Books by Kola Boof
River Woman (Poems, Feb. 10, 2004) /
Long Train to the Redeeming
Sin-Stories About African Women
(April 6, 2004)
Flesh and the Devil: A Novel
(May 11, 2004) /
Diary of a Lost Girl
* * * *
Diary of a
Lost Girl: The Autobiography of Kola Boof
By Kola Boof (aka Naima Bint Harith)
Doors of Kush /Hardcover, $25.00 / 441 pages, illustrated
Book Review by Kam Williams
Hip Hop Holocaust would signal the birth of a new
ideology amongst American blacks, a new cultural
ethic that would eventually migrate to blacks all
over the world—a cultural ethic that now openly
embraced and promoted materialism, misogyny,
disloyalty and anarchy. Whereas the Civil Rights and
Black Power Movements had unified black people
worldwide and brought about independence and
nation-building in Africa, and a huge renaissance in
self-love, unity and empowerment… —the Hip Hop
Holocaust destroyed all that.
"This was the music that eventually renamed the
mothers of the men who performed it—‘bitches’ and
‘hos’—and made it fashionable to be colorist
(against black women) and self-centered (bling-bling).
I call it a ‘holocaust’ because it effectively
killed the core community in Black America and
completely bamboozled the black youth and separated
them from their true worth… no one was willing to
stand up to the Hip Hop anarchists.
was there, a new American and a black child in 1980…
What others praise as a revolutionary new expression
of the ‘black man’s’ experience in America… I
regard, in retrospect, as a poison against the
people.— Excerpted from
Chapter Six, “The Stuff That Dreams Are Made of”
For some reason, it often
takes an expatriate to make a seminal contribution to a
culture. Such is the case with Kola Boof, whose
heartbreaking and brutally-honest autobiography, Diary of a
Lost Girl, might be the most brilliant deconstruction of the
plight of present-day African-Americans yet written.
The title of this
alternately thought-provoking and moving memoir was ostensibly
inspired by Anne Frank’s Diary of a Young Girl, the
literary classic which chronicled the last days of a Dutch
teenager trying to maintain her sanity, humanity, and a sense of
optimism while making sense of the Holocaust as Nazism enveloped
Well, Ms. Boof, whose real
name is Naima Bint Harith, has written an equally-evocative
account of her own harrowing tale of survival. Born in The Sudan
in March of 1972, she was orphaned at the age of seven after her
parents were murdered for speaking out against the government’s
involvement in the revival of the slave trade. After being
abandoned by her grandmother for being too dark before finding
temporary political asylum in Great Britain, she arrived in the
United States a year later a “trembling, frightened wreck.” She
was adopted by a kindly African-American couple with a big
family which lived in a nice house in a residential section of
Sadly, the host of woes of
Biblical proportions being visited upon the unfortunate little
immigrant just continued. Tested more than Job, besides hearing
her mother and father die, Kola suffered circumcision, a heart
attack, betrayal by a bisexual boyfriend, molestation, statutory
rape, discrimination, ostracism, and accusations of being a
witch—all before getting out of her teens.
It is important to note
English is not her native language, so she had the additional
burden of learning to communicate in a new tongue. But of all
the challenges she would face in America, it appears that none
would prove to be as difficult as dealing with the self-hatred
and second-class status she found among blacks.
Speaking frankly about such
taboo subjects as the color-coded caste system among
African-Americans, she bemoans how brothers “judge the worth of
black women by (a) how light-skinned they are, (b) how
Euro-slender they are, and (c) the texture of their hair.” But
she doesn’t let sisters off easy either, indicting them for
trying to adapt to a European standard of beauty and thereby
“becoming walking billboards for the general society’s message
that whiteness is superior.”
Kola Boof is never one to
mince words; thus, her iconoclastic ideas aren’t for everyone.
“You should not come into this book expecting to like Kola Boof,”
she warns. “My purpose as a literary artist is not to be liked,
but to be understood—regardless of whether I’m right or wrong… I
spent my whole life being dictated to by American media and
nigger media about what to believe and think—and so now it’s my
turn, as an African woman and womb-bearer, to do the dictating.
If you don’t appreciate my candor—then write your own goddamned
book; this one is mines.”
Reserving perhaps her
harshest words for Islam, which she repeatedly criticizes as
anti-female. Kola claims to be in hiding due to death threats.
If true, this development is no surprise, given the serious
accusations leveled on these pages, and the fatwas issued by
Muslim fundamentalists in reaction to such relatively-mild
detractors as Salman Rushdie.
When not excoriating Islam,
with a refreshingly unguarded honesty Boof recalls her assorted
sexual and romantic liaisons ranging from Osama bin Laden, at
one extreme, to a married Jewish businessman, at the other, with
a rainbow coalition of lovers betwixt and between, with a stated
preference for black men. In sum, Diary of a Lost Girl is
an admirable addition to the genre of African-American
autobiography. For warts and all, it represents the
unalloyed emotions of an intelligent, defiant, controversial,
frequently profane and proud black woman, a survivor who somehow
overcame one of the worst childhoods imaginable to share an
abundance of intriguing, if debatable insights about her adopted
Postscript: While the Internet is abuzz with rumors and
speculation surrounding Kola Boof, for purposes of this review
this critic simply assessed Diary of a Lost Girl on its
own merits, without entertaining extraneous issues raised
* * *
Lloyd Kam Williams is an attorney and a member of the bar
in NJ, NY, CT, PA, MA & US Supreme Court bars.
* * *
The daughter of Arab Egyptian archeologist
Harith Bin Farouk and his only wife "Jiddi" is
orphaned in Sudan and eventually adopted by Black
Americans--Marvin and Claudine Prell Johnson of Washington, D.C.
She grows up to become not only North
Africa’s most controversial and despised woman writer, but
also the mistress to both Osama Bin Linden and his mentor, Hasan
al Turabi...the two most powerful terrorists on earth.
Writing her life story with the same blunt
sentences that have enriched her classic poems and novels...KOLA
BOOF talks openly about the hardships of having a
"circumcised" vagina, about being put up for adoption
by her color struck Egyptian grandmother, about the 2003
firebombing of her Ethiopian publisher, about Arab Islamic death
threats issued against her life because of the
"Soulful" novels she writes...and about her efforts
fighting against slavery and genocide in the Sudan.
A remarkable memoir...by Sudan’s most hated
* * * *
|The Diary of Kola Boof:
|Bint il Nil
|Night of the Living Dead
|My New Family: The Black Americans
|The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of
|Goddess of Trees
|An Evening with Osama Bin Laden
|The Devil’s Pass Key
|I Know the Rooms In Hell By Heart
|Osama’s Lake of Fire
|Be and Be Not Afraid
|Make Way...for Kola Boof!
|I Never Married My Husband
|So Much Things to Say
|Inheritance (womanist prose)
|Being and Becoming the Red Dragon
|See What the Boys In the Back Room’ll Have
|The Authentic Black Man (A Letter)
|God Is a Black Man
|I Put a Spell On You
* * *
Kola Boof Breaks Her Silence
in New Book
Bruce Dunne of The Post Journal interviews Kola Boof
about her just released autobiography.
New York, NY (BlackNews.com) - The
author of six books published in eight countries, Kola Boof is not
only Sudan's top selling novelist, but in 1996, was the mistress
of Osama Bin Laden.....a fact that jeopardized her American
citizenship four years ago, until Morocco's Prince Fabrizzio
Ruspolli confirmed Boof's claim that she had been held against her
will by Bin Laden at Ruspoli's estate for sexual purposes.
In her memoir, Diary of a Lost Girl, coming
Feb. 1st in hardcover (0-9712019-8-6), Boof reveals a side of the
terror chief that's never been explored before. In a telephone
interview, I learned a few things that I never expected to find
out...such as where he's been hiding.
BRUCE DUNNE: Where is Bin Laden?
KOLA BOOF: Well, about eighteen months
ago he was in South Waziristan, the Toba Kakar Mountains in
Pakistan. It's the state of Baluchistan. I mean, that's going by
the authorities. I personally haven't spoken to him since 1998.
BRUCE DUNNE:What do you think of the
recent rumors that Bin Laden is dead?
KOLA BOOF:Well, they're just
BRUCE DUNNE: You say you lived with Bin
Laden for six months in 1996, and I'll be asking you some very
tough questions about that in a moment, but what was he like back
KOLA BOOF: Well, he's extremely complex.
I thought of him as a very rich gangbanger--he wasn't hiding in
caves, although I don't know what he did when he wasn't in
Of course, he's evil, and that's what people
want to hear....but he also believes that he's saving the world by
forcing everyone to submit to Islam and to Arabism. Osama is a
gifted poet, he was very softspoken and sensitive—but also
violent....he beat me, and he was tyrannical towards his men and
embarrassed about sex......but addicted to it. Because I'm black
and wasn't Muslim at that time, he considered me a
"non-woman". A piece of meat for men to wipe their sins
BRUCE DUNNE: Peter Bergen, a biographer
of Bin Laden, has called you delusional. He says that Osama Bin
Laden was never in Morocco in 1996—in fact, I believe he claims
that Bin Laden has never been to Morocco period.
KOLA BOOF: Peter Bergen doesn't know
what the hell he's talking about, but I'm sure that the media
would take the word of a white man who's never met Osama against
the word of a Black woman who used to share his bed.
The fact is...Osama Bin Laden was in Morocco in
1996, he was in Afghanistan, he lived in Sudan, he went to
Ethiopia, Tanzania and Egypt that year. He went to Iran for a
wedding. Peter Bergen and none of these know-it-all white men know
a damned thing about where Osama was...if they did...the U.S.
government would have been able to find Osama back in 1996. So
don't listen to the Arabs and the White men.
BRUCE DUNNE: Peter Bergen says that Bin
Laden is a chronic prayer...praying ten or twelve times a day.
KOLA BOOF:That wasn't true in 1996.
Osama prayed on Tuesdays and Thursdays like that...all day Tuesday
and Thursday, but not everyday. Bergen never lived with Osama.
He's going by heresay.
BRUCE DUNNE: He raped you the first
night you met. How did you meet and how did you become his
KOLA BOOF: We met in a restaurant in
Marrakech. I was there with my date and Osama came in with his men
and ordered me over to his table. They escorted my date out of the
restaurant and I never saw him again. Osama chatted with me for a
few minutes, and then later that night, he came to my hotel room
with his men and he raped me very violently. And then a few days
after that, his men arrived again at my hotel...only this time to
fetch me and my belongings.
They took me to the Medina, La Maison
Arabe, and I was kept there in the Winston Churchill room for six
months. Osama came to the estate off and on, about four out of
those six months total. He had sex with me and I accompanied him
and his men on hunting expeditions and fishing trips. I got to
know a lot of his friends, such as his doctor Ayman al-Zawahiri.
BRUCE DUNNE: You say that you're annoyed
by American women who complain that you don't act like a rape
KOLA BOOF:It was ten years ago that Bin
Laden raped me. I can't imagine why I should be crying and acting
emotional. Of course it was terrible being raped...but I had to
survive and that meant I had to pretend to like the man. There was
no time for whining . . . and in writing the book, there's no time for
feminist theatrics. He raped me the first night and we became
lovers, because I had to survive.
BRUCE DUNNE: Most people definitely
haven't read your novels and poems--they don't know that you're
Sudan's most published literary writer--you say that it's because
you're so intelligent that Bin Laden was attracted to you.
KOLA BOOF: Osama's mother was like a
feminist, she refused to wear a burka, two or three of Bin Laden's
wives are University Professors. I don't see why that's so hard
for Americans to believe. They think because they've never heard
of me or because my name sounds comical to them that I'm just a
bimbo. And stupid. When they see that I'm black, they tack on
BRUCE DUNNE: I have to admit I loved
your autobiography, but do you really believe that you know more
about Bin Laden than his wives?
KOLA BOOF: Well in any mansion...it's
the MAIDS and the "Whores" who know the most. Trust me.
BRUCE DUNNE: Bin Laden's been rumored to
have suffered from kidney problems. Can you tell us anything about
KOLA BOOF: I'd rather people buy the
book, so they can read about his health difficulties in detail. An
interview isn't the proper...
BRUCE DUNNE: You say that you're a
liberal Democrat, but you're very supportive of President Bush's
war on terrorism. Is that correct?
KOLA BOOF: I'm not interested in
President Bush in the least, and yes, I'm a liberal Democrat . . .
I'm also a person who comes from the Arab world and I can tell you
that I was raised in Sudanese elementary school to believe that
America is Satan's country, that White men are "the
devil" and to strap a bomb on my back and blow up innocent
people at the post office in the name of Allah....and look at this
idiot president in Iran. I want blacks in America to understand
that the "Arab" is just as much of a Satan as the White
man. To me, the Arab man is more Satanic than the White man.
race likes black people--not Arabs, Caucasians, Asians, Latinos,
Mulattoes—nobody likes blacks. Black Americans need to look at
the recent massacre of Black Sudanese in a public park in Egypt
and get a clue. You have to be sensible about terrorism, and I
think that Americans are way too spoiled, too rich and
comfortable. They like to fancy themselves as fair people....but
it's the relaxed, fair ones that die of poisoned drinking water
while listening to their Barbara Streisand records, although I'm a
huge Streisand fan myself.
I advise Americans to question their
government's tactics, surely, but when it comes to Arab Muslim
Imperialism and terrorism, support your government. There is
corruption in every world government. . . .but none are more corrupt
than the governments of the Arab world, and that is Kola Boof's
experience as a half-Arab, Black African woman, and my opinion is
just as important any other American's.
BRUCE DUNNE: Who despises you the most?
Arab Muslim leaders, the Nation of Islam, American media, Black
American men or Bin Laden experts?
KOLA BOOF:I don't know.
BRUCE DUNNE: In 2004, you were able to
secure about six hundred million dollars worth of guns and
ammunition for Sudan's south rebel army by giving a rather
powerful speech in Israel. You were also featured on Benjamin
Netanyahu's web site. What exactly are your connections to Israel
or the SPLA's for that matter?
KOLA BOOF:Israelis and the South
Sudanese are nothing alike, but we share a common enemy, a very
common struggle. If it weren't for Israel we wouldn't have had
food or medicine or weapons to defend our children in the South
Sudan. We had no other offering of help. And, of course, as a
member of the SPLA, I had to work very closely with the Israelis
on behalf of my people. I would do anything for Africa.
BRUCE DUNNE: Very recently, with the
James Frey scandal and the debates about the integrity of memoir
nowadays, how do we know that your book isn't a pack of lies, just
another fabulous scheme to further your own writing career by
getting rich off Bin Laden's name?
KOLA BOOF:You don't know. But the fact
is.....my book is true and none of it is fabricated, and for those
who think otherwise, I really don't give a damn. This is my life
story, my soul book. As Mary J. Blige sings....'you can hate it or
(*To reprint this article, contact Bruce
* * *
Excerpts from Diary
of a Lost Girl
The Nile...is a river in Sudan.
That is where this writer was born, in the
hot metropolis of a city called Omdurman (which along with
Khartoum and North Khartoum, in size and density, could be
considered the New York City of North Africa). Unfortunately, my
novels and poems have always pissed people off and made them
contentious towards me--so as I begin now to sketch a portrait of
myself and my life, as truly no one else could, I do so with the
knowledge that the contents of this book could get me killed, and
I ask that you, the reader, not come into this book expecting to
"like me"--I’m not that kind of artist--I’m a very
damaged and altogether unusual woman from a very different culture
than yours, so it’s important that you be prepared to expect the
My ex-lover, Osama Bin Laden, once threatened
my life because of a poetry collection I wrote; he felt I was
prostituting myself for America (instead of for him)--my Ethiopian
publisher was firebombed in 2002 for printing a collection of
short stories I wrote, and on April 9th, 2003, an investigative
Human Rights report presented on the floor of the UNITED NATIONS
confirmed the "fatwa" and death threats that I had
received from Sudan due to the books I write. (p. 15)
* * * *
My real name is Naima Bint Harith—but I call
myself Kola Boof. I’ve learned that many Americans (especially
whites and media types), think that’s a comical name--but it’s
very special to me, because it’s actually the greatest poem that
I ever wrote. The name (as a poem) signifies four things--(1) the
Kola nut, which is the favorite snack of African children as well
as the symbol of prosperity, moral goodness and well being to
Africans as a people. (2) The sound of the African drum ("boof!"
comes the drums). And then finally, because as a teenager, I so
loved silent screen star Clara Bow and cartoon sex kitten Betty
Boop, and was (and am) a silent movie buff to the point that I
wanted to create a sexy movie star type name that would still
encompass everything that I cherish and sought to represent as an
artist from Africa--aaand--as a womanist and a wombbearer. So in
the poem "Kola Boof", I achieved all of that with two
words and made it my name, and in fact, took it further by naming
several of my books after the silent films that I loved so much as
a teen ("Flesh and the Devil"..."Long Train to the
Redeeming Sin"..."Diary of a Lost Girl").
* * * *
It’s true enough that I’ve had
unbelievable tragedy in my life, but even more so--God has been
there for me in very big ways. I was adopted by Black Americans at
the age of eight (I returned to North Africa via Israel in 1994 as
a young adult). I don’t know when I was actually born—my
Auntie Ramah says March 3rd, 1969, the government of Sudan says
March 3rd, 1972, and one of my Egyptian uncles says that I was
born in 1970 or 1971—and it is not uncommon for displaced
Sudanese people to not know their age--so for the duration of this
book, I am just going to pick "7" as the age I was when
my birth parents (Arab Egyptian archeologist Harith Bin Farouk and
his only wife...MommySweet Jiddi...a "blue black"
Gisi-Waaq Oromo) were murdered for speaking out against slavery in
our country--and age "8" as when I was let for adoption
by Black Americans.
My parents, Marvin and Claudine Prell
Johnson, were a generous and loving couple in South East
Washington, D.C., raising seven other children when they took me
in. I couldn’t speak a word of English and they couldn’t speak
Arabic, but they wanted me--so it didn’t matter, you see. And
although they fully support me in my career (and as I’ve said,
there are radio interviews with my parents online), they have paid
dearly for having Kola Boof as a daughter. In 2002, when death
threats were being made against me from Arab Muslim extremists--I
could not be found--so it was my Black American parents and my
seven siblings who were terrorized and forced to move from their
homes, and back in Egypt and Sudan, several of my Arab Muslim
uncles were arrested, jailed and beaten just for being related to
Kola Boof. This book, of course, is going to go into much greater
detail about my origins and my families--everything is in this
book--but the point I’m making is that through all the
horrendous events you’ll soon be reading about--I never was and
am not now a "victim".
As a very young child, I had to witness my
birth parents being murdered in front of me. The murhaleen (part
of Sudan’s gestapo)
* * * *
As a teenager, my American parents sent me to
psychiatrists. They wondered why it was that I could remember so
much of my life in Sudan, but could not remember the tools
necessary to command the English language? As I told you earlier,
I didn’t really master English until I was about fourteen. And
the psychiatrist explained to mother and father that because I had
witnessed the murder of my birth parents and become
"possessed" by it—I was holding on to every single
moment that I had ever shared with them; every single memory. And
that is true. I have never forgotten what it was that created me.
That infused me with a ballad-like fearlessness. I call it . . .
* * * *
My creation began as the result of an
arranged "blue sky love" between two extraordinary
people, neither of whom were from Sudan, but both of whom found
themselves settled there, circa 1961, in a love nest right on the
banks of Omdurman’s Nile River.
Mahdi Pappuh (my father, my God), Harith Bin
Farouk was an extremely tall, butterscotch-colored White Arab
Egyptian with coily "mixed" hair—more nappy like
Hebrew hair than slick like an Arab’s hair. He was an
archeologist and was studying religious coffees in Somalia when he
first laid eyes on my mother (Mommysweet), whom he told me he fell
in love with the very tender moment he saw her. She was a fourteen
year old charcoal-colored Gisi-Waaq Oromo girl--Gisi (her family
name), Waaq (her lineage, The Crow), Oromo (her tribe, Nomadic
coffee worshippers). Her name was Jiddi and her father was her
tribe’s Chief, which is why she was called Princess Jiddi.
In our world, men pay a dowry to the girl’s
father for marriage rights, and in Sudan (where Pappuh owned a
large house), the Northern men generally have only one wife.
Pappuh Mahdi immediately attempted to purchase
Mommysweet for marriage, but because her father was the Chief and
because they considered Pappuh a "white man" (as
non-black Arabs are categorized
* * * *
Unfortunately, Mommysweet gave birth to six
boys in a row—all born dead with their umbilical cords wrapped
around their necks. I was her seventh pregnancy (and it’s my
understanding that I’m not the only seventh born-first girl
after six stillborn sons in the literary world--the American
author Gayl Jones, I’ve been told, is also the seventh born
first girl in her family--so yes, it obviously does happen, and I
refuse to believe that it’s witchcraft). My Auntie Ramah (Mommysweet’s
best friend and dressmaker) told me that when I was born (which
took place around noontime right on the banks of the Nile as
Mommysweet was washing clothes) and they washed off and presented
me to Pappuh, announcing that I was a healthy baby girl, he took
one look at me and cried out, indignantly, "Bitch!"
Auntie Ramah and I would get such a
bellylaugh whenever she told me this story, because it was the way
that Auntie Ramah could tell a thing. She was one of those plump,
down-by-the-riverside African women who can take anything hurting
inside a person and transform it into ferris wheels of laughter.
Metaphor was her gift.
Anyway, after I was born, Mommysweet never became
pregnant again. It was amazing. People all over Omdurman declared
her to be a jinn (a powerfully evil spirit) and avoided her
whenever possible. They declared Pappuh a wimp for not killing her
(as some Muslim men are known to do in our world if a wife bore no
sons), and they truly believed--with good reason--that Mommysweet
was a mute. In fact, Mommysweet made sure that people thought she
was a mute. I can honestly say that in my entire seven years as
her daughter, I think she only spoke (using her mouth) maybe eight
or nine times tops. This is not an exaggeration. Only Auntie Ramah
Mommysweet’s Oromo language (Ramah being a red
skinned Oromo from a clan in Tanzania that had bright orange-brown
complexions), and although Pappuh had taught Mommysweet how to
speak flawless Arabic, her religion
of silence hurt me very deeply growing up. I was, after all, the
only child in Omdurman whose mother never spoke to her.
* * *
Alek: My Life from Sudanese Refugee to
cleaned toilets, I only saw it as work to
give me the means to achieve my goals. Of
course I hated it," the Sudanese supermodel
exclaimed. "Waking up at 4 a.m. when it's
freezing cold is not easy, followed by Uni,
coursework and my evening baby-sitting job,
but it made me disciplined and gave me a
huge sense of self-appreciation."
the seventh of nine children Alek, meaning
'black-spotted cow' (one of Sudan's most
treasured cows, which represents good luck),
never dreamt of becoming a model. Both in
her motherland, where she was considered to
be inferior due to her Dinka tribe (dubbed
as 'zurqa', meaning dirty black) and again
in Britain when she arrived in 1991, she
Sister Citizen: Shame, Stereotypes, and Black Women in
By Melissa V.
According to the
author, this society has historically exerted
considerable pressure on black females to fit into one
of a handful of stereotypes, primarily, the Mammy, the
Matriarch or the Jezebel. The selfless
Mammy’s behavior is marked by a slavish devotion to
white folks’ domestic concerns, often at the expense of
those of her own family’s needs. By contrast, the
relatively-hedonistic Jezebel is a sexually-insatiable
temptress. And the Matriarch is generally thought of as
an emasculating figure who denigrates black men, ala the
characters Sapphire and Aunt Esther on the television
shows Amos and Andy and Sanford and Son, respectively.
points out how the propagation of these harmful myths
have served the mainstream culture well. For instance,
the Mammy suggests that it is almost second nature for
black females to feel a maternal instinct towards
As for the source
of the Jezebel, black women had no control over their
own bodies during slavery given that they were being
auctioned off and bred to maximize profits. Nonetheless,
it was in the interest of plantation owners to propagate
the lie that sisters were sluts inclined to mate
* * *
Sex at the Margins
Migration, Labour Markets and the Rescue Industry
By Laura María Agustín
This book explodes several myths: that selling sex is completely different from any other kind of work, that migrants who sell sex are passive victims and that the multitude of people out to save them are without self-interest. Laura Agustín makes a passionate case against these stereotypes, arguing that the label 'trafficked' does not accurately describe migrants' lives and that the 'rescue industry' serves to disempower them. Based on extensive research amongst both migrants who sell sex and social helpers, Sex at the Margins provides a radically different analysis. Frequently, says Agustin, migrants make rational choices to travel and work in the sex industry, and although they are treated like a marginalised group they form part of the dynamic global economy. Both powerful and controversial, this book is essential reading for all those who want to understand the increasingly important relationship between sex markets, migration and the desire for social justice. "Sex at the Margins rips apart distinctions between migrants, service work and sexual labour and reveals the utter complexity of the contemporary sex industry. This book is set to be a trailblazer in the study of sexuality."—Lisa Adkins, University of London
posted 1 March 2006/kw review posted 21 September 2006