Paperback 1134: Call Boy / Tony Calvin (Ember Books EB 907)

Paperback 1134: Ember Books EB 907 (PBO, 1963)

Title: Call Boy

Author: Tony Calvin (pseud. of Thomas P. Ramirez)

Cover artist: Uncredited

Condition: 9.5/10

Value: $40

[Newest addition to the Doug Peterson Collection]

Best things about this cover: 

• "Hi, I know you only called for a single boy, but I brought back-up, just in case. We don't have nipples, I hope that's OK. What we lack in nipples, we make up for in sheer Wonder-Twin enthusiasm, I promise!"
• The cover copy wants me to think this is all very tawdry, but look at how happy they look. It almost seems wholesome, honestly.
• I wish I could properly explain how immaculate this book is. Obviously unread, bright as the sun, with only some superficial edgewear between it and a perfect 10 condition rating.
• Love her modesty hair, and modesty cash, but I wouldn't look too hard at the cash if I were you. It's like some early version of A.I. made it. Wonky and wrong in every way. Looks like it was issued by the country of "Reptilia"

Best things about this back cover: 

• Ember Books ... is yet another imprint in what is clearly a sleaze empire of the '60s. Nightstand Books, Ember Library, Companion Books, Sundown Reader, and on and on, there's a uniformity to the size and color scheme and artwork and ludicrousness, but it's this back cover copy that really feels the same across imprints—again, it's as if some early version of A.I. was asked to write cover copy for a '60s sleaze paperback and it just churned out a bunch of words that individually feel right ("strange," "twisted," "secret," "stud-mistress," "lust," "flesh," "bondage," "shame," "sin," etc.), but together add up to empty (and particularly unsexy) nonsense.
• I don't see anything like "shame" or "degradation" on the front cover. What I see is a mostly naked sleepover party. With Monopoly money.
• The wages of sin!? The wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23). Whereas the Wages of Fear is a classic 1953 thriller by the great French director Henri-Georges Clouzot, which was the basis for William Friedkin's fantastic Sorcerer (1977).

Page 123~

His surprise, as he opened the door to find the portly, medium-tall man standing there, left him totally speechless for at least thirty seconds. The doorknob seemingly froze in his fingers. This must be some kind of a joke. A man? Certainly Odile doesn't expect me to ... There's a damn limit, after all.

First: is there a limit, Stark Campion? Is there? I guess we'll see. 

Second: This paragraph works a lot better if you think of "the doorknob" as, well, a metaphor

~RP

P.S. I had to turn comments moderation on because of creeps. Please feel free to comment (I love hearing from people who love these books the way I do), but just know that publication of your comment will be delayed for a bit. And if your comments are Trumpist or homophobic or in any way hateful, they're never getting through. Please find another blog to pollute. Thank you!

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