We all know about Aladdin, Sinbad, Ali Baba, the rook's egg, the thieves' cave. There's a rule which requires us to begin our lives as children. We will have seen or heard and thereby passed a Night or two, in some pop or papped-up version, even if we have never leafed the picture book or read Burton's luxuriant prose. Splendid stories eminently suitable for children - that's the line. Yet these tales were originally told, not by a campfire, in some mom's soothing voice, or listened to in the lap of dearest daddy, but - instead of the once customary cigarette - enjoyed during the calm following copulation, after lengthy and enervating love-making: the man a murderer of his mistresses, the woman a willing but ofttupped victim, while a third, the belaboured lady's sister, naps beneath the bouncing bed where she's been staying out of love's way until tale-time comes and she can clear her throat to request a bit of post-coital edification and escape.

LRB 10 November 1994 | PDF Download