WALLBANGER by Alice Clayton is aptly named, because when I finished this book, I wanted to throw it at the wall, it was so bad.
I wanted to read this book because I love romance novels and people were saying that it was the funniest romance novel they had ever read. When I picked it up, I envisioned BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY for the twentieth century woman.
Instead, I got... something lame.
Caroline lives in a San Francisco apartment that is much too nice for her to afford based on the job that she has (interior designer). Her next-door neighbor has great sex every night... with another woman - and Caroline is annoyed because they bang against the wall they share, and it reminds her that she can't get any.
Not only that, but she comes up with mean nicknames for each of the girls he sleeps with. "Giggler" for the girl who laughs during sex. "Purina" for the girl who meows during sex (??). And "Spanks" for the girl who enjoys rough stuff in bed. She charmingly calls these girls his "harem."
One day, she confronts him in a pink nightgown and for some reason they find each other attractive. The next 300 pages is a hot-mess of stupid cat-puns, as related to female genitals, Caroline exclaiming "Mother of Pearl!", bad jokes, poorly characterized individuals running around and acting like idiots, and some of the worst sex scenes I've ever read.
Considering that his sex life pre-Caroline is like a traveling circus act, his sex life post-Caroline is surprisingly vanilla and banal. Is this perhaps anti-marriage propaganda, paid for by a corporation that has a vested interest in keeping the world promiscuous? (I SEE YOU, TROJAN CONDOMS). Don't have marriage, or you will lose your exciting and numerous meowing, spanking, giggling sex partners and be whined at and nagged and humiliated while having boring sex! I can see no other rational explanation for how something so consciously terrible gained so much steam (especially considering the lack of steam).
Also, extra negative points for using the line: "I am not like most women" (66) and meaning it.
Terrible sex scenes:
The idea that a kiss, just a kiss, had turned me into this giant lusting bag of CarolineNeedThat was undeniable, and I knew that if he continued to make me feel this way I was going to invite him straight into my Tahoe. Great idea.
"Come into my Tahoe, Simon," I mumbled incoherently into his mouth (203).
She's so pretty. I mean, there's pretty and then there's pretty... What a pussy I am. Fuck pretty - she's beautiful ... pussy ... And she smells good ... pussy ... why do some girls just smell better? Some girls smell like flowery, fruity bullshit. I mean, why would some girls want to smell like a mango? Why should a girl smell like a mango? Maybe if I think the word MANGO enough I won't think about pussy anymore. Caroline ... mango ... Caroline ... pussy ... God! And now I'm hard ... (217).
My shirt bunched up around my waist, and the feeling of his hi-there against my hoohah was indescribable (267).
Oh, and you know how Ana from FIFTY SHADES OF GREY has an inner goddess and a subconscious? Not to be outdone, Alice Clayton gifted Caroline with O, the personification of her missing orgasm. O, who has a personality and who Caroline talks to the way she does her cat.
I could see the edge, high above the raging waters. As I peeked over the edge, I saw her. O. She waved at me, diving under and over the water like a sexual porpoise. Crafty little bitch (333).
Spoiler: Caroline's not swimming.
I can't say I'm surprised that I didn't enjoy this book, though. I knew it was going to be rough sailing when the heroine shames the hero in front of all their friends for NOT taking advantage of her while she's drunk. Because how dare he not find her attractive enough to ignore her lack of consent!
1 out of 5 stars
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