For all of my public candor and truth-excavatin’, there are areas I will not touch.
One of them, no pun intended, is sex.
Another, believe it or not, is relationships. I am a champion of privacy, wherever possible, and also a big, fat coward: I’m loathe to pull a Truman Capote and end up like Truman Capote (although the middle of his life, in between the gothic horror and lonely, alcoholic demise, does sound interesting.)
These are just two of the reasons I was floored by Jennifer Lehr’s 2004 memoir, Ill-Equipped for a Life of Sex. In it, as you might expect from the title, she exposes her many and colorful sexual encounters (in vivid and fascinating detail), from her first kiss (or desire for one) through her mostly sexually-dysfunctional relationship with her eventual husband to her post-marital flirtations and fantasies. If Lehr left anything out, it was neglible: parts of the book read like letters to Penthouse Forum, only realistic. I was shocked not so much by what she did, but that she was writing about it so openly in the same book where she cheerfully and un-self-consciously outlines her relationships with many members of her family, with whom, it would appear, she is still close (and who definitely win the prize for most tolerant family around.)
This, though, is the trick of the book, and the second meaning of the title: it’s as much a story of how she got here from there as it is a salacious recounting. What Lehr has done is to write a book, a shockingly intimate book, about intimacy itself, and the role it plays in keeping all kinds of relationships alive. To bare ourselves metaphorically requires high levels of trust and commitment, often far higher than those required to strip down and get busy, not to mention a slavish devotion to truth.
And over and over, after each screw-up (so to speak), she throws herself once again headlong into the truth. There is her shink, and her next shrink, and her shrink after that. (Geographical and other factors outside of her control necessitate the moves.) There is his shrink, and AA, and their shrink. Shrinks. There is an art project in grad school that leaves her open and vulnerable and ultimately spurned for attempting to get at a truth, which (surprise, surprise) freaks everyone’s shit right out. It is so painful at times, watching this earnest struggle to get at the truth, to learn what it is and then learn how to live in it, to communicate with it, one aches for this young woman and her crazy quest.
But this is the same thing that makes it compulsively readable. Well, besides the sex, which is pretty salacious, and the unselfconscious exposure of her very privileged life. (Lehr was financially supported by her family, and in fairly grand style, pretty much until her husband’s ship came in.) Again and again, despite the crazy pain involved, she dives into the hard work of scrutinizing her screw-ups for clues as to their genesis, until finally, she comes up with the answers. They are both complex and simple, always boiling down to truth and communication, communication and truth. Many of the reviewers on Amazon say they saw their own life in Lehr’s; the rest (and we’re talking half and half), dismiss the book as an overly-long, poorly-written exercise in narcissism by a spoiled princess.
Could it be shorter? Yes, by about 100 pages, I reckon. Better-written? In parts, certainly. Hell, there are parts of every post I’ve ever written that I know could be better-written, usually as I’m writing them.
It’s fearless, though, and earnest and heartfelt. And it’s a startling expose of the real reasons we both turn away and towards sex in (and out of) relationship. It’s about addiction of all kinds, and how it keeps us from true love and connection. It’s about how unbe-fucking-lievably hard it is to communicate when the stakes are high. (The story of how John and Jennifer Lehr turn around their relationship is instructive and inspiring.)
So while I wish that maybe she’d had a little more experience with writing before she sat down to tell her story, or an editor who had leaned a little harder on her, I’m grateful to Lehr for sharing it. And very much looking forward to deepening my own commitment to rooting out fraud in my own life…
1She explicitly the details of life with her husband, comic actor John Lehr, or the lack thereof, when it comes to.
Yo! Disclosure! Links to the books in the post above are Amazon affiliate links. This means if you click on them and buy something, I receive an affiliate commission. Which I hope you do: it helps keep me in books to review. More on this disclosure stuff at publisher Michael Hyatt’s excellent blog, from whence I lifted (and smooshed around a little) this boilerplate text.