I thought it would be hilarious.
What, I thought, did sex have to do with the geisha–other than what American soldiers thought geisha were for during the Occupation? And how could an American, living in America, seriously refer to herself as a Geisha”? What audacity!
Then the book arrived, and I was even more excited.
I wondered: Is this book about how to be a quasi-geisha-style prostitute in America?
Imagine my surprise when I discovered the book to be filled with logical, practical advice, including informal research results and personal anecdotes.
A major part of the book is written in direct response to Western female sexual repression, which has somehow persisted into the 21st century but, with the help of books like this, is on its way out. There is a huge section on the three (three!) types of orgasm a woman can have, and how to achieve them.
But it’s not all about sex–not by a long shot. Conant’s main focus is fostering a loving, supportive relationship by taking care of yourself and taking care of your man. She points out many times that her techniques only work if you practice them, and that if something doesn’t feel right for you, you should go your own way. Her advice is friendly and sensible.
The thing that sets this book apart from other relationship self-help tomes, and the reason we’re reviewing it on Japundit, is the geisha connection.
So Conant had some ideas about how to get and maintain a good relationship, and since she’s Asian, she decided to play the geisha card to draw in fans of Arthur Golden’s book and movie. Right?
Actually, no. While she does refer to Memoirs of a Geisha by name, her discussion goes well beyond the superficial. She works to build up a definition of what she calls an “American Geisha”–a woman who embodies the style, grace, femininity, and sexuality of the “Asian Geisha” in her personal (rather than business) relationships–throughout the entire text.
In other words, Conant suggests that the skills the Japanese geisha and Korean kisaeng use to attract and keep their clients can be used to attract and keep a man.
Conant does not go into this discussion lightly or blindly. Her arguments are supported by a three-page bibliography of relationship, marriage, sex, and geisha texts, most prominently Lesley Downer’s Women of the Pleasure Quarters: The Secret History of the Geisha.
She also acknowledges from the beginning that feminists may feel she is telling women to be too submissive. She argues that she isn’t calling for submissiveness, but receptiveness…that by being receptive rather than aggressive, women can control the power in the relationship.
Men and women are different, and rather than running from this truth, pretending that we’re the same, Conant explores the differences and comes to conclusions about how the two can complement each other.
I was surprised and pleased by the depth of analysis and common sense in the book. I was especially happy with how open Conant is about her own romantic past–both the failures that helped lead her to change her outlook on relationships, and her marriage with her “Good Man”, which, she makes pains to tell us, is as amazing as it is only because of the work the two of them put into it.
She also stops her narrative frequently to insist that her techniques are not meant to be manipulative, and to even suggest that women share her book with the men they’re with, so everything will be out in the open.
Women who are sexually repressed, or who use sex as a weapon, would do well to read this book.
The book does use the geisha tie-in to attract attention. I don’t see how anyone could argue that it doesn’t, given the timing. In fact, I’m sure it’s carefully calculated: people who actually do think geisha are prostitutes might pick this book up for a reason entirely separate from the main thrust (ahem) of the book. That’s probably why the title is Sex Secrets of an American Geisha and not something more accurate, like Learning about Relationships from the Elegant Asian Geisha.
It’s also possible that not having “sex” in the title of a book that spends so much time on sexual issues would be construed as misleading.
I admit to being somewhat unhappy about the book’s title and cover, but I think I can understand those choices. It’s hard to sell pragmatic relationship advice without spicing it up a little. I only hope that the more serious women out there who could benefit from Conant’s advice won’t pass the book over as fluff.
The book does suffer from some standard self-help foibles. It’s extraordinarily repetitive. The hypnotic writing method is intended to keep the ideas in your head, and it works, but it can get irritating.
And the book might make you mad. There is a full chapter devoted to losing weight, and Conant sprinkles comments about the necessity of doing so throughout the text. She makes a good point: while women might idealize and expect men to like them for who they are without making any effort to improve their appearance, ultimately, men are visual creatures. You’ll catch more fish with the right bait.
This reality is sure to piss off more than a few PC types.
That said, if you’re a woman who’s had trouble knowing how to act in a relationship or how to “attract men”, or if your marriage is getting stale…it couldn’t hurt to read this book.
One final note: not all of Conant’s suggestions will work for everyone. She says as much in her narrative, that women need to find what’s right for them. One of her most outrageous suggestions is–wait for it–to literally build a shrine to your man’s, er, manhood. Photos, candles, sculptures, poems…she even recommends lighting incense at the shrine to demonstrate the extent of your worship.
My husband happened to read this section of the book, which, in general, states that women should spend a lot of energy appreciating their man’s phallus. He said: “It’s a good section. Take it to heart.”
But we both agreed that building a shrine was a little ridiculous.
Heather Meadows
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