Spanking the Maid

by Robert Coover

Un indissolubile legame di schiavitù reciproca tra un uomo e la sua cameriera. Tutte le mattine lei entra nella camera da letto di lui, sperando di svolgere il proprio compito alla perfezione, ma lui non fa che rilevare inesistenti manchevolezze. Tutto si svolge all'insegna della ripetizione: ogni mattina lei trova sotto le lenzuola oggetti strani e spaventosi; lui racconta un sogno ricorrente; lei si prepara alla punizione, eseguita con un rigoroso cerimoniale... Il grottesco gioco di Coover si snoda, in una scrittura labirintica, tra fantasie erotiche ed eventi inaspettati.

Genres: Fiction, Erotica, American, Literature, The United States Of America, Novels, 20th Century

102 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1981

About the author

Robert Lowell Coover was an American novelist, short story writer, and T. B. Stowell Professor Emeritus in Literary Arts at Brown University. He is generally considered a writer of fabulation and metafiction. He became a proponent of electronic literature and was a founder of the Electronic Literature Organization.

Reviews

[Guille · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Que Dios ha dispuesto el castigo corporal (y la Madre Naturaleza ha diseñado el lugar apropiado para el martirio) es indudable… visto de este modo, sus castigos no son simplemente necesarios, pueden ser incluso hermosos.”

No podrán decir que el título no es tentador, por bajo que sea el nivel de perversión y libertinaje que ustedes profesen. Algo así predispone inmediatamente a pensar en un oscuro espectáculo de sadomaso y, dada la categoría del escritor, a una completa y metafísica instrucción sobre todo aquello que signifique e implique la depravada relación que se establece entre amo y esclava. Vamos, lo que viene siendo la típica búsqueda de una primitiva excitación sexual haciendo ver que estamos interesados en las grandes respuestas a las grandes preguntas.

“Nuestras pasiones (se recuerda a sí mismo) son nuestras flaquezas. Una especie de fiebre de la mente, que nos deja siempre más débiles de lo que nos encontró.”

Y así la empieza uno a leer y así la empieza uno a interpretar y así la empieza uno a disfrutar, hasta que la cosa empieza a ser demasiado rara. Y claro, tras la enésima repetición de la misma escena –la doncella entra en la habitación, abre las ventanas, asea el baño, hace la cama, comete un error, un olvido, o nada y el señor la castiga azotando sus nalgas como si fueran “una hoja en blanco de papel terso y sin usar”- pasa lo que tenía que pasar, “la erección se repliega dentro del pijama como un gusano sorprendido al sol, haciendo un agujero en busca de sombra”.

Llegados a este punto, y sabiendo que definitivamente nuestra entrepierna va a tener escaso protagonismo de aquí en adelante, no queda sino preguntarse por lo que hay detrás de tal obsesión, pues claramente estamos ante el relato de una obsesión, de qué clase es, qué la causa, qué se persigue y no se alcanza. ¿No será todo este artilugio la utilización de una pulsión para hablar de otra pulsión? ¿No ilustrará esta relación perversa entre amo y doncella otro tipo de relación de índole bien distinta pero igual de íntima? ¿No representarán amo y doncella partes en lucha dentro de un mismo ser?

¿”Una hoja en blanco de papel terso y sin usar”? ¿Y si esto fuera una pista? ¿Serán el escritor y su obra el señor y la doncella? ¿Será el artista y su arte, los mecanismos de creación, el tema de este texto? Bien es cierto que en cualquier artículo que uno pueda leer sobre Coover aparece el término metaficción, por lo que no parece descabellado pensarlo. Y el caso es que todo adquiere cierta coherencia.

¿El autor domina a su obra o es dominado por ella? ¿No es el arte una obsesión que invade la vida entera del artista y hasta sus sueños, siempre repletos de elementos tan inverosímiles como los que al despertar encuentra el señor bajo sus propias sábanas? ¿La búsqueda imposible de perfección no termina siendo una flagelación a la que el artista se somete irremediablemente y hasta con cierto gusto perverso? (“De algún modo debería ser más fácil”) ¿No es esa obcecación por el ritual que siguen cada día señor y doncella, el plegarse a un manual de comportamiento, una contradicción con el acto creativo y, por tanto, tan frustrante e inútil como la relación que se establece entre ambos en la novela? ¿La obsesión creativa no impide el disfrute de esa vida que hay ahí fuera, las cosas sencillas, el sol resplandeciente, el canto de los pájaros, el “fresco hálito de la mañana” que cada día inunda la habitación del señor? Por mucho que el artista intente escapar, rebelarse ante la obsesión que se le impone, ¿no vuelve siempre vencido a alzarse nuevamente la falda y a bajarse las bragas enseñando sus blancas nalgas que volverán a ser azotadas pues bien sabe que nunca podrá abandonar la única esperanza que tiene de dar un sentido a su existencia?

“Vivir en el pleno sentido de la palabra, lo sabe, no es simplemente existir, sino darse a alguna misión, entregarse a una causa más elevada, pero en verdad se pregunta a menudo… ¿es él quién se ha entregado a un fin más elevado o es ese fin el que lo ha elegido y, en efecto, lo ha capturado a él?”

¿No se terminan la gran mayoría de los intentos del artista con el frustrante “mejor que salga y vuelva a entrar” con el que la doncella se pregunta cada día en mitad de sus actividades? O, sencillamente, ¿no será que la paja frustrada se vengó de mí provocándome esta estúpida paja mental con la que les acabo de azotar?

“Mi Dios y mi Rey, que pueda en todas las cosas veros.”

[Robin · Rating 5 out of 5]

This novella operates something like "Groundhog Day" with a repetitive variation on a theme - the maid enters, she crosses the room "sedately, discreetly", she opens the curtains to let in buckets of light. She sets her cleaning supplies against the wall. She shows to her master that she takes joy in her task. She aims at nothing less than perfection.

And then, oh, no, she realizes she's forgotten something. A "Sir", or the soap, or the broom. He, the master, displeased and recently awoken from a half-remembered dream that is both disturbing and arousing, must apply his disciplinary interventions. She bends over, and she takes it.

This scenario, oddly, made me think of the literary business, and how up until recently I was a complete and utter nobody (a Canadian nobody at that), and suddenly I have (or will have) a potentially large audience. I've already experienced the masochistic practice that is reading reviews for my novel, and the socially acceptable response, which is to bend over, and take it. And take it, and take it, and take it, in Groundhog Day style. Marching in with the intent to take joy in my task, and then pulling down my drawers and waiting for the inevitable searing pain.

"Do you think I enjoy this?" "No sir!"

WHIP-SNAP!

"Am I being unfair?" "Please, sir!"

CRACK-HISS!

Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not wallowing in self-pity. I will keep marching in, I will keep wearing my best underthings and smile, and I will remember that each welt comes with its own pleasure... the pleasure of creating, provoking, and, against all odds, having my individuality out there for whoever wants to see it. The deep, complex pleasure of publication.

WHISH-SLASH!

"Thank you, sir!"

So, bring it on, Robert Coover, and bring it on, readers and reviewers. Spank the maid. Mmmmm.... It feels GOOD.

[Nathan "N.R." Gaddis]

If you like spanking and you like Coover, you'll like Spanking the Maid. If you don't like spanking, please don't read this beautiful book. If you don't like Coover..... well, sorry for you. If you like spanking but don't know if you like Coover, no matter, read Spanking the Maid. If you don't like spanking but you like Coover, you've contradicted yourself. If you like neither spanking nor Coover, you're not reading this review.

[Brian · Rating 5 out of 5]

One might find this novella base. One might find that base desires and longings, base natural proclivities, base sexual deviancies are not worth reading. I want to Coover all those bases.

This novella is dark, gallows-humor funny, brilliant. Its actors are caught in a perpetual loop - a timeless equation whose therom has been proved in the Master's "manual". Both the Maid and the Master succumb to those maths regardless of the minor props that make an appearance and could potentially alter the course. "Maybe it's some kind of failure of communication," muses the Master. "A mutual failure. Is that possible?" Is the question directed internally to the action of the story? Or is it between Coover and his Reader. Am I coming through, loud and clear?

No? Start again. I'm not going anywhere.

[Praj · Rating 4 out of 5]

***(This review is been dedicated to Paul who always has the sweetest and most encouraging words to say and also has been patiently awaiting the Coover review)**

The tinkling of the chimes crackled through the open door pouring ample sunlight on the lazy mauve interiors. She timidly walked in with her vital office paraphernalia – mops, cleansers, brushes, all loosely hanging in her pockets. The smell of the velvet curtains tightly clinging on to the humidity of her sweaty underwear. Clenching the corners of her apron, she walked towards the smartly aligned display. An old radio station belting, “Oh, teach me, my God and King in all things thee to see and what I do in anything, to do it as for thee!”, made her bottom whimper in its soreness. “What would the Master use this time to chastise her for the wrinkled pillow cover?, “Would he use his hand, a ruler, his belt, cat-o-nine tail, a hickory switch , a bull’s pizzle or the leather strap that proudly shined through the glass display?”, she feared. The world is a complicated place. In this possible chaos why do humans have a desperate urge of organizing the order of chaos? Is the need to cataloging and positioning materialistic things a respite from being unable to organize life’s chaos? Is that why her Master was hell bent on disciplining her to achieve perfection in her domestic chores? She contemplated, the blood from her welts immersing in the cottony abyss. The furry toys on the counter made her sense the embarrassment she had this morning when she saw old razors lying on the bed in between the swarm of ants savoring a measly meal of crumbs.

The tinkling of the chimes crackled through the open door pouring sunlight on the lazy mauve interiors. She timidly walked in with her vital office paraphernalia – mops, cleansers, brushes loosely hanging in her pockets. The smell of the velvet curtains tightly clinging on to the humidity of her sweaty underwear. Above the burly stack of lotions and potions, a poster screamed, “A servant with this clause makes drudgery divine, who sweeps a room as for thy laws wakes that and tha’action fine!”. She picked up two dainty figurines of fairies, words – ‘confusion’ and ‘disorder’ cursively engraved on their torsos. Unexpectedly, to her horror the heaviness of the air was torn apart by a loud thunder. She turned towards the perched edible lingerie; she clenched on to her apron. It was her Master! Why was he trying out the new leather whip? Had he seen the damp towel she has left on the bathroom rack or the pillow that she had forgotten to fluff? The Master looked worrisome. “How did it all began?”,he wondered. He felt trapped in the bedlam that engulfed his vague nightmares. The picture of the ‘bird with blood in its beak’ on the nearby wall made him ponder if it was God who had ordained bodily punishment and he was merely obeying by taking a refuge in the purity of its technique. "Pain is that which brings us closer to God”, he laughed at that very thought as he aroused the leather whip by splitting the air wide open imagining the maid’s bottom quivering to as he gave her a true service to achieve freedom of perfection. “Perhaps today then....at last!”, he deliberated as he ached to take a leisure stroll in the park.

The tinkling of the chimes crackled through the open door pouring sunlight on the lazy mauve interiors. She timidly walked in with her vital office paraphernalia – mops, cleansers, brushes loosely hanging in her pockets. The smell of the velvet curtains tightly clinging on to the humidity of her sweaty underwear. She placed the two fairy figurines on the counter. The welts on her buttocks were awakened by the sticky underwear. Her wincing to every crimson swelling was noticed by a man from the nearby table. He had noticed her when she had walked in and she had seen him too. The man went on scribbling something in a book. He was a writer; meta-fiction was his forte. He had long ago surmised that world was a subjective place with its paradoxical demeanor. It could not be objectively comprehended in its entirety because there were too many varied narratives to sort through. Thus, through his writings he played with life’s puzzling fragments by linking the confusion through the regulation of pizzle & puzzle, humidity & hymnody, humility & humor, order & odor. Looking at the maid paying for the figurines, the writer wondered if she could be able to appreciate his written book. Would his audience value his post-modernity? Will his audience dismiss his prose as another Victorian pornography due to its titillation factor? Or would they evaluate as some religious philosophical question? The sensuous language of the prose did not bother the writer and he knew it would not bother his readers too. His book is an open metaphor like the bare buttocks of the maid. Similar to the way the Master found salvation in the chastisement of the maid and the maid who dwelled between the mystifying roles of a master and a servant, the writer’s prose dwells on the absurd nature of myth and life. Just as the writer was about to contemplate if his book would be loved or…. a frog from nowhere just jumped onto the counter canceling the other dreaded word that was about to enter in the author’s mind. The maid followed her Master home. THWACK!!!!!

The writer certainly does not have a thing to worry about......I’m already being blissfully whipped by this miniature brilliance.

[George · Rating 4 out of 5]

This long-ish short story about a theocratic slave-master relationship has repetitions reminiscent of purgatory and serial dreams with surreal moments, such as the surprising disgusting horrific fragments of things that the maid finds in the master’s bed. Coover’s tale is a limbo cell that could exist within the same temporal prison as Russel Edson’s absurdist bardo of bourgeois faux pas The Song of Percival Peacock, though more sexual than social, yet not erotic, per se, just rotten. However, it’s not nearly as shocking or risqué as I had anticipated but maybe that says more about me than the book. Nevertheless, there’s a lot going on in a subtle way, almost contained/constrained within the language itself, making this a great section to a possible novel but by no means a novel on its own, as the title page and marketing lingo advertise. If anything, I would have loved to see this as Nixon’s naughty relationship with his White House maid in The Public Burning, or perhaps the role is more suited to Clinton or JFK? Overall, very much worth the read but perhaps you should try to find it online or spend a few bucks on a beat-up (spanked?) paperback.

[Paul · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is my third Coover. I enjoyed Noir, I thought Briar Rose was a little limited in its scope and lacked imagination; but what to make of this one. For once the title does say it all and this is a very claustrophobic novella. It is set in two rooms, the bedroom and bathroom. There is a garden with doors from the bedroom opening out onto it, but the characters don’t go there. There are only two characters. Neither characters are named, there is the maid who is female and the master who is male. One assumes the rooms belong to the master, but it is an assumption, for all we know it could be a hotel. The timescale is always morning/afternoon; we never see any other time of day. The maid is there to clean the rooms, she has a uniform and the tools of the trade (mop, bucket, duster, cleaning products etc.). The master is usually in bed, or getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. Something is always wrong with the maid’s work or with her appearance. The towels are damp, the bed not properly made, something gets broken; always something is wrong. This is inevitable. Even when the maid makes the bed, the sheets become rumpled and unmade; her uniform goes awry in some way, things seem to break on their own. There is always something odd or unusual in the bed in the morning as the maid draws the covers back; broken glass, assorted articles of clothing, a frog (I kid you not); something designed to startle and make the maid scream. There is always the inevitable punishment, as per the title and the master makes use of a wide variety of implements. The punishments are always brutal and seemingly out of proportion to the office. The descriptions of the punishments are comic book almost straight from the 1960s batman TV series.
So, what is it all about? I have read that it is a parody of nineteenth century pornography. The amount I know about nineteenth century pornography could be written on the back of a small postage stamp, but I think not; it isn’t the least erotic. When the master does have an erection, Coover is scathing about it and it disappears very quickly. In fact the whole is boring and repetitive. It isn’t really a parody of bdsm either. Neither side enjoys the rituals. The master seems to hate/get tired of what he has to do and the maids hates it as well. There is a compulsion that drives them both and it has nothing to do with enjoyment. Presumably the master could hire a more efficient maid and the maid find a better job, but they are bound together and neither can escape. The whole is also bound by the master’s manuals. There is a manual for the cleaning and manuals for the corporal punishment and for all the implements the master uses and he is bound by the manuals; the rules.
The problem is you can do a lot with this. A Marxist perspective could be applied whereby the master/maid relationship can be seen as a class relationship of exploitation of the means of production. From a feminist perspective the maid symbolises all exploited and abused women. The abuser is as trapped as the abused but holds onto the power in the relationship. Jenny Diski made the link between the type of relationship portrayed here and a real life one. Betty Maxwell wrote a book about her husband, the late media mogul Robert Maxwell and said this about his attitude to her;
“He would constantly revert to the same old theme – that I did not look after his material needs to a standard he considered acceptable and was therefore incapable of ensuring his happiness. Sometimes there would be a button missing on a shirt, or I would forget his evening shirt studs or black tie when I packed his bag. He would complain that his cupboards were not impeccably tidy or that I hadn’t got his summer clothes out early enough ... What he wanted me to do was ‘assist, bolster and serve him and the children”
That struck me as exactly the kind of relationship Coover creates here.
There are obvious questions about the nature of transgressions and guilt and as one reviewer asks “Whose obsession is this?” Not the maid’s or master’s certainly; the author, possibly; but then there is a lack of imagination (deliberate?) in the “action”. Some reviewers bring Barthes, Lacan and the nature of language and communication. It must also be said that some reviewers have done the same for Winnie the Pooh. Justifiably? Who knows?
Like Briar Rose this is a writing and rewriting of the same scene over and over again. It is narrow and limited and rather boring if it is taken just as a parody of a genre; not to mention the objectification of women. The question then seems to be; is it a metaphor for something else? A critique of class relationships, of gender relations; a philosophical, even Lacanian look at human relations?
Well, for me the jury is out. It may just be a clumsy parody. It’s certainly well written, but not a great deal of fun. Coover is a bright chap, so there may be a lot more to it than the surface appearance (there are some sly allusions to fairy tales and Greek myths). As for me; I’m still to be convinced by Coover.

[Brian · Rating 5 out of 5]

The only person that can out-Coover, is Coover.

This beautiful volume is bookporn, both in content and creation.



The paper feels like it was made from the trunk of Yggdrasil and cured with unicorn tears. Just look at that richness and how it holds ink.



In addition to writing beautiful novels, Rikki Ducornet writes poetry and creates stunning line drawings. It's not fair that someone can be so talented in the arts. Her additions to this book are staggeringly beautiful.





My favorite:



The first 95 copies of this book came with an extra bonus (my edition just missed by 5 copies):



More special Coover books, please.

[Ian "Marvin" Graye · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Bed Stripped, the Maid Whipped, My Eyes Pricked

I should really rate this very brief novella five stars. What appears on the page is both a perfect construction and an exquisite confection, and yet somehow it wasn't enough.

I am not alone in this:

"He goes to gaze out into the garden, vaguely dissatisfied. The room is clean, the bed stripped and made, the maid whipped, why isn't that enough?"

For all of its hundred pages, I felt that I was in the presence of a master (and slave) craftsman. I didn't want it to stop, I wanted more from it, more of it, and isn't that, after all, the greatest compliment you can pay an author?

Maybe it was my fault? Something in the way I read it?

"Is there something missing in the manuals? No, more likely, he has failed to read them rightly. Yet again."

Did I fail to read it rightly? Yet again? What more did I want? I don't really know.

I suppose I am vaguely annoyed, no, angry, that, like life or sex or desire itself (as long as it doesn't become a grind), I didn't want it to come to an end. So soon. But, as does Coover, I repeat myself.



Master/Maid/Servant/Slave

This is a wonderful exploration of the complementary, if not always reciprocal, bond between this particular master and maid, as well as the relationship between the Master and the Maid/Servant/Slave at a more general or allegorical level.

Each needs the other, at least in the realm of literature, just as an author needs a reader to complete the act of fiction.

It's not nearly as erotic or pornographic as I imagined or feared or hoped it would be. There are powerful psychological insights at work here. I was stunned to encounter these words, perhaps a description or explanation of my dilemma:

"Maybe it's some kind of failure of communication. A mutual failure. Is that possible? A loss of syntax between stroke and weal?" The last sentence is one of my favourites of the year.

Does the author stroke and the reader feel the weal? Is it a public weal or private? Is it a common weal? I am ignorant of this kind of thing.

Who is in control in this relationship between author and reader?

Play Up, Play Up and Play the Game

At the same time, the seriousness is tempered by an occasional comic tone (the sound of the whip, for instance: "Whish-SNAP! Hiss-WHACK! Whizz-CRACK! WHAP! THWOCK!" The way he refers to the maid's buttocks as her "sit-me-down") that cautions us not to take it or its subject matter too seriously.

This work is at least partly a game, again, like life and sex, and I wanted the game to go on.

I honestly expected it to be more overtly American or capitalist or commercial or exploitative in its embrace of pornography or its sexual subject matter.

Instead, it is far more subtle in what I will tentatively and ineptly call a European manner, in the way that "Lolita" is just as much a European novel as an American one (as is "Gravity's Rainbow", in my opinion).

Almost instantly I opened its pages, it smacked (if that's not the wrong word to use in this context) of Italo Calvino.

It's interesting that Coover wrote it just three year's after "If on a Winter's Night a Traveler".

It's almost a response to Calvino's call, like "If on a Winter's Morning a Maid (Walked in on her Spanker)".

That's how good this novella is.






Just Another Maid from the Agency
(Pour Dominique)

You will enter his suite, dressed in your black uniform with its starched white apron and lace cap, deliberately, gravely, circumspectly, without affectation. You will be circumspect in your motions, as you’ve been trained. It will seem as if this is the moment for which you have been created. Even if, by then, you will do the same thing every day. You will glance briefly at the unmade bed, but not dwell on its contents. Most likely, they will have been placed there to shock you into submission. You will observe his cast-off nightclothes. You will not pick them up yet. You will not hesitate as you open the curtains. You will sigh as the sunlight floods the room. You will sing a few lines of a country and western song, maybe something modern like “Constant Craving”. You will assume that he is not hiding in the suite somewhere, as he has done many times before. You will pick up your bucket and mop, and enter the bathroom. You will express surprise at finding him there. “Sir! I’m so sorry!” He will turn around to face you. You will observe that his towel is very wet. You will offer him a dry one. The wet towel will drop from his waist. You will look down on him. Your eyes will light up coyly, while he gazes at you. You will say, “Sir, what a big cock you have this morning!” As you have been instructed to. He will say that you have been a bad girl. You will ask him whether you should go out and come back in again later. He will say, “No.” You will ask him if there is any other way you can make amends. He will say, “No. You must be punished.” You will sob. He will ask, “Am I being unfair?” Now, you will say, “No, sir.” He will sit down on the edge of his bed and place you on his lap. He will lift your skirt above your sit-me-down. You will say, “I don’t understand, sir.” He will pull your drawers down and whip you, until the welts are hot enough to fry an egg. You will say, “You’ll draw blood, sir.” It will have no effect on him. He’ll push your skirt further up your torso. “WHAT?” He’ll say. “WHAT’S THIS?” He’ll fumble with it, turning it around, then realization will set in. “A WIRE?” Then he will look through the window at our apartment across the courtyard. He will see the video camera, and me behind it. Is that clear? Do you think you’re up to it?

[Sofia · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was a great read, my Coover initiation.

It reminded me of Bolero, where Ravel builds on a theme by adding a new instrument with each round. Coover does this too, very subtly, just adding a word here, or changing a word there and we get more and more of the pieces which make the whole.

We get the quite complex and co-dependent relationship between the servant and the master and the spanking that unites them. We see how if somehow everything is perfect and no spanking is going to mar the 'end' then quite miraculously a handprint appears on the mirror, or a horror is found in the bed and with a sigh of relief the spanking can now ensue.

I can totally see this as an allegory of the relationship between the writer, the artist and the readers, the viewers, with the spanking being the reaction of the readers to the written work. It's a symbiotic relationship where both the writer and the readers are in need of each other and react to the action of each other with all the subtlety or drama that those involved need.

Additional bit after a lot more thought and pondering.

On another level it can also be an allegory not involving the reader at all. It's just the writer, (the artist, the master) and the novel, (the work of art, the servant)and the punishment is the work done day after day, the spanking. So we have the writer toiling each day with hope (morning glory) in his heart and the work being nicely turned out, the perfect servant. But than either the writer or the work itself throw spanners in the works and the spanking, punishment cycle continues. All locked into a daily battle to which all are enslaved. What's between them is a passionate slavery not enforced by an outside force.

[Fuchsia Groan · Rating 4 out of 5]

He disfrutado mucho con esta novela sobre poder y obsesión disfrazada de divertida narración erótica. El poder, la dominación, a través del masoquismo. Relaciones en las que a menudo no todo es tan obvio como podría parecer desde fuera: el “sometido” encuentra placer en la transgresión, e incluso sabiendo que el desafío no le llevará a ninguna parte, se sabe poderoso al provocar su propio castigo: con su provocación ha influido en el otro. Sabe que a su modo ejerce el control, su cuota de poder, al llevar al otro al extremo.

Los personajes de esta novela creen que preferirían hacer otra cosa, pero una suerte de adicción se lo impide, en realidad no tienen opción. Ella entra cada mañana en el dormitorio de su amo, comienza a hacer sus tareas segura de que esta vez no fallará, de que lo hará todo perfecto, pero invariablemente llega el error, con su consiguiente castigo, y todo vuelve a empezar. No se puede seguir en el mismo punto, el ritual ha de comenzar de nuevo desde el principio, siempre y cada día. Ambos son presos de esta dinámica: control, perfeccionismo, y, por tanto, obsesión.

Porque la mente del obsesivo no avanza, no procesa ni admite errores, lo que le impide seguir adelante. El error lleva al inicio, siempre, en todo caso, no se concibe seguir adelante tras haber fallado. El avance no existe al ser la perfección imposible: fuera de la repetición no hay nada, el obsesivo vive dentro de su obsesión, espacial y temporalmente, vive por y para ella. Presente, pasado y futuro son lo mismo: When it all began: on his coming here? On her coming here? Before that, in some ancient time beyond recall? And has he chosen it? Or has he, like that woman in his dream, showing him something that for some reason enraged him, been ‘born with it, sir, for your very utility’?

La obsesión es una cárcel que libera del vacío, condena y salva, impide vivir dando a la vez una razón para ello. El mundo del obsesivo es circular, como la estructura de la novela.

La habitación nunca estará del todo limpia, las sábanas de la cama siempre tendrán alguna arruga, y por lo tanto el motivo para levantarse cada día seguirá ahí. La obsesión es un camino que se espera que no conduzca a ninguna parte, pues al final se siente que solo se encontrará el abismo.

[Tony Vacation · Rating 4 out of 5]

Spanking the Maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid (Master: I like spanking the maid!) is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid (Maid: Oh, please don't spank me again!) is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid (Master: I am so very tired of spanking the maid!) is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid (Maid: Oh, please spank me again and again!) is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid (Master: Why must I even spank? Who am I?) is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid (Maid: Assumes the position. Spank me! Spank me! Spank me!) is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is spanking the maid is

BONUS FEATURES: This edition was illustrated by the witchy word woman, Rikki Ducornet:

[Jackdaw ☄ Bronteroc · Rating 4 out of 5]

Robert Coover had me at "No. Again."

Σε ένα δωμάτιο με ιδιωτικό μπάνιο ο ανώνυμος αφέντης και η ανώνυμη υπηρέτρια είναι καταδικασμένοι να ζουν μια κουλή καθημερινότητα που την έχουν μετατρέψει σε ιεροτελεστία μέχρι να γίνει σωστά η "δουλειά". Δεν έχουν παρελθόν ή κάτι που να τους προσδιορίζει πέρα απ'τους ρόλους τους, είναι σαν να φύτρωσαν.
Η "δουλειά" φυσικά ποτέ δεν γίνεται σωστά, το μόνο αποτέλεσμα της ακόρεστης τελειομανίας είναι η αποτυχία (άντε και τα τσιτωμένα νεύρα).

Το "Spanking the maid" είναι ένα μεταμοντέρνο σφηνάκι χωρίς ίχνος ερωτισμού (Την πάτησες με τον τίτλο; Καλά να πάθεις!) όπου η πραγματικότητα πολλές φορές μπερδεύεται με το όνειρο, την γραμμική αφήγηση την ψάχνεις με τα κυάλια και ο παραλογισμός με τα λογοπαίγνια κάνουν πάρτυ.

[Joselito Honestly and Brilliantly · Rating 4 out of 5]

For the entire book: two characters (both with no names), one setting. The characters: the master and his maid. The setting: his bedroom, with an adjoining bathroom. It happens everyday: the maid comes in early in the morning, with her cleaning paraphernalia (a mop, bucket, soap, etc.), the master either still in bed or already in the bathroom taking a pee. The maid would sometimes accidentally see his morning erection, sometimes while he's still in bed as she pulls off the blanket, sometimes in the bathroom as she surprises both of them while he's doing his morning rituals. Then she'll commit a mistake. She had forgotten to bring soap, the bed will be improperly made, there's dirt somewhere. She would then pull down her drawers, lift up her skirt, positions herself for his ministrations, and he would spank her using his hand, sometimes his belt, or a rod, etc. He invokes one's higher purpose, the need to give oneself to a mission, of the virtue of service. She prays ("Oh, teach me, my God and King, in all things thee to see, and what I do in any thing, to do it as for thee!") and screams in pain.
Marquis de Sade was also fixated with bottoms. His tragedy, which Robert Coover didn't share, was that he never understood why.

[Jibran · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an intense, raunchy, parodic allegory of power couched in an S&M-ish story that works on a broader level than the triviality of its content suggests. It's the creation of ideas through the free indirect speech and the larger symbolism it conveys that is to be savoured. The relationship between the man and the maid draws upon the power imbalance sustained by the use of deeply entrenched accepted ideas about the attainment of some higher goal, to serve a larger purpose - and the cooperation that is expected of the powerless party to that end - in inherently unequal relationships such as that exist between a master and a slave, a corporation and its workers, nobleman and commoner et cetera.

Coover does not deviate for a moment from the immediate environment of the story, nor does he offer commentary on the universal dynamics of such relationships. That is left for us to ponder over after we have finished reading it and stopped grinning at the endless bum-spanking of the poor maid.

Great stuff.

[Nate D · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rigorously arranged repetition/variation (perhaps heavier on the repetition) around a maid, a master, and the solemn act of chastisement that binds them. What would otherwise be the entry point into some kind of obviously c-grade erotica, is here entirely altered by form, the relationship less erotic than mathematical, or really most of all linguistic. This is a book about semantic relationships, about puns, about obscure but insistent game rules (ie society ie religion ie morality ie ____) except that, because its grounded in the actual (habitual, perhaps eternal) act of spanking, this nonetheless resists overintellectuallization, remains earthy and perhaps tawdry. Quite brilliant, really, to manage that particular bit of conceptual juggling. Alright Coover, you've won my attention.

[Samuel Gordon · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book shouldn't work but it does. Weird and trippy is usually not my cup of tea but I ended up liking it more than I expected. Hence the five-star rating.

[J B · Rating 5 out of 5]

I could write a whole book in response to this book which is how I feel. That is also basically the best feeling a book can give me as far as being a creative person goes. This book speaks directly to me. Some only have faith when life gives nothing to look forward to except a beating. This book hurts. It is the dream you can't wake up from that drags you into the horrors only you can invent. This is how I feel about this book.

[knig · Rating 4 out of 5]

Well, now I've seen everything. Slap n tickle surrealisticated, taken away from the Great Unwashed and artsy farstsified so the pretentious middle classes can quaff it publicly with Sancerre and no shame. Stylised to within an inch of its life, but its rictus dejuiced in the bargain: a dry heave, what ho!

[WJEP · Rating 1 out of 5]

The title is accurate. Whirr-SMACK! Ker-WHACK! WHAP! SLAP! Whing-SNAP! I realize that Coover is a heavy-hitter Rockefeller/Guggenheim professor, but I think he should have kept his shameful fetish to himself.

[Andrew]

This was a rather fun little novella by the always enjoyable Robert Coover, who just can’t stop writing about spanking. What Coover gets is something that has always struck me as very funny about BDSM as a subcultural practice, as opposed to a simple and enjoyable bedroom game – just how OCD ritualized and excessively formalized most of it is. The mainstream perception (in its positive sense, at least) might be sexy libertines engaging in ecstatic releases of pain and pleasure. The reality, though, is that is mostly just a bunch of nerds who have intellectualized their sex life beyond recognition, and need to manifest it in the form of consent workshops and aftercare protocols that are, to my mind, about as sexy as doing your taxes. Spanking the Maid promises titillation with that cover of delicious ivory buttcheeks in a garter belt, but it’s a 1040 of the libido, and for that reason it is very funny.

[Christopher · Rating 4 out of 5]

I should have hated this, what with its Groundhog Day-like repetition, its plotlessness, its highbrow approach to the lowbrow, its infrequent but bleak philosophical overtures. But as it turns out, this book is just short enough to avoid being overly tedious and just well written enough to keep my attention despite its lack of coherent plot. Really, Coover is a pretty incredible craftsman of sentences, good enough to make what is essentially a writing exercise an engrossing and uncategorizable piece of literature.

[Jeff Jackson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Masterful.

[Cynthia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cute. The first time I read this, I totally missed the point. Duh. This time, it was almost sad to see that the Master was just as obligated to his "rules" as the maid was to him. Never thought of this dynamic in this way. Recommended read.

[Balente1978 · Rating 5 out of 5]

Premessa: da sempre divoro i libri di Coover, e mai ne sono rimasta delusa.

“Sculacciando la cameriera” è un racconto lungo, con due soli protagonisti.
L’attempato padrone di casa e la giovane cameriera.
Ed anche i luoghi sono sostanzialmente due: la camera da letto ed il bagno.
Con l’aggiunta, sporadica ma preziosa, del giardino.
Non vi racconto la storia: è di una brevità così perfetta che vi rovinerei la lettura.
Però posso anticiparvi cosa vi aspetta.

Vivere, nel pieno senso della parola, non significa meramente esistere o sussistere, ma darsi, dedicarsi interamente: a qualche altro scopo, agli altri, a una missione sociale, alla vita stessa oltre il guscio dell’ego…

Una storia cupa, ma non tetra.
Parole non dette e pensieri che si aggrovigliano, per abbracciarsi.
La struttura a labirinto circolare: dove i protagonisti vivono ogni giorno identico (o quasi…) al precedente, anche nei contenuti dei dialoghi.
Che poi dialoghi non sono: ma monologhi che si avvicinano.
Sesso, deviazioni, bdsm: nulla viene celato, ma tutto è reso con intrigo ed il giusto velo di mistero, senza cadere mai nel trivio e nella volgarità.
Breve, asciutto ed essenziale.
Come una stoccata ben assestata.

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

This one strikes me as the best, the most brilliantly incisive, of all Coover's toying with genres and their cliches -- and the zippy and often hilarious reiterations in this novella poke fun (to use an irresitable pun) at Victorian pornography. Coover takes the stern Master and submissive Maid through one fine spanking after another, in which the abuse is always skewed away from anything like actual titillation or simpleminded politics. Yet this brief dry-humored dream winds up exciting the higher realms of imagination, and penetrating -- ho ho -- to an essential metaphor of freedom and government.

[Julian Darius · Rating 5 out of 5]

This experimental novella has almost no plot, yet is enthralling. Scenes repeat again and again, altered each time, and words take on new meanings with each permutation. The result is a compelling psychological study that, unlike most experimental works, remains immediate and thoroughly readable. It's a wonderful demonstration of how experimental devices can be used in an engaging way -- a way that's narrative, without being ostensibly narrative, and immediately approachable, despite being so outre. It is, in short, a great accomplishment.

[Jon · Rating 3 out of 5]

Only slightly less disturbing than "The Babysitter." I sometimes confuse Coover with Barthelme and then I think about how he hired those guys to mug Dan Rather and while they were beating him up they kept saying "what's the frequency Kenneth?" and then REM wrote that song that also makes me think of that other one they wrote, "Everybody Hurts" and then I just get bummed out and look out over a pond or something.

[Marc · Rating 4 out of 5]

A quick read, but fun and sharp. I loved the collapsing time and the objects appearing in the bed. Only bad thing would be that it reminded me a little too much of Alasdair Gray's (bigger, darker, more ambitious, and also very funny) 1982, Janine, but it wouldn't be fair to hold that against Coover. Janine are strongly recommended, though, if you enjoyed this one.

[Josh Friedlander · Rating 4 out of 5]

Linguistic splendour spread over a dark, sadomasochistic tableau. Every time this simple dreamlike story recurs, like Charlie Brown kicking the bull pizzle, some details are distilled into painful clarity, while others fade away. Puns and verbal flourishes are privileged; form over function. This is fiction for the world of dreams.