|Vintage Pulp||Feb 27 2020|
Just ignore my daughter. She gets bitchy whenever she thinks I don't spend enough time with our son.
Bernard Safran is an artist we don't see nearly enough of, considering how much we like his work. He's responsible for the above cover of Love Cult, by William Vaneer for Croyden Books, 1953. The art tells all. A naive young woman rushes into marriage and finds herself trapped in a polygamous commune in the isolated Ozarks. In short order she loses her bodily autonomy, her virginity, and her dignity—but not her desire to escape. An unlikely alliance gives her a chance, but she still needs to outwit her husband somehow, and he's clever, mean, sneaky, and violent. Giving him the slip will take some work. We won't reveal more.
Did we ever mention that there's a commune in our town? Actually, its residents live not in town, but on a hill a half mile to the east. They grow stuff up there and sell it in a local shop they own down in the main tourist area. They also run a restaurant. When you go in they try to interest you in their various communities in different countries, and are inordinately smiley and nice. Like in-your-personal-space nice. One time a waitress squeezed into a booth with us to take our lunch order, which was creepy enough that we never went back. But after reading Vaneer's potboiler maybe we'll visit again just to find out what they're smiling about. If you never hear from us again it's because we're having culty sex up on the hill.