Notebook #8: Sex robots, alcoholism, a broken toe
No, smart arse, I am not describing my typical Friday night
Love machine
I am standing in a queue at the Edinburgh International Book Festival bookshop with a slim paperback in my hand. This year the festival is being held in the city’s upmarket Quartermile neighbourhood on an expanse of lawn that today feels sun-kissed and summery. The bookshop is housed in an airy marquee.
When it is my turn I walk up to the till, which is manned by a large fellow with a ginger beard. I hand him the slim paperback, taking care to keep the cover facing down.
He turns the book over. Everyone in the queue can now see the title: Electric Dreams: On Sex Robots and the Failed Promises of Capitalism.
I give the ginger man a look that I hope conveys the following message:
“Hey, just because I’m buying a book about sex robots doesn’t mean I’m interested in sex robots. Well, I suppose sex robots are interesting as a subject. That’s why I’m buying this book. But I’m definitely not the kind of guy who would be interested in an actual sex robot. No, sireee. Not me. I’m completely normal, me.”
He gives me a look which conveys the following message:
“Aye, right, ya fucking sicko.”
The book is by Heather Parry, one of Scotland’s most consistently interesting writers of fiction and non-fiction. I am now two chapters in and it is very good indeed. Although I wish I had ordered it from Amazon.
You can find Heather Parry’s excellent Substack, called general observations on eggs, here.
I only saw one at act the book festival this year. Blindboy Boatclub is one of my favourite podcasters. Partly it’s his voice: a rich Limerick accent delivered in an ASMR whisper. But mostly it is the surreal unpredictability of his storytelling, which ranges over history, politics, personal memoir and Irish culture.
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