(Published by Corgi Adult)
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The Sexual Life of Catherine M. is exactly what it says on the tin (well cover). It is a catalogue of the sexual encounters of one woman – Catherine Millet, the Parisian Art Critic and editor of Art Press. Millet is indeed a real person so this is a selective autobiography.
Every page covers her exploits since loosing her virginity, there are orgies, sex clubs, gang bangs, encounters with strangers, romps in parks, football grounds, alley ways, car parks… it goes on and on.
That’s my main criticism of this work, for 223 pages we are subject to the details of Ms. Millets carnal exploits, it is relentless. What is initially quite titillating and interesting (who doesn’t want to know about someone else’s sex life) becomes horrifically boring. Like wading through toffee, I could barely drag myself from one cxxk to the next.
Her recountings are honest, there is no gloss on the sex here, it is what is; a physical act. She did it and she is telling us in every detail. Although there is some reflection on why Millet has adopted this lifestyle it isn’t enough to sustain the work as a story. She brings it down to a wanting to please men though there is also a peek at an ego that enjoys the attention of being a free and sexually available woman there for men’s pleasure.
The physical reading of this book also brings with it problems. Where do you read something that includes explicit sexual content on each and every page? Not on the bus or any other public place – you risk causing both shock and offence to the noisy busybody looking over your shoulder. Not in the bedroom – it gives off the wrong signals when your hoping to settle down quietly to an hours reading. Personally I settled for the bath (on my own).
So having sorted where to read it there was only the task of getting down to it (reading it I mean), I ploughed through page after page of rutting till I couldn’t take it anymore. It was repetitive, uninteresting and well I couldn’t finish it. I did flick through the remaining pages to check to see if I was going to miss anything. No I wasn’t.
I did admire the independent, libertine, ‘devil may care’, free attitude to what she did and how she did it. I have no quibble with the woman’s life – it could indeed have made for a brilliant autobiography. If only she had spoken in as honest a manner about other aspects of her life and psyche rather than thinking that a whole book can be sustained on descriptions of sex.
Maybe we only think that what goes on behind other peoples doors is interesting but in fact it is not, it’s just dead boring. 
