As you can probably tell from our recent book focus, over the holidays we went through a number of novels. Connie Nelson’s sleazer Woman Aflame, published by Midwood in 1965, is so rare we can’t even find mention of it online. It’s basically the anatomy of an extramarital affair, as self-sufficient career woman Sally Springer starts bedding down behind her husband’s back with a stranger named Victor. Most of the story deals with him, so a rear cover blurb mentioning a “parade of virile strangers,” is a bit misleading, but about three quarters of the way through she indeed moves on to another man named Tim, then one named—improbably—King. But Victor is never out of her life because he had an ulterior motive all along: he’s a pornographer and has been non-consensually filming himself with Sally. She’s trapped, and blackmailed into continuing. Nelson writes all this with some depth and introspection, though not necessarily great skill. In the end Woman Aflame isn’t bad, but it isn’t recommendable either. Next.
