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Books > Literature & Fiction > Erotica > Thrillers > 1534920714
  1. 69 Barrow Street (Collection of Classic Erotica) (Volume 18)
    69 Barrow Street (Collection of Classic Erotica) (Volume 18)
    69 Barrow Street (Collection of Classic Erotica) (Volume 18)
    Image(s) provided for illustrative purposes and may differ from the actual product
  2. 69 Barrow Street (Collection of Classic Erotica) (Volume 18)

    Delivery: 10-20 Working Days
    Customer Ratings (11 reviews)
    Price R356.00

Additional Information

While my first visit to New York was with my father in 1948, it wasn’t until the summer of 1956 that I actually lived in the city. I’d completed my first year at Antioch College and was to spend August through October in the mailroom at Pines Publications on East 40th Street. (They had a paperback line—Popular Library—and a string of magazines, ranging from surviving pulps like Ranch Romances to movie magazines and a Readers Digest imitation.) I’d arranged to room with two other Antiochians, Paul Grillo and Fred Anliot, and we spent the first week on the top floor at 147 W 14th, the second on the ground floor at 108 W 12th (that building’s gone now), and then found a first-floor one-bedroom apartment at 54 Barrow Street, where we stayed through October before passing the place on to another Antioch contingent. It was a wonderful apartment in a perfect location, and for a while it was where the folksinger crowd assembled on Sunday evenings after the singing in Washington Square shut down for the night. (Then the crowd outgrew the space, and moved to somebody’s loft on Spring Street.) It was in the kitchen at 54 Barrow Street that I wrote the first story I ever sold, published in Manhunt as You Can’t Lose. A year later I was back in New York; I’d found an editorial job at a literary agency and liked it it enough to drop out of school to keep it. I shared an apartment at the Hotel Alexandria on West 103rd Street with Bob Aronson until the Army took him, at which time the hotel let me move to a single room a few floors below. While I lived on 103rd, I spent most of my time in the Village. By the fall of 1958 I was back at Antioch, more focused on writing than classwork. I’d begun selling magazine stories whileI was at the literary agency, and began writing novels once I’d left, and Harry Shorten was eager to publish them at his new venture, Midwood Tower Books. My third book for Harry, following CARLA and A STRANGE KIND OF LIVE, was 69 BARROW STREET. I’d had the idea of a novel set at a multiple dwelling—in this case, a Village brownstone—with the characters interacting and living their lives. One model for it would have been 79 PARK AVENUE, an early work of Harold Robbins, when A STONE FOR DANNY FISHER let the world take him seriously as a writer of American realistic fiction. (Then he wrote THE CARPETBAGGERS, and that was the end of that.) I decided—nudge nudge, wink wink—that 69 BARROW STREET would be an appropriately suggestive title. Jesus, 54 Barrow Street. Fred Alliot and Bob Aronson, both of whom I’d run into now and then over the years, are gone now. Paul Grillo and I lost touch with each other fifty-plus years ago… Years and years later, I found out that 69 PARK AVENUE had been Harold Robbins’ original title. His publishers made him change it. My publishers had no such compunctions, and 69 BARROW STREET it was and shall remain. And now it’s back in print, and graced once again by Paul Rader’s magnificent cover art.


Lawrence Block
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Most Helpful Customer Reviews

A 1962 Midwood paperback by Block's early pen name Sheldon Lord is guaranteed to be pulpy, sexy, possibly raunchy. This book is about Greenwich Village in the early sixties, described as being the former location of many artists and writers, but now filled with junkies, queers, perverts, and the dregs of society.

And, it was where Ralph Lambert and Stella James lived. Stella was tall beautiful blonde and a tigress. Ralph was a failed artist who hadn't painted a thing in months and lived off Stella's inheritance. Ralph was bitterly unhappy with the arrangements and considered Stella a first class bitch on wheels. There was no monogamy in this arrangement either as far as Stella was concerned. She enjoyed both men and women and Ralph put up with it.

Susan often organized parties in the apartment which were often little more than marijuana fueled sex orgies. Many of the couples had no jobs and lived in the Village.

Susan Rivers, who was a lesbian,... Read more
Like a lot of major writers of his generation, including figures like Evan Hunter, Lawrence Block got his start as a writer cranking out short original paperback novels that were full of sex and often short on plot. This is one of Block's first ventures into the genre. It's about a group of people living in the same apartment building in Greenwich Village in the late 1950s. As their lives become entangled, Block paints a portrait of the Village during the era, including orgies, dope smoking and free wheeling sex.

The characters are actually pretty interesting, especially a frustrated artist and his undying love for an avowed lesbian. Also, as he would do later, Block writes especially well about the drinking life in New York. The book includes a short autobiographical sketch by the author that puts the book in the overall context of his long and distinguished writing career. The novel is not high literature but rather serves as an interesting document of American literary... Read more
Ralph's beautiful, blonde girlfriend is a bisexual, anything-goes libertine who thrives on S&M, pot-fueled orgies, and--most of all--sexually tormenting and humiliating Ralph. Once a promising artist, he has become little more than his lover's kept plaything. And, then, to his surprise, he becomes friends with a demure little lesbian who has moved into the same Greenwich Village apartment building. His sex-obsessed girlfriend, however, has her own plans for the pretty, petite brunette.
Though tame in comparison to graphic modern descriptions of sex and sexual violence, the book's depictions must have been shockingly explicit in 1961. The volume is more than mere erotica, though. It is well written, with a good plot, sufficiently fleshed-out characters, and interesting descriptions of the bohemian New York setting.
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