TCF and leftwing sex fiction
Luke Bozier’s emergence as a writer of quality sex fiction (h/t @carlraincoat) reminds me that TCF is really very good in this genre too, though we specialise more in sex-fiction-as-interface-between Habermasian-lifeworld-and-anti-hegemonic-narrative.
Of course, TCF is always well ahead of the curve, so this little snippet is from a couple of years back, before sex fiction became part of the zeitgeist. Still, we can pump this stuff out at a great rate of knots, so if any publisher wants a couple of short novels by the end of next week, we don’t mind making an honest bob or two.
Anyway, enjoy (though be careful if you’re reading this at work)
It was then the realization hit Malcolm, as fiercely as that recent blow on the back of the head from an agent of the state, in which he now fully understood that violence was always and irredeemably inherent.
Yes, yes, he thought. Ethel was the one. Ethel was the one who really understood the dynamic relationship between the ideological superstructure and the essential economic base, and how surplus value was really at the heart both of the so-called postwar economic miracle (as Jessopian ‘spatio-temporal fix’ in the principal form of the welfare state) and now more so much more clearly in ‘raw power’ form in this latest crisis of capitalism.
‘Oooh, Ethel’, he swooned, as she folded him in her womanly arms, strengthened by years of proletariat toil, and held him against her beating heart of socialist endeavour.
‘Ethel, tell me again about the relationship between Rosa Luxembourg’s incisive vision of how the working classes can come together in revolutionary force, and the somewhat later but, you suggest, no less relevant, writing of Gramsci on intellectual and moral reform within a temporal nation-state context.
‘Take your overalls off, comrade’ whispered Ethel, huskily, Poulantzian in her growing desire for unity between socialists. ‘I need to feel your Lukacs compendium’.
Malcolm moved closer, and as the sun dipped behind the horizon, far to the well metaphorical left, Ethel gasped: ‘Now that’s what I call entryism by the Hard Left, comrade’.