This one is from Dave, who asks, "Man or woman? And what about the inscriptions headed down towards the pubic region?" I don't know, Dave. But I notice it's about TV, which means transvestite to me!
Michael sent me several links to Amber Heat Erotica, which includes the following fine gem. I include the description because it just defies imagination. I never thought I'd see clowns and erotica in the same venue (although Michael reminds me that with the internet all porn combinations are possible).
Peter Cortland, running from the tragic loss, first of his child, then his wife, found solace and some sense of peace behind the painted white facade of a clown, the presence of one lone teardrop the only outward evidence of the heavy sorrow he carried inside. Undeniably drawn to the vibrant and beautiful aerial performer, when a terrible accident almost takes her life, in a desperate act of self-preservation he forces her out of his heart. It’s taken seven years for him to come to terms with his tragedies and now he wants another chance at the love he threw away all those years ago.
*Gag*
And finally, SecretMargo has this to say about the following cover: "Your recent "Werewolf penis" post reminded me of a book that a friend who worked for the Seattle Times sent me from their review slush pile because the cover was so amazingly horrible she thought I had to have it. She sent it all the way to Japan. I also read it, and it is just as insane as its cover, but written with even less skill than you might imagine. It actually looks worse in person. And fun to leave on the coffee table when you have guests over."
Thank you very much, gentleman. And now I must wash my eyes out with bleach.
9 comments:
That clown cover reminds me of a cartoon in this week's New Yorker. It looks like it's at a a carnival midway, and there's a kid talking to a clown with a white-painted face and a single tear, just like the one on the cover you have here. In the caption, the clown says, "No, it doesn't mean I'm a sad clown. It means I killed a man in prison."
It may be my favorite New Yorker cartoon ever.
Do you think that's one of the Knights Who Say "Nee!" lurking behind the ambiguously-gendered hero on the cover of Smoke and Ashes?
Regarding Nights in White Satin: sure, it looks bad, but is it as bad as it could possibly get? I'm sure if we all put our heads together we could come up with the most unsettling romance novel ever contrived. Taking a cue from this post, I'd wager it's probably gotta have something to do with clowns. And goats. And middle-aged catwomen. And sweaty actuaries who work for Prudential and order the same damned thing for lunch at Wendy's every single frickin' day.
"On that day Lars broke his tradition and ate at Burger King instead. On that day Imogene's goat had got away. Priscilla's Snuffles had died that moning, leaving a space in her heart that only a clown could fill. On that day, four lives would be changed forever."
On the Smoke and Ashes cover, we know it's a woman because of the strategically clinging shirt. Why is it OK to show the nipples those inflated male pecs (I'm thinking of some of your previous covers), but female breasts of the same size must somehow, just by chance, have an arm or a drifting shirt or a half-unzipped space suit covering those two little bits of flesh?
The creature on the cover of Smoke and Ashes has too long of a torso to be human. Oh, and shouldn't there be pubes? Not, I repeat not, that I would want to have to see them. The belly tattoo is just silly.
how dare you ridicule poor Peter Cortland, and his "desperate act of self-preservation", which obviously means paying a couple of sinister medical school dropouts to engineer him into a woman in some garage-turned-operating-room ["The Surgery Shack"] and later writing his autobiography under the name of Adrianna Dane, a painted white satin facade of a pseudonym.
I think Adrianna Dane deserves some sort of award for serial abuse of the comma. There are seven in the first two sentences.
I love Tanya Huff, and I waited excitedly (which I usually don't do) for this novel to be released; I actually found a used copy at a local bookstore before its "official" release date. I guess that was karma, or kismet, or some other k-word.
Anyway, imagine my surprise when upon reading the story, that the character on the cover wasn't the main character (a young gay man), but a new character. And female. Yay! I got more tits than she does!
I just stumbled onto this blog via CC. This is great!
The Moody Blues oughta sue the hell outta the author of "Nights in White Satin". That cover makes me think of that episode of Seinfeld where Crazy Joe Davola is done up like a clown.
The tattoo is actually central to the plot, by I agree about the man/woman thing. I totally thought it was a man when I bought the book.
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