**DISCLAIMER: I WROTE MOST OF THIS BEFORE STARTING AND/OR FINISHING THE BOOK**
The Governor’s General Literary Award is a national book award given to an author every year by the Governor’s General, obviously. It’s been around since 1937 and is well respected in Canada, for whatever that’s worth. Margaret Atwood has won it a bunch of times, and HBO is turning her books into a show! Which we all know is the true epitome of literary success. It’s kind of a big deal. In 1976, 39 years after Lord Tweedsmuir (actual human name) conceived of the award, it was given to the well celebrated Canadian author named Marian Engel for a book she wrote called Bear. It’s about a woman who fucks a bear.
My dear frienemy, Schmathan Schmeedner, introduced me to this book via social media because I am both Canadian and a complete weirdo. I ordered it immediately. The book had been purchased, delivered, and read all within 5 days of his social media post. I had no idea what to expect. Well, that’s not entirely true. I expected explicitly described sex between a woman and a bear. I was let down quicker than the bear’s head between the chick’s legs. The first 78 out of 122 pages are basically just the chick eye banging the bear while he poops. She LOVES watching him poop, but she calls it “moving his bowels” because if she called it pooping someone might mistake her for some sort of degenerate bear rapist. The only vaguely sexual thing before page 78 is when she takes a dump next to the bear. The first half of the book is nothing but figurative clit rubbing and literal bear shit. Scholars call it the “rising action”. Women call it “foreplay”. I call it boring. If you’re a dude, skip it. If you’re a chick, MAKE ME A FUCKING SANDWICH!
It starts getting juicy on the bottom of the 78th page when she starts air guitaring her axe wound next to the bear after reading an unusually titillating Victorian era biography. The self love gushes over on to the next page (79 if you’re counting) until the bear joins in with a “tongue that was muscular but also capable of lengthening itself like an eel” and finds all her “secret places”. SPOILER ALERT: He finds them to completion and then “licks away her tears”. It is unclear if the author is talking about eyeball tears or vaginal tears, but it is abundantly clear that she did way too much research for this book. Also, for the record, 79 pages is exactly 10 pages too long to wait for ursine cunnilingus. You missed a huge opportunity, Marian, a huge opportunity.
The book is also littered with bear facts, which the narrator uses to her advantage when lulling the bear into a false sense of security until she can finally take advantage of him sexually. It’s pretty boring. So, without any further ado, here is a quick guide of all the sexual misconduct in the book and a quick blurb on how each made me feel. Each encounter can be summed up by the line on page 86 when the narrator talked about the basement thusly: “the nether region was indeed dark and spidery”.
(Much like what I did with my middle school friends after I watched Pamela Anderson in Naked Souls, I’ll tell you exactly when all the naughty parts are)
1. (p. 78-79) The narrator starts masturbating while thinking about the shameful, emotionless sex she regularly has with her boss. The bear moseys on over and starts licking her everywhere. She jizzes, then cries. He licks her tears away. She mistakes this encounter for romance. She’s obviously nothing more than a fleshy salt lick to the bear, and I think even less of her than that.
2. (p. 84) This time the bear comes to her looking to munch on some box. She calls him her “fishy friend”. I find this nickname to be absurdly ironic.
3. (p. 95) “Bear, I love you. Pull my head off.” This is some Ireenie (the hoochie ma chicken head from the classic film Pootie Tang) level crazy type shit. While the bear goes down on her she cradles his “asymmetrical balls”. I admire her selflessness. The bear does not and remains unaroused.
4. (p. 98-99) The sex is getting rougher and the bear is growing more reluctant. She mentions half ripped skin and she resorts to covering herself in honey to entice him. The bear ate all the honey and then left, farting the entire time (Marian’s words not mine). This is starting to resemble every relationship I’ve ever had. All 2 of them.
5. (p. 102) “She felt sometimes that he was God. He served her. As long as she made stool beside him in the morning, he was ready whenever she spread her legs to him.” SHE WORSHIPED HIM AS A GOD AND TRADED POOP FOR PUSSY LICKINGS! At the bottom of the page they french kiss. The kiss is overshadowed by the fecal based worship, and it’s hardly worth mentioning.
6. (p. 105) They go for a swim and the bear licks her dry. She does not count this as sex, yet. She plays with his wiener a bit but the bear, yet again, does not get aroused. Perhaps there’s some human in him after all. I can’t be the only person to measure humanity by a creature’s ability to recognize the uselessness of a hand job.
7. (p. 109) The narrator bangs the very male and very human caretaker/grocer/mechanic. At this point I am repulsed by anything but human on bear intercourse, so is the narrator. Plus, the dude is married. This narrator chick is kind of a piece of shit.
8. (p. 113) Finally, we’ve made it to the break up sex. The narrator comes to her senses and realizes she can’t keep having an intimate relationship with a bear. Just kidding. The bear finally pops a boner so she presents herself to it on all fours. The bear responds by by removing a large chunk of flesh from her back. She decides to move back home and see other people.
Some people might argue that 8 instances of bestiality is enough in the span of roughly 40 pages, but those people are prude morons.
In conclusion, the book is probably trying to be some sort of meaningful feminist metaphor about a woman’s sexual liberation in a male dominated world or a commentary on how all men are filthy, shit covered animals. I suspect it’s nothing more than a harlequin romance novel about a librarian who fucks a bear, written by a hopelessly lonely Canadian woman who probably walked in on her burly, hirsute lumberjack of a husband in their marital bed with a twink. It reads like a defendant’s seemingly unending final statement before sentencing in the most insane case of bestiality ever recorded in the history of North America.
Overall, I’d have to admit it was a pretty interesting read. I’d call it a page turner if the ones in my copy weren’t all stuck together.
Gun violence is a problem in this country. It doesn’t matter if it’s happening more or less now than in the past decades and it doesn’t matter if the media is sensationalizing it. The only thing that matters is that it happens, and it is preventable. Check out Wikipedia to see how many countries are less violent than us. It’s a lot. Background checks are a good start, there’s no harm. If you commit a violent crime once, maybe you’re not statistically more likely to do it again, but you are statistically willing to do it at least once, which usually means you’re a pretty terrible person. Obviously, not every crime should exclude you from gun ownership, but ones involving a gun and/or senseless violence should. NO MATTER WHAT. FYI, any violence that exists outside the realm of self defense, is senseless. And no, that stand your ground bullshit does not count as self defense, if it did they wouldn’t’ve needed to come up with a different name for it. Neither do preemptive strikes, unless you’re Ender Wiggin and you’re xenociding an entire extraterrestrial race, cuz that book is bad ass. But if I had my way, even a fictional, international, pre-teen, alien murdering, hero like Ender would probably fail my background check.
Nobody who has been manipulated by adults to wipe out an entire species would be deemed anywhere near mentally fit to own a gun. Yes, if you’re crazy you should not be able to own a gun. That’s all I’m going to say about it because it’s common sense, and if you disagree with me you are too stupid to be convinced otherwise. Crawl back into the swamp hole that shat you out, you filthy, feral Floridian. I do recognize that mental health issues also desperately need to be addressed in this country, but that’s not what this essay is about. Although, I will say that until we get the mental health issue figured out, we should maybe dial back the gun parade that’s tearing through our nation. Along with background checks, every gun owner should be required to take a safety class and pass a safety test. Even if you don’t plan on concealing and carrying. We make everyone do it to drive a car because cars are dangerous pieces of machinery that, while not designed to, have the ability to maim and kill human beings. It makes perfectly clear sense to require the same of gun owners, because guns are dangerous pieces of machinery that were specifically designed to maim and kill human beings.
Let’s say you’ve passed all of these classes and background checks. Congratulations! I’m glad you were deemed fit for gun ownership. You’re probably excited to start stockpiling your arsenal. WRONG AGAIN! You’re only allowed two guns per individual person. One to hunt with and one to protect your home with. Don’t worry hillbillies, your fat wives can also get two. Your kids have to wait until their eighteenth birthday though. You can throw them a militia themed party that girls will be too afraid to attend. “But how am I gonna protect my family if the government comes after me?” The answer to that question, fictional nameless opposer, is that you won’t. America has an army, navy, air force, and marines. They even have a coast guard, so there’s no escape. And those are just the armed forces they tell us about. America regularly and casually decimates entire nations, your pantry full of AKs ain’t gonna do shit, Cletus. I named him Cletus. Here is the least dumb response I’ve received to my 2 guns law
Here’s an interesting twist on an old riddle. Say I have two guns, and one of them isn’t a .22. What’s the other one? Answer: It could be a fucking .22. Just buy one .22 and a shotgun or rifle. Then you can kill innocent adorable, yet delicious, animals large and small. You can even still protect your family, all while having only two guns. You’re smart, you should be able to figure it out. Just kidding, you’re an idiot. Most other responses came in the form of gibberish, followed by the word “America” spelled with “KKK” instead of the lower case “c” normally applied by the morally competent.
Now, let’s discuss this internet person’s inalienable rights to hunt fuzzy tailed tree rats. Hunting is not a right, gun ownership is. Though it really shouldn’t be. If you can’t kill a squirrel with one of your two guns, you need to get better at shooting squirrels or try shooting bigger animals. Or don’t shoot anything at all, in case you miss and kill a child. Speaking of hunting, it has become a “sport” for pussies. More so than baseball and soccer combined. If you need a gun to kill an unarmed animal, you shouldn’t be allowed to hunt. Real Americans, and by that I literally mean Native Americans, did not need guns to hunt and kill animals. Neither did cavemen. What’s wrong with using arrows and tomahawks again? Put some fucking effort into it people. I’ve never hunted, but a friend of mine once described it as “doing coke in a tree with your dad while waiting to see a deer”. That’s not hunting. If actual hunting is too hard for you, try using traps. I know it’s a lot to ask someone who is against stricter gun control to be smarter than an animal, but I’m sure if you just dig a bunch of holes some form of edible meat is sure to fall in, eventually. The downside to hole digging is exercise, and if all these hillbillies lose weight who’s gonna buy all those XXL confederate flag t-shirts? Rest stops in the south will go out of business, and then where will the hillbillies work? The gun control debate is like a never ending wagon wheel of frustration.
With all the insane people on both sides of the gun control issue, my two guns law will never pass. It’s too many guns for some people, and not enough for everyone else. Non-American humans call my 2 guns law a fair compromise, I don’t think we’ve discovered the concept yet. But hey, at least we can make giant cupcakes right? This is why I would need a celebrity endorsement: