*Note: This reviews contains material that is not suitable for minors.
This book was recommended to me. It was one of my 2009 resolutions to read more m/m romance, erotica, etc..
In looking about the web in preparation for this review, I discovered that James Lear is the nom de plume of the novelist Rupert Smith. He lives in London and is the 2008 Winner of Erotic Awards “Best Writer”. The UK’s Guardian published a fascinating reflection by Smith on his sideline, “Dirty Sexy Money: The writer Rupert Smith on his lucrative porn-lit sideline”
While romance readers complain (for good reason) that romance is not taken seriously, Lear notes that genre fiction is at least “out”. The situation is worse for erotica, especially gay erotica:
Erotic fiction, gay or straight, is the most reviled of all genres. While science fiction, horror, crime and romance have their own well-stocked sections, erotica languishes in a dog-eared corner at the back, near the lavs. Some straight smut makes it into airports, to refresh the tired business traveller, but gay material remains beyond the pale.
He is very clear on the purpose of his Lear books:
Rupert Smith hopes to make you laugh; James Lear hopes to make you come.
And there, forgive me, is the rub. Erotic fiction has a purpose, and it’s not a very highbrow one. James Lear’s novels are designed specifically as aids to masturbation: two good orgasms per chapter for younger readers, one for the over forties. Each encounter gives the reader a variation on the theme, keeping the interest fresh. The plot exists to carry the reader from one orgasm to the next.
I think that erotic literature serves the same purpose as other genre fiction, but with a more literal outcome.
I find myself contrasting Lear’s bluntness with the protestations of female erotica writers that they are not doing the same thing. Why is that? How is this any different from a Spice Brief, and why is it so important to those writers to minimize the intent of erotic writing?
Lear also talks about who reads him and who writes gay erotica. I thought this remark was very interesting, in light of the Lambda fiasco earlier this year,
James Lear’s most enthusiastic fans are straight women, who love reading about male/male sex.
In the world of literary fiction, an author’s sexual preference has a massive impact on the way his or her books are marketed, reviewed and sold; in porn nobody cares much.
It’s a field dominated by women, who approach any and every kink with gusto. There are Surrey housewives turning out explicit male homosexual porn.
I was glad to have found that Guardian article, because it helped me to pinpoint exactly why I can’t finish this book: I am not turned on by the sex in it, and since that’s pretty much the point of a book like this, there’s nothing else to keep me reading. The issue for me is not the homosexuality — I’m straight, but over the past year I have read books with same sex encounters that I found very sexy — it’s that the sexual encounters take place between strangers, and that’s not my thing. It functions primarily as fantasy — everyone is gay or up for gay sex, everyone is well-equipped, and everyone is always hard, ready to go, and ready to go again immediately. But because it’s not my fantasy, I was bored and finally put the book down.
This book is very well written, very very funny (the humor was my favorite part), and immerses the reader believably in interwar London’s seedy theatres, back alleys, washrooms, and pubs. It is narrated in the first person by Paul Lemoyne, a young gay man who comes to London, get’s a job in a theatre, and begins a career as a prostitute. Paul is insatiable sexually. Nothing throws him, and that’s part of his charm. Here’s an example:
…the sudden appearance in the room of an unexpected third party. For a moment it flashed across my mind that I had been lured here to be the meat in some kind of sandwich — a thought that, since my amorous initiation in the toilets of Waterloo station, only increased my excitement.
Or this,
Excited as I was, I was somewhat concerned by the task ahead of me. I could barely get my hands round it, so how on earth was I going to get that huge prick in my mouth — or my arse? I experienced a moment of trepidation — but, being the thrill-seeking little slut that I was, it was soon replaced by mindless, drooling lust.
If I had a criticism, it was that I felt I could hear a bit too much of Lear in Paul, who didn’t read as authentic, a bit too much knowing winkage, perhaps a bit of interfering distancing (if that makes sense) between Lear and Lemoyne. I’m no literary critic, and it’s not easy to put my finger on it.
I think anyone who enjoys this kind of book would really enjoy this one.
I read erotic romances, but tend to avoid general erotic fiction, for the most part. I’ve found that I need there to be some kind of emotional connection between the parties, however small. Emotionless stranger sex just doesn’t work for me. Which is why I gravitate towards those authors who write either erotic romances, or erotic fiction with an emotional connection and optimistic ending, even if the parties don’t stay together.
I think whether or not a reader reads erotica (in its various forms) for sexual pleasure or not, depends upon the reader. Personally, I fall into the group of readers whose primary purpose in reading erotica is not for sexual pleasure — which, I think, is why I gravitate towards erotic romances. I need there to be more than just sexual gratification between the characters, because I’m not reading the book for sexual gratification. If there’s nothing else to the story than a purely physical sexual act, I’m just not interested.
The two excerpts you included, Jessica, suggest to me (as I’ve not read the book) that although it’s quite explicit, it’s not very sexy. A guy telling me he’s turned on is not the same as a guy who is turned on. And first person narrative seems a tough way to convey sexual arousal to a female reader.
Maybe that Ikea-instruction-sheet approach (“insert Tab A into Slot B; repeat with the other seven Tabs…”) does the trick for certain male readers. (I’ll admit, when I first read your penultimate paragraph, I thought you’d written “knowing wankage” — which involves manipulating a different part of the body than the eyelid.) But for me, I’d rather know about what he’s feeling more than what he’s thinking. And the “Oh, I’m such a slut,” self-congratulation schtick gets very tired very fast.
I’ve read quite a few offerings from the Spice line, and most of them were erotic romance, not erotica. While I see a distinction here, I agree that the intent of sexually explicit material (romance focused or not) is to arouse. At least, that’s what I assume the intent is. I know that MY intent is titillation when I write sex. Intimate scenes have other purposes, such as developing the relationship/characters, but they are there to elicit a reaction. When a heroine is crying, an author wants the reader to feel that pain. And when a character experiences attraction or pleasure or arousal, there’s no shame in wanting the reader to get caught up in those feelings, too.
I’ve been thinking about this subject off and on since I left my last comment. I agree with Jill that, whether it is erotica or erotic romance (I, too, see a distinction), the intent is to arouse. But on the other hand, I don’t believe all readers are reading them with the purpose of finding sexual gratification, as Lear suggests. Arousal, yes. Orgasms? No. Which is why I think there exists at least two groups of readers: those who use the stories as masturbatory aids (seeking sexual gratification), and those who merely want to experience fleeting feelings of arousal.
I also don’t share the view that all erotica and/or erotic romances are “porn.” Porn is generally plotless and the characters devoid of personality and emotion. Whereas with erotic romances, for example, the reader gets into the head of one or more of the characters, experiences their thoughts and emotions, discovers their personality, etc. There’s a depth to them that doesn’t exist in pornography.
What Jill and Katie said. There is a huge difference between being swept up in the character’s feelings of arousal and actually getting your hand in there and rubbing one out. Frankly, if I want to do the latter, I’ll get on X-Tube and watch some real porn, not reach for a book.
However explicit it might get, however powerfully it might arouse the reader — and a good sex scene really should — erotic romance should ultimately be about much, much more that simply sex. Like Katie said, there should be an emotional connection there. That’s why we read romance, after all.
sometimes I miss the obvious, and the distinction between being aroused and actually bringing oneself to orgasm escaped me totally while writing this post. there is a difference, thank you for pointing it out.
Actually I got the impression that Mr. Lear was the one who might have a bit of trouble telling the difference, not you!
Hmm. I don’t see a big difference. I mean, who cares what a reader does when they’re aroused? I don’t really want to know.
It seems kind of sweet when someone says they snuggled up to their husband after reading a hot book, but so what if they, you know, snuggle up with themselves?
This discussion reminds me of a few review sites that rate books based on levels of reader arousal. I’ve seen “5 vibrators” or “wet panties.” TMI, people!
I have nothing against Mr. Lear’s frankness, or using erotic material to aide masturbation. I guess I just don’t want to know the specific details.
Well, as you know, I loved this book. But then we Brits are known to love our smut… *g*
I think there’s a massive instrinsic problem with talking about erotic romance/ erotica which is that readers don’t really want to address the issue of arousal. At least, I don’t want to address it, frankly. And for that reason, I find James Lear’s words refreshing and provocative and difficult. My natural reaction to your post is to post a comment that ‘justifies’ this book on artistic grounds – and I absolutely do think it is beautifully written book (and incidentally I am sorry you didn’t reach the end because there is a moment of pure romance near the end that I found hugely gratifying). But the difficulty is that the uncompromising words of Mr Lear make it rather difficult to go through that exercise.
I have to say that Lear is not the only erotic writer who writes lovely prose and is unapologetic about its purpose. Kristina Lloyd is a wonderful wonderful writer who writes frankly, persuasively and beautifully on her blog about her erotic books.
I think this may be something I have to consider further given the importance of sex scenes in the genre…