by JULIET WATERS

If nothing else, the North American release of 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed is great revenge on the born-again Bush administration. In Europe, reactions to this true-life diary of an Italian teenage sex addict were as diverse as the kind of sex Melissa P had between the ages of 14 and 17. Some praised it as a "staggeringly assured debut," others dismissed it, and there was understandable concern as the book began to outsell Harry Potter in France. Released here in October, 100 Strokes has sparked relatively little ink. One wonders what the Christian right was up to while the book slowly crept up Amazon's sales rankings, #134 last week. Oh yeah, the election.

Left to its own devices, this book might actually stop short of the bestseller list. Teens more used to the wit-drenched exploits on The O.C. might decide that Melissa P takes herself a little too seriously. As the book opens in July 2000, we find her staring into a mirror, "filled with a feeling of love and admiration for myself. The pleasure of observing me is so intense and powerful that it immediately turns physical, starting with a twitch and ending with an unusual warmth and a shudder which lasts a few moments."

Teenage boys, however, aren't known for the same kind of single-minded admiration. Her first lover, Daniele, is a derisive 18-year-old unwilling to give her anything but sex. So begins the journey of an über-slut/princess in search of a man who will recognize her "passion" for what she sees it as, a declaration of independence, instead of what most people might see it as, a desperation for attention. She turns 16 blindfolded, stoned, having sex with five guys who at least "don't appear ugly." When she returns home, she no longer sees "the image of that girl who took such delight in examining herself a few years ago. I saw sad eyes."

This moment of vulnerability, however, less than a third of the way through the book, is short-lived. An extended ritual of hair brushing is enough to return her to her usual state of heavily intellectualized bravado, primed for her transition to latex-clothed teen dominatrix demanding man-on-man sex and looking like she might be good for a starter job at Abu Ghraib.

If one sensed in Melissa P some authentic maturity, she might pull off this attempt to convince us that she's an erotic prodigy. But there are too many distracting problems, on top of some disturbing encounters. She has a good vocabulary for philosophy, but a ridiculous one for sex. Bad translation might have something to do with why this book often reads like it was written by a medieval pornographer who actually uses the term "lance." There's just something a little off about a girl who gives unlimited head but can't say cock.

The worst problem, however, is that every once in a while there's a crack in her latex armour, and the self-pity and shame leak out. "Why has the world shown me nothing but wickedness, filth, and brutality till now?" she laments in the last pages. A good clue appears less than 20 pages back in this chat with her math tutor. "‘Rape me,' I repeated at once bossy and wicked."

Fortunately, if not credibly, Melissa finds true love in the last 10 pages, a love that seems to return her to her lovely princess self. But not before she takes a moment to lament that "nobody, but nobody, blocked my path saying, ‘No, little one, you can't enter here.'" My guess is she may soon find some people willing to at least block her path as a teen S/M author. But first they may want some time to read it.

100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed by Melissa P. Grove Press, pb, 167pp, $17.99