Playing the Game
by Belle de Jour
Phoenix, HK$100
For those who have an enviable allergy to hype, Belle de Jour is the nom de plume of a London 'call girl' who made headlines when she blogged about life on her back. A best-selling book and series followed, which were presented as non-fiction, although many insinuated that they were better shelved as novels - something Belle's publishers do here. The word 'prostitute' is a no-no - 'call girl' is more palatable, 'sex worker' more professional. Also out is the image of 'call girls' as innocent young women carted from Eastern Europe to be abused by psychotic pimps. But I digress. Anyone expecting Playing the Game to be a work of existential ferocity will be disappointed. 'Hi. I'm Belle,' she chirrups. 'Yes, my eyes are up here, mate,' she continues, quoting Henry James (I think). We quickly recap her life and loves: there is a boyfriend called 'Boy' and a 'f*** buddy' called 'N'. There follow 350 pages of matey sex, innuendo and Belle finding out who she really is. That is pretty dull, to be honest. Rather more lively are lines such as: 'Mind if I bring my own porn [starring] your favourite third-trimester-pregnancy-porn model.' Isn't that from Portrait of a Lady?
