I had such a disproportionately awesome time critiquing "gay novel" cover art in a previous post, that I felt compelled to share the snark and see if "lesbian novel" cover art was just as rife with possibility. And boy oh boy, is it ever! A quick Google search turned up page upon page of delectable romances, mysteries, adventures, erotica, and science fiction, all written for ladies who love ladies (and probably a few straight men who get off on the idea).
Narrowing the field down to ten choices was tough; those popular pulp novels from the 1950s, which seemed to be rather obsessed with "womanly lovin'", could've easily taken all ten spots. But I think I've achieved a nice balance of the old and new. Yet regardless of when they were written, one thing is clear:
These books are classics...by the cover art alone.
"Dear Jeebus, thank you for sending Geraldine to me. She is an angel. An angel with ginormous holster hips and the tongue of an anoura fistulata bat. She makes me so happy and doesn't even ask me to remove my jewels for our trysts.
"Thank you, too, for the genius product known as the Ogilvie Home Perm. Without it, I could never look my best for Geraldine (though, personally, I think her blue hair could use a little Miss Clairol).
"Please don't let my husband ever find out about this affair. He would make me give Geraldine up and return to his rancid pickle. And I don't like pickles. I only married him because he promised to keep me in French-whore-pink lipstick and Lee Press-Ons for the rest of my life.
"Also, I'm praying to you so hard right now that I seem to have quashed my breasts and possibly scraped off my left nipple with my bracelet. Please let Geraldine accept me with my new deformities.
"Amen."
Oh, this is a good one. Lots going on here. Here are my observations:
- The chick in the uniform has got to be Hilary Swank. I'm impressed. Two Oscars, big horsey teeth that must take hours to brush, AND she manages to find the time to pose for lesbian romance/sci-fi novel covers! What can't she do?!?
- Given her pasty white skin, limp yellow hair, and soulless gaze, I think the lady in the chair might be dead. No further guardianship necessary.
- And I also think Hilary Swank may have accidentally killed her. In her overzealousness to protect, she seems to have one eye out the window for any potential intruder, all the while unknowingly planting her sword into the shoulder of the one she's trying to keep safe. Oh, Hilary! Someone take away her Oscars STAT.
- If I'm wrong, and I hope I am (for there's nothing sadder than an unrealized lesbian experience), I want to give a little word of warning to the haggard dyke in the chair, who seems a tad innocent and naive: Honey, that sword isn't real. It's store-bought. That's how it's done. Trust me. I learned the hard way.
- If this novel is as good as it looks, I'm voting for a film version, a sort of remake of "The Bodyguard". Ms. Swank and one of the Olsen twins can star. It doesn't matter which Olsen twin. They both look like the walking dead, too.
I don't know about you, but this is how I always come to the airport: half-dressed, no shoes or socks, no shirt, and still pulling my pants up over my thong. What a relief to know I'm not the only one!
And just how the hell did this woman get through the security checkpoint? I mean, those Nazis don't even let you through with a Slurpee, let alone barefooted and boobies to the wind. What's her secret?
Also, check out the great big liver-spotted man-hand clutching the briefcase. Methinks that stewardess is hiding more than just in-flight pretzels under her uniform....
This is my favorite one on the list. What better way to scream "Lesbian Romance" than a shot of the open road, the purply sky at dawn, and a lumbering big rig? You know the ladies behind the wheel of that sucker are no lipstick-wearing, stiletto-loving gals. These are hardcore womyn with flannel shirts, lumberjack boots, a gross of Slim Jims, and Anne Murray blaring from the radio.
I must read this one. My mind is soaring at the thought of the delicious sex scenes that take place in the 2x2 sleeping compartment of that truck. NOTHING says "sexy" like love on 18 wheels.
Apparently, Satan is not only a lesbian, but he is a lesbian with an immaculately-groomed Van Dyck goatee. Satan must be on some hormones.
Speaking of hormones, check out Brunhilda beating the living shit out of that wimpy-ass straight dude. She should just abandon the pathetic whip, though, and pummel him with her Breasts of Terror.
And isn't that a young Bette Davis cowering submissively in the background? Oh Bette, we hardly knew ye!
Oh hell no! If I saw this group of lesbians walking down the street, I'd drop my man-purse and run screaming and flailing in the opposite direction. These are some scary, scary Sister Girls. Even the praying one looks like she could pull out a switchblade at any minute and cut a bitch.
The second Sister Girl from the bottom is the one who frightens me the most. With her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, not to mention a bunch of glittery stars falling all over the damn place, that chick wants all men DEAD. She wants testicle stew for breakfast, wang salad for lunch, and prostate pie for dinner. Ew. That even made me cringe. Prostate pie. Blech!
But I do give these ladies props for their flawless weaves.
Lesbian in the Foreground: "Michelle! Michelle, come back! Come back RIGHT NOW or my baby's mutant arm will crush you!"
Lesbian in the Background: "Screw you, Wendy! I can't stand any more stinky diapers, baby puke, or C-section scars! I'm going to live in the dumpster."
Lesbian in the Foreground: "But I love you, Michelle. We had such fun together: listening to Janis Ian, making our own granola, dressing the baby up like kd lang. Please don't go! If you leave me, I'll stab you with my ice-pick chin!"
Lesbian in the Background: "You don't scare me! I carry a tomahawk in these jeans!"
Lesbian in the Foreground: "Well at least give me my dogs back."
Lesbian in the Background: "Hell no! I'm going to live in the dumpsters, and I'll probably get tired of eating chicken bones and pizza crust every night."
Lesbian in the Foreground: "Nooooooooooooo!"
This is SO not funny. They've obviously stolen the likeness of my beloved Tori Amos for the cover of this book. Someone must pay.
And what the hell did they put on her feet? Are those shoes or some kind of lesbian torture device I know nothing about? No wonder she looks frozen to that spot, contorted in agony -- those shoes have completely eaten her knees!
Yes, someone must pay DEARLY.
Imagine. Helen Hunt a psychotic lesbian killer. Who woulda thought?
I love the dead chick, though. She makes this cover. I think they sketched her about thirty minutes AFTER rigor mortis set in. Poor thing. Oh well, at least Phyllis Diller can have her wig back.
And just look at that pitiful hetero chump relegated to black and white in the background. Sorry, Detective, I know you're mesmerized by Helen's elf shoes, but she is most certainly not interested in anything you've got to offer. Besides, she's already scanning the horizon for her next victim.
Wait a minute. I think she's spotted her target. Is that her "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" co-star Sarah Jessica Parker she's looking at? I think it is! Go for it, Helen! GO FOR IT!
To be honest, I don't have anything to say about this cover; I find it pretty blah. But I had to include it on this list because...well, check out the name of the author.
Yup, folks, it's THAT Lynne Cheney! The wife of Dick Cheney, that compassionate paragon of moral rectitude (har-har-har) known as our vice-president, once wrote a steamy lesbian romance!
Now I know that Dick is something like 400 years old and is more than likely damn-near blind. But if I were him, I'd be on the lookout. If he had any sense, he'd be checking her out every time she came home from "Bible study" for any signs of a pussy mustache.
What am I talking about? We all know he has no sense. So rock on, Lynne. Do what you gotta do, girl. But I fully expect to see you in the next gay pride parade with Dykes on Bikes.
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