The Trouble with Men: Reflections on Sex, Love, Marriage, Porn, and Power

by David Shields

David Shields’s  The Trouble with Reflections on Sex, Love, Marriage, Porn, and Power  is an immersion into the perils, limits, and possibilities of human intimacy. All at once a love letter to his wife, a nervy reckoning with his own fallibility, a meditation on the impact of porn on American culture, and an attempt to understand marriage (one marriage, the idea of marriage, all marriages),  The Trouble with Men  is exquisitely balanced between the personal and the anthropological, nakedness and restraint. While unashamedly intellectual, it’s also irresistibly readable and extremely moving. Over five increasingly intimate chapters, Shields probes the contours of his own psyche and marriage, marshalling a chorus of other voices that leaven, deepen, and universalize his experience; his goal is nothing less than a deconstruction of  eros  and conventional masculinity. Masterfully woven throughout is an unmistakable and surprisingly tender  cri de coeur  to his wife. The risk and vulnerability on display are in the service of radical candor, acerbic wit, real emotion, and profound insight—exactly what we’ve come to expect from Shields, who, in an open invitation to the reader, leaves everything on the page.

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Sexuality, Essays, Feminism

160 pages, Paperback

Published February 25, 2019

About the author

David Shields is the author of fourteen books, including Reality Hunger (Knopf, 2010), which was named one of the best books of 2010 by more than thirty publications. GQ called it "the most provocative, brain-rewiring book of 2010"; the New York Times called it "a mind-bending manifesto." His previous book, The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead (Knopf, 2008), was a New York Times bestseller. His other books include Black Planet: Facing Race During an NBA Season, a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award; Remote: Reflections on Life in the Shadow of Celebrity, winner of the PEN/Revson Award; and Dead Languages: A Novel, winner of the PEN Syndicated Fiction Award. His essays and stories have appeared in the New York Times Magazine, Harper's, Yale Review, Believer, Village Voice, Salon, Slate, McSweeney's, and Utne Reader; he's written reviews for the New York Times Book Review, Los Angeles Times Book Review, Boston Globe, and Philadelphia Inquirer. His work has been translated into fifteen languages.

Reviews

[Michelle Pearsall · Rating 5 out of 5]

In his book The Trouble with Men: Reflections on Sex, Love, Marriage, Porn, and Power, David Shields suggestively points toward—his modus operandi, if you will—classic Freudian paradigm: less overt masochist (as self-characterized), more marriage as reenactment (his parents’ doomed union). The self-referential notion of “masochism” riddled throughout the book becomes part mask—in stark opposition to his naked, confessional narrative style—a smoke and mirrors technique to cloak his deepest, most guarded feelings.

As he questions the allegorical “you”/'wife'—“Are you in love with me? Do you like making love with me? Do you love making love with me?” he exposes a marriage seemingly devoid of baseline connectivity—despite decades spent together. “Don’t answer,” Shields says, putting emotion aside, flirting and fantasizing in a “safe” way “outside of his marriage”. Why consider the complicated dissolution of things if we can coexist with private, non-threatening “phantasms”? In framing his feelings with a certain existential angst, Shields justifies his need to push the buttons of “you”. Is this a “love letter” or is this a 'love barb' of hope that “you’s” voice will boomerang back with answers? (It doesn’t.)

The quoted excerpts of other writers textured throughout the book further substantiate the masked ‘unreliable’ narrative, creating an uneasy tension with the reader; at once universal—the voice of a modern-day Shakespearean chorus of sorts—yet brilliantly crafted in such a way to allow Shields to distance himself from the emotion at task. (i.e., All relationships are miserable, right? Let us find beauty in the misery and not be so alone.) The underlying implication is that the writers’ snippets are Shields’ own words, but the reader learns of the appropriation at the end of the line/paragraph. Rather than openly suggest a separation or divorce, it’s interesting to consider that Shields might have written this book to prod “you” to make the ultimatum herself—A tool of passive-aggressive enablement.

That said, it’s clear the stakes are high—Let’s find the pulse in our marriage; but is “you’s” “indifference” alluring or is it sadly abrading? Does it create the “real marriage” Shields so “desperately” wants? “You” has no photos of him in the house, she does not hold his hand in public, will not use the inclusive “we”, and laughs when he sniffs her panties—an erotic gesture on his part—yet has no qualms asking (demanding?) him to wear them. “I wasn’t in love with you when we got married,” Shields says (say what?) “but I am now, whereas I suspect the opposite is true for you.” The reader can only wonder if “you” has been long aware of his indifference and it’s been payback time ever since.

Within the first few pages, what are we to make of the theatrical (theoretical?) characters of Alan and Michelle, who seem to almost ‘stage’ the book? We are privy to a romanticized, if not psychosexual relationship (if we are to believe ‘‘our’’ pronoun altering narrator of this story within the story relating to the 'real' life cousin he collaborated with to write the 'real' book, That Thing You Do With Your Mouth)—but is there a deeper truth? Shields is clearly cloaked as Alan (stutter/his relationship to his mother), but who is Michelle?

The Trouble with Men—with its relentless investigation of reality versus fantasy, love versus war, me versus you—is a maddening testament of the male psyche, denial, candor and an invigorating must-read.

[Jonathan Karmel · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book, which is addressed to the author's wife, begins with the following quote: "Everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about power."

1. Let's Say I'm Writing a Love Letter to You
"Some people don't like sex, some people like sex but don't see it as an especially important part of their life, and some people see sex as a journey. It's never been a minor part of my life, even when we were hardly ever having sex."

"At sixty-two, I have a different view of sex than I had at forty-two or fifty-two. I'm obsessed with it, but a lot of what I want to do is think about it.
Or: I'd like to attempt to understand our marriage (marriage as a genre?) better."

"Originally, I tried to do a version of this book by having an email exchange with my writer-friend Brenda Phillips, but the gulf was simply too wide: she's so much better looking than I am-and as a result has had so many more sexual experiences-that we had next to nothing to talk about."

"Gary Chapman writes about ... Babblers and Dead Seas. Babblers talk, Dead Seas listen, and the two types usually hook up. Chapman explains that Dead Seas keep everything in; they're fine not talking. On the other hand, Babblers feel compelled to yack about every vague and fleeting impression gained through their senses. ... Obviously, I'm a Babbler; just as obviously, you're a Dead Sea."

This book hardly seems like a love letter. Shields quotes a T-shirt worn by a goth waitress at a bar in Seattle: "BEAT ME, FUCK ME, EAT ME, WHIP ME, CUM ON MY TITS, AND THEN GET THE FUCK OUT." This is the kind of thing that turns people on, not babbling to your wife about your feelings. People don't use the word "cunt" in polite conversation, but there's a reference in this book to a woman who said she had great sex with a guy who "murmured 'cunt" in the middle of hammering into me." There's a another reference to a woman who got mad at a guy for spanking her but in retrospect realized she shouldn't have because it had actually excited her and she had an orgasm.

Reading between the lines, the reader is led to believe that Shields' wife is hot, and he is turned on by her dominating him sexually. Because of his need for sex, he lets her treat him like her beeotch. People who love each other make love, but fucking, not making love, is what gives people orgasms. And fucking often involves one person subjugating and riding roughshod over the other person, which is the opposite of how you treat someone you love.

2. The Four People in Every Bedroom
This chapter is a reference to Freud, and Shields is talking about his mother complex that he supposedly developed from having a mother who ruled the roost in his family and a father who was depressed and weak. He thinks that because he had an emotionally abusive Jewish mother, he has a "lifelong kink." Instead of going for a nice Jewish girl, he "outkicked his coverage," and now he lets his own wife call all the shots in their marriage.

Reaching back into his childhood, he sees how his sexual proclivities were influenced by female victims of the bad guys getting tied up on batman, by catwoman, by Agent 99 on Get Smart, by a 5th grade social studies teacher who was a Playmate of the Month. On Gilligan's Island, he liked Ginger, not Mary Ann. The Archies: "Betty will always want to marry me. I will always want to lick Veronica's boots."

He believes that he was trying to heed the warning that his mother gave him not to be weak like his father. But ... "I married someone who was, I thought, the complete opposite of my mother and turned her-turned you-into her, the question being, of course, whether you intuited that and became that way on purpose to satisfy what you knew was my deepest drive, or whether I knew (and you knew) all along you had that reservoir of coldness."

Shields is a neurotic Jewish man with disfluency and without sprezzatura, who talks about "anilingus as a recurrent fantasy, corporealizing as it does my frequent feeling that, as a stutterer, I have a mouth full of shit." On the one hand, his wife presumably likes having a man who wants nothing more than to kiss her butt, but on the other hand she displays "obvious embarrassment ... with another couple ... over the fact that I knew what 'callipygian' means." Fun quote from a porn chat room: "That's enough ass-licking, slave. Now I want you to eat my asshole. And lick it deep enough to taste my shit."

"It's, finally, not all that complicated:
'Breast-men' had warm mothers.
'Ass-men' had cold mothers."

3. This is the Part Where You're Supposed to Say You Love Me
Right, so Shields' wife wears the pants in the family. He tells her he loves her, and she permits him to love her, but she doesn't really trust him, she's not comfortable with public displays of affection, she doesn't come on to him, she just permits him to love her. To his wife: "You're quite self-centered and pretend not to be."

"Women, asked to describe the best sexual experience of their lives, almost always mention an exceedingly brief thing they had decades ago with a near-convict. Don't ask why. (We all already know why.)"

To Shields, sex is about one person having power over another person. He seems fascinated by sadomasochism, and he thinks that the current trend of women shaving their private parts comes from S&M porn in which the woman is trying to look young, weak and submissive. Maybe, but isn't it also possible that both men and women think shaving increases sexual pleasure, especially for oral sex, and also just looks more attractive?

Shields says he's a man interested in erotic submission, but he seems to be having doubts. Maybe his desire is just some neurosis he's retained from his dysfunctional parental role-models. "How did I get designated to 'work hard' in sex while you do nothing? ... The only thing you have to do to be good in bed is show up."

"Do I love you despite or because of your nastiness toward me? (Not even a question.)"

"In love, there is always one who kisses and one who offers the cheek."

So I guess Shields' wife has Shields under her thumb, and he believes this is the way love is in general.

4. Porn: An Interlude
Shields notes that "men like fat women. They will do anything. Name your fantasy. Try out your imagined humiliation." This is in line with Shields' overall view that sex is about one person having the upper hand in a relationship and using it to degrade the other person. He thinks even a staunch feminist is likely to be turned on by a man coming on her face and chest, because in the bedroom, she wants to be dominated.

Shields admits that he usually says "love you," because he has difficulty with the phrase "I love you."

5. Life is Tragic (Everybody Knows It)
"A major trope of Japanese porn-this was especially true in the immediate aftermath of World War II-involves a Japanese man slavishly eating out a big, beautiful, buxom, American blonde. American BDSM sites often feature a black man who is either a couple's stud service or a begrudging, stone-faced submissive. -Chuck Berry's obsession with shitting on women and women shitting on him."

"We make love, though that's not quite the right term; it's more like fucking."

"All desire objectifies. There's no such thing as desire without it."

"You [Shields' wife] once said something to the effect that you weren't sure what was keeping us together other than our daughter. ... we're so dissimilar in our personalities, our friends, our activities."

Shields then explains that it is a common and normal and utterly healthy to wish that your spouse was dead.

Is it really true that "everyone knows" that life is tragic? Or is Shields just bothered by the fact that it would be tragic if his sexual fantasies were identical to a loving, marital relationship? If anything, it seems like the tragedy is that he has settled for something less than a loving relationship, because he thinks he has to in order to satisfy is sexual proclivities.

Shields seems to have trouble imagining a world where two people can both love and fuck each other.

This book contains a lot of interesting quotes, references, and jokes, and it is in my opinion, funny and in some ways thought-provoking. But I think it's more about the trouble with the author than the trouble with men in general.

[Matthew Getter · Rating 3 out of 5]

An intriguing, challenging book with the ups and downs of a rollercoaster. I received an advance reader’s copy of this book; I was immediately drawn in by the subject matter in the title. At its best, the book is vulnerable and unflinching. Speaking directly to his wife, the author puts himself on display without any of the posturing typical of masculinity in our culture. The third chapter, on sex, is the most intimate thing I’ve read in a long time. However, the text had more lows than highs for me. I often found myself confused as to the speaker and context in many of the passages. The language is beautiful and poetic; like poetry, it seems better taken as a whole than relying on any individual passage. However, creating any cohesive points in this manner felt confused and often unsuccessful. I wanted to like this book more than I did. However, despite its flaws, I imagine the book could benefit from repeat readings and I can imagine myself diving in again.

[Ava F · Rating 2 out of 5]

What a loser! Congratulations to his ex-wife on the divorce.

[Derick Cursino · Rating 1 out of 5]

Fucking hell, what a boring book.

[Juju · Rating 4 out of 5]

I think I’d give this a 3.75. It was a really interesting collection of essays and I’ve never read anything like it. I do believe Shields touches on some subjects that I’ve never even seen an author get close too. The essay “This is the part where you’re supposed to say you love me” particularly stood out to me. An interesting read if you’re willing to be fairly confused the whole time.

[C.E. Poverman · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Trouble with Men is a letter to Shields’ wife, a kind of dramatic monologue which asks the question how am I in love—in attraction, turned on, turned off—with you and how are you in love with me—turned on, turned off. It seems to address and seek the source of what has been a gathering crisis in the narrator, which is, well, just everything, even going back to his having been in an incubator as a baby. The why-now of the story or question is cosmic and, therefore, in a sense, generic/generalized, which is why the writer can’t bring this to a focus or resolution; he would probably dismiss the notion of resolution. All is all, unknowable, all is process, all is…. IS. He is writing an origin story without a narrative, without cause and effect, or an action, other than the act of addressing the question to his wife The origin story is, when it is grounded at all, an evocative or eclipsed or elided history, but in reality, it is a sensibility, and only a present, an eternal present, a search for cause and effect without a method for cause and effect; it is a desire to grind his bones and those of his wife between his teeth and chew the marrow to an ultimate knowingness.

The book—the writing of it—is a setting the writer up for a kind of embarrassment and humiliation, a perhaps private release in speaking the unspeakable, which for the writer would have little pleasure if it were kept private, and it is also an attempt at seduction and betrayal by making the reader complicit in the titillation and confession and embarrassment (of speaking the unspeakable), a kind of Tourette syndrome outburst of a wounded ego and id that asks over and over what is my wound, is it real, am I imagining it, am I loved, am I lovable, and if so, is it knowable? It addresses a dozen variations on what is the nature of the desired, the unattainable. It asks questions about his birth, childhood, father, mother, their sexuality and dynamic; it asks the question of his own desirability or lack thereof because he is Jewish; it asks what is the role of Jewish self-hatred, Jewish men/women’s presumed self-hatred; of the nature of desire through trauma, obsession, pornography, objectification, and Shields constantly seeks both to undercut and support himself and his justifications through contradictions and various excerpted or summarized quotations from other writers in his oxymoronic no-win set-up. A former stutterer, he states, “…ceaseless articulation is an attempt at revenge (but also, clearly, a revisitation of) stuttering.” Or: “Every statement that makes my heart fall is an inkblot of agony/anger.” Or: “You exhale and give me a nasty look. It makes me both hostile and horny.”

The end result is that we spin weightless in an eternal now, a zero gravity of anguish and unknowability, all of the pieces of the inquiry floating above and below us. Does it cohere? Is it greater than the sum of its parts? There is self-congratulation and evasion in this process, a provocateur’s ego and self-loathing, which, perhaps, he is trying to transform into art, even as he perversely refuses. Perhaps it is his stutter returned.

Like Rimbaud, who boasted that he invented the colors of the vowels, Shields seeks nothing less than to invent the colors of the vowels of sex and love. He seeks a kind of alchemy.

[Niklas Pivic · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book aims to be a short, intensive immersion into the perils, limits, and possibilities of human intimacy.

It is; that description says it all, albeit true via a stream-of-consciousness string of pearls, mostly in the shape of quotes from a bunch of notables. However, the author's details are what's most interesting to me.

There are loads of notes on the title, such as this one:

Aristotle’s theory of dramatic structure (introduction, rising action, climax, falling action, dénouement) is nothing more or less than a diagram of the sexual act. It doesn’t mean the theory’s true, and it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. It just means sex is everything.

Seeing how men seldom reveal their emotions to each other—and, a lot of the time, to themselves—this book reveals insight into the mental activities, proclivities, and thoughts, as strained through the author's mind.

I’m riveted when people are forced to yield to the demands of war: the moment in Hearts and Minds when two US soldiers, fondling their Vietnamese prostitutes, survey the centerfolds taped to the mirrored walls and (for the benefit of the camera) try to imitate heroic masculinity.

You’re frightened that you’re going to see yourself there. Or that you’re going to find out what your husband/dad/ lover/friend thinks about you that’s different from what you think about yourself. Or that you’re going to find out something about your spouse/child/parent you don’t want to know. Or worst of all that you’re going to like it. [Sallie Tisdale]

Alfred Hitchcock (whose mother would force him to stand at the foot of his bed for several hours as punishment) and cold, regal blondes.

Bernie Madoff ’s mistress has a new book out detailing her affair with everyone’s most hated financial advisor. She notes that he has a small penis, and while that didn’t seem to inhibit their sexual pleasure, she mentions it partially, I assume, in revenge for his treatment (emotional and financial) of her, and partly because she thinks it may somewhat explain his personality. Did Madoff ’s grandiosity emanate at all as compensation for his small penis? Did he know that his wealth would help women overlook the fact that he was underendowed? She seems to think so. Or was he naturally arrogant, insidious, and pathologically unconcerned with the welfare of others? Would he have behaved exactly as he did if he had a very large penis? [Pepper Schwartz]

In short, there are a lot of mini-stories strewn throughout this book, and it's not really provocative, and neither is it sensational, but it is interesting. I like delving into these minds, going for the small payoffs. And they're not small in the sense that I didn't spend time thinking about them, but I did, which is the thing; curt paragraphs, tautly presented, nicely stringed together in chapters that really made sense. I highly recommend reading this book.

We are, I know not how, double within ourselves, with the result that we do not believe what we believe, and we cannot rid ourselves of what we condemn. [Michel de Montaigne]

[Nicholas Holden · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book doesnt really read like a book of essays. It's more of like long disconnected diatribes mixed with quotes. A collage with words? A diary? A mood board? I can't tell if he loves his wife or if he is so satisfied with their dom/sub dynamic (him being the sub) that it doesnt really matter that he falls in and out of love with her as time goes on because she willingly fulfills his fantasies and doesnt make him feel ashamed of himself for wanting to be submissive.

The chapter on porn was excellent. He is doing what online influencers like Sol Brah think their doing when they discourage young men from porn because it ruins your brain or whatever. He actually analyzes his relationship to it, its relationship to culture, and rather than judging/demeaning presents a meaningful on meditation on the what, why, and how of the growth of Porn in the 21st century.

I really enjoyed this book. It left me feeling seen, heard, and longing for a deep and all encompassing kind of love. If his wife stayed with him after reading that, then she really loves him and maybe thats all that matters. I was underlining, highlighting, and annotating like crazy. This is one of those books I would give to a friend. I would read it before I got married, I would read it when I fight with my girlfriend, I would read it when I feel insecure. Its comforting and its confronting and even though its not the best book ever, it means something to me. David slid on this hoe.

[Scott Gould · Rating 5 out of 5]

Imagine you're on an airplane, in the small middle seat, reading David Shields' slim, latest book, The Trouble with Men. And imagine that you hit page 17, with that ALL CAPS quotation from the goth waitress' t-shirt, and you wonder if your fellow passengers on the right and left are spying on you, reading those same explicit phrases, and you're suddenly uncomfortable (embarrassed, maybe?) about sex and intimacy and strangers and boundaries. That's exactly what Shields wants, I think. He wants you to be a little uneasy in your skin as you read The Trouble with Men, because, well, he's a lot uneasy in his. Reading this book is communion in a literal, literary sense--Shields sharing intimate facets of himself (and bolstering them with attributed quotations) so we might take a look at how we approach "sex, love, marriage, porn, and power" in our own lives. And that inward view is the wonderful value of this book, the fact that we're prodded to examine our lives as we gain an intimate view of Shields'. This book is smart, risky, and always surprising. (I'd expect nothing less from Shields.) So now, by the time you reach page 56--and you're halfway through your flight--you don't care if your aisle-mates read over your shoulder. You want them to. They might need exactly what Shields graciously offers up in The Trouble with Men. Hell, we all might.

[Mario Morales · Rating 4 out of 5]

I enjoy reading profanity in books. This book really does not hold back. I enjoy the reading of those sentences from all types of individuals that I would not have heard from if it was not from this book. One thing that really stuck with me is the part when they say (there is a huge difference between saying "love you" and "I love you") that right there is gold. that "I" makes all the difference. I also like the candid stories from individuals first time trying things as well.

The last part is how some individuals would tell someone that they "crossed the line" in the bedroom, but later hindsight being all the rage they really enjoyed it. How that one time changed the course of their sex lives moving forward. Got me thinking if I have ever done for someone in my past.

This book is a good read and is not for those who don't like the F word, the S word, or any word that has to do with sex. But if you with some real Sh*t give it a read. I had to laugh a few times as well.

[J.I. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Constructed in a similar way to Reality Hunger, this book is a singular letter to Shields' wife, and a series of essays on a multitude of topics revolving around sex, and also a series of vignettes and quotations both in and out of context. The result is a swirling, sometimes confusing and difficult, but intensely personal and intensely reward meditation on sex, love, partnership, masculinity, and masochism. The ways in which Shields loves himself and the ways in which Shields hates himself are in a constant struggle, and we can see (both implictly and explicitly) the ways in which society shapes all of us into these kinds of patterns.

This is a book I would highly recommend to everyone with the caveat that most people probably won't like it very much. Still, it is a book worth reading.

[Steev Hise · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an excellent lyric essay, even though I was really hoping it would be more of an investigative polemic. That is, this book did not explain what exactly the trouble with men IS. I really wanted it to. Instead, it's a poetic, almost experimental work of literature disguised as a letter to the author's wife. As such it's the kind of book where almost each paragraph is something that you want to stop and think about for a while after reading it, so full of enigmatic depth and wisdom and ambiguity.

The most useful thing, for me, about this book is that it confirms that I'm not the only straight cis husband that feels the way I do and has the thoughts I have about marriage, love, sex, etc. But what I wanted more, yearned for more, from the book is some idea of what exactly to do about it. I guess that was expecting too much.

[Geoff Winston Leghorn Balme · Rating 4 out of 5]

An interesting possibly vital examination of human sexuality that includes much of the stuff that we like hearing the least. Especially the parts about inequality and domination. It’s also not actually about men but women too and how we seem to know so little about the most compelling thing in our lives. I often wonder if this fog of war will ever be lifted or if we prefer to muddle like dissatisfied children forever. The other surprise is the artsy collage of sources. It’s a bit like a broken term paper. But very enjoyable-though I’m still after answers. I don’t know why men seek bjs and golf! It also might be the most mature document ever prepared about love.

[Josh · Rating 1 out of 5]

I just hated this. Hated the disjointed, collage-style assembly (more than half the book is quotations or loose paraphrases, assembled to somewhat replicate stream of consciousness). Hated its pretentious tone. Hated how it spends so much time meditating on masochism and self-hatred without ever finding anything really meaningful to say about sexual intimacy. Just really not my thing at all.

[Chad · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very open and honest book.

[Brooks · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a book to wrestle with. I think it was good, but ask me in a few weeks after I've thought about it some more.

[Simon Sweetman · Rating 4 out of 5]

Love David Shields' style and here he tackles some interesting themes. Admirably.

[Matthew Bartlett · Rating 2 out of 5]

I guess I was only promised 'reflections'. Shards; hints; fumblings; assays. Insight? Little for me.

[Erja Sipilä · Rating 1 out of 5]

Tekis mieli lähettää tästä terapiaistunnosta lasku perään.

[Greg Williams · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm not sure what I think of this book. It is different than anything else I've read in several ways:

1. This is a deeply personal book in which the author explores his own masochistic sexual tendencies. In the process of writing about this, he exposes some intimate details of his sexual relationship with his wife. I don't know how you write a book like this without ending up divorced.

2. David Shields' writing style in this book is like a collage. It is structured as a set of thoughts, most of which are quotes from other people on the topic he is exploring. To me, it reads like a set of notes you'd write for yourself in preparation for a speech.

3. This book speaks frankly about sex, sometimes in a graphic fashion. In spite of this, it never really felt pornographic to me. The goal of pornography is to arouse or titillate. But I never really found this to be titillating at all. Instead, it is really an intellectual exploration of sex, primarily from a male point of view.

For me, I found the ideas and discussion in this book to be pretty thought-provoking. However, I had a hard time tracking where he was going with it all. I'm not sure if that is a consequence of the "collage" style of writing or if I just didn't "get it". At the end of the book, he addresses his wife and confesses/exposes his goal in writing this book:

I dearly/desparately want a real marriage -- whatever that means. I think it means two people standing before each other completely naked; does such a thing exist? I don't know, but in opposition to that essay we read in praise of a marriage made of masks, I still want it (the unmasking).

Do you love this book? Do you hate it? Will it mark the end of our marriage? The beginning of it? Putative (true?) goal for this book: a greater intimacy (at a minimum, candor?) between us.

All in all, this book kept me interested and had interesting things to say but it also felt directionless at times. I think it was a brave book to write but it's also "exhibitionism for intellectuals" in a way. I'm glad I read it but I'm still not sure what to make of it all. So that's why my rating of this book is lukewarm.

Obviously, if you are uncomfortable with honest and sometimes graphic discussion of sex, then you shouldn't read this. If you come to this book as a voyeur looking to be aroused by the description of someone else's sex life, this book will disappoint you, so don't bother. But if you are interested in an honest discussion of the "head games" behind a sexual relationship, then this might just be your cup of tea, especially if you have intellectual leanings.

[James Geary]

"The Trouble with Men" is a love letter and a lust letter, a quizzical and candid exploration of desire in all its forms—physical, emotional, intellectual. "My worst fear is to be held captive by niceness," Shields confesses at one point. "What will I allow myself to say?" The book's answer, of course, is, quite a lot. In his trademark bricolage style, Shields bares all, assembling his own take on the pleasure principle from, among other items, poignant details of his marriage, the concept of 'eros' in ancient Greek culture, and the relationship of his speech disfluency with oral sex and verbal expressions of affection: "My lifelong trouble saying 'I' whenever I say 'I love you.' 'Love you' isn’t 'I love you.' It’s not even close." Shields writes, "This book aims to be a short, intensive immersion into the perils, limits, and possibilities of human intimacy." His aim is true.

[Kent Winward · Rating 5 out of 5]

Shield's collage style works for me, partly because it shows all the cracks in everything.

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was an oddly challenging read with a mix of Shields insights and others. Very satisfying.