 – Customer review on 14/12/2006
Initially a book like this slyly exudes a similar attraction to a women’s mag in a waiting room; the knowledge that inside lies a wealth of guilty gossipy pleasures. I found Bunny Tales a fascinating account, although not for the reasons you’d assume. The requisite chapter on sexual hijinks is there, with cursory candid details, but it isn’t particularly erotic. Understandably enough, an eighty year old guy, even with Viagra and money, isn’t up to much in the bedroom except attempting to nurture his ego/reputation and it all comes across a bit sad and sordid. St James mentions that during her two years living in the Mansion she probably spent a total of fifteen minutes actually having sex with Hef.
The rest of the time? Going to A-list parties and leaving early, having clandestine meetings outside of the 9pm curfew, taking note of what expensive gifts the other girls get for Christmas. So far, so gold digging bimbo, would tend to be the general consensus. However, St James offers an interesting angle on the scene, having lived the standard ‘nice girl’ life in Canada and then worked hard for a BA and a law degree. It could be you or I in that situation, if we had such nice…eyes.
Although it’s quickly absorbing, Bunny Tales is not great literature. The conversational tone is appropriate on the whole, but there are inconsistencies of attitude and content. But the strength of the story lies in the fact that she’s a reasonably smart modern woman who chose to spend time living a hedonistic fantasy life and the minutiae of that life can’t help but be intriguing.
Read this book if you fancy a glimpse into another world.
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– Customer review on 17/11/2008
