I was a teenager when I first encountered Anais Nin’s writing. I think my sister had borrowed a copy of Little Birds and I felt, shall we say, a wee bit ‘uncomfortable’ and definitely titillated by the contents.
This is an old edition that I was very recently given (thank you, Lulu). The introduction / preface consisting of Nin’s diary entries was enlightening — she wrote these stories for money. It struck me, reading this collection, that the men who paid for these stories had… er… unusual tastes. Quite a few of these stories didn’t feel sexual, more like cultural curiosities.
So while I did quite like the style of writing, the topics and sexual acts were a little too weird for me. Penthouse letters have nothing on Anais Nin.