Disclaimer: I have not written a book report since I was 12. Wish me luck.
After reading the novel The Average American Male, I gifted it to my then-boyfriend.
“Here is your unofficial autobiography. Enjoy!”
A few months later, when we had broken up and presumably after he had put down an accompanying (yet necessary) dictionary and recovered from the lack of pictures or pop-ups, he contacted me to inform that he had not only finished reading the book but that he identified so much with the main character that his life now seemed justified.
“That isn’t a success. That is scary,” I responded.
The Average American Male is a faux expose on a cowardly man who lied to those who genuinely loved him so that he could continue fucking strangers up the butt.
The author, possibly the only man on the planet I am scared of, Chad Kultgen, has returned (somewhat swiftly) with a new book: The Lie. If I had the courage, I would inquire directly as to whether his book titles are based entirely on my last relationship or if coincidence really does exist.
“Who are you going to gift this one to?” A boy friend asked, noting the absence of communication between The Ex and me.
“Everyone!”
“Woah!” He swallowed. “Won’t you get tired? And loose the ability to walk?”
The days after my initial introduction to Kultgen’s work involved endless assuming as to what guys where thinking about when they looked at me, fearing that I was mentally being ridden like a farm tractor every time I walked into a store to buy my Marlboro Lights. In His world, every organism with a penis views a woman as a walking carry case for the prized appendage and I desperately searched for confirmation that this was an elaborate fabrication.
“What do you think about when you see me?” I asked a general acquaintance. “Tell me honestly.”
“Honestly? I think about carrying you over my shoulder and the putting you down in the kitchen and reenacting the scene from 9 1/2 Weeks. Maybe because you remind me of Kim Bassinger. Or maybe because I have a desire to fuck you against a fridge.”
I wasn’t insulted. I can’t cook so I may as well make myself useful in a kitchen.
Both of Kultgen’s fictionalized worlds are wordy anecdotes to the cup being half empty, where every deed, no matter how seemingly moral or amoral, is plagued with bad intentions and selfish dishonesty. Men and woman are just as sexually active as the other, but the men have the power and the women have the reputation. Sex is not for pleasure, but for demise.
The Lie is a painfully honest and dishonest sexpose on college-aged relationships: They Meet, They are insecure as to whether the other is really interested, They fall in love, Bad stuff starts to happen. Danielle Steele would probably not get through the first paragraph of this romantic-tale-for-the-generation-raised-on-Pamela-and-Tommy-Lee unless she had both single malt scotch and a botox needle on hand.
I have three fears in my life: Snakes, pleather pants and the reality that men view woman as sexually inferior: that all the fighting for sexual equality and research into comfortable contraception was futile and we may as well accept an eternity of hand jobs: cooking pies and orgasms simultaneously.
“Did you pick up a whore last night?” I have heard a onceuponatimes roommate ask while I was in the bathroom.
“Yep,” was the response.
I stormed out of the bathroom and successfully made a point while wearing sparkles and the previous evenings mascara, explaining the seemingly obvious reality that it takes two people to tango (read: have fun and spontaneous sex) and unless he could remain satisfied with masturbation, a girl is a necessary participant.
“Even if you don’t consider it, she still has an opinion,” I offered a positive answer to the tree-falling analogy.
“But she is still a whore for fucking me,” he shrugged.
“No, just an idiot,” I conceded, my ears burning as I walked back into my version of the real world. I later mailed him a homosexual dating agency catalogue with a note assuring him that This way he could get laid in the absence of a whore. Because, apparently, the title only applied to females.
Kultgen’s stories may superficially read like fiction – people will always dispute the numerical reality of sexual thoughts per day or if random girls are really willing to have anal sex in a public bathroom instead of going to class – but the extravagance of detail is irrelevant. Only the essence is applicable.
The point Kultgen is making for anybody willing to read between the lines with a book or with a life is to not focus on the sex, instead look at the motives and the person who is screaming for attention not satisfaction. Kultgen’s characters, no matter how charming or vindictive, all work on protecting themselves out of fear and behave accordingly. They fear rejection for their real qualities and willingly stand up as stereotypes. It is for this reason that, despite the X-rated descriptions that would make Hefner blush, the book is based on fact.
I have spent over a year trying to research whether Kultgen represents Our reality, delusion or demise. For every boy who has called me or any other educated and three-dimensional female a whore, another has been respectful and mentally evolved enough to at least keep his opinion in his pants.
“Sex is a two person sport,” I have often said.
“Yes, but a man has the power. He is the one penetrating,” boys have reasoned.
“Ok. Remind a girl of that ‘fact’ the next time your little friend is in her mouth. See what happens…”
I can’t accept societies preoccupation with damning the woman. And I have concluded, beyond reasonable doubt, that Kultgen is just as appalled with hypocrisy as I am. He just doesn’t want to cowardly hand the reality to the reader and finds pleasure in the mind fucking.
“So, with all of this vulgarity, why do you want me to read this book?” I was aksed.
“Because, it is almost scarier if you don’t identify to it.”
Chad Kultgen, The Lie, www.averageamericanmale.com
