Sextrology is a Pandora's box. You can find some good at the bottom if you search assiduously enough, but the multitudinous evils conceal it. No, that metaphor is better reserved for Barbara Walker's The Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets and the works of Gershon Legman. Sextrology is more like eating pepperoni pizza at a friend's house when you wanted cheese: it doesn't quite measure up to your standards, and you know that you're partaking of something other than what you wished for, but you go along with it because the alternative is to go hungry.
To demonstrate, the very first paragraph is as follows:
For years, we've contended that men and women of the same astrological sign are actually different signs. Most astrology books lump males and females together, while those that do attempt to treat the sexes separately have never fully explored the distinctions between the so-called sex signs or even so much as ventured to explain why it is they are, as is so often the case, markedly unlike each other. We maintain that astrology must factor in the great divide between the sexes, that the energies that comprise the signs filter through the opposite sexes as through prisms, separate and unique from one another.
That, speaking plainly, is a bad sign. No pun intended.
In all fairness, the opening paragraph establishes the guiding sins as quickly as possible. The authors' extreme focus on the gender polarities of the Sun sign lead them to forward some unorthodox (some would say nonstandard) interpretations of the zodiac. An astrology book that concentrates on sex might have a reason to take the differences between men and women into account. Sextrology focuses on archetypes, so it only follows that the authors would liken the men of one sign to famous male mythological figures and the women of the same sign to their female counterparts.
Unfortunately, Starsky and Cox do not stop there. A crucial factor in their decision to segregate the sexes is their insistence that certain Sun signs can incline people born under them toward certain sexual orientations, long after other astrologers discredited that notion. (This book was published in 2004.) And, aside from their nods toward gender-conforming or gender-exaggerating gay people (as seen in Sagittarius Man, for example), Starsky and Cox absolutely conflate homosexuality with gender deviance. I could scarcely believe how much the authors relied on stereotypes when writing about homosexuality. In other words, by cleaving the sexes from each other, the authors allow themselves to declare that Aries men are usually straight while Aries women are often bicurious--because Aries men are the most macho of all signs, of course, and Aries women are "bratty" and like to dominate both men and women. Similarly, in Starsky and Cox's view, Virgo women typically dislike lesbian sexual activity because they tend to fit traditional expectations of their sex, but Virgo men love mating with other men by nature because Virgo men are big sissies. Pisces women, meanwhile, are usually straight but find themselves flocked by admiring gay men, whereas Pisces men--who are often actually trans women because they're also big sissies, as are many Taurus men--are "homoerotic to the core" but "disdain men who call themselves bisexual."
Sextrology, as did Linda Goodman's Love Signs before it, suffers irreparably for its attempts to reconcile two contradictory concepts with each other. In the latter's case, Goodman's mental gymnastics almost made their own perverse sense: a woman can be liberated...if she is masculine, which is against nature but beneficial in societal terms. Sextrology jumps through hoops as well, but it stumbles and falls prone onto the sawdust. It wants to be hip and postmodern (which is a detestable enough goal), and yet it clings to primitive concepts of gender. For all its psychological efforts, this book's salient features betray its original intentions as a work of pop astrology: its romantic comedy-derived concepts of gender, its extraordinarily lengthy lists of celebrities of each Sun sign, its citation of pop culture icons in addition to the mythological and classic literary figures (likening Harry Potter to a Virgo and Draco Malfoy to a Scorpio is a particularly laughable example), its fixation on the minutiae of sexual acts and references to pornography, its various fashion tips, its tiresome belief that not labeling one's sexuality is somehow taboo-breaking or revolutionary instead of a sign of arrested development. (If your sexuality is fluid, then call it fluid. If it isn't, then call it by its correct name.) Oh, and incidentally, the book lists transsexuals and bisexuality as "turn-ons" alongside such items as water sports, bondage, and homemade porn.
In Sextrology's defense, I resonated profoundly with the book's profile of the Pisces man. Many people claim to identify with the characteristics of their sun signs as described in astrology books, but this one positively nailed it (though I have nothing against bisexual men, despite being "homoerotic to the core"). I honestly did not expect such an accurate analysis. As a pre-op transsexual (female-to-neuter-leaning-male, in my case), I anticipated that this book would have no place for me, but it did.
Unfortunately, the authors' view of transsexualism is...iffy, to say the least. They don't seem to realize that, for example, a trans woman would look up information on herself under "[Sun Sign] Woman" rather than "[Sun Sign] Man," or that the Unified Transsexual Narrative--biological male identifies as a woman, wants surgery to become biologically female, desires biological males sexually--is not a universal law. Trans lesbians, trans gay men, and non-binary people don't seem to ping these authors' radars. Neither do asexual people, although their conspicuous absence doesn't really surprise, since this book is about sex. The omission of these groups may be attributable to the combination of pop culture influence (when was the last time you saw a transsexual on television who wasn't a male-to-female androphile?) and Freudian-derived psychology.
Oh, yes, how could I forget about that? In their zeal to link everything to the sun sign, Starsky and Cox describe each character's home life, as if the child's sun sign determined the parents' behavior. You'd expect that that would be enough, but the authors sincerely refer to the Oedipus complex and similar late-ninteenth-/early-twentieth-century psychological concepts. I don't mean the Oedipus complex in the sense of a man who expects his wife to take over where his mother left off, since that's so common as to be a plague, but the honest-to-God father-killing, mother-fucking Oedipus complex that every little boy supposedly suffers, sometimes into adulthood.
I wouldn't go so far as to call this book bad--it has plenty of redeeming qualities, its spiritual dimensions chief among them. But my god, I wish it had focused exclusively on the archetypes.