The more I find out about the cover art of lesbian pulp fiction, the more I develop a trashy taste for it. The same reason I’m an unashamed fan of country music, puns and Sparletta. They’re almost like those ironic black & white greeting cards where a frumpy uptight woman smiles at the camera, and underneath is the caption: “Jane couldn’t do without a steaming cup of coffee and a hot (insert rude genital reference here)”. Except better. Because they were the real thing. The cover art is iconic on its own, but as a word lover, I like the titles and sub-captions best.
Like this one. “Private Party: No one at school realised they were more than just roommates…No one suspected what took place once their door was locked.”
And there was more behind the choice in titles. Lesbian pulp novels were marketed to men. They were erotic, scandalous novels filled with all sorts of tales of sexual fantasy. So besides having suggestive cover art, the publishers used words like “twilight”, “odd”, “strange”, “shadows” and “queer” to let you know just what kind of novel you were in for.
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