I recently finished an unlikely book for my reading tastes. It was so strongly recommended by my librarian friend that I brought it home, if only to stop her rabbiting on about it.
The book is called A round-heeled woman, and was written by Jane Juska in her 67th year.
Round heels, it emerges, are a sign of a healthy libido in a woman (as opposed to flat or square heels, one supposes) and Mrs. Juska, at the age of 66, decides that she wants to expose her round heels to the light and get a bit of the old rumpy-pumpy before her next birthday, after a thirty-odd year period of celibacy enforced by gross obesity; a condition rectified through extensive therapy.
To this effect, she places a classified advertisement in the The New York Review Of Books (a very prestigious periodical for literary types):
Before I turn 67 – next March – I would like to have a lot of sex with a man I like.
If you want to talk first, Trollope works for me.
It’s a brave account, cringe-inducing in parts, and by the end I could understand to a degree why Mrs. Juska was alone (bossy and clingy, a bit too much to take in large doses). But it has made me look at older, single people in a totally new light. I am also grateful to Mrs. Juska for rekindling my love of Anthony Trollope’s work.
It is, quite possibly, a book that every adult should be made to read.
But I am left wondering about old Mr. Parsons who works at the pharmacy, according to the book; old blokes are real goers!