Stuart Cosling has already lived an unconventional life – his dalliance with a French widow, never formalised, has resulted in a son, Robbie, and a relationship so solid that he and Hélène have no need for a meaningless ritual. As the world recovers from both the Great War and the Depression, Stuart wants something more meaningful than fripperies and the idleness his wealth is able to afford him. Although his inheritance has been diminished, he still has enough money to buy a large plot of land in the undiscovered beauty of St. Tropez. Stuart dreams of creating a beautiful home for his family, surrounded by real people and real things – the land, vines, pigeons and the glorious sea. Being in St. Tropez fills the young man with a spirit and passion heretofore unfelt, and leads him into an affair with the enchanting Odette. To save her from the inevitable, he gives Odette little gifts, keeping her charms for himself.
When Stuart’s investment proves less viable than he at first envisioned – pigeons die, the vines wither, the shack leaks and the wind gales – he must turn to Odette for money. Though he asks her where she’ll be able to get it from, when she demurs he lets it go and gladly accepts the money. He also ends their affair. Odette attempts to blackmail him, but Stuart confesses all to Helene, and though their relationship is forever changed by his betrayal, she forgives him. Stuart, though resistant to the increasing commerciality of their once-isolated coastal town, sells of most of his large property and builds a magnificent home, with a smaller dwelling for the now teenage Robbie. The Coslings go on to become wealthy, fabulous icons in the growing vibrancy that St. Tropez becomes. But from the beginning the shadow of the Third Reich looms over the Coslings’ idyllic life.
You would think from this précis that Perfect Freedom is a somewhat typical, sweeping saga of life and love in times of turbulence. No. Perfect Freedom is a purported classic (published in 1982) of gay literature. Though the first half of the book centres on the unreservedly heterosexual Stuart, threaded throughout are seeds of Robbie – his artistic nature, his imposition on the love that Helene and Stuart feels for one another, his brush with death and resulting maternal devotion, his near-Raphelite beauty, his mother’s distaste for the corporeal, his distress at his father’s rampant nakedness on the beach, his first fumbling sex play with a neighbourhood boy and girl, his outrage at witnessing his parents coupling.The rest of the book focuses on Robbie’s sexual awakening and maturity. Though attracted to men, he has a horror of homosexuality, without really knowing what it means. On a month-long sailing trip he is initiated into the act of physical love with ship’s boy Rico. But wait – the blurb can summarise this so much better than I. They are:
"Rico – the Italian deckhand who took Robbie’s innocence for his own macho gratification
"Theo – the Greek Adonis who gave himself wholly to Robbie and shared him with his [twin] brothers
"Yanni – the lean, darkly brooding biker, who never did it with men, until he met Robbie
"Carl – the golden German playboy who couldn’t resist Robbie’s desires – or Robbie’s mother
"Jeff – the suave American tourist who befriended Robbie’s parents in order to have their son
"Toni – the French actor who adored women as much as they adored him but who found a special love with Robbie"
For some reason the blurb leaves out Edward, the son of a multiply married Admiral, and Maurice, Robbie’s teacher and long-time companion (and also the only man Robbie actively seduces).
All in all a veritable League of Nations of amorous men, all of who had huge, throbbing erections and with whom Robbie had instantaneous and/or simultaneous orgasms (eg "The pressure of their erections against each other gave Robbie an immediate orgasm. He snatched for the towel to contain the ejaculation and lay gasping in Carl’s arms").
This book doesn’t work as a saga – the switch in focus from the central relationship (which one would think was Stuart and his ego, but should be Stuart and his wife) to Robbie’s emerging sexuality is too abrupt; the ending is inconclusive, unsatisfactory, and doesn’t tie in with the prologue; and the sex scenes are too frequent, without advancing the plot or developing the characters.
I enjoy gay sex scenes. As a woman, my taste is directed more to those with plot, substance, character growth, background and seduction; I appreciate that a gay male author, writing for a gay male audience, won’t prioritise those elements like a female writer would. But Merrick is billed as a writer of gay romance novels, not erotica; though Perfect Freedom doesn’t work as erotica in any case. The sex scenes are cursory, unrealistic (even given Robbie’s youthful appetite), mechanically described and pretty devoid of eroticism. The pattern is as follows: Robbie is attracted to a boy/man. He begins to become erect, but doesn’t make the first move because of his terror of being labelled homosexual. The boy/man approaches Robbie, fairly directly in the first episodes, more circumspectly later. Their mutual interest becomes known, and Robbie either has a spontaneous orgasm or climaxes simultaneously with his partner: "Their mouths broke apart with simultaneous cries, and they shouted together while their bodies leaped and thrashed about with their orgasms."
The constant battle Robbie has with identifying himself as aberrant pédé, and the universal condemnation of homosexuality, was annoying. Most of Robbie’s companions identify themselves as being primarily straight but dally with men on the side. They shy away from Robbie’s singular attraction to men, telling him that this will change, that it is because of his initial experiences, that it is an immaturity he will grow out of. The only person who really accepts his orientation is Helene, and that’s because she doesn’t like the idea of him with another woman.
Helene's attraction to her son is a significant, disturbing and unnecessary plot element that is typical of the book as a whole, and the sex scene where she, Robbie and Carl are together was symbolic of the sex scenes altogether – it wasn’t referred to again, it didn’t advance the plot, and it didn’t make a significant impact on the characters which, given the enormity of a ménage a trois between a bisexual man and his mother/son lovers, is noteworthy.
I’m glad I read Perfect Freedom, if only because it was written by one of the leading lights of gay fiction. Perhaps, in the heady days when it was published – pre-HIV/AIDS and in the full flight of gay liberation – Perfect Freedom was an exemplar of the life young gay men could dream of. But it’s not erotica, it’s not a romance, and it’s not a sweeping saga. – Alex
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