Bondage
by Patti Davis (Simon & Schuster)
by Margaret Weigel
A stripper exposes one pink shoulder, then the other; she allows her costume to drop slowly to the stage, one garter at a time. An amorous couple lingers at buttons, fastenings and zippers, savoring the pop and snap of each new release. So much of the grand art of seduction is a game of concealment and revelation. The beloved says: I offer myself to you, but only one piece at a time. Somehow, the magic dissipates should your lover march buck naked into a fully lit room and lie on the bed with legs spread eagle. The novel Bondage by Patti Davis is like that lover: Brutally frank, brightly lit, and completely artless.
Bondage is the story of one woman and her experience with, yep, bondage. Sara, the story’s protagonist, begins as a real “guy’s girl”: She is a jeans and sneakers grease monkey who outwardly prides herself on her emotional impenetrability. Inside, however, is a woman who desperately wants to lose herself in the throes of passion. One day she meets Anthony at a party; they immediately fuck and Sara’s defenses melt. The balance of the book alternates between the couple’s forays into bondage and S&M, and Sara’s conversations with either her best friend Belinda or her beloved brother Mark about bondage in a more universal sense.
The concept is a fairly good one. The execution, however, falls flat. To be fair, Bondage is not intended to be read as an erotic novel. Rather, it is an attempt to use sex as a microcosm of human interaction as a whole, as Milan Kundera does. However, Kundera’s tableaux work; Davis’ don’t. Bondage first establishes its characters, and then places them in unlikely sexual situations; the effect is unsettling and unbelievable, as if Mother Teresa decided to begin a career as a gangsta rapper or Tipper Gore showed up at a state function in leather and spikes. It should be mentioned, also, that the sex scenes themselves are burdened with too much conversation and not nearly enough sex, and there is hardly any foreplay to speak of. They are as dry as a technical manual: Step One: Suck cock; Step Two: Grasp cock by base, etc. All considered, mindfucking seems to be the first order of the day here.
Bondage is, in many ways, a California novel. It takes place in California, and the characters all hold California-type jobs in the film industry. But more than just setting and professions, Bondage is replete with that peculiar brand of West Coast psychobullshit, a certain ham-fisted “feel good/love yourself and then tell the world about it” ethos which winds throughout the story. There were many times throughout the novel when it feels like the characters were shouting their personal value systems back and forth. Sara, Anthony and the rest have seemingly mastered the art of speaking in detailed paragraph-length monologues. Seduction falls by the wayside when all is revealed, and these Californians sure do love to reveal every bruise, pimple and nub. Not only is the reader denied a good hearty, heartfelt fuck, but the joy of getting acquainted with the characters before becoming intimate with them is lost as well.
In Davis’ world, women are perpetual suckers for a man with a talented dick no matter how smart she is, or how morally reprehensible he is. Just as they are either fully clothed or completely naked, Davis’ characters for the most part are either nice, sweet victims or evil bastards who prey on the sweet people. Sara is the most believable character in the novel, as she actually exhibits some shades of moral ambiguity and experiences some growth. Other characters are strictly utilitarian, one-dimensional archetypes for Sara to discuss her problems and her personal moral philosophy with, however.
If you are still wondering how I feel about this novel, let me clarify my position: do not buy this book under any circumstances. It’s not even entertaining as kitsch. But there is a personal triumph here. Bondage finally proves outright that Ron Reagan, Jr. is indeed the most talented child of the Reagan brood.
