Sugar's Book.
Some bits and pieces from Sugars' novel, and yes, it's a story with her as the main character (who else?).
[Description from Sugar herself]
Her story chronicles the life of a young prositute with waistlength red hair and hazel eyes, working in the same house as her own mother, a forbidding creature called Mrs Jettison. Allowing for a few flights of fancy -- the murders, for instance -- it's the story of her own life -- well, her early life in Church Lane, at least. It's the story of a naked, weeping child rolled into a ball under a blood-stained blanket, cursing the universe. It's a tale of embraces charged with hatred and kisses laced with disgust, of practised submission and the secret longing for vengeance. It's an inventory of brutish men, a jostling queue of human refuse, filthy, gin-stinking, ale-stinking, scabrous, oily-nailed, slime-toothed, squint-eyeed, senile, cadaverous, obese, stump-legged, hairy-arsed, monster-cocked -- all waiting their turn to root out the last surviving morsel of innocence and devour it.
[Beginning]
All men are the same. If there is one thing I have learned in my time on this Earth, it is this.
All men are the same.
How can I assure this with such conviction? Surely I have not known all the men there are to know?
On the contrary, dear reader, perhaps I have!
My name is Sugar - or if it isn't, I know no better.
I am what you would call a Fallen Woman, but I assure you I did not
fall - I was pushed. Vile man, eternal Adam, I indict you!
[Another chapter entirely]
`Please` he begged, tugging ineffectually at the silken bonds holding him fast to the bedposts. `Let me go! I am an important man!` - and many more such pleas. I paid no heed to him, busying myself with my whet-stone and my dagger.
`But tell me, exalted Sir,` I said at last. `Where is it your pleasure to have a blade enter you?`
To this, the man gave no reply, but his face turned ghastly grey.
`The embarrassment of choices has taken your tongue,` I suggested. `But never fear: I shall explain them to you, and their exquisite effects...`
`Mercy` he pleaded once more.
I gripped the hilt of the dagger, but found I lacked the strength ( the strength of will, perhaps, but also the strength of sinew, for slaughtering a man is no easy labour) to plunge the knife into this fellow's flesh and do my worst. I had performed the act so many times before; but that night, it was beyond me.
And yet, the man must die: he could not be released now that I had entrapped him! What, dear Reader, was I to do?
I put away my knife, and instead fetched up a soft cotton cloth. My helpless paramour ceased his struggle against his bonds, an expression of relief manifesting on his face. Even when I up-ended the flask of foul-smelling liquid into the cloth, he did not lose hope, imagining perhaps that I was about to swab his fevered brow.
Holding my own breath as if in sympathy, I pressed the poison rag to his mouth and nose, wholly sealing those orifices.
`Sweet dreams, my friend.`
Doesn't it sound neat? I wish Sugar was reallll so she could actually write this novel, even if she was conflicted by it later on in the book, whether she should write it or not. I love it.
[Description from Sugar herself]
Her story chronicles the life of a young prositute with waistlength red hair and hazel eyes, working in the same house as her own mother, a forbidding creature called Mrs Jettison. Allowing for a few flights of fancy -- the murders, for instance -- it's the story of her own life -- well, her early life in Church Lane, at least. It's the story of a naked, weeping child rolled into a ball under a blood-stained blanket, cursing the universe. It's a tale of embraces charged with hatred and kisses laced with disgust, of practised submission and the secret longing for vengeance. It's an inventory of brutish men, a jostling queue of human refuse, filthy, gin-stinking, ale-stinking, scabrous, oily-nailed, slime-toothed, squint-eyeed, senile, cadaverous, obese, stump-legged, hairy-arsed, monster-cocked -- all waiting their turn to root out the last surviving morsel of innocence and devour it.
[Beginning]
All men are the same. If there is one thing I have learned in my time on this Earth, it is this.
All men are the same.
How can I assure this with such conviction? Surely I have not known all the men there are to know?
On the contrary, dear reader, perhaps I have!
My name is Sugar - or if it isn't, I know no better.
I am what you would call a Fallen Woman, but I assure you I did not
fall - I was pushed. Vile man, eternal Adam, I indict you!
[Another chapter entirely]
`Please` he begged, tugging ineffectually at the silken bonds holding him fast to the bedposts. `Let me go! I am an important man!` - and many more such pleas. I paid no heed to him, busying myself with my whet-stone and my dagger.
`But tell me, exalted Sir,` I said at last. `Where is it your pleasure to have a blade enter you?`
To this, the man gave no reply, but his face turned ghastly grey.
`The embarrassment of choices has taken your tongue,` I suggested. `But never fear: I shall explain them to you, and their exquisite effects...`
`Mercy` he pleaded once more.
I gripped the hilt of the dagger, but found I lacked the strength ( the strength of will, perhaps, but also the strength of sinew, for slaughtering a man is no easy labour) to plunge the knife into this fellow's flesh and do my worst. I had performed the act so many times before; but that night, it was beyond me.
And yet, the man must die: he could not be released now that I had entrapped him! What, dear Reader, was I to do?
I put away my knife, and instead fetched up a soft cotton cloth. My helpless paramour ceased his struggle against his bonds, an expression of relief manifesting on his face. Even when I up-ended the flask of foul-smelling liquid into the cloth, he did not lose hope, imagining perhaps that I was about to swab his fevered brow.
Holding my own breath as if in sympathy, I pressed the poison rag to his mouth and nose, wholly sealing those orifices.
`Sweet dreams, my friend.`
Doesn't it sound neat? I wish Sugar was reallll so she could actually write this novel, even if she was conflicted by it later on in the book, whether she should write it or not. I love it.