"I believe the printed word should be forgiven; doesn’t matter what it says."
"Have you heard about that award for bad sex in fiction?"
"OMG, that shit’s hilarious!"
So — I’ve read several blog posts that link to this article covering the Bad Sex in Fiction award. I’ve also read a defense of bad sex writing, as well. And, frankly, I’m torn.
Of course, no aspect of human experience should be off-limits when it comes to literary examination. So what if it offends one’s aesthetic sense? On the other hand, the detailed examination of sexual intercourse in a novel almost always seems like a losing play for the writer. But, shouldn’t there be artistic depictions of sex that aim beyond the mere titillation of their pornographic counterparts? Yet, can any non-prurient sex-scene maintain the readers’ interest without that titillation? It’s a sticky situation. Or not.
When I’d first read the name of this award, I briefly entertained the notion that it was meant to honor good depictions of bad sex, in literature. Naturally, that’s not the case, but I had wondered:
Finally, it was over, and he collapsed on to his wife.
"Get off of me!" she said, half muffled by his flabby shoulder. He rolled off, and they lay next to each other in a noxious cloud of B.O.
"That was terrible," she said.
"Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…" he replied.
"No wonder I’m going to cheat on you in Chapter 27, thus providing further motivation for your inevitable sexual paranoia and emotional deterioration, later on. Will you become an anhedonic zombie? Or will this re-ignite your passionate engagement with the family situation you’ve secretly been trying to escape from? Stay tuned, folks! Yuk-yuk!"
Okay, forget about bad sex — that was just plain bad.
From the Millions:
What better time than now to bring back the pocket paperback? People have no money to spend on hardcovers, and even the full-sized trade paperbacks are a pricey, given the economic times. There are also strong trends in our society that encourage less waste and the downsizing of our myriad possessions. A return of those classic 6 3/4 inch by 4 1/2 inch volumes, now all but extinct, save for in a few genres and in used book stores, could save paper and space and entice younger readers for whom $25 for a hardcover and $14 for a paperback is too much money to risk.
I’ve written in the past that books are too big — not too long, but too bulky and heavy and expensive — and pined for a return of the pocket paperback, so that carrying a book with you didn’t feel like such a chore.
Here here.
Carrying around farking giant hardcovers was always my least favorite part of being a reader. Especially as a public transit rider. (Although, as a short man I certainly appreciated the addtional height I gained from standing on my hardcover version of Neal Stephenson’s System of the World whenever I found myself on a crowded BART train. My nose is at the average-heighted human’s armpit, so even a mere inch or two extra distance is a relief.)
The first link is to an article that’s subtitled, "A report from the chaotic postfeminist dating scene, where only the strong survive." Which should give you an idea of what it’s about. Now, perhaps it’s the jaded mien of a man nearing his dotage talking, but really, these kinds of essays are getting so bloody tedious, and the linkbait is losing its flavor. Still…
Jeff over at Alas, a Blog, and Megan at Jezebel have already responded far more adroitly than I ever could to the original article’s cavalcade of troglodytes, most of whom crept out of the woodwork in response to an earlier article’s assertion that many men are in a state of "prolonged adolescence", and that they are "child-men".
The fact that these guys so angry about their failures in dating is irritating. I don’t think "men" are baffled and bitter about all of this — I think that the specific men who got quoted as responding are, though. Thing is, their attitudes baffle me right back. They seem so invested in a mentality that’s so old fashioned, so outmoded, it’s like watching some guy arrive in modern-day Rome in a time-machine, and then get pissed off when nobody can tell him where the slave-market is.
I mean, I know they think that their railing against a "certain type" of woman, but in fact the source of their anger is their own expectations and bad judgement. Really, I suppose I can’t get too offended at the "child-man" piece because the guys she was describing were the same over-grown fratboys that I have never been close to. Tough break, fellas, but what do you expect? You can’t just slag off an entire gender, and then be lauded as rational, well-adjusted individuals, you know.
But that earlier article bothered me too, for different reasons than the jerks quoted in its sequel (hopefully). I suppose the real sticking point for me was this sentence: "For whatever reason, adolescence appears to be the young man’s default state, proving what anthropologists have discovered in cultures everywhere: it is marriage and children that turn boys into men."
If you’re going to make a blanket statement like that, then you’re actually making two rather broad judgements there; you’re also implying that it’s not a default state for women. Which is true — for some women. And, also false — for some women. The same might be said for men, but no, not in this article. Oh well.
But that "marriage and children turns boys into men" thing… that bothers me. (They used to say the same thing about war, too.) You can’t grow up if you don’t get married and have kids? You can’t be responsible and mature? Without a spouse and a brood, you can’t be taken seriously? I shouldn’t be surprise by this attitude, though: The idea that a person can be joyfully alone seems beyond imagining for some people.
In high school, guys without girlfriends are losers, and the stereotype of the sexless nerd sets in. Girls are pressured to have boyfriends, but not too many, and they should have sex with them except that absolutely not, no just go sit on that block of ice over there and eat your graham crackers. Unmarried women are treated as poor, unfortunate souls who must be just devastated that they haven’t gotten the ring, yet. Unmarried men are childish, commitment-phobes who refuse to grow up. And it just keeps going on like that, a kaleidoscope of inducements, peer-pressure, pejorative labels, the momentum of tradition, threats to one’s status — push, push, push.
This is what has always bothered me about relationships. It’s never just you and your partner who get into one: It’s always you, your partner, and society. And that’s not a three-way I’m comfortable with. For all the progress that we pat ourselves on the back for, the idea of a life without romantic relationships is still punished with the implication that the uncommitted will not be allowed to grow up.
And if so many people see marriage and parenthood as the trophies of adulthood — and if that adulthood is treated as the most exalted, elite level of human development, or the ultimate prize that one receives for following all of the rules — then one can’t help but wonder if those attitudes are a core influence behind the burning desire to deny gay people the right to possess those symbols. (Aside from religious zeal and childish body-horror.) Because, of course, it is useful to infantilize people you don’t like. Because you’re the adult here, and you’re the one who knows what’s best. And you can just dismiss ‘em, dumb kids. They don’t live in the grown-up real world, like you do.
But, if it all seems confusing and frustrating, cheer up. We’ve got a little bit more leeway in deciding for ourselves what being an adult is, and what are lives are for. Yes, it’s scary, and yes, there’s still a lot of pressure being put on us to stick to the script — but future generations will sort it all out, someday. I mean, by the time the world has to figure out whether or not Robosexuals should be allowed to get married, human-on-human relationships should be a snap.
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