Read as a preadolescent - where did I get my hands on it? A garage sale? My mom's bookshelf? - and would like to re-read as an adult. I was confused by 99% of the book as a kid. But I remember the "zipless fuck" and the dancing penis.

Liberté, égalité, sexualité or Pteromerhanophobia

When this book was first published the general consensus was something along the lines of "ooh madam"! and a lot of raised eye brows. I imagine people covertly reading this wrapped in brown paper and hoping that no one was looking over their shoulders on the bus or on the tube. And of course it would be the sort of thing that one simply had to hide from ones husband. Of course nowadays you could just download it onto your Kindle and make the text extra tiny if you still thought it was to risque.

Unlikely though, as now it barely registers on the shocking scale. Yes, women have sex drives, yes women can get through men like water when the right level of dedication is applied and yes just because you get married it doesn't mean you have to stay married, or faithful. The idea of a zipless fuck is not a new one but up until this point it had never been classified in such direct manner. After all, libido is another human itch which needs to be scratched... the zipless fuck just means that you get someone else to do the scratching. Today's society is a lot more open and much of the stuff described in this book is fodder for even the tamest of day time TV shows, soap operas and talk radio (although I imagine it will be a cold day in hell before we see Phil Schofield and Holly Willoughby using the word c*nt on This Morning).

It is worth considering however, whether we're as open minded as we like to think, or if language has just gotten more vulgar and profanity more common in the mass media. This allows us to purvey the impression of liberal open mindedness while still secretly maintaining the same level of stultified sexual prudery beyond closed doors. In Liverpool I still see embarrassed looking men peering in the door of Ann Summers. Anyway well done Erica Jong for wowing the 1970's by being pretty, feminine, sexually liberated and a woman.

Das Buch fühlt sich an wie eine quälend lange Anekdote einer entfernten Bekannten, die mit Rassismen und Fat-Shaming ausstaffiert ist. Die auftauchenden feministischen Gedanken sind rar und es war leider überhaupt nicht die Befreiung von weiblicher Sexualität, die ich mir erwartet habe.

Zwei Sterne, weil der Einblick, den die Protagonstin in ihre Gedanken über sexuelles Verlangen gibt in den 70ern wohl eine andere gesellschaftliche Bedeutung hatte.

Rather neglectful of reading duties (I shall admit to this very vulgar crime) for the lethargic days of summer, it was truly a rare treat to sporadically go back to this, a sly and sinful read. Yeah, it is DATED-- but, even in the late 90s, weren't the "Sex and the City" gals, too? That "50 Shades" is such a success should not be surprising-- it's just that the reminder that other people are having sex while you are (or are not) is.

I've been quoted before as saying that "sexual non-adventure is a sin..." & in that same spirit, Erica Jong has given a frank & incredibly enjoyable read. Her main character is not prone to saying no to the act, she rather bathes in the light of casual encounters, but she has intelligence and heart. She is aware of the "zipless f**k" as much as she traces her sexual history, weighing out past experiences with expectation-filled nows.

This is rightfully in the 1001 (or 1306?) List of Books to Read (Before Expiring)--in good company with Sade's 120 Days and Justine, as well as, perhaps the male counterpart to "Fear of Flying," the less thrilling but more pretentious "Rabbit Run" by Updike.

هذه هي التجربة الأولى لإريكا يونغ الكاتبة الأمريكية من أصل بولوني، قرأتُها بعد ترشيح أحد الأصدقاء.
الرواية مكتوبة في منتصف سبعينيات القرن الماضي _ 1973م_ وتُرجمت إلى العربية مؤخراً [ ترجمة أسامة منزلجي ] وهي ترجمة مميزة للأمانة، لذا فحين نقرؤها فعلينا أن نعي أنها مكتوبة بلغة وأفكار وتصورات ذلك العصر، على الرغم من أنّ كثير من أفكار هذه الرواية يصلح لعصرنا هذا، خصوصاً مع ارتفاع أصوات المنادين بـ [ النسوية ].
ويمكن اعتبار الكاتبة من المنظّرين لها بشكل أدبي، وهي لا تخفي ذلك بل تصرّح بأنها "رأس حربة" في تلك الحركة التي بدأت في ستينيات وسبعينيات القرن المنصرم!
الرواية أقرب لسيرة ذاتية للمؤلفة، تحكي فيها عبر فصولها الـ 19 عن حياتها وزواجها وطلاقها وعاداتها وعن عائلتها وأصولها اليهودية، وكيف تعاملت مع أزماتها الهوياتية، باختصار هو "تشريح ذاتي لكينونة المرأة بقلم امرأة " .
تحكي عن أمها التي تخلت عن أحلامها لصالح الزواج، وعن إخوتها كيف تحولنّ إلى " أمهات بأولاد" دون أي طموح أو رغبة في تجربة الحياة، وتحكي عن تجربتها الشخصية في رفض المألوف، ورغبتها الدائمة في العيش في اللحظة، وكسر عادات المجتمع والقوالب التي وضعت فيها.
تقول في أول الرواية: " لم أكن ضد الزواج، بل لقد آمنتُ به، من الضروري أن يحصل المرء على صديق صدوق واحد في عالم عدائي، شخص تُخلص له مهما يحدث، شخص واحد يخلص دائماً لك، لكن ماذا عن كل تلك الأشواق الأخرى التي يعجز الزواج بعد فترة معينة عن إشباعها؟"
فهي باحثة عن المتعة ضد تيار الملل الذي يجتاح حياة الإنسان بركوبها المغامرات، وهذا ما فعلته مع صديق زوجها..
وهي ناقمة على النمط الاستهلاكي الذي يسلّع المرأة، ويجعلها رهينة للسوق الذي يعاملها كآلة، ولا يحترم خصوصياتها ولا جسدها.
الرواية / السيرة تحكي عن الزواج والأسرة والحبّ والجنس ثم تغوص في تفاصيل خاصة جداً ( قد يجدها بعضكم موغلة في الإباحية) لكن المؤلفة لا تُنكر ذلك وتقول:" تعمدتُ أنّ أتعرّى بالكتابة في هذه الرواية وكأن لا أحد سيقرأ لي" وعلى عكس توقعاتها فاق الإقبال الشديد عليها كلّ ما طمحت له.
وهي تشرّح نفسية المرأة عبر منظار مكبّر، فتدخل القارئ إلى متاهات لم يكن يقدر أن يصل إليها دون قائد ماهر، وقد أدت هذا الدور باقتدار.
بعض الفصول رائعة جداً وخصوصاً حين تحلل نفسية المرأة وكيف تنظر لحياتها ومجتمعها، وهي ذكية باختيار عناوين جذابة لها، الكاتبة تكره الجميع تقريباً، ولها فصل تشتم فيه العرب [ وذلك لأنّ زوج أختها حاول التحرش بها أثناء إجازتها وهو من أصل عربي فتصبّ على العرب كل حقدها وقرفها ] وذلك ناتج ع�� جهلها بالتنوع الكبير وعدم قدرتها على تصوّر وجود عرب غير التي قابلتهم، وهي الصورة النمطية المعتادة للغربي حين يزور الشرق الأوسط ويحدث معه حادث سلبي معيّن.
وهي تسخر حتى من اليهود التي هي منهم، وتسخر من الأطباء النفسيين الذي زوجها منهم، يعني أنّ الأمر لايتعلق بطائفة أو فئة معينة، بل هو أقرب لنمط الكره العام من كل شيء لا يوافق الحالة النفسية الراهنة.
اللغة سهلة وساخرة في بعض المواضع، وبعض التفاصيل المذكورة في الرواية تتعلق بأماكن وأحداث من القرن الماضي، فربما تشعر بالملل من قراءتك لأسماء غريبة لا تعرف سياقها لكن يمكن تجاوز ذلك دون خوف، إضافة لثيمة الصراحة والتي كانت شديدة؛ بل شديدة جداً تصل لدرجة الابتذال لكنها ترى أنّ هذا يخدم الفكرة التي تريد عرضها.
أعجبتني الرواية وأضاءت لي جوانب في شخصية المرأة كنت لا أفهمها، وفهمت أنّ المرأة كائن يصعب إرضاؤه.
أختم بجملة رهيبة لا زالت تترد في ذهني يمكن أن توجز الرواية كلها بكلمة حين تقول:" يا له من عبء أن يولد المرء أنثى في أمريكا"!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fear_of...

If you've never read Erica Jong's classic, well, you should. On the re-read list. I have no idea (or record) of when I read it. But I expect you remember the Zipless Fuck! The book has sold more than 20 million copies worldwide.

Jong explains that it is "zipless" because "when you came together, zippers fell away like rose petals, underwear blew off in one breath like dandelion fluff. For the true ultimate zipless A-1 fuck, it was necessary that you never got to know the man very well."

Well. Yet Another 70s Experience I missed out on. Dammit.

Note that my 5* rating is based on a long-ago memory. Who knows how I might rate it now.

Earlier on this evening I was talking to my sainted mother on the telephone, and she noted that I seemed to be "reading a lot of intellectual books lately," to which I reacted with vehemently indignant daughterly rage: "I am NOT, Mom!"

Why my mother's comment should seem so thoroughly offensive is a fitting subject for my analyst (a mythical figure about whom I love to fantasize but probably wouldn't enjoy much if he actually existed), though not so much for the internet, but I've got poor boundaries and terrible judgment, so here goes....

Let's face it, folks: I've been having a lot of trouble reading books lately. Like, a lot a lot, and I haven't really been able to figure out why.... I bottomed out most of the way through the Proust, and the Caro's really interesting but I still keep putting it down and daydreaming on the subway. This is so terrible. What's going on??

Well, it's NINETY FRIKKIN' DEGREES OUT, and everyone's walking around practically NEKKID. How can I think about SERIOUS stuff at a time like this?? Crazy things are happening all around me! There's about eighty bared biceps between here and the train, and the ice cream truck blares by every night around midnight.... it's too HOT to sleep, not to mention too loud! Anyway, maybe my mom's right. Maybe I am reading stuff that's too "intellectual," or in any case, too unseasonal.... too smart for me! As I've been fond of observing lately, "Men don't make passes at girls who pass classes." (Note to family: pls write that on tombstone.) And this leads us to an overwhelming question, which is: where is summer 2008's John Travolta to my own excruciatingly irritating Olivia Newton John?!!

See?!! These are the kinds of burning questions on my mind these days: the thermostat's high, and it's melting my brain! It's definitely time to stop overheating the poor thing with all this talk about Senates and seascapes, so that I can preserve my scarce mental attentions for bikini wax maintenance and miniskirt coordination.

Did I mention there're about fifty bared biceps between here and the train?

The librarian girl thing might work in the winter when we're all bundled up, but baby, it's hot outside....

Anyway, all this ran through my mind earlier, and I really thought that Fear of Flying was the answer to my sweaty, stupid prayers. I've been meaning to read this book since forever! Not totally sure why, but I have, and my roommate has a real snazzy, skeezy looking cover with a naked lady and everything.

Naked lady!!!

Unfortunately, so far this is one of the most terribly written piece of crap I've started in a long time, which is why I just sat down here and wrote all this stuff. I'm procrastinating from my "fun," trashy read just eight pages in! Not a good sign....

Well, we'll see.

Stay tuned....

الخوف من الطيران.....إريكا يونغ

الجرأة في الرواية مربكة وفيها نغمة كره للعالم والواقع كبيرة، الكاتبة كتبت الرواية كأنها تبصق على كل شيء، على هرموناتها وحياتها الجنسية، وبتعيد ترتيب الحياة دي من جديد كأنها بتعمل قواعد لعالم جديد، عالم بلا تعقيدات ولا التزامات.
العمق النفسي اللي فيها وكلامها الكثير عن الدكاترة النفسيين كان ظريف جدا، وحس الدعابة بين ثنايا العمل له قيمته.
لو حضرتك فيمينزم فالرواية ممكن تعيد قناعاتك في حاجات كتير، ولو حضرتك عدو للمرأة فالرواية هتوضح لك حاجات كتير، ولو أنت شاب بسيط عنده ٢٦ سنة ومجرد قاريء هاو، هتقعد تضحك وتقول: يا سلام يا ولاد.

رواية مذهلة بترجمة جميلة من عمنا أسامة منزلجي.

Well this has been going on forever. The main character is surely witty and doubly unlikeable. Perhaps I’m reading this at the wrong moment of history, but I cannot imagine what in this book is “sexually liberating” The entire time she is entangled in relationships with the most undesirable men ever penned, her husband being the only semi okay one and even he is boring, a pushover, and romantically absent. The rest? Dirty (dont shower, dont wipe properly) and rude (groping her in public, saying nastyy things abt her). Ew!!! Ew ew ew. And it’s not like the sex is even amazing. Mid sex with gross men is sexually liberating? Maybe she has the freedom to choose that but should she have? Ugh. The book concludes with her finding her own place in the word separate of her madness for men (she is guy CRAZY and NOT in a fun way), but this realization isn’t brought on through internal reflection or other women but some gross sleaze abandoning her for his estranged wife and children after saying horrible things to her!!! This is empowering???

Now imagine my surprise when I finish this book and get to the author’s note. IT’S AN (thinly veiled) AUTOBIOGRAPHY???? what was the point of the name change if you were going to admit the main character was you anyways??? God you would never drag that out of me if I wrote something so humiliating

I have tried to read this book over the years three or four separate times. Each time I was unable to get past the opening scene. Where’s the sex I wanted to know? What’s with all the shrinks, and God they are a dull bunch. This is supposed to be an erotic book right? Turns out the place I needed to be to get this book was a long time in coming.

Here’s what Marco Vassi--the most intelligent erotic writer of all time-- said about erotic writing and Fear of Flying in particular.

“Fear of Flying is an extraordinary erotic book, but it’s basically a literary novel. The eroticism is of the novel. Erotic literature is literature in which eroticism is the novel. It focuses on that. It also implies a certain degree of description, a certain hard core. And to find novels in which you have plot, character, literary quality, plus detailed and real moving descriptions of fucking is a rarity.”

Writing about sex and writing to arouse the reader are different things which too often get confused. I would like to see that change. Just because someone writes honestly about sex, or thinking about sex, does not make the book an erotic book, even if one or two passages really make your blood boil.*

What about those “detailed and real moving descriptions of fucking?” Almost all of the sex scenes presented in this book were disappointing at some level. When she is having sex there isn’t much emotional connection, when she is emotionally connected, or really turned on someone can’t get it up. This is a very different reading experience than something like the arcade scenes in Exit to Eden. What you will find in this book are honest discussions on the topic of sex: sexual freedom, sexual fantasy, sexual repression, sexual confusion.

Call me stunted, call me slow, but it has taken me a long time to say these things out loud so to find someone else who has already done it so well is a gift. Here’s a passage that I marked all to hell it was so relatable. For me it was liberating to see these words in print.

“Perhaps sex accounted for my fury. Perhaps sex was the real Pandora’s box. My mother believed in free love…Yet of course, she did not, or why did she say that boys wouldn’t respect me unless I played “hard to get” ? That boys wouldn’t chase me if I “wore my heart on my sleeve,” that boys wouldn’t call me if I “made myself cheap” ?
Sex, I was terrified of the tremendous power it had over me. The energy, the excitement, the power to make me feel totally crazy! What about that? How do you make that jibe with “playing hard to get”?”

Vassi says this is, “Basically a literary novel.” Thank you! This was my thought as I read though the passages that changed point of view, tense, and fell smoothly into profound or hilarious rumination. Isadora does lots of fantasizing, especially what I suspect both women and men can relate to--the zipless fuck. Intrigued? Read the book. I would say the purest version of this for me has always been found in books, alone with my authors and their words…After you read the book you can let me know what you think.

When I started raving on Facebook a family friend said she hated the book and sent me this review as she said it summed up why. http://regularrumination.com/2009/03/... Isadora comes off to some as whiny to some.

Fair enough. I can see this, but I would also argue that we hardly ever nail the guys for the same things when they are angsting about finding their place in the world, droning endlessly about their feelings of isolation, or how trapped they feel at the prospect of a new family or a career change. They aren’t whining, they are making sense out of important issues. We might even call them philosophers! (A wonderful book that centers on this quite a bit is Kenzeburo Oe’s A Personal Matter which I also reviewed. Wonderful book, the author eventually won a Nobel prize.)

I could agree with some of the reviewer’s comments about the plot, about the main character Isadora’s “problems.” She created a lot of them, and she is not always sympathetic. I could have cared less. What I will continue to recommend about this book are all the passages that sum up a particular situation or emotion, frustrations I had felt that someone else had finally legitimized. Erica Jong fictionalized several situations I had also found myself in, resenting the hell out whatever was going on and hating myself for smiling the whole time because that’s what good girls do. Can’t embarrass the man and his intellectual or physical failings, though he thinks he is being honest and helpful for pointing out yours.

What I find morbidly interesting is the fact that this book came out the year Roe v. Wade was passed. Could women in 1973 imagine that we would still have to listen to politicians make snide remarks about birth control in the year 2012? Maybe they could, maybe they were less optimistic than I am. For 2012, none of the situations or thoughts presented should be shocking. I’ve had much more graphic conversations with my friends over coffee at Starbucks, but I imagine in 1973 to see these thoughts in print, and to have people talking about zipless fucks, Tampax, and running away with that handsome stranger was something to see indeed.

To judge Fear of Flying, without benefit of the same social and political climate has got to be a mistake. To read this book now, I have to consider all the women who came before me, who divorced their husbands because they were not happy, who demanded to be taken care of in bed, who decided against having children so they could pursue their life’s goals. All of this surely could not have been as common and as acceptable as it is now. I would love to hear from any women who were adults at the time Fear of Flying came out and get a sense of what you think has changed if anything.

I can understand women who worked for a certain level of equality becoming impatient with Isadora and her angst, they were too busy making changes to stop and worry about anything else. Good for them, I send a sincere thank you and say God Bless. I would also would argue that being impatient with Isadora doesn’t make the angst any less relatable. Who hasn’t paid careful attention for half an hour while a male loved one spouted facts about a new civil war book he’s reading, only to have him put on an impatient face two minutes into your own explanation of something you find just as fascinating?

I would almost argue that the frustration the reader may feel with Isadora for making the decisions she does, staying with and listening to all her stupid male analysts, her infatuation with the infuriating Adrian, are part of what made me appreciate the book. My reactions to her behavior said a lot about me and I learned things about myself from having that experience. It is much easier to judge other women than to admit that we are often also mirrors of each other’s behavior. Sometimes I was ashamed to admit I had done some of the same things I was frustrated with Isadora for. She struggled with guilt for leaving a man who would in the end equal a lifetime of unhappiness and sacrifice. I know some women who say they don’t have time to write, to work on their art, to do any number of things that are important to them because hubby spends their after work time on his hobby. Someone after all has to look after the kids. At least they aren’t being bitchy and demanding like Isadora though. Where would we be if everyone were like her?

In the first few years of my marriage I am ashamed to admit I hardly read any of the books I loved so much because my husband, who doesn’t read, felt left out. Me, who came to that marriage with three full shelves of books and about ten different projects in mind! Fuck. Erica Jong has gone farther in identifying that bullshit female need to make everyone so goddam happy than anyone I have read before. She also did a beautiful job showing us how we force these ideas on our friends and our daughters. (Another reason I need to spend more time with the women.) In Isadora’s bitchiness, and refusal to just go along in many situations, I was reminded how easy it is to give up my own happiness, my own strength, my own ambition to take care of kids, hubby, friends who need me, whatever. Certainly they all matter to me, and certainly I cannot only live for me, or I would cease to be me, but does it have to be one or the other? Isadora Wing, though confused and clueless sometimes, stands up for herself, and when she doesn’t she stops to consider why. It was in these moments that I felt the most grateful.

What I did through most of the book was fold down pages and mark passages with my thumbnail until I was able to get ahold of a pencil. Don’t read this book for the story or for any kind of lesson about anything, unless of course you find something relevant in that. Read this book for what is relatable, good and bad. Here is one of my favorite passages:

“So I learned about women from men. I saw them through the eyes of male writers. Of course, I didn’t think of them as male writers. I thought of them as writers, as authorities, as gods who knew and were to be trusted completely.
Naturally I trusted everything they said, even when it implied my own inferiority.”

That last line almost made me ill it was so applicable to me. The passage goes on to give examples and when combined with all the men who keep telling her what is wrong with her and the fact that she listens to them makes the point yet again. Well what the fuck are you listening to them for? Makes you want to slap her and then hug her for finally coming to her senses. I challenge any woman to tell me she hasn’t ever done the same thing.

And guess who contributed a blurb…Henry Miller**!

“It is rare these days to come upon a book written by a woman which is so refreshing, so gay and sad at the same time, and so full of wisdom about the eternal man-woman problem.”

What I find interesting about the Miller quote is that he sees the problems Erica Jong shows us as “eternal.” Maybe they are when you consider that in some ways not much has changed about the dynamics between the sexes, we still routinely give up our dreams to support Him, nurture the family, while neglecting ourselves, and when we do finally stand up and take charge, we have to contend with a fair amount of guilt for doing so.

Maybe for me what is terrifying to admit is how easy it is to give up our best selves for some ideal that we can’t even identify in the real world. Ever since I read this book I have had even more reason to hate The Princesses.

Read this book. You may hate it, but I would hazard a guess that even then you will find some of yourself in this crazy woman’s thoughts and fantasies. This is an important book that I can’t believe more women haven’t read, and men for that matter. I also guess that everyone who reads it will take away something different and am eager to hear from anyone willing to discuss the book.

*Anyone read Outlander? My word, there were a few scenes in there that really worked for me, though the book is classified as a historical romance.

** See my review of Tropic of Cancer. I love Henry Miller, but I never found much of his writing all that erotic either.

Beogradsko izdanje iz 1983. je jako loš prijevod. Puno kolokvijalizama doslovno je prevedeno, a rečenice se čitaju kao neko natezanje - prijevod je narušio dojam spontanosti izražavanja likova, kod kojih je jezik po mojoj pretpostavci jednostavniji. Pozitivno je što prevoditelj nije prezao prevesti "vulgarne" izraze zdravoseljački :)

Knjiga odlična sa strane psihoterapije i analize ličnosti, i tu mislim na njene vlastite misli, a ne na činjenično znanje o psihoanalizi koje pokazuje kroz knjigu, i kojoj se podruguje. Po razvoju karaktera je na tragu gestalt psihologije i transakcijske analize... Mada, bar za mene, više djeluje kao studija slučaja nego kao poticaj za autoanalizu jer mi nije pošlo za rukom identificirati se. Ali aplaudirala sam u sebi povremeno za inteligenciju autorice i dobra usmjerenja.

Kao proza knjiga je osrednja, te možda tu leži problem s identifikacijom. Prvi roman. Teme za kasne dvadesete i rane tridesete kao da su pisane rukom osobe u ranim dvadesetim, a s mudrošću starije odrasle dobi. I ponekad mi se za prve romane čini da služe autorima da se riješe prtljage zvane osobna povijest (Zadie Smith, npr..). Toliko.

"La vita non ha una trama"

Paura di volare, pubblicato nel 1973, è accompagnato dalla fama di essere il libro manifesto della liberalizzazione dei costumi sessuali femminili, una sorta di proclama della possibilità o del desiderio della donna di poter praticare sesso in maniera lieve e senza legami.
Almeno, io mi ero fatta più o meno questa idea.

A me pare però che l'obiettivo del libro sia tutt'altro: per come l'ho letto io, il libro, intriso di psicanalisi e di citazioni libresche di tutti i tipi [la Jong sicuramente è stata una lettrice non solo accanita ma pure onnivora], è una sorta di romanzo di formazione, un romanzo scritto per affrontare le proprie paure, che nel caso di Isadora [alter ego di Jong] è quella di riuscire a stare da sola, è quella di riuscire a reggersi sulle proprie gambe senza necessità di avere il sostegno di un uomo al suo fianco. Diciamo ancor meglio è la necessità di trovare la propria dimensione individuale senza passare da stereotipi o ruoli preconfezionati. E qui sorge spontaneo il link con la lettura de "La campana di vetro" di Sylvia Plath, peraltro iper-citata dalla Jong all'interno del testo.

"Tutte le donne che ammiravamo erano zitelle o suicide. Era tutto lì? Era lì che volevamo arrivare?

La ricerca di Isadora, passa attraverso l'esperienza sessuale "multipla" e "variegata", e qui, il linguaggio greve, la scelta di inserire particolari a volte proprio volgarucci [cfr. lenzuola sporche di escrementi di qualche improbabile e sudicio amante], alla lunga arriva proprio a saturare il lettore che ne esce stomacato. Una pletora di scelte sbagliate, e di esperienze che non solo non aggiungono niente se non una grande tristezza alla nostra eroina, o meglio antieroina ["Avevo già fattol'esperienza indicibilmente triste di svegliarmi vicino a un uomo che non sopportavo, al quale non avevo assolutamente nulla da dire… e non era certo stata una esperienza liberatoria. Eppure non sembrava proprio possibile impostare la vita in modo equilibrato, conciliando la propria esuberanza con il bisogno di stabilità"] Isadora arriva alla conclusione che "le fantasie sono fantasie e non si può vivere in estasi dal mattino alla sera tutti i giorni dell'anno. Anche se te ne vai sbattendo la porta, anche se ti scopi tutti quelli che ti capitano a tiro, non per questo riesci ad avvicinarti di un passo alla libertà.»"

"Nessuno può completarci. Dobbiamo essere noi a completare noi stessi. Se non ci riusciamo la ricerca dell'amore diventa autodistruzione; e poi cerchiamo di convincerci che questa autodistruzione è amore."

Ma che cosa cerca Isadora? Uscire dagli schemi e dai ruoli preconfezionati, guardare solo e soltanto alla propria soddisfazione personale, dove la conduce? Nel romanzo c'è Isadora, solo e soltanto Isadora coi suoi bisogni, le sue paure e le sue necessità. Ma l'altro? C'è interesse e dolcezza nei confronti dell'altra metà del cielo? L'ego smisurato della protagonista e le sue riflessioni esondano. E risultano grevi, l'uso dell'ironia non riesce ad alleggerire le riflessioni spesso circolari della scrittrice.

"Non era chiaro come sarebbe andata a finire. Nei romanzi dell'ottocento i protagonisti si sposano. In quelli del novecento divorziano. E' possibile avere un finale in cui non facciano nessuna delle due cose?"

Nei romanzi del ventesimo secolo cosa ci auspichiamo che accada?

"La vita non ha una trama", se non visibile a posteriori, e il fil rouge tra le letture, si compone sempre in maniera retrospettiva. Questo fil rouge mi fa accomunare "Il Male Oscuro" a questa "Paura di volare". A differenza della Jong, Berto è riuscito a produrre un opera di valore letterario indiscutibile e pur partendo dall'esperienza del singolo, dalle proprie hpaure ed ossessioni, è riuscito a produrre un'opera di valenza universale.

Il libro della Jong, mah..."La questione femminile non ha soluzioni unilaterali"