In Elis: Irish Call Girl, Czech author and illustrator Anna Rajmon tells her story of working in the Irish sex trade. Her purpose in doing so is to warn any young women thinking of entering this trade of its dangers, stating that sex work is not a viable solution to their problems, and that other paths to success – though more difficult – are more worthwhile long-term.
Since March 2017, the sex trade in Ireland has been regulated under the Criminal Law (Sexual Offences) Act, a policy inspired by the so-called Nordic Model – which operates on the contradictory principle that selling sex should be legal, but buying sex illegal. Far from “ending demand,” this policy stigmatises sex workers and exposes them to greater violence, as their ‘clients’ have to be protected from the law if the sex workers hope to make money – even if they themselves suffer as a result.
This law has seen violence against sex workers in Ireland double since its implementation, and it badly failed a young Romanian woman called Geila Ibram, who was murdered in Limerick by a client in April 2023 (an incident retold in the book).
This was the environment in which Rajmon operated for nearly three and a half years – and while she survived, it’s clear from her account that she was failed badly by this policy too, and many others continue to be failed by it up to the present day.
The opening chapters of Rajmon’s memoir explain how her personal situation developed – she was a single mother with a daughter to support who, through bad luck, ended up in dire financial straits. This situation led her to enter the sex trade as, despite being an educated woman with professional experience, she had no other viable options available to her at that time.
So, she contacted a sleazy agency based in her home country, which employs sex workers who ‘tour’ Ireland.
Although Rajmon acknowledges that, out of necessity, she chose to enter the trade, the way this agency works sounds frighteningly akin to a trafficking operation – sending young women to various hotel and apartments in towns and cities across Ireland; and heartlessly lining up a conveyor belt of clients on a daily basis with next to no room for refusal, even on days when assault occurred – which happened with distressing frequency.
One sad detail that Rajmon relays is that she would have to routinely pretend to her soulless, greedy pimps that a client had paid to stay an extra half-hour – the money came from her own pocket, just so she could have some respite between clients.
And many – though not all – of the clients themselves that Rajmon describes here are among the vilest specimens to ever infest the Earth.
The violent and degrading treatment which she endured is hard to read about, and that it drove her at times to breaking point tells of the physical and psychological cruelty she suffered.
Rajmon states that love for her family is what kept her going, and one can only wonder about other women in this trade who have no such reason to endure similarly inhumane conditions.
Indeed, the remarkably frank detail in which Rajmon describes the incidents and ordeals that she was subjected to, supplemented with reference to records which she kept (of texts, hotel bookings, and other documentation), will leave you aghast at just how horrifying the situation is for sex workers in Ireland. One of many quotes that can be taken from the book highlights that situation starkly:
“When you feel the need, for whatever reason, to pay for the company of others, please treat them with respect.”
That such a simple request for basic decency even needs to be made speaks volumes as to how bad things were – and are – for those working in Ireland’s sex industry. Covid impacted Rajmon’s plans, leaving her stranded in Ireland longer than she planned, and further setbacks would prolong her stint – and her suffering.
As grim and terrifying as her tale is, however, there is a lot to like about Elis as a book. For a woman who spoke little English when she arrived in Ireland in early 2020, what is striking in reading Rajmon is her sophisticated grasp of the language. She outlines her experiences and assessments in sharp detail and with unnerving honesty. There is a raw emotion to her elegant prose, which grips you from start to finish.
Furthermore, Rajmon manages to somewhat blunt the severity of what she says with a sly sarcasm that can provoke unexpected laughs – even when some of the most chilling stories are being told. The canny way she deals with an aggressive Romanian client will cause you to grin, as will her anecdotes involving fellow escort Victoria. And her quotable one-liners betray a dark, witty sense of humour, e.g. “The more men I met, the more I understood serial killers.”
The book also benefits from the illustrations that Rajmon has drawn as visual aids to her narrative. Some of these pictures are hilarious, others are poignant – all are very well done and serve to reinforce the points she makes. Her points – in prose and in pictures – are all made with a reflective and serious thoughtfulness that is at odds with the cold, insincere, and shallow industry she found herself in, and within which she was never comfortable.
Rajmon eventually managed to get out of the sex trade – having endured all that she had, and not only surviving it but being brave enough to commit her experiences to print, testifies to her fundamental resilience and courage. She admits that her experiences came at a personal cost, and that is partly why she was compelled to write this unique memoir – which should be compulsory reading.
If advocates and legislators are serious about stopping the cycle of violence that sex workers suffer, then accounts such as Elis require their attention. However, it should be emphasised that Rajmon herself is no advocate of sex work – she entered the trade out of necessity, not out of free choice, and her informed contempt for that trade is made plain throughout her narrative.
When reading the book, the reasons for that contempt become crystal-clear; she not only paints a damning picture of the brutal Irish sex industry – she acutely outlines the psychological impact it has on those within it. One harrowing yet inspiring line is particularly telling:
“I’ll probably never come to terms with the pain I carry within me, but not succumbing to it and focusing on the positive things life offers every day; I consider at least limited success.”
Only a brave woman could write these words – openly admitting her struggles with trauma, yet refusing to let it define her, let alone defeat her.
Legislation around the sex trade – in Ireland and elsewhere – must not only take account of the legal side, but the human side as well. This lucid, eye-opening book is an essential starting point to understanding how the sex trade impacts the human psyche.
Elis is a raw, honest, and surprisingly often humorous look at a shady world that is not well understood – and it has lessons to teach that need to be heeded.
Read an interview with the author of Elis.