In her blog
Nicola Griffith explains, skillfully and convincingly, why she often (usually) portrays sex as an ecstatic, mind-blowing experience, rather than as embarrassing, awkward or disappointing, which is frequently the case in literature. I'll leave you to read her argument for yourselves, but I think it can be summarized this way: "That's the
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(I rather like Mary Balogh for her protrayal of this. Amazingly enough, her women don't always have an orgasm...and the men are often surprised if the women do. But to be honest, she's the only romance writer I recall doing that.)
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I have a sex scene in Normal, but it doesn't show the complete act. It doesn't need to. The intimacy of touch means something special when my heroine has spent her entire thirty years unable to make any bare skin physical contact and remain conscious.
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Well, I have to agree on the messages that we get in the media vs. "reality" that doesn't live up to that message. Maybe it's less about *mind-blowing, fabulous* sex and more about *unrealistic* sex, with the pinnacle being the whole "simultaneous orgasm" thing. (I personally want to call a moratorium on that one in lit.) Sure, sex can be amazing, but it can also be ridiculous and a bit weird. And to write about both is to be true. I think it's when every last sexual passage you read is full of fireworks, it begins to seem as if the person who wrote it is just writing fireworks for the sake of putting a sex scene on the page and not for the sake of trying to describe a real encounter with fumblings (that could, of course, lead to fireworks). *Too* perfect feels false, like the glossy photos in a fashion mag.
And I'm just repeating what y'all said. But yes, I agree on both sides I think is what I'm trying to say. One more thing: It's better to leave the sex scene out altogether than to keep a bad one!
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I also like your notion of celebrating the wonderful. Interestingly, I think that Nicola would probably agree that "subverting the hegemony of the Normal" is a good thing. (This post was originally designed to be a comment on her blog, and got too long for that -- hence I failed to explain or elucidate certain things I assumed she'd take as given.) But your point is well taken.
The analogy with the skinny might not work, but how about the analogy with good food or gentle parents? Even effective romance writing depends on things not going as they're supposed to -- the "flangst" sequence, yes? -- for a substantial portion of the work.
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I think there are some scenes in Facing Backwards that maybe fit the bill, yes?
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What I guess we're both getting at, from different directions, is the idea that, like any other elements of a story, sex scenes ought to be centered on the characters and their journey (the plot) rather than purely the sex itself.
In Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man, Joyce defines pornography as art that excites desire for the object:
The feelings excited by improper art are kinetic, desire or loathing. Desire urges us to possess, to go to something; loathing urges us to abandon, to go from something. The arts which excite them, pornographical or didactic, are therefore improper arts. The esthetic emotion (I used the general term) is therefore static. The mind is arrested and raised above desire and loathing.
So, I suppose, we are talking-in slightly less high-flying language-about just this distinction: between sex scenes as proper art, which evokes what Joyce calls aesthetic arrest, on the one hand; and pornography, which ( ... )
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