Book Review: The Constant Sinner - Mae West

Yes, that Mae West wrote a novel. And it is a corker. Unabashedly sexy, druggy, provocative, and daringly modern. You can read the whole thing in West's voice:

“It’s all right, Charlie,” she said. “I won’t hurt him. I only want to feel his muscles.”

Every line just sizzles off the page. As with any 90 year old book, you might have to translate some of the slang:

“the true story dope I’m commencin’ in the World. You’ll be gettin’ your sheets in Dutch if you spill that line of apple mush.”

West's command of the English language is superb. She captures the essence of characters in just a few scraps of dialogue. This is the way she describes a boxing match:

On the roped raft under the sharp light, pale and dark flesh see-sawed, tugged, strained, wrenched, pounded, staggered dizzily and blindly sputtered back and forth like sparks in a candle flame, with the white wick of the referee’s arm always breaking them up.

But, fair warning, a lot of the language is... very of its time. Every racial slur you've ever heard - and a few you haven't - are liberally deployed. It makes for uncomfortable reading. But it is important to understand the context - when the play of The Constant Sinner was first performed, critics were outraged that a Black actor was kissing the white Mae West. The book revels in its controversy - the titular character is an equal opportunity sinner.

And that's sort of the point of the story. It uses racism to titillate, shock, and castigate society. It deploys sexism as a weapon to humiliate the patriarchy. It takes you on a dazzling tour of the seedy underbelly and condemns you as a perverted voyeur. The sinner is, in the end, you.