Author:  Ian Brady, with forewords by Colin Wilson and Dr. Alan Keightley, afterword by Peter Sotos

Why I Consider This Book Odd:  It was written by Ian Brady, who, along with his girlfriend Myra Hindley, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and murdered children in England from 1963-1965.

Type of Work:  Philosophical treatise, armchair psychology

Availability:  This book is still in print, published by Feral House in 2001.

Comments:  Had this book been a person and it approached me outside of the supermarket, I would have crossed the street.  This book is the crazy man who thinks he is sane and intelligent, raving on the traffic islands about whatever topic is in his head.  It is hard to pay such people much attention and therefore, it was difficult to care about large chunks of this book.

Peter Sotos is the only person in this book who did not come off like a rube or a complete lunatic.  If you are at all familiar with Sotos’s body of work, consider my statement and what it really means.  He is the only one who seemed to understand that in addition to being a violent sexual predator, Ian Brady is also a master manipulator whose word on any topic should likely be taken with a grain of salt, if not completely disregarded.

I wanted to read this book because, in my typical fashion of wanting a book based on just small snippets of information, I thought in some sense that this book would be an explanation of what it was that made Ian Brady become a killer, of what it was about his personality that could have mesmerized Myra Hindley, an otherwise unremarkable woman, into a folie a deux murder streak that set the serial killing stage for similar fiends like Fred and Rosemary West and Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo.  I had long heard that this book was illuminating, a rare look into the mind of a serial killer, and while it is, it also isn’t.

All I learned reading this book is that I still have a sound psychopathometer (though Brady fancies himself a psychotic rather than a psychopath because the former are interesting to him) and that the only real insight anyone would ever have into Ian Brady’s mind is that he is a liar and a manipulator.  He certainly conned Colin Wilson, who seems to think that the information that Brady provides about himself and fellow psychopathic killers, somehow gives Brady cosmic brownie points.

Wilson, with a level of naivety that he should not possess given his age and the range of his career, says:

In a letter of a few days ago, he wrote to me bitterly, “My life is over so I can afford honesty of expression; those with a future cannot.  If I had my time over again, I’d get a government job and live off the state… a pillar of society.  As it is I am eager to die. I chose the wrong path and am finished.”

As this book shows, that, at all events, is untrue.

If you feel that sort of rush of saliva that makes you think you may puke, be aware you will feel it again and again as you read this book.  Part One consists of seven interminable chapters wherein Brady discusses psychopathy, psychotics, and a really inappropriate interpretation of what boils down to Nietzchean superman theories as they apply to killers. But in doing this, he uses dense, at times overly intellectual yet specious language to give himself some sort of authority on his topic.  He creates what he thinks are trenchant observations about the way the media and society handle crimes like the Moor Murders, hilariously implying that we, the law-abiding people of the world, are really to blame for being interested and appalled when such crimes occur.  At no time does Brady truly apply all his analysis to himself, but doesn’t hesitate in Part Two, where he analyzes the true natures of other serial killers.  Worse, what little that Brady gives away about himself is contradictory, often without, in my opinion, the man even understanding he has done so.

Before I explain why this book was a sickening, masturbatory excursion into manipulative madness, let me share the sobering, sane words of Peter Sotos.  His epilogue should have been a preface, because it could have saved many a reader from entering into this exercise of the damned thinking they would, in fact, be reading honest words.

Here’s a large chunk of what Sotos had to say, and in saying it, he revealed the only truth of the book:

First off, you don’t ask a child molester to write a book on serial killing.  A child rapist.  A child pornographer.  A child murderer.

Colin Wilson, from his introduction:

“Therefore I advised him to do the thing I would have done: to think about writing a book.  Since he obviously knew about serial murder ‘from the inside’, thus this suggested itself as the obvious subject.”

You don’t ask him to do the obvious.  You especially don’t ask him to do what you would do.

Because the child rapist and murderer and pornographer will obviously lie.  And, because he wants to believe you need to hear more, he’ll even start to enjoy telling you he’s lying.  Because it’s the easiest thing to do.  It is the obvious choice.  He can adopt the dime-a-dozen serial killer front of puffed up superiority, all from his tiny cell and serve the typical cold dish of chest beating mental clarity over mental introspection…

Sotos is right, and the reader should know it before they even try to read this miasma of philosophical nothings.  If you want to know the impulse of true deviance, read Sotos or de Sade.  If you want to read the words of a man who has plenty of clarity but absolutely no desire to apply it to his own motivations, who is, in fact, probably lying to you, read The Gates of Janus.

Rest of my analysis under the cut.

It would be a lie on my part if I said that I didn’t hate this book.  Reading Brady’s tortured prose was difficult.  Take, for example the following sentence:

On the other hand, it is mostly to the quiescent company of the atheist, the sceptic, the cynic, the nihilist, the existentialist, those self-absorbed who are content to propose and preach nothing, that we may sometimes escape the excessive demands of synthetic morality, and the jarring irritations of theological presumption.

Or, as those of us who have nothing to hide would say, we need to hang with the outsiders if we want to get some relief from all the priggish and artificial forces that annoy us.  This sentence is more or less how this entire book reads.

What one, after a careful translation of this book, can take from Part one is the following:

• Brady hates those of us who do not see how it is that he is a mentally and emotionally superior man because he gave into urges to do grave harm, urges that he claims we all as humans have.
• Brady thinks the salacious media handling of sex and child murders both feeds those who want to commit such crimes and feeds those who wish they could man and up commit such crimes (and here, he may have some points).
• Brady thinks that the man who lives for a lion as a day (raping and killing children is living as a lion for a day?  Really?) rather than living as a lamb for a lifetime is a morally superior way of living.
• Brady rails against the lack of humanity in the prison system, though one would think that a man who lived as a lion would understand brutality and not, in fact, hypocritically bitch about it when such brutality is applied to him (more on this when I get to Brady’s analysis of Carl Panzram).
• Brady has a complete lack of understanding of what institutionalized violence versus individual violence really entails, ascribing a sort of hypocrisy to the former.
• Brady thinks the reason he in in prison is because he did not channel his psychopathy in the correct way, that all politicians are psychopaths, as are captains of industry etc, and decries society as hypocrites from not seeing things in a similar manner.

Again, this book is the crazy man who thinks he is sane, yelling at you as you try to carry your groceries to the car.  There may be some surface sanity to the statements (why yes, many politicians are sociopaths or psychopaths) but the rest is just weird and a little scary. There may have been more to take away from Part One, but my god, it took me two weeks to read this book.  It should have taken two days.  I have not slogged through a book this slowly since I was forced to read Mrs. Dalloway in college.

Part Two is superficially more interesting, wherein Brady turns his supposed powers of serial killer insight onto other killers, but after reading his first analysis, that of Henry Lee Lucas, it was hard for me to take much of what Brady had to say with any notion that he knew what he was talking about.  I know a lot about Henry Lee Lucas, as a Texan and as a woman who at one point in her life knew almost every fact there was to know about American serial killers up until about 2000.  Brady gets too many facts wrong for his psychological profile to mean anything.

For example, Brady says about Lucas:

An abused Charlie Chaplin, Lucas’ alcoholic father, abused him sadistically for years, unwittingly fashioning him into his mother’s nemesis.

An abused child usually does not focus hatred upon the parent who abuses but upon the parent who stood by and did nothing to stop the abuser.  The hatred towards the abuser is effectively regarded as nothing compared to the betrayal of love and trust by the second parent…

Lucas was twenty-three, his mother seventy, when he stabbed, strangled and raped her.  Obviously, the viciousness of this act projected that the hatred for his mother would burgeon into a deep-seated distrust/hatred of the female species as a whole.

Well, all of this sounds well and good to a point (women are not a separate species from men), except for the fact that the facts about Lucas are quite wrong, therefore Lucas does not fit the bill of a killer who turns against the gender of the parent who was complicit but not active in their abuse (and I have a hard time thinking of such a killer, to be frank).

Lucas’s mother was the instigator of most of the abuse Lucas suffered.  She was the one who beat him into a coma, causing him to almost lose an eye, which he later did lose in an unrelated incident.  She was the one who, upon learning Lucas’s love for a family donkey, shot the donkey to death in front of Lucas.  She was the one who was a prostitute, performing sex acts openly in front of her child.  In fact, her aggressive abuse drove her husband to suicide – confined to a wheelchair, he wheeled himself onto a railroad track.  If Brady’s bizarre interpretation of serial killer motivations is to be believed, then Lucas should have killed his father.

It is easy to say that in prison, and later a mental wing of a prison, Brady may not have had access to the correct information.  But Brady himself says that he was interested in Lucas because a noted author wanted his opinion on Lucas and sent him information about the case.  Unless that information was really as bad as Brady presents it, it seems as if Brady just twisted facts around to fit a pet psychological notion of his.

Only in two of the criminal profiles and analyses does one get the sense that Brady knows what he is talking about.  Examining Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper who killed prostitutes, Brady’s look into the delusions that led Sutcliffe to murder (God told me to kill hookers) to his current position (I was caught because it was Satan talking to me the whole time) rings true.  But also, aside from Graham Young, the poisoner with Nazi leanings, Brady actually spent some time with Sutcliffe and got to know him.  One gets the impression when Brady truly understands his subject, he does not have to hide behind the verbiage of someone who wants to sound like he knows what he is talking about.

But it is, ironically, in one of his analyses of another killer that Brady utterly gives himself away.  The American killer Carl Panzram is not a man many know much about today, but he was the textbook defintion of a complete psychopath.  He killed for pleasure.  He killed for money.  He killed for sex.  He was a born killer.  Panzram was in and out of prison all of his life, his jail tenure beginning with petty thefts.

Panzram was not an easy prisoner.  He did not submit to rules, period.  When he would disobey guards, they would lash out at him, often with punishments so bad that they almost killed him.  Nothing could break Panzram though, not even treatment that 80 years later would be considered torture worse than anything that happened at Guantanamo.  Panzram escaped from prison twice and was a near unstoppable crime machine during both escapes.  When Panzram returned to prison in 1928, he swore he would kill the first man who gave him grief, and he did, the prison laundry foreman.

For this, Panzram received the death penalty and went to his death taunting the hangman.  His final words were, “Hurry it up, you Hoosier bastard! I could hang ten men while you’re fooling around!”

I am not trying to glorify Panzram when I say he was a complete badass.  He was a violent psychopath with no moral compass aside from an almost childlike need to be loyal to those who were loyal to him.  When a warden gave him leaves and he failed to return on time, he decided to stay out and escape rather than face the censure of the man who had believed in him.  In almost all other respects, he was a nihilistic monster.

But Brady recognizes Panzram’s status as a badass, and in this recognition, one can see a longing in Brady’s prose, almost a desire that he could have been like Panzram.  Using Brady’s own definitions, Panzram was a man who did live as a lion, but instead of living like a lion for a day, he lived as a lion his entire life.  Going to prison did not reduce him to a lamb, with all sorts of rules inflicted on him, obeyed out of fear of punishment.  Brady’s imprisonment has been much different, swaying to rules and behaving in bizarre, coy manners, like writing to a victim’s mother and telling her he knows where her son’s body is buried but that the authorities will not let him reveal this information.

Panzram, in his nihilistic rage, would never have resorted to such passive-aggressive methods of revenge.  For him it was the gun, the knife or the fist, and while both men’s approaches are reprehensible, one can see how much Brady idolizes Panzram.  Panzram never bitched about the poor prison standards when he was being hanged by his arms until his shoulders dislocated.  He swore revenge and got it.  Panzram’s very life makes Brady’s pseudo-intellectual and moralistic railings against the modern treatment of prisoners seem weak, and Brady feels it acutely.  His entire ideology of living as a lion for a day versus as a lamb for a lifetime was foiled by the prison system he is too weak to fight.  Panzram walked what Brady talks.

Brady gives away his hero worship throughout the chapter on Panzram, but here are some examples:

Panzram is another prime example of multi-motivational, multi-attributional reprisal. When dealing with authorities of any description, individually petty-minded tyrants, you must never wait for anyone to accept responsibility, for it is against their cowardly nature to do so.  You must without hesitation or pointless consultation, confer responsibility on the obvious culprits, and decide the price you will make them pay, one way or another.

In short, you must act as tyrannically as they do, but solely on your own authority.

Bear in mind, these are the words of a man who preyed on innocent children, who would routinely enter into the prison psych ward, and tried to starve himself to death as a form of suicide.  He has made no one pay, simply exercising his will against the weak until caught.  Not his hero Panzram, whose actions he makes a small attempt to disavow but his words praise regardless.

In Nietzsche’s Also Spake Zarathustra, the pivotal factor is, in my opinion, the Great Contempt, or more precisely, the Great Self-Contempt.  Once a man has achieved, in a praise-worthy sense, contempt for himself, he simultaneously achieves contempt for all man-made laws and moralities and becomes truly free to do as he wills.  Plunging into the very depths, he consequently rises above all.

Do you again feel that sort of nauseated feeling that presages sick?  What is worse?  Assigning such a philosophical identity to a psychopath like Panzram, or the slavering, Igor-like “yes master” admiration of and longing to be such a man.  As I read the chapter on Panzram, my sole thought was that Brady loved him or wanted to be him, all the while recognizing that there was a far better example of his own words than himself.

This book was trying, to say the least.  I planned next to review Peter Sotos’s Selfish, Little, but I need to step away from anything to do with the Moors Murders for a bit.  I don’t want to read about the torture and killing of little children for a long while.  I think my next foray into odd books will be bizarro fiction, or maybe some loony new age.  Because this sort of thing wears on your soul if you engage in it without a break.

But let me leave you with the primary reason why I hated this book and find great contempt in anyone who could find redemption in Ian Brady for writing it (yes, I mean you, Colin Wilson):

It is rather significant to note that those members of the lower classes who assiduously adhere to law and prevailing morality usually display a smug self-righteousness, which appears to be based on the patent delusion that their virtuous qualities are inborn, rather than evidence of a servile constitution predisposed to the influence of social engineering.

That’s right, dear reader.  The only reason you have not kidnapped a little girl, recorded and filmed her torture and rape, killed her and dumped her body into a place where it might never be discovered is because you have a servile constitution and  are overly influenced by social law, not because most human beings have a moral core that makes such actions despicable.  This idea is is a running theme in this book and one of the reasons I found it so mentally tiresome.  Your mileage may vary, but you have been warned.

Book Title: Loathsome Women: The Witches Among Us

Author: Leopold Stein, M.D. and Martha Alexander

Why I Consider This Book Odd: The title made me think this was an odd book, and a reading completely bore this out. Some time ago, I saw this book mentioned in an online discussion about weird books. I didn’t write down the description but in my notes, I later saw the title and had to order a copy.

Type of Work: non-fiction, psychiatry

Availability: This book is out of print, but copies can be found at various book seller sites, like Amazon. Click here to buy a copy: Loathsome Women: the Witches Among Us Because it is out of print, there is no official listing. That link takes you to just one of the clusters of the book, as sellers created their own listing for the book instead of searching to see if the book was already listed. So shop around for the best deal.

Comments: Okay, let’s get this out of the way: I don’t dismiss Jung or psychoanalysis. But for the love of sanity, you will not find a more bizarre approach to psychoanalysis than you will in Dr. Stein. Add to that bizarre approach his misogyny and his overt and cringing fear in the face of four mentally ill women, and you’ve got yourself one odd, or dare I say very odd, book. It is hard to restrain vitriol in the face of such a monster, but I managed it. I did not, however, restrain my snark.

When this book arrived in the mail, I scanned the book and a little of the content and wondered if it was really an odd book after all. In small doses, in Loathsome Women it seemed like Dr. Stein was approaching his patients’ manifestation of problems using Jungian archetypes to relate to the patients. It didn’t hit me when I just scanned the book that Dr. Stein evidently believed that his patients were real witches and that he was possibly the most misogynistic writer I’ve read in years.

But he did. And he was. Read the rest under the jump.

Dr. Stein had four patients, Sybil, Judith, Daphne and Dora, with only superficial similarities. In dealing with them, he felt repulsed by them and at times frightened. (And my god, this man was easily frightened. He shivered with every “sly smile” these women gave him.) He came up with the theory that these women were honest to god witches and not just emotionally disturbed women he needed to treat and not be repulsed by them in such a way that he was frightened by their disorders and disgusted by the women.

At first, I kept clinging to the hope that Dr. Stein was using language in such a way that maybe I was reading too much into it. I kept hoping that he didn’t think these women were real witches. But the text is too specific for it to be anything other than the delusions of a Viennese-trained psychiatrist who should really have known better. And I really wish I could track these women down, if they are still living, and see if they were really cured of their problems. I found the conclusion of this book to be self-serving, to say the least. I can’t help but suspect that not only were they not cured, that perhaps there was at least one suicide among them. But the overarching weirdness in this book is this: Since the man clearly thought the women were witches, it makes one wonder how basic psychoanalysis could cure the supernatural.

But don’t take my word for it. Some proponents of psychoanalysis may think I am reading the text wrong, that Dr. Stein was dealing with archetypes but to this reader, his words give lie to any attempt to whitewash his misogyny as well as his paranoid delusions of the true natures of these four women.

Judge for yourself:

“I had no way of knowing, however, that there was a far more sinister side to their personalities than was initially revealed. These women led me on many dark and devious paths before my associations with them ended, and the same forces that threatened them came to threaten me.”

The same forces that threatened them came to threaten me? This passage shows clearly Dr. Stein’s bizarre mind. How exactly could their problems come to threaten him, a well-trained psychiatrist? Surely by that point he had encountered toxic personalities before and was not constantly frightened by them or felt their neuroses could affect him. This passage shows that he felt that the supernatural forces in these women and not their Jungian subconscious for the mythic witch. An archetype cannot hurt you.

Referring to his patient Sybil:”I saw again the fury in her eyes turn to naked fear, and their focus shift from me to some point beyond me, and then, when she did meet my eyes, I saw also the strange, sly smile that had caused my flesh to creep.

I knew now why this was: When Sybil lay on the floor she was trying the power of the witch; and she would have indeed destroyed not only herself, but also me.”

Again with the reaction to the sly smiles… He must emphasize the effect those sly smiles had on him at least a dozen times throughout the book. Ask yourself what sort of psychiatrist feels undone by smiles and thinks a mentally ill but charming woman trying to get his attention, sexually or not, by lounging on the floor could have destroyed him? The answer I think is a man who truly feels he is dealing with supernatural forces.

Discussing Judith when she got upset and starting pacing in the office: “I had been in similar situations before, and I was sure that as long as I remained aware of what was going on my patient was unlikely to strike me. Yet I was suddenly assailed by a fear so strong that for a moment, I was literally frozen by horror.

Involuntarily words ‘Get Thee Behind Me Satan,’ passed through my mind, and I wondered at once why I had used them. True, they had served their purpose, for my moment of panic passed.”

So, Dr. Stein had been in situations with mentally disturbed patients before, situations that mirrored Judith’s admittedly upsetting behavior, but it was only Judith who elicited this religious response. Of course, Jungians may say that subconscious recognition of the witch mythos in Judith triggered his own subconscious response to use a religious response commonly used to ward off evil. But his first response to Judith was to invoke the religious to avoid evil. That seems the more likely interpretation for this passage.

“I remembered the meeting between Sybil and and Judith; ‘bitch’ and ‘hag’ they had named each other. Could it be that my fancy about witches was not so fanciful after all, and that these two had recognized each other as kindred souls?”

He outright admits here that he actively is considering that these women are actual witches. Also, for a man trained in psychology, his interpretation of this insulting verbal exchange, is an odd one. These were two mentally unbalanced women with little in common meeting and they took an immediate dislike to each other, as shown by their obvious kneejerk reaction to the other. There was nothing kindred between them aside for their willingness to immediately dislike another person.

Referring to Dora, an agoraphobe whose entire family died too young, including her husband, after she has made a haunting reference to the butcher shop marble by touching marble in Dr. Stein’s office and proclaiming it warm: “Despite the heat, I shivered. At that moment Dora seemed to me to be a most loathsome woman. I was repelled and completely bewildered, as I had been with the other three women. What was going on?”

What was going on was an extremely mentally ill woman had become a vegetarian after so many people close to her had died, and held a horrific, though strangely touching, issue with butcher shops. She’d just had a panic attack before she touched the marble. Most of us would have looked at her with pity but this Dr. Stein responded to her with revulsion and again shivered in the face of the odd behavior these women exhibited. Such a fragile mind seems very likely to believe these women menacing him must in fact be witches.

But then it gets very interesting. Dr. Stein begins to outline the traits that prove these women, not just acting on the subconscious impact by archetypes, are in fact, witches. This comes after an examination of witches in mythology, as well as the horrible witch trials, that he admits were excessive and built on a house of torture, false accusations and false confessions. But then again, those women were not real witches in Dr. Stein’s way of thinking, were they? He had pity for them he could not spare for his patients.

“In studying the sad history of witchcraft, I became convinced that the idea of the witch represented a long and profound psychological tradition – a tradition by no means dead. I was also convinced that my suspicions about my patients were right.

Okay, for minute you think maybe Dr. Stein is not a complete whackaloon. Then he blows it. He says that the archetypes confirm his suspicions about his patients. He draws a line between the archetypes and his suspicions. From here it’s all downhill into the realm of the utterly odd. Here is where he begins to lay out his case that the four women are witches.

“I considered the list of conventional signs by which a witch was supposed to be recognized. How did they fit my four patients.

“”It was believed that the mating of a witch and her incubus produced a mouse or a misshapen child. This made me think that an early miscarriage might be described as ‘a mouse. Sybil had had six miscarriages, some brought on by herself…

Dora had had a serious abortion of a malformed child at six months, and half-crazy with terror, had induced a surgeon, who feared she would commit suicide if she became pregnant again, to sterilize her.

“Judith was psychically sterile as a result, she believed, of using contraceptives. And Daphne was either sterile or habitually miscarried.”

This is just bizarre. Almost verging on insane. And I note that he didn’t have any information about Daphne’s reproductive history yet lumped her into his analysis on this point anyway.

“Witches were supposed to be incapable of weeping tears, because of their ‘evil ‘ eyes. These four women patients had, at one time or another, all had fits of sobbing, yet they had shed no tears.”

Sometimes the mentally ill have different ways of expressing deep feeling. No surprise there, aside from Dr. Stein’s bizarre interpretation.

“I also remembered that none of my patients like looking up. Sybil ascribed this to her dislike of an overhead light, or any form of glare, which she said made her feel dizzy. Dora would never meet my eyes, but spent her time studying the carpet. Daphne would glance up at me only occasionally when she was being flirtatious. Judith wore glasses and suffered, she said, from constant eye trouble.

“Someone who is not able to look another person in the eyes us commonly thought to be hiding a guilty secret, or is afraid that his evil intentions will be recognized in the expression of his eyes…”

Words fail me. Almost. These women could not have been telling the truth, in Dr. Stein’s mind. Sybil had come into analysis because she was a severe insomniac. When one has not slept well in months, light is hard to take, and I share this from personal experience. Dora was an orphan who had lost her husband, and as a result was an agoraphobe. Of course she couldn’t be looking away from him because life had beaten her down to the point that her natural response was to look at the floor. And perish the thought that Judith used those eye glasses for anything other than hiding behind and that she really did have eye problems.

But wait, odd book fans. Here’s a dose of his bizarre theories with an extra helping of either ignorance of women’s health or complete misogyny – and there’s no reason it cannot be both.

“I was particularly interested in the association of strong odors with the witch. Three of these women suffered from a foul vaginal discharge at one time or another…

“Vaginal discharge may be due to a variety of causes. Psychically, it is often due to aggression toward the male. Trivial occurances, such as a fierce argument, may trigger it off. So can aversion to the husband, as in the case of Sybil and her first husband; disappointment in women who, like Dora, have romantic ideas about love and marriage; or guilty feelings about pre-marital or extramarital amours, including recent adolescent infatuations and unconscious incestuous feelings…

Yep, you read it here first. Vaginal discharge can be caused by fierce arguments, romantic feelings about marriage and unconscious incestuous feelings. What were we thinking all those years, buying Monistat when we had yeast infections? We should have just gotten some psychoanalysis.

Now we wander into the realm of the woman hater, and bear in mind, these are just snippets – the book is crawling with Dr. Stein’s misogyny.

“…I recalled that she had told me that she had lost a lot of hair when she had rheumatic fever. Of course it could have grown again, but no doubt she had been afraid of the possible loss of her power over men and had not been able to wait and condemned herself to wearing false hair. Suddenly she seemed the most pathetic sight I had ever seen.”

Yeah, there’s nothing more pathetic than a woman in a wig. Stone her, stone her!

“No longer the poised, self-controlled woman, she stood there with words pouring out of her, making strange, swinging, apelike gestures with her long arms as she told me of her brother’s perfidity.”

My god, if he’s going to complain about an angry woman, he should at least use the right animal. Us angry women are like cats, got it?

“I was struck by what she had done to this [married] lover of hers. He had once seemed a kind, honorable man who remained loyal to an indifferent wife for the sake of his kids. Daphne had set out to ensnare him from the beginning. Now the man was a slave to her charms, reduced in stature by his need for her.”

Wow. I wish I did know this powerful enchantress. I could use a lesson on how to make men a slave to my charms. I could just smile coyly and my grocery bill would be cut in half, so enraptured would be the cashier at HEB. And yeah, neat how the married schmo gets off scot-free. It’s all that Daphne, vicious little minx she is.

And there is more. So much more that I am making myself stop.

Drink in the cover of the book, and the back, which sports a pic of the doc himself. What a catch he must have been to the woman lucky enough to ensnare him.