Post by BlueDragon on Aug 25, 2006 10:59:16 GMT 7
Read this Book Review from Bangkokpost.
Hits the nail on the head
Confessions of a Bangkok, Private Eye, by Warren Olson and ghostwritten by Stephen Leather, 272 pp, 2006 Monsoon, paperback, Available at Asia Books and leading book stores, 350 baht
BERNARD TRINK
No sooner did I become the Bangkok World's Nite Owl four decades ago than I found myself between a rock and a hard place. On one side were the righteous, who demanded that I do my duty to stop white slavery in the Land of Smiles. ("Our hearts bleed for the poor women forced into prostitution.") A tall order, but going into battle against Evil would give me the strength of ten.
On the other side were the men I met and who wrote to me, who insisted that I regard them as victims and prostitutes as predators. ("We felt sorry for them, gave them money to give up the profession but they showed their appreciation by robbing us blind.") To be sure the former take the moral high ground, yet from considerable personal observation the latter come much closer to the truth.
Noting in my columns that prostitutes opted to choose the career because it seemed like an easy way to earn a good deal of money, without taking into account the wear and tear on the body, led to my being called a pimp, a dirty man (I wasn't always old), a misogynist, etc. None accurate, but what insults are?
What got to me early on was that when granted their fondest wish of marrying a wealthy farang and moving to his homeland, when returning here on a visit, they reverted to pay-for-play until they rejoined their husband. Why? They had all the money they wanted and needed! Did they crave to be desired again? Is prostitution in their blood? A fitting topic for a Ph.D. dissertation.
Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye by Warren Olson and ghostwritten by Stephen Leather recounts 20 of Olson's cases, during the decade the Kiwi was a shamus in the City of Angels. Averaging 10 pages, they are similar with slight variations. Farangs abroad hire him to check on their Thai girlfriend to determine whether they quit the bars and are living virtuously on the monthly allowance sent them.
Speaking Thai and its dialects fluently, Olson is a one man agency. Never far from a bottle of Jack Daniel's, a digital camera at the ready, paying bribes to get information, impersonating cops and lawyers, embassy officials and relatives, bedding hookers, he invariably finds that the girlfriends are dishonest. All are still on the game, with husbands pretending to be brothers and children upcountry.
Olson arrived at my conclusions independently, primarily that bargirls are consummate liars. They are cunning and untrustworthy. What they aren't are victims and they don't want to be rescued. Money is the name of the game. Tourists believing their "I love you too much!" declarations are delusional. Respectable women are altogether different, but the reader isn't told how to meet them.
Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye should be read by males considering visiting these shores. It would save them a lot of grief. This book hits the nail on the head.
Hits the nail on the head
Confessions of a Bangkok, Private Eye, by Warren Olson and ghostwritten by Stephen Leather, 272 pp, 2006 Monsoon, paperback, Available at Asia Books and leading book stores, 350 baht
BERNARD TRINK
No sooner did I become the Bangkok World's Nite Owl four decades ago than I found myself between a rock and a hard place. On one side were the righteous, who demanded that I do my duty to stop white slavery in the Land of Smiles. ("Our hearts bleed for the poor women forced into prostitution.") A tall order, but going into battle against Evil would give me the strength of ten.
On the other side were the men I met and who wrote to me, who insisted that I regard them as victims and prostitutes as predators. ("We felt sorry for them, gave them money to give up the profession but they showed their appreciation by robbing us blind.") To be sure the former take the moral high ground, yet from considerable personal observation the latter come much closer to the truth.
Noting in my columns that prostitutes opted to choose the career because it seemed like an easy way to earn a good deal of money, without taking into account the wear and tear on the body, led to my being called a pimp, a dirty man (I wasn't always old), a misogynist, etc. None accurate, but what insults are?
What got to me early on was that when granted their fondest wish of marrying a wealthy farang and moving to his homeland, when returning here on a visit, they reverted to pay-for-play until they rejoined their husband. Why? They had all the money they wanted and needed! Did they crave to be desired again? Is prostitution in their blood? A fitting topic for a Ph.D. dissertation.
Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye by Warren Olson and ghostwritten by Stephen Leather recounts 20 of Olson's cases, during the decade the Kiwi was a shamus in the City of Angels. Averaging 10 pages, they are similar with slight variations. Farangs abroad hire him to check on their Thai girlfriend to determine whether they quit the bars and are living virtuously on the monthly allowance sent them.
Speaking Thai and its dialects fluently, Olson is a one man agency. Never far from a bottle of Jack Daniel's, a digital camera at the ready, paying bribes to get information, impersonating cops and lawyers, embassy officials and relatives, bedding hookers, he invariably finds that the girlfriends are dishonest. All are still on the game, with husbands pretending to be brothers and children upcountry.
Olson arrived at my conclusions independently, primarily that bargirls are consummate liars. They are cunning and untrustworthy. What they aren't are victims and they don't want to be rescued. Money is the name of the game. Tourists believing their "I love you too much!" declarations are delusional. Respectable women are altogether different, but the reader isn't told how to meet them.
Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye should be read by males considering visiting these shores. It would save them a lot of grief. This book hits the nail on the head.