Anne Bishop in that one about the JEALOUS AUTHOR who tries to torment people for NOT APPRECIATING HIS BOOKS THE RIGHT WAY.

Seriously you have to read it OMG.

There's more to Anne Bishop than magical cockrings? Wow.

Can we add Ann McCaffrey to that list, for ubiquitous and deeply creepy father-figure fetishization?

Man, I haven't read any McCaffrey but Harper Hall since I was twelve, although I guess it does have that too? I'm afraid most of McCaffrey's creepy escaped me, though, since I read it way too early.

ummmm.... I'm not entirely sure I understand the question. (sorry. I haven't consumed enough coffee, really.)

"Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut. ? (the father wincing at the same time as the son, and not seeing the beauty of what his son is doing and not understanding it. then poof! son gets carted off...)

and/or "as I lay dying" by faulkner? (all the characters are so *f*ucking tortured.) in that case, also, anything by Tennessee Williams.

am I understanding the question? (I would have thought "unconscious mind" rather than "id," but it's stil a good question.

Hm, perhaps it's a bit clearer if I mention that I sort of presume most of my audience will be familiar with the concept of the id vortex; the stuff which approached mindfully leads to mindblowing sex, and stumbled over leads to disturbing, disturbing, subtext.

I thought that all authors do this? But, seriosly, John Ringo in his Jack books (which he admits to), Heinlein in the worldview "Starship Troopers".

Hee! I should totally have put him on the "disqualified for too obvious" list. STOP TALKING ABOUT TEENAGE PROSTITUTES. OMG. NO SERIOUSLY.

I haven't read Starship Troopers in forever, but I'm guessing libertarianism mixed with "Civilians will never know the moral sacrifices which we few bravely make for their ignorant comfort"?

I'd say Frank Miller but that's like pointing at the Eiffel Tower and saying it's in Paris.

ahaha oh man. Yes, Frank. You're going bald. Drawing enormous penises for twenty-two pages will not help that.

I think editors probably spend a lot of time trying desperately not to see the id, or else they'd never be able to deal with the author.

I bet. I mean, imagine trying to tell Miller "erm, you might want to put a little less spooge on the page."

I was seriously about to hop on with a "FRANK MILLER, FRANK MILLER, GOOD LORD, FRANK MILLER," but you got there first.

FRANK MILLER, PUT IT AWAY.

This was supposed to be in reply to Buddleia, above, but I fail at LJ. *tips over*

Did you know that women can only achieve true enlightment, understanding, and happiness in their sex lives by being sexually submissive?

Neither did I, until I read a bit too much Paulo Coelho.

There's this scene in "Veronika Decides To Die" where the main character, Veronika, finally accepts her true self and is able to escape from the depression that's eaten at her when she masturbates for a very long time in front of an impassive man with some form of mental illness who either cannot or willnot react to her. There's a bit too much detail of her sexual fantasies, the "true" meaning of her sexuality, blah blah, and she reaches the truth by fantasy after fantasy of submission.

On it's own, eh. To each her own, right? But I was going through a lot of his books at the time and whereas that's the most blatant, it basically keeps coming up again and again in various ways. And I've never read any of this books where a man's sexual fantasy life is discussed at all.

Edited at 2009-03-23 05:21 pm (UTC)

Hm, where did I come across a recommendation for him?

Luckily, he's (I believe) “literary,” so I'm not in much danger of accidentally reading him, but I shall try to remember his name, just in case.

S.P. Stirling and his bizarre fixation on ethnic identity, in Dies the Fire and its sequels. (Note: I couldn't read the rest of them.)

Also, way too many fanfic authors to be worth mentioning, since fic is all about diving into the Id Vortex.

I suspect JOHN RINGO may be on this list, but I haven't read him, so I don't know.

I think you mean S. M. Stirling? (I wikid it) I actually think about 95% of post-apocalypse novels written by men are on the OH MY GOD, PUT YOUR ID AWAY category, since they're generally "How The World Will Be Better When I Am In Charge And the Strong Rule" which is pretty much a recipe for them to give their id free reign and expound on the sociological strengths of polygyny.

(Not saying women are morally superior, but most women's post-apocalyptic novels don't tend to identify with the Strong Who Rule, unless it's some kind of feminist utopia/dystopia, and even then they generally are a bit more conscious about it.)

I think S. Meyer probably goes on the discounted because it's too obvious list. Robin Hobb at the end of the Tawny Man trilogy, though maybe it's just the misfortune of having read interviews and thus knowing exactly why the epilogue was the way it was.

All I know of that is that many fans found it very disappointing; I stopped reading her stuff about two books in when it became apparent she was one of those authors who never allows her protagonist a moment of happiness that isn't so she can set him up for later despair. Nothing against that in se, but it doesn't make me a happy reader.

What was up with the epilogue, then?

This entry is really confusing if you read "I.D." instead of "Id," accidentally. Takes on a whole new meaning.

It wasn't just me then? Someone else did that, too? *feels less dumb*

Thank you. This is a cheering topic exactly when I needed one.

To answer your question: DAVID FEINTUCH. Or in other words, spanking spanking spanking spanking spanking SPANKING. Not to mention the mummy-issues. I refer in particular to Feintuch's The Still (which is not about a distillery, as you might imagine, but rather the hero's pathetic hereditary magical power, which is that when he looks in a vessel of water, it becomes magically Still and he can communicate with all the previous monarchs through it.)

Rodrigo, hero of The Still, is completely spoiled because his mother was a working mother the queen. His Wicked Uncle is trying to take the crown from him, and Roddy has to stop him. On his side are his crusty old nurse, his precocious younger brother, his loyal best friend, and the hereditary power of the Still. Roddy will lose this power if and when he has sex. Sex is defined as being any sexual activity with a woman. Anything he does with a man is OK. Fortunately, Roddy's best friend Rustin is there to ease his frustration.

As in Feintuch's Seafort military SF series, the aim here is to create the most repellent character possibly possible, then attempt to redeem him while still making it excruciating all the way. Maximum character suffering. As with Feintuch's Seafort saga, this involves corporal punishment. Well, naturally.

I am talking heavy, heavy-handed domestic discipline.
He leaned over the pommel, stern. "I won't have your distrust, Roddy. Or your sullenness."
I nodded.
"I'm not your father, but you had none when needed. So for the moment, I'll do a father's task. Understand?"
"Yes, Rust."
He climbed down. "Put your hands at your sides." I complied. He slapped me hard. "At your sides!" Again. My head rocked. Once more he struck me, his palm echoing on my cheek like a clap of thunder. Mortified, I sagged against a tree, seeking to control my sobs.
He gave me time, spoke to my back. "From now on you'll behave decently. Yes?"

Two pages later Roddy throws rocks at Rustin for ordering him to take a bath, falls off a cliff into icy water, and thinks, as he begins to drown, "Sorry, Mother. I was just learning to be a man."

But then Rustin's father turns traitor to the crown, and Rustin tries to kill himself out of guilt. Specifically, by hanging himself. Roddy finds him and cuts him down. This is all graphically described. This is meant to be one of Roddy's Redeeming Moments.

And meanwhile Rustin has sex with women either because he wants to, to make Roddy jealous, or both. And there's more sex. And there's a sequel, which I haven't read.

Thank you. This is a cheering topic exactly when I needed one.

I love that both you and I are like: “Let's talk about authors who embarrass themselves: GOOD TIMES.”

And Oh David Feintuch. I sort of liked the Seafort Saga, in large parts because Feintuch's Id seemed to take him places which were almost slashy in a way I like. But I bailed on The Still since whatsisface is so annoying.

I have never been certain whether Ayn Rand's work falls in here or not. I mean, did she actually know what she was writing? Was it intended to be nothing but a mouthpiece for her "philosophy?" I've heard that she really thought that the books were works of utter literary genius, so maybe all the subordination/rape of strong women by stronger men really was an id moment. Well, whatever the reason: DEEPLY UNCOMFORTABLE to read that, esp. from a female author.

Ew, I didn't realize her stuff was rapey, too! Is it such that this seems to be condoned as an expression of her libertarian philosophy, or how is it treated?

Peter Straub is iffy. When you read Koko, Mystery, and The Throat (along with a few short stories), it is very tempting to go, "Um...Pete? Writing novels cheaper than therapy?"

Oh dear. Yes, there's that one, too, which is maybe not quite the same thing, but closely related.

What about literary critics? When I was doing research on a 1920's poet I was translating, I came across the most famous biography written about her, in which the biographer reinterprets a (seriously, seriously feminist)poem of hers to mean that clearly, she was looking for a man to submit to. Considering that the last line goes something like this in English: "you wanted a woman and found a soul, you were disappointed", I'd say he was maybe engaging in some wishful thinking. Augh, and people (serious researcher-people) call his biography a declaration of love.

[over via overheardfandom]

Ooh, which biography is this? (It's been so long since my Södergran phase I have no idea whether I read this one, only a vague recollection of the creepy being frequently strong with the criticism on her in general. \o/)

Radclyffe Hall's Well of Loneliness is all kinds of "White Aristocratic Queer Person's Burden." When the minstel show pops up without warning about 3/4s of the way through the book, I nearly threw it across the room.

Edited at 2009-03-23 07:59 pm (UTC)

I suspect that many of the authors named in these comments would actually fail the "and doesn't know it" set of the criteria, although the only one I feel like I can say with any confidence is later Heinlein, who clearly knows he is writing self-indulgent fantasies and feels no shame.

And now you have me wondering about ellen_fremedon's claim that id-vortexy profic "almost uniformly sucks." She attributes this to the community of writers/readers shaping the way the fic is written and produced, but I wonder if it isn't instead a matter of distribution, that profic is less able to get into the hands of those who'd appreciate it without also being read by those who'd be disturbed by it.

I really don't think McCaffrey, at least, knows it, considering some of the statements she's made. She just doesn't seem too-- self-aware.

Stephen King, Terry Goodkind, Robert Jordon. Anne Rice too obvious?

Robert Jordon? I'm trying to think what his issues would be, other than perhaps a mild fascination with femdomme.

As to Goodkind, eyargh. I think he's mostly trying to show you his issues, or at least “My Issues With Liberalism” and a certain amount of “Sexy Danger” as the Karen calls it, the sexy villainess who is sexy yet villainous, creeps in, and we learn a bit more than we'd like to about his concept of sexy.

As for Anne Rice, I've never read any of her stuff, so I don't know what her Id looks like, but I'd be a bit surprised if she'd managed not to expose it.

Much as I love Bujold, YOUR PRO-LIFE ISSUES, STOP SHOWING US THEM. Blood guilt? About war rape babies? Really, Lois? And wtf was that about the proper ending of every boy meets girl story being a birth??

seconded. and how. *shudders*

The most recent case of that happened to me even though I wasn't reading the book.

See, okay. Best Beloved and I have this thing where I pick a theme, find romance novels with titles that match that theme, and buy them for her from half.com, without consideration of quality or summary or sanity. She reads them and reviews them for GoodReads. Look, we all have our own ways of making entertainment.

So, the most recent theme is "ready." (What we've learned: if you search for "ready romance" on Amazon, you'll end up with a surprising amount of bad m/m erotica and also some - I am really not kidding about this - time traveling Viking Navy SEALs.) One of the books I got for her was called Seems Like You're Ready, by Relentless Aaron (no, really). A day later, she marched up to me and we had this conversation:

BB: I am not finishing this book. I can't.
Me: You always finish them. You finished the one that was an obvious sexual fantasy written between two lesbian lovers that was over 50% Icelandic horses by volume!
BB: This one is the worst thing I have ever read.
Me: You finished the one where the main male character had two cocks! You finished the one where testicular cancer was the main plot device and the one where vomiting was the meet-cute! You finished the one with the yenta tiger!
BB: I would read a book that was all vomiting yenta Icelandic horses and double cocks with testicular cancer eighty times before I would read another paragraph of this.
Me: What's WRONG with it?

And then she read me a page. The page in which the main male character - who is rich, successful, and in his thirties, which is significant because he's going to end up with a girl who is 16 and his client - is explaining why the woman he lives with pisses him off. I can't really do justice to the passage, because if I tried I would vomit right here at the keyboard, but, see. She was no better than a prostitute when he met her, and he gave her a job to keep her entertained, and they had a baby, and now she's got IDEAS. Like, she doesn't obey him all the time as fast as he wants. And sometimes she talks back. She doesn't submit the way she should. It's getting to be more and more effort to keep her in her place. And then he describes a current effort to keep her in her place.

By the end of it, I wanted to scrape off my own skin because the author's id was showing so much and it was so deeply, deeply repellent.

I should note that Relentless Aaron is, apparently, a guy. It's extremely evident that this book is his wish fulfillment fantasy. I have never wanted to kick someone squarely in the id more in my life.

I refuse to believe that anyone who is not a pro porn actor is named "Relentless Aaron."

Also EEEEEYURGH. Was this published by a real publishing house? It sounds a bit like something you could stumble over spelunking in Nifty. I don't blame her for not finishing, that sounds like extreme ick. Yuck. Now my skin is creeping.

I have mentioned this before, but: Terry Bisson.

Go to Google Books' copy of "In the Upper Room and Other Stories."

Search within the book for "bra." Then try "panties."

I think he was ill served by whoever put the stories in order. In the first story in the book, "In The Upper Room," the character goes through a virtual reality environment and meets the same character over and over, and every time he sees her for the first time, she's always described wearing different underwear, as follows:

(Note that not all these descriptions are complete because Google Books quotes cut out after a certain length, and the description of the lingerie is TOO LONG AND DETAILED FOR THE EXCERPT FUNCTION.)

a baby-blue baby doll in sheer tulle with lace trim, over a ruffled bra and matching panty / a low-cut, smooth-fitting strapless bra in stretch satin and lace with lightly lined underwire cups, and a high-cut, wide-band brief / a pale peach demi bra with adjustable tapered straps and deep front decollete, and a matching tanga bikini / a sheer white voile bra with lace-embroidered cups and a matching panty with lace inserts on the front and sides / a white faux-satin bra with scoop-cut cups trimmed with an embroidery edge, and a matching white faux-satin string / a black lace demi bra with deep decollete cups and wide-set straps, and a matching black lace thong panty with little bows on the side / an ivory underwire bra in satin jacquard with low plunge center and wide-set straps, and matching bikini / a coral pink stretch lace demi bra cut low for maximum decollete with a French string bikini that was full in the back and plunged to a tiny

So seeing as how that's the first story in the book, I was like "hmm, ok, interesting bit of characterization."

But it pops up again and again in at least three or four other stories in the book (even once or twice from a first-person female POV: "... my tangerine Victoria's Secret underwire demi bra" ... "I am wearing the softest, sheerest demi bra ever in gold satin charmeuse.") And it's *so much more noticeable* after being such a huge plot point in "In the Upper Room." So, um. Yeah. Terry Bisson likes ladies' underwear. Not the most embarrassing id vortex slippage ever, but kind of embarrassingly *obvious*, yeah.

Edited at 2009-03-23 08:54 pm (UTC)

Heh. I somehow missed this when you mentioned it before, so I'm glad you mentioned it now. That's kinda cute, by comparison; I mean, he really likes ladies undergarments, when ladies are wearing them! How vanilla.

Well John Iriving but he does it with full knowledge.

Colin Wilson is always (was always) writing about women's underwear because he has a fetish for them.




Edited at 2009-03-23 11:12 pm (UTC)

Is H.P. Lovecraft too obvious? Because I like the creepy stuff, don't get me wrong, but there's only so many 'isms I can take with my horror at one time.

Also, the fish phobia. That one started making me laugh after about 10 consecutive stories.

Richard Laymon. Or, putting it more accurately, R. R. R. R. R. R. R. Laymon. The Rs stand for "Rape." Yes, all of them. Laymon was a horror novelist in the splatter vein, and if you sat down with his oeuvre and a case of scotch with the intent of taking a shot for every rape you would run out of scotch shortly before you succumbed to alcohol poisoning. I mean, yeah, horror novel, you expect bad stuff to happen, but the sheer repetition is a little startling. And sometimes it comes out of nowhere; I vaguely recall flipping through one about a female serial killer in the making, and thinking, wow, this was an interesting departure for Laymon; he's got this friend-enemy dynamic going between her and another woman that's freaky and full of dramatic potential -- and then, literally out of nowhere -- they're in the middle of the woods, as I recall -- a crazed guy shows up, hauls off the other character, and rapes her. Cognitive dissonance in the span of two seconds: from "Whoa, is this a Richard Laymon book that passes the Bechdel Test?" to "OH HAI IT'S RAPE O'CLOCK."

...y'know, now that I think about it, I actually reviewed a script he wrote. Never produced, thank God; it was published as part of the Richard Chizmar-edited horror script anthology SCREAMPLAYS. *rummages in archives* Aha! I quote myself:

And then the book goes out on Richard Laymon's "The Hunting," which is just plain *bad.* It reads like a late-night direct-to-video-or-cable B-movie: there's this beautiful young woman, okay, and she's just the type of this homicidal maniac who likes to hunt women for sport, right, and one night she's at the laundromat when she gets grabbed and shoved into the trunk of a car and... well, you know the rest. It is the kind of movie that Joe Bob Briggs would give drive-in totals to. Lots of breasts. Full frontal nudity. Lots of attempted rape. Toothless mountain men, one of whom actually yells, "Y'KILLED HIM! Y'KILLED EARL!!!" Basically, it's your average "treat the young actress like meat" flick. Or, even more basically, it's a misogynist piece of shit directed squarely at the audience who really dug CAVE GIRL ISLAND and I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE. This script should not have been published; it should have been shredded and dropped over Baghdad.

I hadn't actually read any of Laymon's books at that point, or I wouldn't have been surprised. He did Grand Guignol effectively, and he was capable of doing some really fine work (THE TRAVELLING VAMPIRE SHOW is sleazy, but it does a really good job of building its tension), but man, most of the time he just LOVED him some rape.

Ayeeaarghugughghrgh.

Um. Yeargh. Wow, that doesn't really sound like seeing his id, it sounds like his id ate him and his cat years ago, and now lurks about his house, making menacing noises at the mailman, causing an unpleasant smell, and at intervals mailing manuscripts to his agent.

Seconding Stephanie Meyer on the "too obvious" list. Because WE GET IT YOU LOVE EDWARD.

I was just thinking of the interviews with the guy who plays Edward, that I wouldn't have read except cleolinda excerpted them, where he just outright says "_Twilight_ is Stephanie Meyer's id poured onto paper! And, like, ew!" Hilarious.

I'm pretty sure Michael Moorcock would qualify but it's been too long since I've read him, and I don't want to go dig anything up.