even cowgirls get the blues

all of my favorite authors are (or were) dirty old men. sots. swillers of liquid wisdom. so why does robbins' sloppy lesbo-pastoralism surprise me? maybe because this is the same guy who writes elsewhere about goddess religions and sexually powerful female characters. i assumed he was one of the more "evolved" (this word is so perfect -- i always think of the mom in running with scissors using it to describe her new boyfriend) writers of the 70's. now the trope is "attractive women will have fantasy sex with each other if given the opportunity"... bleh. i wanted to stop reading after the first sex scene, but somehow i made it all the way past the love letter from jelly to sissy (what is this, x-rated jane austen?). think i'll call it quits on page 180. this is not to say that the book is not otherwise good, just that i want to kick robbins in his babymaker (yeah, i said it).

here is a rather innocent passage from p.49:

the author isn't altogether certain that there is any such thing as exaggeration. our brains permit us to utilize such a wee fraction of their resources that, in a sense, everything we experience is a reduction. we employ drugs, yogic techniques and poetics--and a thousand more clumsy methods--in an effort just to bring things back up to normal.