style, they do away with all personal material comfort to live out their ascetic ideals. They too go beyond the limits, transgressing acceptable be- havior, because societies would find it hard to function if everyone went to such lengths. In seduction, there is absolutely no power in respecting boundaries and limits. Use Spiritual Lures Every- one has doubts and in- securities—about their body, their self-worth, their sexuality. If your seduction appeals exclusively to the physical, you will stir up these doubts and make your targets self-conscious. Instead, lure them out of their insecurities by making them fo- cus on something sublime and spiritual: a religious experience, a lofty work of art, the occult. Play up your divine qualities; affect an air of discontent with worldly things; speak of the stars, destiny, the hidden threads that unite you and the object of the seduc- tion. Lost in a spiritual mist, the target will feel light and uninhibited. Deepen the effect of your seduction by making its sexual cul- mination seem like the spiritual union of two souls. Object of Worship L iane de Pougy was the reigning courtesan of 1890s Paris. Slender and androgynous, she was a novelty, and the wealthiest men in Europe vied to possess her. By late in the decade, however, she had grown tired of it all. "What a sterile life," she wrote a friend. "Always the same routine: the Bois, the races, fittings; and to end an insipid day: dinner!" What wearied the courtesan most was the constant attention of her male admirers, who sought to monopolize her physical charms. One spring day in 1899, Liane was riding in an open carriage through the Bois de Boulogne. As usual, men tipped their hats at her as she passed by. But one of these admirers caught her by surprise: a young woman with long blond hair, who gave her an intense, worshipful stare. Liane smiled at the woman, who smiled and bowed in return.

• From Detransition, Baby (2021)

  Reese smiles at her, hoping the inadvertent insult has passed. Katrina takes a sip of her bitter water and asks Reese mildly, “Are you friends with many women, Reese?” The question would have had more bite, maybe even bite that Reese deserved, but Katrina suddenly adds, “cis women, I mean.” She says the word “cis” like she’d just learned it. Probably she had. Well, now they’ve both committed faux pas. So much the better. At that moment, the crowd around them begins to buzz and move. “Ts the dinner starting?” Katrina asks. A man passing by responds as he walks, “Sarah Jessica Parker just arrived. She’s not going to the Met Gala this year, so she’s going big with her fashion here.” “Thank you,” says Ames to this unexpected docent, now hurrying away; then to Reese, “You two go gawk, I'll stay here and save our seats.” At the center of a scrum of people, Sarah Jessica Parker smiles tightly in a massive confection of silk. Two women beside Reese discuss whether it’s the same gown they had seen in an Elie Saab show. Katrina looks bored and then suddenly Reese is very bored too. She remembers a certain definition of glamour: the happiness of being envied while not envying back your enviers. To her surprise, Reese has no envy to instantiate and fuel the glamour engine. She just sees a tired woman tolerating encasement in what appears to be a very expensive sissy dress. Back at the couch, Ames asks how it was and Katrina replies, “Sarah Jessica Parker is all right, but I was hoping she’d arrive with her husband. I always had a thing for Ferris Bueller, but I didn’t see him. Or are they divorced now?” “God I hope so,” Reese says. “You hope they’re divorced? Why?” Katrina asks. “T love divorced cis women,” Reese says. “Divorced cis women are my favorite people on earth. Have you ever been divorced?” “You must know I have been,” Katrina says. “Yes, Ames told me. But I was trying not to sell him out for once.” Ames speaks up. “It’s fine. I told Katrina all your secrets too.” Reese waves a dismissive hand. Her gel nails flash in the light. “As if you knew my secrets.” Reese turns back to Katrina. “The only people who have anything worthwhile to say about gender are divorced cis women who have given up on heterosexuality but are still attracted to men.” Katrina leans in. “Really?” She’s interested, Reese can tell. She’s asked the question with a plain curiosity.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  “Are you going to help me?” “I’ve been working. What about them?” I pointed at the other two girls. They both looked up, pausing in their conversation. Rachel said, “Mind your own business,” but they both unfurled their skinny legs and stood up to resume the activity. Minutes later, one of the demonstrators came to retrieve me. “Celena, come with me. I’m going to put you on socks with Chloe.” I followed the demonstrator to a vacant dorm building. We climbed the porch steps and opened the door. Inside sat one small girl in a large room filled only with boxes. A formidable hill of mismatched socks lay in front of her next to an even smaller pile of matched socks tucked into each other. Off to the side were more socks of various colors and sizes laid out singly in long rows, all in need of a match. The box before her was half full of still more socks, but most worrisome were the boxes that had not yet been attended to. They filled the room in stacks. Chloe glanced up at us, her narrow face wan with resignation and boredom, but her brown eyes lit up when she saw that she had company. We worked all day sorting, matching and talking. The next day was a repeat of the first. I longed for the weekend to be over. The following week our regular academic lessons were supplemented with more psychology, including a lesson about Freud’s analysis of the human psyche and an introduction to Maslow and his theory of self-actualization. These lessons were over my head. Some of the older children understood the information, throwing out terms like “inner critic,” “reality principle,” “autonomy” and “transcendence” as we sat grouped at round tables, filling out charts and bubbles. Completely lost, I retreated into daydreams. The next afternoon we were given a non-coed sex workshop. Having showered and changed into our pajamas, we were ushered into the living room to lounge on large throw pillows and beanbags, lending the feeling of a slumber party. Styrofoam cups of hot cider with cinnamon sticks were distributed. Linda sat in a chair, waiting as we received our drinks. Whisperers circulated among us about this newest seminar topic. Once we’d settled down, Linda smiled, her round moon face gleaming in the subdued lighting. She spread her hands graciously, leaning toward us. “We are here to talk about our bodies and our sexuality. This is an open, safe space. You are free to say anything you like on the subject of sex and to share your thoughts.” She sat back. The silence provided its own sound, a ringing in my ears. Most of us were frozen with our cider in our hands. A few girls tittered. Linda opened her hands magnanimously and I focused on her long slim fingers while I sipped my drink. “At some point or another we discover masturbation, and it’s a very nice feeling, wouldn’t you all agree?” she said.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  They live for pleasure, not for work; they surround themselves with beautiful objects and eat and drink Sometimes, however, the tyranny of elegance became altogether insupportable. A Mr. Boothby committed suicide and left a note saying he could no longer endure the ennui of buttoning and unbuttoning. —THE GAME OF HEARTS: HARRIETTE WILSON'S MEMOIRS, EDITED BY LESLEY BLANCH This royal manner which [the dandy] raises to the height of true royalty, the dandy has taken this from women, who alone seem naturally made for such a role. It is a somewhat by using the manner and the method of women that the dandy dominates. And this usurpation of femininity, he makes women themselves approve of this. . . . The dandy has something antinatural and androgynous about him, which is precisely how he is able to endlessly seduce. —JULES LEMAÎTRE, LES CONTEMPORAINS 50 • The Art of Seduction with the same relish they show for their clothes. This was how the great Roman writer Petronius, author of the Satyricon, was able to seduce the emperor Nero. Unlike the dull Seneca, the great Stoic thinker and Nero's tutor, Petronius knew how to make every detail of life a grand aesthetic ad- venture, from a feast to a simple conversation. This is not an attitude you should impose on those around you—you can't make yourself a nuisance— but if you simply seem socially confident and sure of your taste, people will be drawn to you. The key is to make everything an aesthetic choice. Your ability to alleviate boredom by making life an art will make your company highly prized. The opposite sex is a strange country we can never know, and this ex- cites us, creates the proper sexual tension. But it is also a source of annoy- ance and frustration. Men do not understand how women think, and vice versa; each tries to make the other act more like a member of their own sex. Dandies may never try to please, but in this one area they have a pleas- ing effect: by adopting psychological traits of the opposite sex, they appeal to our inherent narcissism. Women identified with Rudolph Valentino's delicacy and attention to detail in courtship; men identified with Lou Andreas-Salomé's lack of interest in commitment. In the Heian court of eleventh-century Japan, Sei Shonagon, the writer of The Pillow Book, was powerfully seductive for men, especially literary types. She was fiercely in- dependent, wrote poetry with the best, and had a certain emotional dis- tance. Men wanted more from her than just to be her friend or companion, as if she were another man; charmed by her empathy for male psychology, they fell in love with her. This kind of mental transvestism—the ability to enter the spirit of the opposite sex, adapt to their way of thinking, mirror their tastes and attitudes—can be a key element in seduction.

• From Bright Lights, Big City (1984)

  book review you wrote for the Village Voice a while back. Nobody reads book reviews in the Voice, but you admire the diligence exhibited by Fox’s assistant in tracking the thing down. He mentions an opening at Harper’s that might be right for you, and says that he could put in a good word. He is too kind. He wasn’t nearly so friendly when you met him at the publication party for his last book. “I met Clara Tillinghast a few weeks ago,” he says. “No man I’d care to drink with could put up with that for long. My sources tell me she had it in for you from the start.” “Short honeymoon, long divorce.” “Would it be accurate to say that she is something of a bitch on wheels?” “I think she has treads, actually. Like a Sherman tank. But it would be a tough thing to verify.” “I guess you know I’m writing a piece on the magazine.” “Really?” “I was hoping you might be able to give me some background. You know—human interest, anecdotes.” “You want smut?” “Whatever you’ve got.” A baby cockroach is working its way up the wall next to the phone. Should you crush it or let it pass? “I was just a little worker bee. I don’t think I could tell you anything of national interest.” “Let’s face it. The stagehands have the best view in the house.” “It’s a pretty dull place,” you say. Already it seems so far behind you, the office politics and the broom-closet affairs no more interesting there than elsewhere. “Why feel loyal to them? They threw you out on your ass.” “The whole subject just bores me.” “Let’s have lunch. Bat some ideas around. Say, Russian Tea Room at one-thirty?”

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  “Are you going to help me?” “I’ve been working. What about them?” I pointed at the other two girls. They both looked up, pausing in their conversation. Rachel said, “Mind your own business,” but they both unfurled their skinny legs and stood up to resume the activity. Minutes later, one of the demonstrators came to retrieve me. “Celena, come with me. I’m going to put you on socks with Chloe.” I followed the demonstrator to a vacant dorm building. We climbed the porch steps and opened the door. Inside sat one small girl in a large room filled only with boxes. A formidable hill of mismatched socks lay in front of her next to an even smaller pile of matched socks tucked into each other. Off to the side were more socks of various colors and sizes laid out singly in long rows, all in need of a match. The box before her was half full of still more socks, but most worrisome were the boxes that had not yet been attended to. They filled the room in stacks. Chloe glanced up at us, her narrow face wan with resignation and boredom, but her brown eyes lit up when she saw that she had company. We worked all day sorting, matching and talking. The next day was a repeat of the first. I longed for the weekend to be over. The following week our regular academic lessons were supplemented with more psychology, including a lesson about Freud’s analysis of the human psyche and an introduction to Maslow and his theory of self-actualization. These lessons were over my head. Some of the older children understood the information, throwing out terms like “inner critic,” “reality principle,” “autonomy” and “transcendence” as we sat grouped at round tables, filling out charts and bubbles. Completely lost, I retreated into daydreams. The next afternoon we were given a non-coed sex workshop. Having showered and changed into our pajamas, we were ushered into the living room to lounge on large throw pillows and beanbags, lending the feeling of a slumber party. Styrofoam cups of hot cider with cinnamon sticks were distributed. Linda sat in a chair, waiting as we received our drinks. Whisperers circulated among us about this newest seminar topic. Once we’d settled down, Linda smiled, her round moon face gleaming in the subdued lighting. She spread her hands graciously, leaning toward us. “We are here to talk about our bodies and our sexuality. This is an open, safe space. You are free to say anything you like on the subject of sex and to share your thoughts.” She sat back. The silence provided its own sound, a ringing in my ears. Most of us were frozen with our cider in our hands. A few girls tittered. Linda opened her hands magnanimously and I focused on her long slim fingers while I sipped my drink. “At some point or another we discover masturbation, and it’s a very nice feeling, wouldn’t you all agree?” she said.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Sir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the next day at the park. Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to dine with them oftener than they dined at the cottage, absolutely refused on her own account; her daughters might do as they pleased. But they had no curiosity to see how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their dinner, and no expectation of pleasure from them in any other way. They attempted, therefore, likewise, to excuse themselves; the weather was uncertain, and not likely to be good. But Sir John would not be satisfied—the carriage should be sent for them and they must come. Lady Middleton too, though she did not press their mother, pressed them. Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer joined their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid a family party; and the young ladies were obliged to yield. “Why should they ask us?” said Marianne, as soon as they were gone. “The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we have it on very hard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever any one is staying either with them, or with us.” “They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now,” said Elinor, “by these frequent invitations, than by those which we received from them a few weeks ago. The alteration is not in them, if their parties are grown tedious and dull. We must look for the change elsewhere.” CHAPTER XX. As the Miss Dashwoods entered the drawing-room of the park the next day, at one door, Mrs. Palmer came running in at the other, looking as good humoured and merry as before. She took them all most affectionately by the hand, and expressed great delight in seeing them again. “I am so glad to see you!” said she, seating herself between Elinor and Marianne, “for it is so bad a day I was afraid you might not come, which would be a shocking thing, as we go away again tomorrow. We must go, for the Westons come to us next week you know. It was quite a sudden thing our coming at all, and I knew nothing of it till the carriage was coming to the door, and then Mr. Palmer asked me if I would go with him to Barton. He is so droll! He never tells me any thing! I am so sorry we cannot stay longer; however we shall meet again in town very soon, I hope.” They were obliged to put an end to such an expectation. “Not go to town!” cried Mrs. Palmer, with a laugh, “I shall be quite disappointed if you do not. I could get the nicest house in the world for you, next door to ours, in Hanover-square. You must come, indeed. I am sure I shall be very happy to chaperon you at any time till I am confined, if Mrs. Dashwood should not like to go into public.”

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  And the most effective actors have an inner distance: like Dietrich, they can mold their physical presence as if they perceived it from the outside. This inner distance fascinates us. Stars are playful about themselves, always adjusting their image, adapting it to the times. Nothing is more laughable than an image that was fashionable ten years ago but isn't any more. Stars must always renew their luster or face the worst possible fate: oblivion. Symbol: The Idol. A piece of stone carved into the shape of a god, perhaps glittering with gold and jewels. The eyes of the worshippers fill the stone with life, imagining it to have real powers. Its shape allows them to see what they want to see—a god—but it is actually just a piece of stone. The god lives in their imaginations. 130 • The Art of Seduction Dangers S tars create illusions that are pleasurable to see. The danger is that people tire of them—the illusion no longer fascinates—and turn to another Star. Let this happen and you will find it very difficult to regain your place in the galaxy. You must keep all eyes on you at any cost. Do not worry about notoriety, or about slurs on your image; we are re- markably forgiving of our Stars. After the death of President Kennedy, all kinds of unpleasant truths came to light about him—the endless affairs, the addiction to risk and danger. None of this diminished his appeal, and in fact the public still considers him one of America's greatest presidents. Errol Flynn faced many scandals, including a notorious rape case; they only en- hanced his rakish image. Once people have recognized a Star, any kind of publicity, even bad, simply feeds the obsession. Of course you can go too far: people like a Star to have a transcendent beauty, and too much human frailty will eventually disillusion them. But bad publicity is less of a danger than disappearing for too long, or growing too distant. You cannot haunt people's dreams if they never see you. At the same time, you cannot let the public get too familiar with you, or let your image become predictable. People will turn against you in an instant if you begin to bore them, for boredom is the ultimate social evil. Perhaps the greatest danger Stars face is the endless attention they elicit. Obsessive attention can become disconcerting and worse. As any attractive woman can attest, it is tiring to be gazed at all the time, and the effect can be destructive, as is shown by the story of Marilyn Monroe. The solution is to develop the kind of distance from yourself that Dietrich had—take the attention and idolatry with a grain of salt, and maintain a certain detach- ment from them.

• From The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty (1983)

  Prince Alexi paused to kiss Beauty again and soothe her. "Don't try to understand all I say just now. That is, don't try to find immediate meaning in it," he said. "Merely listen and learn and perhaps what I tell you shall save you some mistakes, give you different paths for the mind later. Ah, you are so tender to me, my secret flower." He would have embraced her again, perhaps become carried away again by his passion again, but she stopped him with a touch of her fingers to his lips. "But tell me, when you were shackled to the wall, what did you think of...when you were alone, did you daydream, and what did you dream?" "What a strange question," he said. Beauty seemed very serious. "Did you think of your former life, and wish you were free for this or that pleasure?" "Not really," he said slowly. "I thought rather of what would happen to me next, I suppose. I don't know. Why do you ask this?" Beauty didn't reply, but she had dreamed three times since she had come and each time of her old life to her had seemed grim and fraught with tiny worries. She remembered hours with her embroidery, and the endless bowing at Court to the Princes who kissed her hand. She remembered sitting quite still for hours at interminable banquets where others talked and drank, and she had felt only boredom. "Please continue, Alexi," she said gently. "But to whom does the Queen give you when she's displeased?" "Ah, that is a question with several answers," he said. "But let me proceed. You can well imagine what my existence was, the hours of boredom and solitude broken only by these diversions: the Queen herself, Prince Gerald's punishment, or the fierce paddling from Felix. Well, soon, in spite of myself and my rage, I commenced to show my excitement whenever the Queen came into the chamber. She ridiculed me for it, but she marked it. And now and then, I could not conceal it when I saw Prince Gerald so boldly erect and taking his pleasure of one of the other slaves, or even taking the paddle. The Queen observed all this, and each time she saw that my organ was stiff and beyond my will, she would have Felix at once deliver a hard spanking to me. I struggled, I tried to curse her, and at first these spankings quelled my passion, but very soon they did not quell it. And the Queen added to my misery with her own hands, slapping my penis, stroking it, and then slapping it again at the very moment that Felix was punishing me.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  less other less important women. He craved variety. One evening in 1668, The duchess finally got the king spent an evening at the theater, where he conceived a sudden de-bored seeing people looking sire for a young actress called Nell Gwyn. She was pretty and innocent all over the floor for the ring. She looked around looking (only eighteen at the time), with a girlish glow in her cheeks, but haughtily, then took Duke the lines she recited onstage were so impudent and saucy. Deeply excited, by the arm, saying, "It the king decided he had to have her. After the performance he took her doesn't mean anything. I can always get diamonds, out for a night of drinking and merriment, then led her to his royal bed. but how often can I get a Nell was the daughter of a fishmonger, and had begun by selling orman like Duke anges in the theater. She rose to the status of actress by sleeping with writ-Ellington?" • She ers and other theater men. She had no shame about this. (When a footman disappeared with Duke. The band started the of hers got into a fight with someone who said he worked for a whore, she second half by themselves, broke it up by saying, "I am a whore. Find something better to fight and eventually Duke about.") Nell's humor and sass amused the king greatly, but she was low-smilingly reappeared to finish the concert. born, and an actress, and he could hardly make her a favorite. After several — D O N GEORGE, S W E E T M A N : nights with "pretty, witty Nell," he returned to his principal mistress, THE REAL DUKE ELLINGTON Louise Keroualle, a well-born Frenchwoman. Keroualle was a clever seductress. She played hard to get, and made it clear she would not give the king her virginity until he had promised her a title. It was the kind of chase Charles enjoyed, and he made her the I do know, however, that men become bigger-hearted Duchess of Portsmouth. But soon her greed and difficultness began to wear and better lovers once they on his nerves. To divert himself, he turned back to Nell. Whenever he vis-get the suspicion that their ited her, he was royally entertained with food, drink, and her great good mistresses care less about them. When a man humor. The king was bored or melancholy? She took him drinking or believes himself to be the gambling, or out to the country, where she taught him to fish. She always one and only lover in a had a pleasant surprise up her sleeve. What he loved most of all was her woman's life, he'll whistle and go his way. • / ought wit, the way she mocked the pretentious Keroualle. The duchess had the to know; I have followed habit of going into mourning whenever a nobleman of another country this profession for the last

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  But it went on for years, and was always the same. Soon, Madame Mao's supposedly unpredictable mood swings just annoyed him. You need to vary the method of your surprises. When Madame de Pompadour was the lover of the inveterately bored King Louis XV, she made each surprise different— a new amusement, a new game, a new fashion, a new mood. He could never predict what would come next, and while he waited for the next sur- prise, his willpower was temporarily suspended. No man was ever more of a slave to a woman than was Louis to Madame de Pompadour. When you change direction, make the new direction truly new. Use the Demonic Power of Words to Sow Confusion It is hard to make people listen; they are consumed with their own thoughts and desires, and have little time for yours. The trick to making them listen is to say what they want to hear, to fill their ears with whatever is pleasant to them. This is the essence of seduc- tive language. Inflame people's emotions with loaded phrases, flatter them, comfort their insecurities, envelop them in fantasies, sweet words, and promises, and not only will they listen to you, they will lose their will to resist you. Keep your lan- guage vague, letting them read into it what they want. Use writing to stir up fantasies and to create an idealized portrait of your- self. Seductive Oratory O n May 13, 1958, right-wing Frenchmen and their sympathizers in the army seized control of Algeria, which was then a French colony. They had been afraid that France's socialist government would grant Alge- ria its independence. Now, with Algeria under their control, they threat- ened to take over all of France. Civil war seemed imminent. At this dire moment all eyes turned to General Charles de Gaulle, the World War II hero who had played a crucial role in liberating France from the Nazis. For the last ten years de Gaulle had stayed away from politics, dis- gusted with the infighting among the various parties. He remained very popular, and was generally seen as the one man who could unite the country, but he was also a conservative, and the right-wingers felt certain that if he came to power he would support their cause. Days after the May 13 coup, the French government—the Fourth Republic—collapsed, and the parlia- ment called on de Gaulle to help form a new government, the Fifth Repub- lic. He asked for and was granted full powers for four months. On June 4, days after becoming the head of government, de Gaulle flew to Algeria. The French colonials were ecstatic.

• From The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty (1983)

  "I'm your slave, my Prince," she said. But he would only moan and press his face into her neck, and seemed bereft. "I love you," she implored him, and then he laid her down on the bed, and drawing up beside her, took his wine from the bedside stand and, gazing at the fire, seemed for a long time to be thinking. PRINCE ALEXI BEAUTY DREAMED a dream of boredom. She roamed the castle in which she had lived all her life, with nothing to do, and now and then paused in a deep window seat to watch the tiny figures of the peasants in the fields below gathering the fresh mown grass into haystacks. The sky was cloudless and she disliked the look of it, its sameness and vastness. It seemed she could not find anything to do that hadn't been done a thousand times before, and then suddenly there came to her ears a sound she could not identify. She followed the sound, and through a doorway saw an old woman, bent and ugly, plying a strange contraption. It was a great turning wheel with a thread that was winding itself upon a spindle. "What is it?" Beauty asked with great interest. "Come see for yourself," said the old woman, who had the most remarkable voice, because it was young and strong and so unlike her visage. It seemed Beauty had only just touched this marvelous machine with its whirring wheel when she fell down in a great swoon, and all about her heard the world weeping. "...sleep, sleep for a hundred years!" And she wanted to cry out, "Unbearable, worse than death," for it seemed some great deepening of the ennui she had struggled against ever since she could remember, the wandering from room to room... But she awoke. She was not at home. She was lying in the bed of her Prince, and she felt the prickling of the jeweled coverlet beneath her. The room was full of the leaping shadows of the fire, and she saw the gleam of the carved posts of the bed, and the drapery fallen about her in rich colors. She felt herself animated and flushed with desire, and she rose up, so eager was she to lose the weight and texture of her dream, and she realized that the Prince was not beside her. But there he was, by the fire, his elbow against the stone above it which bore a great crest with crossed swords. He wore his brilliant red velvet cloak still and his high turned down leather boots with their pointed toes, and his face was sharpened with brooding. The pulse between her legs quickened. She stirred, and gave some faint little sigh so that he awoke from his thoughts and approached her.