Let’s talk about sex–in fiction

First, Carmen Reid writes in Scotland on Sunday about what may be the worst form of writer humiliation:

As a writer, I’ve heard some truly awful tales of author humiliation. Let’s see: books that are rudely rejected, agents who sack their writers by email, bookshops that arrange signings but don’t order in any books, readings where no audience appears…

But the worst by far was an author I know who at her first book launch, her very first brave and lonely appearance in print, had to endure a drunken ‘friend’ reading the sex scenes from her novel aloud to the gathering.

She did the only thing any writer could do in the circumstances: she slid off her seat, curled up underneath the table, put her fingers in her ears and tried very hard not to cry.

But each year, some poor novelist has to put on a brave smile and endure the same horror much more publicly at the hands of The Literary Review and its annual Bad Sex in Literary Fiction Award.

Basically, she’s not a big fan of the idea of holding up examples of bad sex for all the world to see.  And what of writing good sex, and how to do it, especially with all those prying eyes waiting to pounce on the results?

How do you write a good sex scene? The same way you become a good lover – by being open, by entering into the experience with abandon and assuming nothing of the outcome, by allowing yourself to feel free and un-judged, but most importantly, by finding someone who likes the way you do it.

Most writers, despite the glowering disapproval of the Bad Sex Award – or worse, the thought of their parents reading what they’ve written – venture in and explore the territory.

Similarly, Lee Goldberg picks up on a post by bestselling writer Laurell Hamilton and talks about his own experiences writing about sex–and how they went over with one of his first editors:

In the first draft of my first book, .357 VIGILANTE, my hero was impotent, unable to get it up because of all the violence in his life. When I turned the manuscript in to my editor, he was shocked.

"The hero can’t be impotent," he cried. "This is a men’s action adventure novel. Not only does he have sex, he has GREAT sex!"

So I rewrote the sex scenes. I made them utterly ridiculous. They defied logic. They defied gravity. All the hero had to do was glance at a woman and she’d collapse into multiple orgasms.  A few days after I turned the manuscript in, I got a call from my editor.

"I read the sex scenes," he said.

I figured what he was going to say next was that the book was rejected and my contract for two more was canceled. I was wrong.

"Not only were they hot," he said, " they were real."

I was relieved…and deeply depressed. If those scenes were real, than my love life was pathetic. Or, at least, more pathetic than I already thought it was.

More seriously, he wonders how writers and readers view sex in fiction. I’ll answer from both perspectives after the jump.

I don’t know if writing about sex is harder than writing anything else, but I suppose I’m in the camp of avoidance, unless it’s absolutely necessary. And by necessary, I mean that depicting a sexual act is fundamental to the development of a character. Usually, at least in my own writing to date (published or unpublished) I take the “less is more” approach, and even when I am writing a sex scene, the words I use are so matter-of-fact and plain as to be almost overly distant. I don’t think that’s an accident, because sex is such an emotional act–even when the distinct lack of them are involved–so in order for me to depict what’s happening, I need that writerly distance in place to let the characters speak, and think, for themselves.

Because sex involves emotion, and emotion is truth, and truth is difficult to convey because often one has to really delve into uncomfortable territory. But by doing so, the writing improves, and no doubt the reader is more engaged as well.

I certainly subscribe to the “less is more” theory when reading about sex. Even though one of my favorite books this year, TAMING THE BEAST by Emily Maguire, is often sexually graphic, it’s never exploitative because she conveyed the deep dysfunction and damage inherent to the two main characters, Sarah and Daniel. They burn each other out, and yet they cannot relate to each other except as sexual beings. But at the same time, the style of writing was very straightforward, so the acts described never seemed cheapened. As I’ve said many times before, TAMING THE BEAST made me uncomfortable and took me to some emotional places I didn’t think I wanted to visit, but the sheer force of Maguire’s writing forced me to, and I don’t regret it.

Less wrenching but still memorable in my mind is Peter Robinson’s IN A DRY SEASON, where DCI Banks and DS Cabbot make love for the first time. It has been several years since I read the novel but I still remember my response to that scene, which wonderfully evoked the awkwardness that exists between two people who like each other a whole lot but still have to adjust their bodies and minds to the other person. By showing that sex can be imperfect, and wryly humorous, Robinson provided deep insight into both Banks and Cabbot as people, making them more human and real.

On the other side are scenes which go for the humor. Peter Guttridge’s series is very funny for a variety of reasons, but perhaps most of all for his protagonist Nick Madrid’s sorry sex life. In the two books I’ve read thus far, NO LAUGHING MATTER and A GHOST OF A CHANCE, women seem to end up with him in droves–and then deeply disappointed, or vice versa, because everything’s over fairly quickly. It’s one thing to write bad sex accidentally, but writing bad sex deliberately adds a layer of character development that’s rather unique.

But even when sex illuminates character, I still remember certain scenes, well, just for the sake of them. THE SWEET FOREVER is probably my favorite book by George Pelecanos, and there are many, many reasons why–Dmitri Karras’s descent into drug hell, the 1980s setting, the despair mixed with a sense of faint hope. But damned if I can’t get those ice cubes out of my head, because it was one of those truly “WTF?” moments that made me take notice. I don’t necessarily think it was out of character, but it was certainly something extra.

Obviously, sex is a landmine of emotions, and one false step can blow everything to pieces. But when done well, at least in a fictional sense, it can develop character like almost nothing else. But I still think I won’t write sex scenes unless absolutely, utterly necessary…