50 SHADES OF HYPNOSIS
Sex and Hypnosis – L T Woodward, MD
American vintage hypno-porn is fast becoming my favourite genre of mad hypno-psychotherapising.
As with our adventures with Dr Walton P Clayton, Sex and Hypnosis is short, cheap, pulpy (supposed) titillation dressed up as medical wisdom and ‘self-help’.
Kev snapped up this 1961-published find during an eBay browse. Obviously, the cover is right up our street. But, having discovered Dr Clayton was, in fact, a pseudonym of prolific writer Don Pendleton, we wanted to delve into ‘medical doctor’ L T Woodward’s hypno-sexpert book with eyes wide open.
And lo! Woodward is not the former-US-Army-Medical-Corps-doctor-turned-NYC-nursing-home-chain-owner he purports to be. Nope, he is Robert Silverberg, another prolific writer who turned to churning out everything from historical non-fiction to softcore pornography when his sci-fi writing would no longer pay the bills.
Knowing Silverberg considered this kind of writing a ‘hack job’ makes Sex and Hypnosis all the more peculiar a read…
The introduction serves to inform the reader about hypnosis and establish ‘Woodward’s’ medical ‘expertise’. But it’s patchy and boring; the reader seeking titillation must have been confused why they must first learn about Mesmer, Puységur, Braid, and Liébeault.
There’s also a weirdly sinister undertone to this preamble. We’re treated to darkly detailed musings that I’m endlessly perplexed men felt so cavalier in committing to print, such as how to persuade a young woman to strip naked in the belief she is home alone. And while discouraging amateur hypnosis, ‘Woodward’ describes how a husband attempted to cure his wife’s fear of swimming only for her false confidence to result in drowning – all too frequent an occurrence of amateur-hypno-meddling, apparently.
The meat of the book is a series of case histories, all of which are far too detailed and fantastical to be the composites ‘Woodward’ claims they are. It’s the usual mix: a ‘frigid’ wife; a man with erectile disfunction; a nymphomaniac; homosexual and lesbian conversions; and the obligatory ‘peeping tom’.
The sinister undertone continues as ‘Woodward’ furnishes his fictional patients with disturbing hypnotically excavated reasons for their presenting problems, from an Oedipal complex to a repressed teenaged date rape. I generally feel kind of grubby reading this book… and – guess what? – not in the least bit titillated.
An interlude on hypnosis for relaxation and pain control during childbirth in the middle of a soft-porn book will do that, I guess?!
