Contentment

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 Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “So I gathered. But it was you who said that one of my duties would be to bear your heirs.” Duty. Not pleasure. Heirs. Not children. Suddenly there was a distinction between them, one that irritated him and made him restless. He reached for her hand. “I should like to retire.” Turning, she searched his face. He could feel the air altering around them, shifting even as their relationship did. What was happening? Sebastian stood rigid under her scrutiny. What did she see in him with those dark eyes that bored right through him? He was profoundly relieved when Olivia placed her hand in his and followed him to their bed, where heady pleasure and drugging forgetfulness awaited them. Sebastian stared up at the ruby red velvet canopy and sighed with contentment. Olivia’s heated breath puffed across the head of his cock. “What are you thinking?” she asked. He glanced down to where his wife lay prone between his legs. She’d spent the last hour in studious examination of his member, tracing every vein, caressing every bit of his hard length with her hands and mouth, purring her delight like a cat with cream. She made him feel supremely masculine; a man appreciated completely by his mate, her admiration a welcome salve after a lifetime of feeling insignificant. At least in this one endeavor, that of being Olivia’s husband, he had not been found lacking. “You,” he answered. “This bed. Our marriage.” She crossed her hands on his upper thigh and rested her chin upon them. “Do you have regrets?” she asked in a steady voice, even as her expressive eyes showed her worry. He reached down to caress her tumbled hair. “No. Come closer.” Olivia rose to her hands and knees, her full breasts swaying as she climbed along the length of his body. She’d become quite comfortable with her nakedness over these last weeks, and he appreciated their growing familiarity. She purred with pleasure as she draped her body over his. He reached up and pulled her hair to the side so he could nuzzle her throat unhindered. “Sebastian.” “Umm?” “Tell me about your family.” He sighed. “They are a pack of vultures, sweeting. The entire lot of them.” “Surely there must be some members of your family whose company you enjoy.” “I was quite fond of my brother, Edmund.” She frowned. “What about your mother?” He stared at the canopy again. “There is nothing I can tell you, other than she was very beautiful, and I know this only because I’ve seen her portrait. I don’t remember her at all.” “How did she die?” He slid his hands through her hair and cupped the back of her head. “I don’t know that she is dead. She ran off when I still an infant.” “Oh, Sebastian.” Having caught the bitterness in his voice, hers filled with sympathy. He choked out a laugh. “Don’t pity me, Olivia. I won’t have it. I don’t want it.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Julienne shrugged. “Yesterday he took me to the Royal Academy of Art. He wishes to ask Montrose permission to pay his addresses and asked if I was open to his interest.” Lucien stiffened. Not yet. “What did you say, my love?” She picked restlessly at her skirt. “I asked him if he loved me.” Lucien swallowed hard. “And how did he reply?” “He believes he can grow to love me, given the time.” “Did you tell him you would accept his suit?” Julienne met his gaze with a reproving frown. “You know I would not be here with you if I had. I asked him to wait until the end of the Season, as you and I discussed.” “He must have been curious as to your reasons.” “Of course. I told him there was the possibility that someone I cared for could grow to love me as well, and I wanted to allow the other man sufficient opportunity to do so.” “Bloody hell,” Lucien muttered, with a rueful laugh. “I’ve always loved your honesty, but for Christ’s sake, did you have to be so blunt with him? No man wants to hear he’s running in second place.” He grinned suddenly. “But finding out he’s first is very pleasant.” “I told him he shouldn’t settle for anything less than love either. He admired my honesty and agreed to respect my wishes.” She bit her bottom lip. “He did say he would put up a fight.” Lucien was tempted to reveal his feelings, but feared Julienne would think he was only trying to outmaneuver Fontaine. So instead he rose from his desk and locked the door. He moved to sit beside her and took her hands in his. “Sweetheart, any man would fight for you. I intend to fight for you.” She gave him an arch look. “It’s extremely disheartening to know that the two men who wish to marry me find falling in love with me such a chore.” “Sometimes it takes a man a while to realize he’s found what he didn’t even know he was looking for.” “Ha,” she scoffed. “Pretty it up all you like. It will not change the cold, hard facts.” Lucien pulled her hand to his throbbing erection. “It’s definitely hard, love.” He grinned. “But it’s not cold.” Julienne’s eyes widened just before she laughed with delight. “Lucien Remington, you are without a doubt the most lascivious man I have ever met.” He pressed his lips to her throat. “That’s partly your fault. You tempt me constantly, and it’s been a while since I last found any relief.” “Shall I relieve you, darling?” she asked in a breathless whisper. “I would love to.” She gave his cock a firm squeeze. “Jesus.” Lucien buried his face in her neck with a tortured groan. “You are perfect for me. Surely you see that.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Hugh sketched a quick bow. “I await your pleasure.” [image file=image_rsrc3ZN.jpg] “How long did it take before he started asking questions?” Charlotte sighed. “Longer than I would have expected.” “How did you answer?” “I didn’t.” “But you’ll have to.” Nodding, Charlotte began to strip from her damp clothes. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she stepped closer to the warmth of the fire. “Montrose is very interesting, just as you suspected.” “And handsome.” “Yes, he’s quite gorgeous, and a brazen rake, too.” Smiling, she thought of the way he’d cleaned her hands for her and the concern he’d shown for his injured footman. “But much nicer than I would have thought. A touch vulnerable, too, which I never would have suspected. I took him for the arrogant sort, but beneath that exterior, I think he doubts himself a little.” “Oh . . . he is interesting! Perhaps it’s good he’s come along, then. You’re young and lovely; it’s truly a shame you’ve chosen to dedicate yourself to me. Not that I’d ever send you away. You keep me from going completely mad with boredom.” Charlotte laughed. “It’s no sacrifice, as you well know.” “’Tis far different from the life you knew.” “That is not a bad thing.” Charlotte sank gratefully into the steaming bath. “My former life had its pleasures, to be sure, but I was ready for a change and a bit of equanimity.” A few moments of silence passed. “I studied the map while you were gone.” Resting her head against the lip of the tub, Charlotte closed her eyes. “I’m sick to death of poring over that blasted thing. When the spring thaw comes, we’ll charter a ship and go ourselves. Perhaps then we’ll discover something useful.” “His Grace was very ill when he gave you that map,” came the soft reminder. “Perhaps he wasn’t altogether sane at the time.” Charlotte sank lower into the water. She’d considered that possibility many times. The books Glenmoore had left behind were cryptic at best, and the map, while comparable to others depicting the same body of water, had distinguishing features she could find nowhere else. Still, what choice did they have? The new Duke of Glenmoore was miserly with the trust and— “Have you considered any other possibilities?” interjected the lilting voice Charlotte had come to love. “No,” she admitted. “But I suppose I shall have to, in short order.” “Well, in the meantime, enjoy the earl.” The soft rustle of muslin betrayed movement. “You should wear your red silk to dinner. You’re breathtaking in it. He’ll never be able to resist you.” “He’s not trying to resist me,” she said dryly. She’d never cared for libidinous pleasure-seekers like Montrose, though she’d tolerated them when necessary. Hugh, however, wasn’t at all like his appearance led one to believe. In fact, he seemed almost lonely. Much like she was. “Ah, well, even better.” Charlotte laughed. “I’m certain it’s not proper to discuss this sort of thing with you.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Once they reached the busy thoroughfare, they left the carriage and began to stroll, stopping to window-shop as they made their way to the modiste. “Lord and Lady Merrick.” They both turned. Olivia smiled at the approaching couple. The man, tall and superbly fit, boasted eyes of the most startling color. Somewhere between purple and deep blue, they were devastating. The woman on his arm, slender and graceful, offered a luminous smile. “Remington,” Sebastian greeted, offering his hand. “How are you, old chap? Remington shook it heartily and grinned. “I thought that was you, Merrick, although without the presence of Lady Merrick to confirm it, I would not have said anything. You look positively piratical. You need only an earring to complete the picture.” He brought his companion forward. “Julienne, this is the prodigal Lord Merrick. Merrick, allow me to present my wife, Lady Julienne.” Lady Julienne smiled and offered her hand, shooting an amused glance at Olivia. “So there is indeed a Lord Merrick.” Olivia choked back a laugh. Sebastian didn’t bother—he laughed outright. “Olivia, love. Have you made the acquaintance of Lucien Remington and his lovely wife?” She nodded. “I have.” “I’ve a favor to ask, my lord,” Remington said. “I need some new horseflesh and was hoping I could convince you to join me at Tattersall’s tomorrow.” “Certainly. Is there something in particular you are hoping to find?” With a quick tilt of her head, Lady Julienne motioned her over. Olivia went gladly, leaving the men to their discussion. Julienne Remington was one of the rare, truly genuine people she’d met since returning to London. They shared a small affinity, both having once been ostracized by Society. Julienne, an earl’s daughter, had married the notorious Lucien Remington, the bastard son of a duke. It had caused a scandal of drastic proportions, or so Olivia had been told. But from the looks of it, Julienne had made a wise decision. Remington was obviously completely besotted with his beautiful wife. “I can see why you’ve kept him hidden,” Julienne said with a mischievous smile as they strolled away. “Merrick quite overwhelms a girl, doesn’t he?” Olivia laughed. “Yes, he certainly does.” Julienne stopped before a milliner’s and peered inside. “Look at that! Isn’t it lovely?” Looking at the feathered hat, Olivia nodded. “It is quite fetching.” “I must have it.” Julienne moved toward the entrance of the shop just as a pastry cart passed. Enticed by the delectable scent of peach tarts, Olivia was suddenly starving. Her stomach growled. Loudly. Julienne laughed. “Poor dear. Pregnancy will do that to you.” Olivia’s eyes widened. “How did you know?” “I’ve birthed two sons, Lady Merrick. I recognize the signs.” She waved her hand toward the vendor. “Go fetch your pastry, and I’ll purchase my hat. We’ll meet here when we’re done.” “A wonderful idea,” Olivia said with a grin. She went to the pastry cart and paid for her tart, her mouth watering in anticipation. “Lovely day, isn’t it, Lady Merrick?”

• From Thinking, Fast and Slow (2011)

  is a signal that things are generally going well, the environment is safe, and it is all right to let one’s guard down. A bad mood indicates that things are not going very well, there may be a threat, and vigilance is required. Cognitive ease is both a cause and a consequence of a pleasant feeling. The Remote Association Test has more to tell us about the link between cognitive ease and positive affect. Briefly consider two triads of words: sleep mail switch salt deep foam You could not know it, of course, but measurements of electrical activity in the muscles of your face would probably have shown a slight smile when you read the second triad, which is coherent (sea is the solution). This smiling reaction to coherence appears in subjects who are told nothing about common associates; they are merely shown a vertically arranged triad of words and instructed to press the space bar after they have read it. The impression of cognitive ease that comes with the presentation of a coherent triad appears to be mildly pleasurable in itself. The evidence that we have about good feelings, cognitive ease, and the intuition of coherence is, as scientists say, correlational but not necessarily causal. Cognitive ease and smiling occur together, but do the good feelings actually lead to intuitions of coherence? Yes, they do. The proof comes from a clever experimental approach that has become increasingly popular. Some participants were given a cover story that provided an alternative interpretation for their good feeling: they were told about music played in their earphones that “previous research showed that this music influences the emotional reactions of individuals.” This story completely eliminates the intuition of coherence. The finding shows that the brief emotional response that follows the presentation of a triad of words (pleasant if the triad is coherent, unpleasant otherwise) is actually the basis of judgments of coherence. There is nothing here that System 1 cannot do. Emotional changes are now expected, and because they are unsurprising they are not linked causally to the words. This is as good as psychological research ever gets, in its combination of experimental techniques and in its results, which are both robust and extremely surprising. We have learned a great deal about the automatic workings of System 1 in the last decades. Much of what we now know would have sounded like science fiction thirty or forty years ago. It was beyond imagining that bad font influences judgments of truth and improves cognitive performance, or that an emotional response to the cognitive ease of a triad of words mediates

• From Bright Lights, Big City (1984)

  you talked about. “White or wheat,” Megan asks. “I don’t know. White, I guess.” “You don’t know what’s good for you.” “All right, wheat. Wheat’s better.” From the bakery you proceed to the vegetable stand. Why are all the vegetables in the city sold by Koreans? Boxes of tumescent produce glisten under the green awning. You wonder if they color-coordinate the displays according to secret Oriental principles of mind control. Maybe they know that the juxtaposition of red tomatoes and yellow squash will produce in the consumer an irresistible urge to buy a bag of expensive oranges. Megan buys fresh basil, garlic, romaine lettuce and tomatoes. “Now there’s a tomato,” she says, holding a large red vegetable up for your inspection. Or is it a fruit? Megan lives in a big fifties building on Charlton and Sixth. Two large cats, a Siamese and a calico, are waiting at the door. She introduces them as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: Rose and Guildy for short, explaining that her first off-off Broadway role was Gertrude in a rock- and-roll version of Hamlet. “I didn’t know you were an actress.” “My first love. But I got tired of waitressing.” The apartment is a studio, not large, but furnished to give the impression of distinct areas. Against one wall is a double bed with patchwork quilt. In the center of the room a floral couch, and matching chairs are grouped in front of the largest window. At the other end of the room a rolltop desk is sheltered behind a row of bookcases. The tidiness of this arrangement is qualified by strident outbursts of plant life. The cats stroke themselves on Megan’s ankles while she hangs her shawl in a closet by the door. “How about a glass of wine?” she says. “Sure. Thanks.” The cats follow her into the kitchen. You read the bookshelves. In the examination of personal libraries is an entire hermeneutics of character

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  As time went by, the king found himself visiting his mistress more and more often. As he ascended the hidden stair that led from his quarters to hers in the palace of Versailles, anticipation of the delights that awaited him at the top would begin to turn his head. First, the room was always warm, and was filled with delightful scents. Then there were the visual delights: Madame de Pompadour always wore a different costume, each one elegant and surprising in its own way. She loved beautiful objects—fine porcelain, Chinese fans, golden flowerpots—and every time he visited, there would be something new and enchanting to see. Her manner was always lighthearted; she was never defensive or resentful. Everything for pleasure. Then there was their conversation: he had never been really able to talk with a woman before, or to laugh, but the marquise could discourse skillfully on any subject, and her voice was a pleasure to hear. And if the conversation waned, she would move to the piano, play a tune, and sing wonderfully. If ever the king seemed bored or sad, Madame de Pompadour would propose some project—perhaps the building of a new country house. He would have to advise in the design, the layout of the gardens, the decor. Back at Versailles, Madame de Pompadour put hersell in charge of the palace amusements, building a private theater for weekly performances under her direction. Actors were chosen from among the courtiers, but the female lead was always played by Madame de Pompadour, who was one of the finest amateur actresses in France. The king became obsessed with this The Ideal Lover • 35 theater; he could barely wait for its performances. Along with this interest came an increasing expenditure of money on the arts, and an involvement in philosophy and literature. A man who had cared only for hunting and gambling was spending less and less time with his male companions and becoming a great patron of the arts. Indeed he stamped a whole era with an aesthetic style, which became known as "Louis Quinze," rivaling the style associated with his illustrious predecessor, Louis XIV. Lo and behold, year after year went by without Louis tiring of his mistress. In fact he made her a duchess, and her power and influence extended well beyond culture into politics. For twenty years, Madame de Pompadour ruled both the court and the king's heart, until her untimely death, in 1764, at the age of forty-three. Louis XV had a powerful inferiority complex. The successor to Louis XIV, the most powerful king in French history, he had been educated and trained for the throne—yet who could follow his predecessor's act? Eventually he gave up trying, devoting himself instead to physical pleasures, which came to define how he was seen; the people around him knew they could sway him by appealing to the basest parts of his character.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  induce), taking her hand, lighting her cigarette, escorting her to romantic places, leading her on the dance floor. These were silent movies, and his audiences never got to hear him speak—it was all in his gestures. Men came to hate him, for their wives and girlfriends now expected the slow, careful Valentino treatment. Valentino had a feminine streak; it was said that he wooed a woman the way another woman would. But femininity need not figure in this approach to seduction. In the early 1770s, Prince Gregory Potemkin began an affair with Empress Catherine the Great of Russia that was to last many years. Potemkin was a manly man, and not at all handsome. But he managed to win the empress's heart by the many little things he did, and continued to do long after the affair had begun. He spoiled her with wonderful gifts, never tired of writing her long letters, arranged for all kinds of entertainments for her, composed songs to her beauty. Yet he would appear before her barefoot, hair uncombed, clothes wrinkled. There was no kind of fussiness in his attention, which, however, did make it clear he would go to the ends of the earth for her. A woman's senses are more refined than a man's; to a woman, Yang Kuei-fei's overt sensual appeal would seem too hurried and direct. What that means, though, is that all the man really has to do is take it slowly, making seduction a ritual full of all kinds of little things he has to do for his target. If he takes his time, he will have her eating out of his hand. Everything in seduction is a sign, and nothing more so than clothes. It is not that you have to dress interestingly, elegantly, or provocatively, but that you have to dress for your target—have to appeal to your target's tastes. When Cleopatra was seducing Mark Antony, her dress was not brazenly sexual; she dressed as a Greek goddess, knowing his weakness for such fantasy figures. Madame de Pompadour, the mistress of King Louis XV, knew the king's weakness, his chronic boredom; she constantly wore different clothes, changing not only their color but their style, supplying the king with a constant feast for his eyes. Pamela Harriman was subdued in the fashions she wore, befitting her role as a high-society geisha and reflecting the sober tastes of the men she seduced. Contrast works well here: at work or at home, you might dress nonchalantly—Marilyn Monroe, for example, wore jeans and a T-shirt at home—but when you are with the target you wear something elaborate, as if you were putting on a costume. Your Cin-derella transformation will stir excitement, and the feeling that you have done something just for the person you are with. Whenever your attention is individualized (you would not dress like that for anyone else), it is infinitely more seductive.

• From Story of the Eye (1928)

  It is fair to say that the room of a bedridden invalid is just the right place for gradually rediscovering childhood lewdness. I gently sucked Simone’s breast while waiting for the soft-boiled eggs, and she ran her fingers through my hair. Her mother was the one who brought us the eggs, but I didn’t even turn around, I assumed it was a maid, and I kept on sucking the breast contentedly. Nor was I ultimately disturbed when I recognized the voice, but since she remained and I couldn’t forego even one instant of my pleasure, I thought of pulling down my trousers as for a call of nature, not ostentatiously, but merely hoping she would leave and delighted at going beyond all limits. When she finally decided to walk out and vainly ponder over her dismay elsewhere, the night was already gathering, and we switched on the lamp in the bathroom. Simone settled on the toilet, and we each ate one of the hot eggs with salt. With the three that were left, I softly caressed her body, gliding them between her buttocks and thighs, then I slowly dropped them into the water one by one. Finally, after viewing them for a while, immersed, white, and still hot (this was the first time she was seeing them peeled, that is naked, drowned under her beautiful cunt), Simone continued the immersion with a plopping noise akin to that of the soft-boiled eggs. But I ought to say that nothing of the sort ever happened between us again, and, with one exception , no further eggs ever came up in our conversations; nevertheless, if we chanced to notice one or more, we could not help reddening when our eyes met in a silent and murky interrogation. At any rate, it will be shown by the end of this tale, that this interrogation was not to remain without an answer indefinitely, and above all, that this unexpected answer is necessary for measuring the immensity of the void that yawned before us, without our knowledge, during our singular entertainments with the eggs. 7. Marcelle By a sort of shared modesty, Simone and I had always avoided talking about the most important objects of our obsessions.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  cated simplicity as a way of opening up to the truth, but his own simplicity twenty-sixth of the month, just allowed people to see what they wanted in him, attributing powers to the day of her death. On him that he not only denied but ridiculed. the first anniversary of her death, La P r e n s a printed a This is the guru effect, and it is surprisingly simple to create. The aura story about one of its you are after is not the fiery one of most Charismatics, but one of incan-readers seeing Evita's face descence, enlightenment. An enlightened person has understood some-in the face of the moon, and after this there were thing that makes him or her content, and this contentment radiates outward. many more such sightings That is the appearance you want: you do not need anything or anyone, you reported in the newspapers. are fulfilled. People are naturally drawn to those who emit happiness; For the most part, official maybe they can catch it from you. The less obvious you are, the better: let publications stopped short of claiming sainthood for people conclude that you are happy, rather than hearing it from you. Let her, but their restraint was them see it in your unhurried manner, your gentle smile, your ease and not always convincing. . . . comfort. Keep your words vague, letting people imagine what they will. In the calendar for 1 9 5 3 of the Buenos Aires Remember: being aloof and distant only stimulates the effect. People newspaper vendors, as in will fight for the slightest sign of your interest. A guru is content and other unofficial images, detached—a deadly Charismatic combination. she was depicted in the traditional blue robes of the Virgin, her hands crossed, her sad head to one side The drama saint. It began on the radio. Throughout the late 1930s and and surrounded by a halo. early 1940s, Argentine women would hear the plaintive, musical voice of — N I C H O L A S FRASER AND Eva Duarte in one of the lavishly produced soap operas that were so popu-MARYSA NAYARRO. EVITA lar at the time. She never made you laugh, but how often she could make you cry—with the complaints of a betrayed lover, or the last words of Marie Antoinette. The very thought of her voice made you shiver with emotion. And she was pretty, with her flowing blond hair and her serious face, which was often on the covers of the gossip magazines. The Charismatic • 111 In 1943, those magazines published a most exciting story: Eva had As for me, I have the gift begun an affair with one of the most dashing men in the new military of electrifying men. government, Colonel Juan Perón. Now Argentines heard her doing propa- —NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, IN ganda spots for the government, lauding the "New Argentina" that glis- PIETER GEYL, NAPOLEON: FOR AND AGAINST

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  His strange, hypnotic voice, with its dramatic tremolos, would enter French liv- ing rooms in the evenings. Few of his listeners even knew what he looked like, but his tone was so confident, so stirring, that he recruited a silent army of believers. In person, de Gaulle was a strange, brooding man whose confident manner could just as easily irritate as win over. But over the radio that voice had intense charisma. De Gaulle was the first great master of modern media, for he easily transferred his dramatic skills to television, where his iciness, his calmness, his total self-possession, made audiences feel both comforted and inspired. The world has grown more fractured. A nation no longer conies to- gether on the streets or in the squares; it is brought together in living rooms, where people watching television all over the country can simulta- neously be alone and with others. Charisma must now be communicable over the airwaves or it has no power. But it is in some ways easier to project on television, both because television makes a direct one-on-one appeal (the Charismatic seems to address you) and because charisma is fairly easy to fake for the few moments you spend in front of the camera. As de Gaulle understood, when appearing on television it is best to radiate calmness and control, to use dramatic effects sparingly. De Gaulle's overall iciness made doubly effective the brief moments in which he raised his voice, or let loose a biting joke. By remaining calm and underplaying it, he hypnotized his audience. (Your face can express much more if your voice is less stri- dent.) He conveyed emotion visually—the uniform, the setting—and through the use of certain charged words: the liberation, Joan of Arc. The less he strained for effect, the more sincere he appeared. 116 • The Art of Seduction All this must be carefully orchestrated. Punctuate your calmness with surprises; rise to a climax; keep things short and terse. The only thing that cannot be faked is self-confidence, the key component to charisma since the days of Moses. Should the camera lights betray your insecurity, all the tricks in the world will not put your charisma back together again. Symbol: The Lamp. Invisible to the eye, a current flowing through a wire in a glass vessel generates a heat that turns into candescence. All we see is the glow. In the prevailing darkness, the Lamp lights the way. Dangers O n a pleasant May day in 1794, the citizens of Paris gathered in a park for the Festival of the Supreme Being. The focus of their attention was Maximilien de Robespierre, head of the Committee of Public Safety, and the man who had thought up the festival in the first place.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Time has a different rhythm—they barely notice its passing. They have the feeling that everything is stopping for them, just as all normal activity comes to a halt at a festival. The idle pleasures you pro- vide them are contagious—one leads to another and to another, until it is too late to turn back. Appendix B Soft Seduction: How to Sell Anything to the Masses The less you seem to be selling something—including yourself—the better. By be- ing too obvious in your pitch, you will raise suspicion; you will also bore your audience, an unforgivable sin. Instead, make your approach soft, seductive, and insidious. Soft: be indirect. Create news and events for the media to pick up, spreading your name in a way that seems spontaneous, not hard or calculated. Seductive: keep it entertaining. Your name and image are bathed in positive associations; you are selling pleasure and prom- ise. Insidious: aim at the unconscious, using images that linger in the mind, placing your message in the visuals. Frame what you are selling as part of a new trend, and it will become one. It is almost impossible to resist the soft seduction. The Soft Sell S eduction is the ultimate form of power. Those who give in to it do so willingly and happily. There is rarely any resentment on their part; they forgive you any kind of manipulation because you have brought them plea- sure, a rare commodity in the world. With such power at your fingertips, though, why stop at the conquest of a man or woman? A crowd, an elec- torate, a nation can be brought under your sway simply by applying on a mass level the tactics that work so well on an individual. The only differ- ence is the goal—not sex but influence, a vote, people's attention—and the degree of tension. When you are after sex, you deliberately create anxiety, a touch of pain, twists, and turns. Seduction on the mass level is more diffuse and soft. Creating a constant titillation, you fascinate the masses with what you are offering. They pay attention to you because it is pleasant to do so. Let us say your goal is to sell yourself—as a personality, a trendsetter, a candidate for office. There are two ways to go: the hard sell (the direct ap- proach) and the soft sell (the indirect approach). In the hard sell you state your case strongly and directly, explaining why your talents, your ideas, your political message are superior to anyone else's. You tout your achieve- ments, quote statistics, bring in expert opinions, even go so far as to induce a bit of fear if the audience ignores your message. The approach is a tad ag- gressive and might have unwanted consequences: some people will be of- fended, resisting your message, even if what you say is true.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  From very early on, Josephine Baker could not stand the feeling of having no control over the world. Yet what could she do in the face of her un-promising circumstances? Some young girls put all their hopes on a husband, but Josephine's father had left her mother soon after she was born, and she saw marriage as something that would only make her more miserable. Her solution was something children often do: confronted with a hopeless environment, she closed herself off in a world of her own making, oblivious to the ugliness around her. This world was filled with dancing, clowning, dreams of great things. Let other people wail and moan; Josephine would smile, remain confident and self-reliant. Almost everyone who met her, from her earliest years to her last, commented on how seductive this quality was. Her refusal to compromise, or to be what she was expected to be, made everything she did seem authentic and natural. A child loves to play, and to create a little self-contained world. When children are absorbed in make believe, they are hopelessly charming. They infuse their imaginings with such seriousness and feeling. Adult Naturals do something similar, particularly if they are artists: they create their own fantasy world, and live in it as if it were the real one. Fantasy is so much more pleasant than reality, and since most people do not have the power or courage to create such a world, they enjoy being around those who do. Remember: the role you were given in life is not the role you have to accept. You can always live out a role of your own creation, a role that fits your fantasy. Learn to play with your image, never taking it too seriously. The key is to infuse your play with the conviction and feeling of a child, making it seem natural. The more absorbed you seem in your own joy-filled world, the more seductive you become. Do not go halfway: make the fantasy you inhabit as radical and exotic as possible, and you will attract attention like a magnet. 4. It was the Festival of the Cherry Blossom at the Heian court, in late-tenth-century Japan. In the emperor's palace, many of the courtiers were drunk, and others were fast asleep, but the young princess Oborozukiyo, the emperor's sister-in-law, was awake and reciting a poem: "What can compare with a misty moon of spring?" Her voice was smooth and delicate. She moved to the door of her apartment to look at the moon. Then, suddenly, she smelled something sweet, and a hand clutched the sleeve of her robe. "Who are you?" she said, frightened. "There is nothing to be 64 • The Art of Seduction afraid of," came a man's voice, and continued with a poem of his own:

• From Middlesex (2002)

  First of all, Lefty. Still dapper despite stroke damage, wearing a starched white shirt and glen-plaid trousers, he writes on his chalk- board and holds it up: "Christos AnestiV Desdemona sits across from him, her dentures making her look like a snapping turtle. My mother, in this home movie marked "Easter '62," is two years from turning forty. The crow's-feet around her eyes are another reason (aside from the floodlights) why she holds a hand over her face. In this gesture I see the emotional sympathy I've always felt with Tessie, the two of us never happier than when unobserved, people-watching. Behind her hand I can see the traces of the novel she stayed up reading the previ- ous night. All the big words she had to look up in the dictionary crowd her tired head, waiting to show up in the letters she writes me today. Her hand is also a refusal, her only way of getting back at a husband who has begun to disappear on her. (Milton came home every night; he didn't drink or womanize but, preoccupied with busi- ness worries, he began to leave a little more of himself at the diner each day, so that the man who returned to us seemed less and less present, a kind of robot who carved turkeys and filmed holidays but who wasn't really there at all.) Finally, of course, my mother's up- raised hand is a kind of warning, too, a predecessor of the black box. Chapter Eleven sprawls on the carpet, wolfing candy. Grandson 225 of the two former silk farmers (with chalkboard and worry beads), he has never had to help in the cocoonery. He has never been to the Koza Han. Environment has already made its imprint on him. He has the tyrannical, self-absorbed look of American children . . . And now two dogs come bounding into the frame. Rufus and Willis, our two boxers. Rufus sniffs my diaper and, with perfect comic timing, sits on me. He will later bite someone, and both dogs will be given away. My mother appears, shooing Rufus . . and there I am again. I stand up and toddle toward the camera, smiling, trying out my wave . . . . I know this film well. "Easter '62" was the home movie Dr. Luce talked my parents into giving him. This was the film he screened each year for his students at Cornell University Medical School. This was the thirty-five-second segment that, Luce insisted, proved out his theory that gender identity is established early on in life. This was the film Dr. Luce showed to me, to tell me who I was. And who was that? Look at the screen. My mother is handing me a baby doll. I take the baby and hug it to my chest. Putting a toy bottle to the baby's lips, I offer it milk.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  . five. They suffered through their first Michigan winter. A January night, just past 1 a.m. Desdemona Stephanides asleep, wearing her hated YWCA hat against the wind blowing through the thin walls. A radiator sighing, clanking. By candlelight, Lefty finishes his homework, notebook propped on knees, pencil in hand. And from the wall: rustiing. He looks up to see a pair of red eyes shining out from a hole in the base- board. He writes R-A-T before throwing his pencil at the vermin. Desdemona sleeps on. He brushes her hair. He says, in English, "Hello, sweetheart." The new country and its language have helped to push the past a little further behind. The sleeping form next to him is less and less his sister every night and more and more his wife. The statute of limitations ticks itself out, day by day, all memory of the crime being washed away. (But what humans forget, cells remember. The body, that elephant . .) . Spring arrived, 1923. My grandfather, accustomed to the multi- farious conjugations of ancient Greek verbs, had found English, for all its incoherence, a relatively simple tongue to master. Once he had swallowed a good portion of the English vocabulary, he began to taste the familiar ingredients, the Greek seasoning in the roots, pre- fixes, and suffixes. A pageant was planned to celebrate the Ford En- glish School graduation. As a top student, Lefty was asked to take part. "What kind of pageant?" Desdemona asked. "I can't tell you. It's a surprise. But you have to sew me some clothes." "What kind?" "Like from the patridha!' It was a Wednesday evening. Lefty and Zizmo were in the sala when suddenly Lina came in to listen to "The Ronnie Ronnette Hour." Zizmo gave her a disapproving look, but she escaped behind her headphones. "She thinks she's one of these Atnerikanidbes" Zizmo said to Lefty. "Look. See? She even crosses her legs." "This is America," Lefty said. "We're 2l\Amerikanidhes now." "This is not America," Zizmo countered. "This is my house. We 99 don't live like the Amerikanidhes in here. Your wife understands. Do you see her in the sala showing her legs and listening to the radio?" Someone knocked at the door. Zizmo, who had an inexplicable aversion to unannounced guests, jumped up and reached under his coat. He motioned for Lefty not to move. Lina, noticing something, took off her earphones. The knock came again. "Kyrie" Lina said, "if they were going to kill you, would they knock?" "Who's going to kill!" Desdemona said, rushing in from the kitchen. "Just a way of speaking," said Lina, who knew more about her husband's importing concern that she'd been letting on. She glided to the door and opened it.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Stir basic emotions. Never promote your message through a rational, direct argument. That will take effort on your audience's part and will not gain its attention. Aim for the heart, not the head. Design your words and images to stir basic emotions—lust, patriotism, family values. It is easier to gain and hold people's attention once you have made them think of their family, their children, their future. They feel stirred, uplifted. Now you have their attention and the space to insinuate your true message. Days later the audience will remember your name, and remembering your name is half the game. Similarly, find ways to surround yourself with emotional magnets—war heroes, children, saints, small animals, whatever it takes. Make your appearance bring these emotionally positive associations to mind, giving you extra presence. Never let these associations be defined or created for you, and never leave them to chance. Make the medium the message. Pay more attention to the form of your message than to the content. Images are more seductive than words, and visuals—soothing colors, appropriate backdrop, the suggestion of speed Appendix B: Soft Seduction: How to Sell Anything to the Masses • 445 or movement—should actually be your real message. The audience may focus superficially on the content or moral you are preaching, but they are really absorbing the visuals, which get under their skin and stay there longer than any words or preachy pronouncements. Your visuals should have a hypnotic effect. They should make people feel happy or sad, depending on what you want to accomplish. And the more they are distracted by visual cues, the harder it will be for them to think straight or see through your manipulations. Speak the target's language— be chummy. At all costs, avoid appearing superior to your audience. Any hint of smugness, the use of complicated words or ideas, quoting too many statistics—all that is fatal. Instead, make yourself seem equal to your targets and on intimate terms with them. You understand them, you share their spirit, their language. If people are cynical about the manipulations of advertisers and politicians, exploit their cynicism for your own purposes. Portray yourself as one of the folk, warts and all. Show that you share your audience's skepticism by revealing the tricks of the trade. Make your publicity as down-home and minimal as possible, so that your competitors look sophisticated and snobby in comparison. Your selective honesty and strategic weakness will get people to trust you. You are the audience's friend, an intimate. Enter their spirit and they will relax and listen to you.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  The embodiment of the Ideal Lover for the 1920s was Rudolph Valen- tino, or at least the image created of him in film. Everything he did—the gifts, the flowers, the dancing, the way he took a woman's hand—showed a scrupulous attention to the details that would signify how much he was thinking of her. The image was of a man who made courtship take time, transforming it into an aesthetic experience. Men hated Valentino, because women now expected them to match the ideal of patience and attentive- ness that he represented. Yet nothing is more seductive than patient atten- tiveness. It makes the affair seem lofty, aesthetic, not really about sex. The power of a Valentino, particularly nowadays, is that people like this are so rare. The art of playing to a woman's ideal has almost disappeared—which only makes it that much more alluring. If the chivalrous lover remains the ideal for women, men often idealize the Madonna/whore, a woman who combines sensuality with an air of spirituality or innocence. Think of the great courtesans of the Italian Re- naissance, such as Tullia d'Aragona—essentially a prostitute, like all courte- sans, but able to disguise her social role by establishing a reputation as a poet and philosopher. Tullia was what was then known as an "honest courtesan." Honest courtesans would go to church, but they had an ulterior motive: for men, their presence at Mass was exciting. Their houses were pleasure palaces, but what made these homes so visually delightful was their art- works and shelves full of books, volumes of Petrarch and Dante. For the man, the thrill, the fantasy, was to sleep with a woman who was sexual yet had the ideal qualities of a mother and the spirit and intellect of an artist. Where the pure prostitute excited desire but also disgust, the honest cour- tesan made sex seem elevated and innocent, as if it were happening in the Garden of Eden. Such women held immense power over men. To this day they remain an ideal, if for no other reason than that they offer such a range of pleasures. The key is ambiguity—to combine the appearance of sensi- tivity to the pleasures of the flesh with an air of innocence, spirituality, a poetic sensibility. This mix of the high and the low is immensely seductive. The dynamics of the Ideal Lover have limitless possibilities, not all of them erotic.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  line. But for yiayia Presidential is okay." "When the time comes, you can have whatever you want. But—" "And satin inside. Please. And a pillow. Like here. Page eight. Number five. Pay attention! And tell Georgie leave my glasses." As far as Desdemona was concerned, death was only another kind of emigration. Instead of sailing from Turkey to America, this time she would be traveling from earth to heaven, where Lefty had already gotten his citizenship and had a place waiting. Gradually we became accustomed to Desdemona's retreat from the family sphere. By this time, the spring of 1971, Milton was busy with a new "business venture." After the disaster on Pingree Street, Milton vowed never to make the same mistake again. How do you escape the real estate rule of location, location, location? Simple: be everywhere at once. "Hot dog stands," Milton announced at dinner one night. "Start with three or four and add on as you go." With the remaining insurance money Milton rented space in three malls in the Detroit metropolitan area. On a pad of yellow paper, he came up with the design for the stands. "McDonald's has Golden Arches?" he said. "We've got the Pillars of Hercules." If you ever drove along the blue highways anywhere from Michi- gan to Florida, anytime from 1971 to 1978, you may have seen the bright white neon pillars that flanked my father's chain of hot dog restaurants. The pillars combined his Greek heritage with the colonial architecture of his beloved native land. Milton's pillars were the Parthenon and the Supreme Court Building; they were the Herakles of myth as well as the Hercules of Hollywood movies. They also got people's attention. 275 Milton started out with three Hercules Hot Dogs™ but quickly added franchises as profits allowed. He began in Michigan but soon spilled over into Ohio, and from there went on down the Interstate to die deep South. The format was more like Dairy Queen than Mc- Donald's. Seating was minimal or nonexistent (at most a couple of picnic tables). There were no play areas, no sweepstakes or "Happy Meals" no giveaways or promotions. What there was was hot dogs, Coney Island style, as that term was used in Detroit, meaning they were served with chili sauce and onions. Hercules Hot Dogs were side-of-the-road places, and usually not the nicest roads. By bowling alleys, by train stations, in small towns on the way to bigger ones, anywhere where real estate was cheap and a lot of cars or people passed through.

• From Books That Have Made History: Books That Can Change Your Life (2005)

  72 Lecture 13: Plato, Phaedo idea of freedom of conscience. In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates presents his conviction that the soul is immortal and that belief in the immortal soul can give an individual guidance for life. Socrates, like Jesus, never wrote a book. His student, Plato, left a series of dialogues in which Plato pays the highest tribute to his teacher by putting his ideas into the mouth of Socrates, thereby implying that without Socrates, Plato the intellectual would not have existed. It has been said that all of philosophy has been a series of footnotes to Plato and that Socrates was his intellectual father. Socrates was a true philosopher, a seeker after truth and a lover of wisdom. He asked such questions as: What is justice? What is piety? What is God? What is good government? This questioning brought Socrates into confl ict with the citizens of Athens. The Athenians wanted to eliminate Socrates because he forced them to think about these issues. The Phaedo is a dialogue that takes place on the day that Socrates will carry out his own execution by drinking a glass of hemlock. Phaedo is a non-Athenian who is one of the students of Socrates. At the beginning of the dialogue, the jailer gives Socrates instructions, and Socrates asks for someone to take his wife, Xanthippe, home. The students of Socrates ask him why he has recently been writing a hymn to Apollo and verse versions of Aesop’s fables. He indicates that in his dreams, the muses had told him to make music and poetry. When he attempted to write poetry, he realized that his search for truth was his way of making poetry. In obtaining this wisdom, he learned that his search for truth was what he should have been doing all along and that he had done what he was meant to do. Crito, a student of Socrates, then asks why Socrates appears happy in his present situation. After all, Socrates has been condemned to death. Socrates states that he is happy because he has lived his whole life wanting to die and preparing to die. He believes that a person who spends his life searching for truth and wisdom is doing nothing but preparing to die. Death is the moment when the soul is liberated from the trials of the body, and the soul of a person In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates presents his conviction that the soul is immortal and that belief in the immortal soul can give an individual guidance for life.

• From Middlesex (2002)

  faces. Years and years of baby hair, stimulated by the life-giving water, had taken root and grown.) But now Father Mike was ready for the dunking. "The servant of God, Calliope Helen is baptized in the Name of the Father, Amen ..." and he pushed me under for the first time. In the Orthodox Church, we don't go in for partial immersion; no sprinkling, no forehead dabbing for us. In order to be reborn, you have to be buried first, so under the water I went. My family looked on, my mother seized with anxiety (what if I inhaled?), my brother dropping a penny into the water when no one was looking, my grandmother stilling her fan for the first time in weeks. Father Mike pulled me up into the air again—"and of the Son, Amen"— and dunked me under once more. This time I opened my eyes. Chapter Eleven's penny, in freefall, glinted through the murk. Down it sank to the bottom where, I now noticed, lots of things were collected: other coins, for instance, hairpins, somebody's old Band-Aid. In the green, scummy, holy water, I felt at peace. Everything was silent. The sides of my neck tingled in the place where humans once had gills. I was dimly aware that this beginning was somehow indicative of the rest of my life. My family were around me; I was in the hands of God. But I was in my own, separate element, too, submerged in rare sensations, pushing evolution's envelope. This knowledge whizzed through my mind, and then Father Mike pulled me up again—"and ." One more dunking to go. Down I of the Holy Spirit, Amen . went and back up again, into light and air. The three submersions had taken a while. In addition to being murky, the water was warm. By the third time up, therefore, I had indeed been reborn: as a foun- tain. From between my cherubic legs a stream of crystalline liquid . 221 shot into the air. Lit from the dome above, its yellow scintillance ar- rested everyone's attention. The stream rose in an arc. Propelled by a full bladder, it cleared the lip of the font. And before my nouno had time to react, it struck Father Mike right in the middle of the face. Suppressed laughter from the pews, a few old ladies gasping in horror, then silence. Disgraced by his own partial immersion— and dabbing himself like a Protestant— Father Mike completed the cere- mony. Taking the chrism on his fingertips, he anointed me, marking the sign of the Cross on the required places, first my forehead, then eyes, nostrils, mouth, ears, breast, hands, and feet. As he touched each place, he said, "The seal of the gift of the Holy Spirit." Finally he gave me my First Communion (with one exception: Father Mike didn't forgive me for my sin). "That's my girl," Milton crowed on the way home. "Pissed on a priest."