_^{| | |}__earth ^{T O__M A R S__A N D__V E N U S}

BY MARY ELIZABETH WILLIAMS

A mainstream magazine is a pretty forgettable piece of work. You peruse the latest celebrity interview, read up on a new diet fad, then you get off the train and throw the thing away. But once in a while you discover something that distinguishes itself from the pack with its brilliant writing, stunning design or bold editorial vision. Mars and Venus is not such a magazine. But it is one of the most audaciously entertaining things to come along in years.

It takes a special je ne sais quoi to take a subject that has been endlessly contemplated and written about and show what beating it into the ground really looks like. If anyone is up for the job, it is John Gray. Gray -- the relationship guru who has created a jaw-droppingly successful industry of books, seminars, videos, workshops and counseling centers based on the radical premise that men and women inhabit different spheres of the galaxy -- seems poised to conquer the periodicals realm now, too. And if the red and white layout on the cover isn't enough of a clue as to why M&V is being released in February, the sample issue brims with reminders. "Editorial advisor" Gray and company arrived to save our love lives for Valentine's Day -- aka "the Venusian national holiday."

Aimed at the sort-of-happily-coupled yet also-sort-of-dissatisfied citizens of the cosmos who thrive on paperback therapy, the magazine offers a series of revolutionary insights into the nature of men and women -- who have been rechristened "Martians" and "Venusians." Starting from the very first page, his little puppet face forming a barely humanoid grin, Gray immediately gets to work unlocking the great mysteries of love -- "candlelight and roses, and lots of loving attention." Now why didn't anybody think of this before?

Mars and Venus is a nifty piece of marketing strategy, a guide for that segment of the pop psychology crowd that gets worn out reading big, pictureless books. It's as light and bright as an FTD Pick Me Up bouquet, with smiling white people nuzzling each other on nearly every page -- the kind of thing that could sit comfortably on the magazine rack right next to Non-Threatening Heterosexual Caucasians Monthly. Overflowing with suggestions for indoor picnics and reviews of movies like "The Bridges of Madison County," Mars and Venus knows that underneath our hard-candy-coated exteriors, we all have the same soft, squishy Russell Stover strawberry cream centers.

It is that brazen know-it-allness, combined with a flagrantly paperback romance worldview, that makes Mars and Venus such a howl. It's a glossy "Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned In Junior High," full of lovesaver tips like "two in the tub can make quite a splash" and "wow her with candles by the bed." Not even Cosmopolitan would have the chutzpah to include a "Love Styles of the Rich and Famous" roundup with romantic advice from the likes of John Tesh, Brooke Shields and Larry King (who says of his umpteenth marriage, "I do silly things, and she doesn't make fun"). It's like a makeup tips column by Michael Jackson -- appalling, perhaps, but eminently readable.

Unlike a Vanity Fair or a Harper's, oozing cool sophistication and professional journalism, every page of Mars and Venus seems calculated to provoke a reaction -- whether it be "Did I read that right?" or "Whoa, that took guts." Only a publisher unencumbered with Condé Nast-style pride would be cheeky enough to keep repeating the same things over and over and over again with the relentlessness of a Hanson single. There are, of course, the recurring references to the sexes as space creatures. Layered on top are even more metaphors -- frequently of an automotive nature. In "The Art of the Quickie," we see a Martian compared to a car that "needs to run occasionally at high speeds on the highway to clean out the carburetor." "Scoring Points" chastises Martians to "drive slowly and safely on long trips, respecting that she is sitting powerless in the front seat" (the possibility of a Venusian driving the spaceship apparently never occurred to anybody). In "Some Enchanted Evenings," Venusians are told to rent a "sleek Ferrari or zippy Porsche" for their beau because "romantic sights like a sunset seem just that much more glorious when viewed from the interior of a $100,000 automobile." "Scenes From Four Marriages" has a Venusian comparing her relationship to a vehicle that needs "either major repairs or a total overhaul," while "His Favorite Things" is a hobby-oriented feature about cars. And, I swear to God, there are even more. The first time I looked at the magazine, I had to keep flipping back to the cover to reassure myself I hadn't confused Mars and Venus with Road and Track.

Unlike Road and Track, however, Mars and Venus bravely dispenses such pearls as "Enjoy having sex with him" and "Bring her flowers," proffering fortune-cookie wisdom like "You can't cross the river in two boats," "When the bedroom light stops working, we don't throw out the lamp" and "Love grows on fertile soil, not dry ground." With each successive page, the magazine manages to top itself in unbridled, unapologetic silliness. To implore Martians once to take out the trash is almost sweet in its obviousness; to offer the same command in five different places is practically a dare to the reader, a "Where's Waldo" with garbage. The dozens upon dozens of references to candles, massages and oil, the invocations to "scatter a trail of rose petals from the front door to the bedroom," are at first just familiar ploys, then absurd imperatives. Even the commonplace word "fabulous" -- as in "fabulously romantic dinner," "fabulous massage oil" or even "fabulously skimpy silk bikini panties" begins to seem downright bizarre through sheer force of repetition.

Perhaps the crowning glory of Mars and Venus is its "Romance Planner" for February. A neat little homage to the Martha Stewart Living calendar, it instructs Venusians to "get a pair of tickets to a sporting event for him and his best buddy," Martians to "tell her to go shopping while you watch the kids," and features lots more tips involving foot massages and "erotic" notes in the sock drawer.

By the time Mars and Venus declares that "all" Venusians expect "love and kisses wrapped in hearts and flowers on Valentine's Day" and that a Martian will believe that a chair is "a place to toss his clothes without having her accuse him of dropping them on the floor," I myself am on the floor, hooting in appreciation. Perhaps we live in a vast, godless universe in which men and women are separated by thousands of cold, black miles. I just never thought reading about it could be so enjoyable. The New Yorkers may keep piling up in the recycling bin, but when I'm sitting in my candlelit, rose-scented bubble baths drinking champagne, I'll be savoring Mars and Venus again and again, giggling my extraterrestrial ass off.
SALON | Feb. 20, 1998 

Mary Elizabeth Williams hosts Salon's Table Talk discussion area.