The Sexual Life of Catherine M.

– a Review by B. R.

I heard about this book on the discussion programme, ‘A Good Read’, on Radio 4. I was intrigued but with no intention of looking for it, I happened upon it some months later whilst on a journey and needing to kill some time in a London railway station. Such was my timidity that I bought a large postcard at the same time with which to cover the title, to read it in privacy on the train.

Either we English live very sheltered lives or Catherine M is a nymphomaniac. I expect both are true. Having ploughed slower and slower to the end, while Rod was away, I was flabbergasted that the R4 discussion avoided the F word, the C word and many very explicit descriptions of this woman’s experiences. I suppose I am equally challenged in writing a review of it, so I’ll give it a try. After all, if any of it offends, you won’t be seeking the book to read for yourself.

The author has divided the book into four sections: Numbers; Space; Confined Space and Details. Believe me, after the first three descriptions of group sex in ‘Numbers’ you’re unlikely to find the book gets better, however much you hope. In fact, like all ‘erotic’ books, it seems, the whole thing is tedious and uneventful. I found no dramatic highpoint, just a smutty repetition of clumsy, critical, unromantic, non-descript sex-acts with men and women too numerous to care about or even for her to properly remember.

Although conventionally set out as a non-fiction book there seems little definition between the different sections: its clockwork sex more frequent than a hearty meal rendering the whole account bland and boring. I feel sure the woman could (probably does) write far more intelligently about her specialist subject as a Parisian Art Critic. Some of the references to art and galleries show that she has a lot of knowledge and has met and observed numerous interesting people. Why on earth couldn’t she paint more interesting word-pictures by revealing their complex minds?

I believe the original French version is better written and that the copy I have (Transworld UK) is quite badly translated. There are reviews on Amazon that rate the prose quite beautiful in French, and one cannot help but suspect that friends, relatives and lovers too have been commandeered to write them.

Catherine M doesn’t seem to enjoy words. Though not very badly written – and translation might be to blame – the prose is factual and monotonous. They say everyone has a book in them and this is clearly the one she was destined to write. I hope it will be the only one.

© Bernie Ross 2005