Introducing Lisbon Sommerset

Bored of writing about the chick-lit debate, insects, beer and my pitfalls as a struggling PR professional and who-knows-what-kind-of writer, I decide to welcome guest blogger Lisbon Sommerset--critically acclaimed, ultra-feminist literary author.

If only I could live in a world of smart prose, unfettered truth and the reserving of solipsistic sanctimony for those who really know...without having to live as witness and prisoner to the continuous violation of human rights

by Lisbon Sommerset

As many of you know, I was recently asked to be part of a panel discussion about the new book, So You've Got Tits and an Opinion--Good For Fucking You: An Exploration of Why Women Think Their Love and Hatred of the Self is So Fucking Special. Needless to say, all of us on the panel were appalled that this book has received so much hype and critical acclaim--but it was an honor to be joined by women of such brilliant feminist candor and be encouraged to share my thoughts. The following is a sample of what I contributed to the panel:

PL: You're recognized as a leader in the movement to distribute works of classic literature to female actresses of the porn industry. Can you explain why this is so important to you?

LB: Yes, I feel it vital that in facilitating the metriculation of those otherwise engaged in the vastly mysoginistic predication of degredation to the altruistic nature of fornication, there should be reason to punctuate limitations in the form of narcissistic evolution.

PL: I see. So what did you think of the book?

LB: I was shocked by the intrinsic pontification of the male author. This display only proves that in ignoring the essential qualifications, the juxtaposition of need is implied and therefore wrought with fraudulent claims of ignorance. Debilitating the prehistoric condition is no clear example of how to frequently concur that in our modern state, any ancient propaganda is a near-bohemian release of rife invidia on behalf of those affected. We're all affected.

PL: I see. Next guest?

Anyway, expecting that my review of James Frey's new tell-all memoir will appear in today's New York Times, I was just at the newsstand to retrieve my copy and was assaulted by tabloids. It is now apparent that Britney Spears has bestowed upon her second child, the moniker of Sutton Pierce. Admitting to a certain struggle with Ms. Spears' former image as a "sex kitten", I am only too happy that she is rendering her past mistakes by giving her son the chance at a genuine acceptance into the Ivy League.

I just got an email from my agent reminding me that Book Expo registration is right around the corner. Might I just profess to how GLAD I am that the event will be in New York next year. When it was in Washington this year, my whole experience was ruined the moment I walked into my hotel room and saw a magazine on the coffee table with Dubya's face on the cover. I think this year, I might skip the parties, too. Last year I got stuck talking to two chick-lit writers who kept telling me how much they loved my critically-acclaimed work of literary fiction, Penis Head. All I could think the whole time was, there's not a chance on Jane Austen's grave that either of them had actually read Penis Head. While they were out doing research at Jimmy Choo, I was deep in the trenches of the mysoginistic psyche.

That reminds me, though, of something I would like to address. For those of you who keep posting on chick-lit message boards that Penis Head is a lot like Gemma Townley's When in Rome...please stop it. I'll have you know that Penis Head was not only reviewed by the New York Times ("Deep in the trenches of the mysoginistic psyche, Sommerset takes us on a vivid journey through the conscience of man from the harrowing perspective of a modern woman"), but was also blurbed by Jonathan Franzen, J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown and Hillary Clinton. It is therefore too respectable to be chick-lit, if you couldn't tell by the missing high-heeled shoe on its cover.

Speaking of which, I've been invited by my alma mater to teach a graduate course, debunking the myth that women are obsessed with dating and shopping. I'm so honored to be given this opportunity. It'll put a strain on my relationship, and I'll have to acquire a whole new wardrobe...but it'll be worth it if I can save any number of young women from a potentially wasted life of enjoying all the unique, natural-born attributes men will never have.

This morning I came across a copy of my MFA dissertation, which was a brilliant, in-depth showcase on the similarities between the struggles of modern women and those of the sisters in Pride and Prejudice...and was tempted to burn it due to all the claiming of late that Jane Austen was a chick-lit author. I wish chick-lit authors would spend more time earning graduate degrees than edging out us literati with all their candy-coated drivel. Then perhaps I could find something to read, having already read every book ever written prior to the chick-lit boom.

For those of you who wish to escape the tawdry pleasures of cable TV after your long day of working for little money and no recognition, I'm doing a signing of Penis Head tonight at 7:30. Hope to see you there.

LB