Nicholson Baker is a dirty, dirty old man. If 1992's Vox and 1994's The Fermata didn't prove Baker's erotic chops, then his newest novel, House of Holes, slams it home with juicy relish. It's pornographic. It's funny. It's even hot. And it's kinda like a puerile peek at a middle-aged heterosexual dude's wank bank.

While Baker's last book, The Anthologist, was a melancholy-tinged book about poetry, House of Holes concerns the hilarious wordplay of money shots. It's full of lewd terms that read like Willy Wonka candies: purple cometwat, wonderloaves, pornstarch, musclecakes, cockbrisket... the list is as long as a baby's arm. The book's vignettes are simple: Characters are sucked into an alternate world via hole portals, like through a hole on a putting green or down a drinking straw, to arrive at the debaucherous porn amusement park the House of Holes. It's a place where one can go hurtling down a zip-line to "pussy surf" on a milky white lake, peruse the 12 channels at the Porndecahedron, or participate in the Massive Comeshot Contest. Or just make friends with the phallic lake monster. It's your vacation.

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