And um, Jacqueline Carey is pretty trashy. It’s smut, and badly written smut at that. That makes it a pretty good candidate. It’s about this divinely beautiful, politically savvy courtesan who happens to feel intense pleasure from pain because it is a god-given birth trait (?) and moves about in a make-believe Europe having sex with everyone. It is really good in that awful sort of way, like celebrity magazines. The funny thing is, she’s always totally duped in the end, for all her savvy. But that is always because her nemesis had such a “deeply laid scheme”. The problem is, the heroine is deeply, deeply attracted to her nemesis (who is a woman) but torn by her love for her Jesuitical bodyguard, I forget his name, but I imagine he looks like Legolas or something, who of course, is part of the only group on the entire continent not having kinky sex (indeed no sex at all!)… Yeah. Exactly.

And James Joyce is pretty trashy, too, that drunken Irish piece o’ crap Ulysses. No? Just me, then.

I wonder how much our perceptions are determined by the name and bottle? I tested the Juicy Couture recently, and probably I’d find it boring but better executed than most “artistic” niche brands, but I hated it simply because it was Juicy Couture.