Quentin Tarantino is not in this issue. Not that we didn't invite him, through a Miramax publicist who contacted his personal publicist who contacted his assistant who turned us down, via the Miramax publicist, on Quentin's behalf. And no, our theme for August was not inspired by the 1994 flick that impossibly redeemed the star of Look Who's Talking 1, 2, and 3.
Then why pulp? First, because it's summer. For many of us, a beach is in the near or imagined future. This inevitably involves sun, beer and books of the I-want-to-be-engrossed-but-I-don’t-want-to-think-about-the-9/11-commission-or-the-lengthy-demise-of-a-guy-named-Morrie variety. Such books are often known as "summer reads," "beach reads" or you guessed it pulp.
But what is pulp? For some, it occupies the embarrassing middle space of genres — embarrassing, perhaps, because it implies mindlessness. Yet the books and movies and art that qualify as pulp aren't exactly mindless. They simply feed a universal attraction to lurid sensationalism, even if not especially heaving bosoms, throbbing quims, angry purple-headed love darts . . . you get the idea.
At Hooksexup, we usually run screaming from such cliches, but we have to admit it: there is joy in embracing what you usually avoid. Some of our favorite writers certainly found the theme liberating. Maggie Estep embraces the seamy detective story. Steve Almond beats Brokeback Mountain to the punch with an unconventional accolade to the departed Louis L'Amour. And we couldn't resist an excerpt from Pamela Anderson's debut novel, Star.
Also in this issue: remembering V.C. Andrews, whose teen-incest novel Flowers in the Attic helped twist the sexual development of many a pre-pubescent (including not a few Hooksexup staffers); an interview with lesbian pulp librarians; sex advice from romance novelists, and a profile of Polly Frost, perhaps the most well-connected resident of the erotic horror genre. Enjoy. — Tobin Levyn°
In This Issue:
No-Tell Motel 2 by Chas Ray Krider
/photography/8.6
Flower Duet by Pamela Anderson "It was endless foreplay. It was the part of 9 1/2 Weeks that Adam never got."
/fiction/8.9
Midnight on Them Spurs by Steve Almond "Shorty was known along the border as an agent of the hardest kind. You had a problem with rustlers, some old hand skimming cream from your milk, you sent for Shorty."
/fiction/8.10
Library of Congress by Gwynne Watkins A Q&A with two curators of lesbian pulp.
/a life's work/8.10
Sex Advice From . . . Romance Novelists Q:"If he asks how many men she's slept with, what should she say?"
A: "Seven's a good number."
/regulars/8.12
Oh, Pioneers! In 1981, vice-presidential wife Lynne Cheney published a paperback potboiler about same-sex lust in the Old West. Now we've got the pictures.
/photography/8.13
Failed to Menace by Maggie Estep "Women who pretended to be little girls made him feel sinister. The dead woman on the floor made him feel worse."
/fiction/8.16
Scream Queen by Lynn Harris Polly Frost's erotic sex dens of the soul.
/life's work/8.16
The Hitchhiker's Pet Rescue by Tom Lombardi "She was a cedar forest, into which I drove with my tongue."
/fiction/8.17
Hot Fear by Gangster Raven St. Marks "The girls gathered to see blood stand in a line on Vanessa's arm. A hook had deeply grazed her flesh."
/personal essay/8.18
Imitation of Imitation of Life by John "Lypsinka" Epperson Reappraising the lush-but-hollow 1960s melodramas of Ross Hunter.
/screening room/8.18
Children of the Corn by Emily Mead How V.C. Andrews' chintzy incest novel Flowers in the Attic introduced me to sex — and warped a generation of fifth-grade fantasies.
/personal essay/8.19
Flinch Hard Enough by Marc Nesbitt "He’d been dreaming about the delicate hotel they’d move into once everyone forgot the Italian agent dead in her bed. Dreamed he was fucking his aunt, but she was a stewardess, and when he woke up, he was actually having sex. "
/fiction/8.19
Pulp-inspired photography from the Hooksexup archives:
