We initially picked up this graphic memoir by a French art critic because of the media ruckus it caused when it was first published in 2001. 

Why all the controversy? Because here is a woman, a feminist and self-described libertine, who shoves into the reader's face 30 years of promiscuous sex including orgies, gang bangs and empty one-night stands. The book is not erotica per se, but it is certainly titillating. It's not sexy in any traditional sense; instead of candles and caressing, you get just coitus — in saunas and cemeteries with endless lines of faceless penetrators, described matter-of-factly, detachedly, the way Henry Miller or Charles Bukowski would. Despite its absence of seductive settings, it's the kind of book you devour in a few nights, because you just need to know what happens next — which act of depravity is to follow.