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dangermousieOMG! This is awesome. This is the text of a genuine 1920s advertisement for a trashy novel. Where do I start? Perhaps with the ad itself.
"I have owned a hundred women!" he answered defiantly.
The girl recoiled as from a blow. Was this man who paraded his conquests before her the same one who had feasted so freely on her lips that moonlit night in Grand Canary?
She was his prisoner now. He had stolen her and brought her to his stronghold in the desert. Her father was also a captive. Pansy Langham's life had crashed in ruins about her. What good were her millions now? The mask had been removed. Raoul Le-Breton was the Sultan Casim El Ammeh!—a Mohammedan!
And yet she wanted no man's kisses but his. Love for him consumed her, but race and religion stood between them.
Little did she guess that the Arab had foreseen this minute, that he had trailed her father, Sir George for fifteen years. The Englishman, a captain at the time, had killed his father. Casim El Ammeh had not forgotten. Revenge was his at last!
He had intended having his way with her and then selling her as a slave—a fate more cruel than a white man could conceive. But love—an emotion an Arab scoffs at—had come to thwart him. Was he to forego his oath of an eye for an eye, or open the doors of his harem and seek forgetfulness?
Read
A Son of the Sahara
By Louise Gerard
Who gives you the real thrill of the Great Desert
For Sale wherever books are sold or from
THE MACAULAY COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
15-17 W. 38th Street New York
*dies* Seriously. This makes ff.net seem like Tolstoy.
I found this at the back of the old edition of the melodramatic novel His Hour, written in the 1920s. It is a novel by the notorious Elinor Glyn, whose books look pretty tame now but were scandalous hot stuff back in the twenties.
I tried reading it in college, and my brain nearly shrivelled of the stupid. Think a much less graphic Haou Airen in novel form. At one point, the prim heroine is kidnapped to a snowy lodge by the dashing yet IMO nasty sociopathic hero. He threatens to take her virtue. Luckily, she has her hands on a gun. Does she shoot him. Does she threaten him? Nah, she puts the gun to her temple and says if he moves a step closer she will shoot herself. The hero, however repellant, is not dim and reasonably points out that he’ll just wait until she is tired. So she finally gets tired and he pounces and she…faints. Yeah. This not being Haou Airen, he changes his mind on taking her virtue and tries to bring her to and kisses her feet (I think words ‘with wild abandon’ might have been used). When she comes to, she thinks she’s been dishonored because her clothes are askew (because he tried to bring her to). She seems to know remarkably little of birds and bees if she thinks that’s sufficient, but whatever. Anyhow, the bright girl’s solution? To preserve her honor, to marry the rapist. Yeah. Brilliant. They go ahead with the wedding because he neglects to mention the truth and he only reveals it after marriage because he wanted her to be trapped to marry him. Hugs and kisses. Happy end. Pass my the barf bag.
Heh. You can read the novel here:
http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/16692
This is how it ends. Read this and weep. This is worse than a lot of badfic I’ve come across:
Then the glory of paradise seemed to descend upon Tamara, as he bent and kissed her lips.
Oh! what did anything else matter in the world since after all he loved her! This beautiful fierce lover!
Visions of enchantment presented themselves--a complete intoxication of joy.
He held her in his arms, and all the strange passion and mystic depths which had fascinated her always, now dwelt in his eyes, only intensified by delirious love.
"Do you remember, Sweetheart, how you defied and resisted me? Darling! Heart of mine! but I have conquered you and taken you, in spite of all! You cannot struggle any more, you are my own. Only you must tell me that you give me, too, your soul. Ah! you said once I should have no part or lot in that matter. Tamara, tell me that I have it?"
And Tamara thrilled with ecstasy as she whispered, "Yes, you have it."
She cared not at all about pride--she did not wish to struggle, she adored being conquered. Her entire being was merged in his.
He held her from him for a second and the old whimsical smile full of tender mischief stole into his eyes.
"That night at the hut--when you dropped the pistol when--well, don't you want to know what really did happen?" he said.
She buried her face in his scarlet coat.
"Oh, no, no, no!" she cried. "It is all forgotten and forgiven."
Then with wild passion he clasped her to his breast.
"Oh! Love!" he said. "My sweet Princess; the gods are very kind to us, for all happiness is yet to come--! I did but kiss your little feet."
Ahhh. What every woman wants. A man to overmaster her and make her believe she was raped. Thank you, Elinor. I was clearly deluded when I did not realize that before.
Best Friend and I read bits of this novel (I use the word loosely) to each other in college and would die laughing. Even now, quite a few years later 'mystical it' is a phrase we randomly use :)
"I have owned a hundred women!" he answered defiantly.
The girl recoiled as from a blow. Was this man who paraded his conquests before her the same one who had feasted so freely on her lips that moonlit night in Grand Canary?
She was his prisoner now. He had stolen her and brought her to his stronghold in the desert. Her father was also a captive. Pansy Langham's life had crashed in ruins about her. What good were her millions now? The mask had been removed. Raoul Le-Breton was the Sultan Casim El Ammeh!—a Mohammedan!
And yet she wanted no man's kisses but his. Love for him consumed her, but race and religion stood between them.
Little did she guess that the Arab had foreseen this minute, that he had trailed her father, Sir George for fifteen years. The Englishman, a captain at the time, had killed his father. Casim El Ammeh had not forgotten. Revenge was his at last!
He had intended having his way with her and then selling her as a slave—a fate more cruel than a white man could conceive. But love—an emotion an Arab scoffs at—had come to thwart him. Was he to forego his oath of an eye for an eye, or open the doors of his harem and seek forgetfulness?
Read
A Son of the Sahara
By Louise Gerard
Who gives you the real thrill of the Great Desert
For Sale wherever books are sold or from
THE MACAULAY COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
15-17 W. 38th Street New York
*dies* Seriously. This makes ff.net seem like Tolstoy.
I found this at the back of the old edition of the melodramatic novel His Hour, written in the 1920s. It is a novel by the notorious Elinor Glyn, whose books look pretty tame now but were scandalous hot stuff back in the twenties.
I tried reading it in college, and my brain nearly shrivelled of the stupid. Think a much less graphic Haou Airen in novel form. At one point, the prim heroine is kidnapped to a snowy lodge by the dashing yet IMO nasty sociopathic hero. He threatens to take her virtue. Luckily, she has her hands on a gun. Does she shoot him. Does she threaten him? Nah, she puts the gun to her temple and says if he moves a step closer she will shoot herself. The hero, however repellant, is not dim and reasonably points out that he’ll just wait until she is tired. So she finally gets tired and he pounces and she…faints. Yeah. This not being Haou Airen, he changes his mind on taking her virtue and tries to bring her to and kisses her feet (I think words ‘with wild abandon’ might have been used). When she comes to, she thinks she’s been dishonored because her clothes are askew (because he tried to bring her to). She seems to know remarkably little of birds and bees if she thinks that’s sufficient, but whatever. Anyhow, the bright girl’s solution? To preserve her honor, to marry the rapist. Yeah. Brilliant. They go ahead with the wedding because he neglects to mention the truth and he only reveals it after marriage because he wanted her to be trapped to marry him. Hugs and kisses. Happy end. Pass my the barf bag.
Heh. You can read the novel here:
http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/16692
This is how it ends. Read this and weep. This is worse than a lot of badfic I’ve come across:
Then the glory of paradise seemed to descend upon Tamara, as he bent and kissed her lips.
Oh! what did anything else matter in the world since after all he loved her! This beautiful fierce lover!
Visions of enchantment presented themselves--a complete intoxication of joy.
He held her in his arms, and all the strange passion and mystic depths which had fascinated her always, now dwelt in his eyes, only intensified by delirious love.
"Do you remember, Sweetheart, how you defied and resisted me? Darling! Heart of mine! but I have conquered you and taken you, in spite of all! You cannot struggle any more, you are my own. Only you must tell me that you give me, too, your soul. Ah! you said once I should have no part or lot in that matter. Tamara, tell me that I have it?"
And Tamara thrilled with ecstasy as she whispered, "Yes, you have it."
She cared not at all about pride--she did not wish to struggle, she adored being conquered. Her entire being was merged in his.
He held her from him for a second and the old whimsical smile full of tender mischief stole into his eyes.
"That night at the hut--when you dropped the pistol when--well, don't you want to know what really did happen?" he said.
She buried her face in his scarlet coat.
"Oh, no, no, no!" she cried. "It is all forgotten and forgiven."
Then with wild passion he clasped her to his breast.
"Oh! Love!" he said. "My sweet Princess; the gods are very kind to us, for all happiness is yet to come--! I did but kiss your little feet."
Ahhh. What every woman wants. A man to overmaster her and make her believe she was raped. Thank you, Elinor. I was clearly deluded when I did not realize that before.
Best Friend and I read bits of this novel (I use the word loosely) to each other in college and would die laughing. Even now, quite a few years later 'mystical it' is a phrase we randomly use :)
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 01:40 am (UTC)Because white men? They totally never sold slaves.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 01:50 am (UTC)Nah. Only icky Mohameddans sell slaves. Or maybe what the author meant is that it's OK for the heathens to sell each other, but white people wouldn't sell other white people (of course, white slavery? what is that?)
I have not read a word of the novel but I am willing to be sums of money that the Sultan (who apparently has free time from his governing duties to trail after an English retiree for 15 years) will turn out to be white...
no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 02:29 am (UTC)ohh well
no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 03:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 04:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 07:23 am (UTC)Seriously though, sometimes you can't be too grateful that certain novels are out of print or lost. I once (re)searched for a Regency novel that was pretty popular at the time (1805-07) and which we wanted to use in a Regency weekend for a literary circle. When I found excerpts my eye began to bleed. Jane Austen it wasn't.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 09:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 10:12 am (UTC)Thank you for introducing us to this gem XD.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-19 08:21 pm (UTC)LOL.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-20 12:24 am (UTC)And that 1920s book just sounds hilarious...
no subject
Date: 2007-04-20 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-20 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-22 02:17 pm (UTC)