Adam Thirlwell - Politics

His head was bent and his glistening eyes were fixed on the work of his battering ram, whose thrusts he controlled in such a manner that, as it retracted, it did not leave its sheath completely and, as it shot forward, his stomach did not come into contact with the thighs of his charge, who might thus, upon reflection, have guessed the origin of this supposed cord. What presence of mind!

This quotation is important.

Eventually, Mlle Eradice comes. And she interprets her orgasm as a divine reward. ‘“Oh, yes, I’m feeling celestial happiness. I sense that my mind is completely detached from matter. Further, Father, further! Root out all that is impure in me. ”’

I can see what the writer of Therese the Philosopher is up to. He — because of course it is a he — wants to attack corrupt priests. He also wants to satirise religious texts where virgins swoon in religious ecstasy. He wants to satirise the pretension to spirituality of spirituality. All the girl wanted, we understand, was a fuck.

I can see all that. I just think that, in his effort to be politically acute, the writer has missed an opportunity. In my rewrite, Mlle Eradice would know all along that she was being fucked by her priest. And she would pretend not to know. That would be the crucial change. Whereas in Therese the Philosopher Mlle Eradice really does not know. She is fooled. But surely this is unrealistic? It is unrealistic. And the writer knows that too. That is why he is so careful to tell us about the priest’s masterly control of his penis’s movements. That is why he is so insistent that only the priest’s penis touched her. In his effort to prove his pointless point, he has falsified kinkiness.

I am therefore not surprised that when the Marquis de Sade, known to his closest friends as Donatien, decided to write his own political porn, Story of Juliette, in 1797, he singled out Therese the Philosopher as a model. He called it a ‘charming work’. It was charming because it was the only book which ‘agreeably linked luxuriousness with impiety’. In case this is a bit obscure, the cryptic Donatien just means that the book showed monks fucking. That’s what Donatien wanted to read. It is what he wanted to write. He didn’t want realistic kinkiness, he wanted political kinkiness.

But then the Marquis de Sade was not an expert in kinkiness. He was too theoretical. When it comes to kinkiness in prose, I am a better writer than the Marquis de Sade.

8

But that is enough, for the moment, of Nana and Moshe in bed. There is Anjali to think of too. Following her afternoon of passion with Nana, along with Trisha in the background, Anjali had become remorseful. Stricken with remorse, she had let Nana and Moshe be on their own for a while. She did not return phone calls. She did not reply to emails.

Anjali had taken to walking in Regent’s Park. Because if you are a young woman on your own in a park, then you may seem romantic and beautifully lonely. For the last couple of weeks since being made to come by Nana, Anjali had gone on little walks, happily sad, deliciously melancholy.

There are two things you need to be sure about, when thinking about Anjali. Anjali had been seduced by Nana. This we know. But the second and key point is this. Anjali was occasionally sentimental.

This is my definition of sentimentality. Sentimentality is the valuing of feeling for its own sake. It is therefore the exaggeration of feeling. An example of this exaggeration is Anjali’s generosity. On a fire escape near Old Street, Anjali had discovered a far greater seduction than Nana. This greater seduction was morality. It had taken her over.

For Anjali, her vision of noble Humphrey Bogartian generosity was more of a turn on than Nana. That was why she kept away, wandering round Regent’s Park. It was more exciting to give Nana up than to keep her. It was just like living in wartime Casablanca.

9

But Nana, it seemed, did not think she was living in North Africa under the Nazis.

Nana said, ‘I am so so so annoyed. I’ve just been to this lecture on the new Prada shop in New York, the one designed by Rem Koolhaas.’ ‘Rem Coolharse?’ said Anjali. ‘Yeah Rem Koolhaas,’ said Nana. ‘And this guy, this guy, this guy, he said that Prada was a new innovation in architecture. In arkitetcha. I mean. Listen. This is what Rem

Koolhaas said. “Architecture is not the satisfaction of the needs of the mediocre, it is not an environment for the petty happiness of the masses. Architecture is an affair of the elite.” An affair of the elite! What do you mean an affair of the elite? It’s a technique,’ said Nana, angry.

As you might have guessed from this dialogue, Nana and Anjali were in the Architectural Association cafe. They were standing at the counter, waiting to be served. ‘I’ll have an ekspresso,’ said Anjali, relieved. ‘No I’m fine,’ said Nana. ‘No, I’ll have a sparkling water.’

‘And then’, said Nana, ‘this guy quoted him again. Rem Koolhaas said, I can’t believe this, Rem Koolhaas said, “True architecture is an operation which deliberately abstains from prescriptions or from architecture.” That deliberately refrains from architecture! Architecture should refrain from architecture!’

‘God,’ said Anjali. ‘I don’t think I understand.’ ‘Yeah no igzacly’, said Nana. ‘You’re not men to. Because it’s meaningless.’

Anjali sat down. Nana stuffed away her Pukka A4 pad.

Now, it is true that Nana was genuinely annoyed by her lecturer. She was also genuinely enraged by Rem Koolhaas. But Nana was not dominating the conversation architecturally purely because of her passionate attachment to urban design. No. Nana had a plan, she had a sexual plan. But she did not want to talk about this plan immediately. She wanted it to look casual. She wanted the conversation to be natural.

Nana was worried about Anjali. She thought she might be sad. That was Nana’s interpretation of Anjali’s odd absence. She did not know that for the last couple of weeks Anjali had been sentimental in parks. She thought she had been at home, moodily eating her way through trapezoid packets of Cadbury’s Celebrations. And this was not what Nana wanted. She did not want Anjali to overeat on chocolate. She wanted Anjali to feel loved. Well, she wanted her to feel loved as long as Moshe felt loved too.

So Nana had arrived here in the Architectural Association cafe with a plan.

But Anjali felt loved. She felt too loved. She was simply stirring sugar into her espresso. She was wondering what Humphrey Bogart would have done.

10

Nana had a plan. She had another sexual suggestion. This next suggestion was a threesome.

I think it is amazing what people who dislike sex do to sex. They make it rational, they make it moral. Often the most perverse people are the ones who do not like sex. They are often the ones prepared to do anything. And Nana, as we know, was not a sexual monster. She was not highly sexed. And this made her, I reckon, more perverse.

You see, Nana did not think that Moshe was having the time of his sexual life. And it was true, he was not in sexual seventh heaven. But actually Moshe was happy with that. It was Nana who was not happy with Moshe’s sex life. Because she was feeling guilty, she thought she should still invent ever newer delights for Moshe, her paramour. And she had thought of something.

She had thought of a threesome.

This was Nana’s reasoning. Because he was a good and patient boy, Moshe deserved a threesome. It was every boy’s ideal scenario. Moreover, Anjali would not feel left out if they had a threesome. She would not feel rejected. And as for Nana, she was equable about a threesome.