Amazon.com Review
Not surprisingly, the Net has turned out to be quite hospitable to smut. Whether pornophiles log on in the privacy of their own homes or the spine-tingling confines of the workplace, a virtual peepshow offers unparalleled (if highly disembodied) privacy. Still, the creators of Nerve.com clearly had more in mind than old-fashioned filth when they launched their Web site. This was to be a classier venue for erotica, with a mandate to be "direct with both word and image, whether the result is flushed faces, genitals, or perhaps just reflective thought." Have they succeeded? The
Nerve anthology, assembled by founders Genevieve Field and Rufus Griscom, finds the debauched editors batting about .500 in their thought-provoking, blush-invoking mission.
There are contributions by the usual, sex-friendly suspects, from Sallie Tisdale to Dr. Joycelyn Elders, and dancing queen Lisa Carver draws some intriguing distinctions between sexualists (id-driven fornicators) and sensualists (romantic moths drawn to the scented-candle flame). But there are some surprises, too. John Perry Barlow, better known as a Grateful Dead lyricist and Internet pundit, communes convincingly with his inner lesbian in "A Ladies' Man." A saucy snippet from John Hawkes's The Passion Artist turns up, along with an amusing meditation on the Better Sex video series by Ruth Shalit (who seems awfully familiar with the contemporary pantheon of porn). On the other hand, Rick Moody's paean to polysexuality goes a little too heavy on the solemnity, as does Deborah Boxer's account of her life as a 28-year-old virgin. And what about the photos? Spicy stuff, with an all-too-penetrable patina of artsiness to them. --Bob Brandeis
From Publishers Weekly
Despite the misleading subtitle of this impressive if uneven anthology, smut is not Nerve's specialty. The 35 pieces reprinted here from the year-old, sex-obsessed webzine range from an article by Meredith F. Small on the habits of the Congolese bonobo ape to Debra Boxer's memoir of a 28-year-old virgin and Jocelyn Elders's arguments in favor of masturbation. This said, if Nerve can establish a lasting specialty, it will probably not be reportage, opinion or the neatly packaged thought pieces (the reflections of a male prostitute, of a nude stripper) that make up the bulk of this selection and could have appeared in any number of more or less mainstream magazines. Where Nerve distinguishes itself is in more eccentric forms of essay (like Lisa Carver's "Some of My Best Friends Are Sensualists" and Poppy Z. Brite's "Would You?") and in sophisticated storytelling. The best so far: Catherine Texier's artfully immediate, confessional diary "A War Journal"; Courtney Eldridge's jeu d'esprit "Anonymous"; and an excerpt from John Hawkes's 1978 novel The Passion Artist, titled "But She Was Not Mirabelle." Only the last qualifies as erotica (or smut, if all good erotica is smut). It shows not only the editors' discernment but also their good sense in reprinting hard-to-find works, whether from Penthouse, Playboy or that ivory tower of 1980s high theory, Semiotext(e). 35 b&w photos. Editor, Lauren Marino; agent, Owen Laster; $25,000 ad/promo; author tour. (Sept.) FYI: You can read Nerve at www.nerve.com.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.