Date: 2007-01-20 08:49 pm (UTC)
Sexually I have always used the term "kryptonite" for my never-fail fantasies, but part of what keeps them lively is that I never tell anyone about them. It keeps them shiny and new and doesn't wear them out.

Literature is actually a little tougher to define. I think of it by genres rather than by plot line. I am fond of almost anything set between the wars, the harder boiled the better. I'm a sucker for crackling dialogue and telling sartorial details; Raymond Chandler owns my heart on these.

I'm also devoted to career girl stories. The Best of Everything, Scruples, even Valley of the Dolls push all my "plucky girl in the big city" buttons. Lately I have been meditating about why I don't think that The Devil Wears Prada and other recent Chick Lit books are really the same, but I haven't formulated enough thoughts for a real post yet. I could watch reruns of That Girl until my eyeballs fall out.

Another genre that often intersects with career girl stories is the group-of-friends joint Bildungsroman. Valley of the Dolls actually falls into this realm, though of course the real doyenne is The Group. In a more modern vein, Lace is a good example with a clever premise, or Loose Change or Braided Lives for a slightly more intellectual angle.

I may be reading in the gutter but I'm looking at the stars.
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