I'm from a southern belle culture—Richmond, Virginia in the 1950's and 60's. Back then, with few career options for women, we had to seduce for our supper. My mother, a fabled mancharmer, tried to teach me the ropes: how to hula, dress to the nines, and sow heartbreak. But my father, an artist and New Yorker, had other ideas. He exhorted me to be independent, for god's sake, and find a vocation. A good daddy's girl, I went to graduate school and became a firebrand feminist. But I couldn't get seductresses out of my system—those glamorous Richmond women with so much unofficial power. Then later, with a husband and young daughter, I wound up teaching a course at Manhattan College, "The Seductress in Literature." There, to my surprise, I found the opposite problem from the sixties' in the south. My students were in the fast lane in their careers, but they were stalled out romantically. I began to worry about my daughter. I wanted her—and my students-to have it all. So I set to work and read everything I could get my hands on about real seductresses and their strategies. What I discovered came as a huge shock. These were the most desired women in history and they not only combined career and amorous success; they practiced a love art that went way beyond my mother's lessons. Their top aphrodisiac, it turned out, was personal excellence. All of this happened in the nick of time, just before my daughter went off to college. She read Seductress and ran with it, racking up boyfriends and achievements with equal relish. And her biggest fan? Her grandmother who still radiates ooh-la-la at 93, hulas, dresses to the nines, and sows heartbreak wherever she goes, even without my book.