A quote, in which Screwtape, a senior minion of Hell, delivers a lecture for the edification of his nephew Wormwood, a junior tempter:

The man who truly and disinterestedly enjoys any one thing in the world, for its own sake, and without caring twopence what other people say about it, is by that very fact fore-armed against some of our subtlest modes of attack. You should always try to make the patient abandon the people or the food or books he really likes in favour of the “best” people, the “right” food, the “important” books. I have known a human defended from strong temptations to social ambition by a still stronger taste for tripe and onions.
--CS Lewis, The Screwtape Letters


The Italians, bless their little hearts, have a saying: Se non e vero, e ben trovato. Roughly translated, this means, "Well, if it's not true, it's a good story."

I am a self-proclaimed bentrovatist. I prefer a good lie to a dull truth and believe that the ability to lie separates us from the animals and should be cherished and nurtured.This is my tripe and onions: I like extravagant lies. I prefer adventure to alienation, disaster to disintegrating marriages, Narnia to Newfoundland, murder to moody exposition, redemption to routine adultery, and buccaneers to baby boomers. The bigger and more florid the lie, the more pleasure I have in being induced to believe it.

I realize that this declaration imbues me irredeemably with the stink of the intellectual proletariat and makes me about as fashionable as Hammer pants. On the other hand, though, my taste for a good old-fashioned lie may be preserving my immortal soul. Extravagant lies are a real pleasure. And pleasure can lead you back to yourself.

I'm convinced that letting pleasure be your pole star in your literary odysseys can be as much of a turning point as buying your first vibrator, and for many of the same reasons:

Why a Good Book Is Like Your First Vibrator

Hundreds of hours in time saved. You won't waste any more time on weak-chinned wimpsters or sensitive divorce novels when you've got a surefire source of gratification waiting for you at home.

Self-sufficiency. You won't have to rely on the Globe & Mail or your boyfriend for clues to how you should respond to clumsy overtures. There's no point in faking it when you don't have to please anyone but yourself.

Improved sense of humor and increased Zen rates. Trying to convince yourself that you're enjoying it when you're not leads to dourness, stress and wrinkles. Having a good lusty bout of pleasure on a regular basis turns you into a rosy-cheeked oasis of compassion. Which woman would you rather be, this woman or this woman?

Vastly increased maturity. You won't need to flash your cleavage around anymore. You can wear a turtleneck if you want. (Charlotte's is probably up to her eyebrows by now.) You can read The Fiery Cross on the subway without needing to camouflage it behind a copy of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. Hey, you're fulfilled. You have nothing to prove.

With these similarities in mind, let's go on to examine some of the more noteworthy devices on the market alongside their literary equivalents.

Vibrators and Books for the Aspiring Pleasure Slut

Natural Contours vs. Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier
Natural Contours: Sleek, portable, aesthetically pleasing, not obviously phallic vibrator designed by porn star-turned-sex-educator Candida Royalle. Only drawback is it's a bit noisy.
Rebecca: Sleek, streamlined, aesthetically pleasing, not obviously bodice-ripping feminine-suspense novel written by socialite-turned-novelist Daphne du Maurier. Only drawback is it's a bit campy.
Verdict: Doesn't look particularly electrifying, but being created by a woman makes all the difference. Sure, your friends will all know you're up to no good, but you'll be having such a good time, you won't care.

Rabbit Habit vs. Fingersmith, by Sarah Waters
Rabbit Habit: Double-barreled rabbit-shaped toy. Just about everything you could want in a dual-action vibrator: vibration, gyration, pretty colors, fun theme, pornographic function. Immensely popular, and for good reason.
Fingersmith: Double-narrative Victorian gothic. Just about everything you could want in a historical novel: murder, blackmail, intrigue, corsets, the underworld, madness, a love story, pornographic collection. Immensely popular, and for good reason.
Verdict: Sometimes reputation is deserved. Warning: Such a good time, it might put you off men forever.

The Hitachi Magic Wand vs. Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander series
The Hitachi Magic Wand: The ne plus ultra of plug-in vibrators. Costs well over $100. High-intensity vibration will drive your hydro bills through the roof. Doubles as a legitimate massager, too. Drawback: Rumored to cause insensibility to slighter stimuli.
Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander series: The ne plus ultra of historical novels. Runs well over 3,000 pages. High-intensity sea battle sequences will drive your pulse through the roof. Doubles as an intensive education in early-19th-century European history, too. Drawback: Rumored to cause insensibility to less gripping stories.

Ducky vs. Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon
Ducky: A jolly vibrator made for the bath. Shaped like a rubber duck, but vibrates when you squeeze it. Not really designed all that well, but really fun and packs a genuine punch.
Outlander: A jolly bodice-ripper made for the bath. Looks like a trashy romance, but has lots of adventure and a surprisingly rewarding love story when you get into it. Not really written all that well, but really fun and packs a genuine claymore.
Verdict: Even intellectuals need to take a bath sometimes. Men claim to despise it, but secretly love it, the scamps.

See how well pleasures go together when you follow them far enough?

Next time: Fake black eyes, and other ways to tell whether you're American or Canadian.