But when she drops out of college to marry, Sasha soon realises her life has become a fearful countdown to her thirtieth birthday - the year when her beauty will have faded, and life as she knows it will end. As Sasha rebels against her fate, she finds herself experiencing an intellectual and sexual awakening that might be her only chance of outrunning the aging process.
First published in , Alix Kates Shulman's landmark novel follows Sasha's coming of age through the sexual double standards, job discrimination and harassment of the s and 60s. Five decades later, it remains a funny and heartbreaking story of a young woman in a man's world. Read More Read More. Additional Information. Average rating from 8 members. See all member reviews. Featured Reviews. Gillian M, Reviewer.
Was this review helpful? Kate B, Reviewer. Featured Reviews Gillian M, Reviewer. Readers who liked this book also liked:. Win 18 Mar The Night She Disappeared 22 Jul The Witness 23 Apr The Guilty Husband 19 Mar The Perfect Nanny 31 Mar Before She Disappeared 21 Jan To Tell You the Truth 25 Jun The Boy from the Woods 03 Sep When You See Me 20 Feb This edition was published in Oct 01, by Picador — pages.
Not in Library. Libraries near you: WorldCat. Memoirs of an ex-prom queen , Penguin Books. Borrow Listen. Download for print-disabled. Memoirs of an ex-prom queen , Cassandra Edns, Academy Chicago.
Memoirs of an ex-prom queen , Cassandra Editions. Memoirs of an ex-prom queen: a novel , Bantam Books. Memoirs of an ex-prom queen , Bantam Books.
Memoirs of an ex-prom queen , Hart-Davis, MacGibbon. Memoirs of an ex-prom queen: a novel , Bantam. Memoirs of an ex-prom queen: a novel. To pull back lower down, from the shoulders or back, would permit him almost effortlessly to flatten and mount me.
He presses in after. He lets the fingers of his right hand slowly down onto my breast, like a date at the movies, at the same time that he begins blowing into my ear. After taking the precaution of crossing my legs I reach up toward my breast and grab his fingers. But he must think I simply want to hold hands, for instead of pitching the battle over the breast, he slips his other hand up my skirt, carried away, I guess, by his vision of his irresistible charms.
When he finds the passage locked, he tries to open it by stroking my thigh, inching higher and higher. Abandoning my breast to his right-hand flank, I bring in my remaining limbs to assist my legs. Somehow he has got both my hands, which had been pulling at his probing arm, off the field, and with one of his extra limbs has pushed me down prone on the car seat. With a single hard thrust of his knee he can now break my defenses, wedge my thighs open, and make for the opening.
He thinks that a finger inside me will make me desire him; they all read the same bad books. I must submit or outwit him; he cares only for cunt. How discouraging to have come these miles only to wind up struggling in yet another parked car. In flat Ohio they drive you 15 miles out into the country; in the Adirondacks they take you up 4, feet.
In either case, once they turn off their motors and the lights it is very hard for you to get back home. What is the difference? Having come this great distance to be myself and make love freely, must I still try all the old tricks to avoid being raped? What is going on? If Candide had been born a girl, would he too in this best of worlds have wound up being ravished on a mountaintop? Anger is out. Pleas and flattery are useless too.
0コメント