I had no idea that Nancy Friday had died. I cannot express how much My Secret Garden meant to me. Or, I should say, means to me. Just last week I was rereading parts of the book, marveling at how revolutionary it was. It was my entry point into sexual fantasy, of that there is no doubt. I wrote (a tiny bit) about it in my post First Sexy Books.
Will Crimson has kindly given permission to reblog this thoughtful post about Nancy Friday. I encourage you to read it, and if you’ve never picked up My Secret Garden, perhaps this would be a good time to read that as well.
Nancy Friday, if you don’t already know who she is, is a journalist who published My Secret Garden. The book is a collection of women’s erotic fantasies, published in 1973. Long before the Internet, her book gave voice to women’s sexual fantasies and, as such, caused both outrage and enthusiastic support. Until Friday’s book, the erotic voice was largely confined to men. That women had erotic fantasies came as a shock to many.
I first read Friday’s book when I was roughly 13. The realization that women fantasized too, and that their fantasies were strangely mirror images of mine, was a revelation. When I imagined cornering a girl in a dark corner and forcing her to orgasm on my own, I was shocked to read that somewhere there was a girl who was fantasizing about the boy would force her into a dark corner, warn her to be…
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