Many of our bookshelves have been increasingly stocked with scandalous reads, from ice hockey stars to fairy lords, regency gossipers to dragon riders, over the past few years. As a sex historian, I have never been more in demand to explain our sudden hunger for spice. (I finally have a taste of what it’s like to be an essential worker). The refrain I have constantly been making is that this is far from a new thing: erotic fiction has always been crucial in literature, and it is of no surprise that it is seeing a renaissance now.
Throughout the course of history, we constantly see a demand for sexual content during times of political and social unrest. I completed my PhD in literary history, focusing on the emergence of pornography in the 18th century. One fact that often surprises people is that the invention of the first pornographic novels went hand-in-hand with the growing tensions that culminated in the French Revolution. As people became increasingly dissatisfied with those in power, they turned to pornography in rather meaningful ways.
Erotic pamphlets, novels and plays circulated featuring the likes of Marie Antoinette in all manner of libertine situations – not too dissimilar to the function of fan-fiction today. The explicitness of many of these works would genuinely shock many people even now. Their impact was so significant that some scholars (myself included) have argued that the emergence of pornography played a meaningful role in fuelling revolutionary sentiment in France.
Despite the pervasive opinion of these novels as frivolous, I believe erotic fiction functions in very much the same way today. It’s inherently political. It’s used to shock people, entice people, disrupt expectations and generate global conversation. We’re living through a period of major global disruption, and many of us wake each day to news reports that incite great anxiety for the future. As someone who’s dedicated their life to studying this historical pattern, the current renaissance of erotic novels feels almost inevitable. This is history repeating itself.
Saying that will likely be met by a chorus of “It’s not that deep.” But lovers of Rachel Reid’s Game Changer series and its popular TV adaptation, Heated Rivalry, can attest to how inherently political it truly is. In a moment of intense global panic, here is a book series unapologetically celebrating love and queerness in a way that, for much of history, would have been criminalised, censored or forced into the background.
These novels have resonated with so many people because they offer an authentic and vulnerable depiction of love – and sex is an integral part of that story. As with the pornographic pamphlets of the 18th century, sex has to be part of the story, one that is driving it forward with every perfectly timed thrust. In Heated Rivalry, every sexual encounter develops Shane and Ilya’s relationship, transforming it from something purely physical into something profoundly emotional.
The tendency to dismiss the impact of these novels is also deeply reflective of this same historical period. As literacy rates rose and the printing press boomed throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, romance and erotic novels became accessible to audiences far beyond elite men. As these novels, such as Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa and Pamela, gained a widespread readership among women, we see the emergence of the more factitiously perceived genre of women’s fiction.
In her own time, Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was often considered little better than bawdy pornography. At best, critics regarded is a light and frivolous read. At worst, they considered it a danger to the reason and intellect of women, capable of driving their libidos so wild that they would lose all control of themselves. In fairness to those critics, if they had lived to see the day of Colin Firth’s wet-shirt moment, their argument may have had some merit.
The ultimate argument of my PhD thesis was that the erotic can be an important site of power, one that has inspired revolutions, meaningfully critiqued corrupt authorities and even offered existential insight. If these are the historical origins of erotic fiction, then who’s to say today’s descendant literature cannot be as intellectually as it is physically stimulating?
In the wake of this erotic fiction renaissance, I am proud to be releasing my novel, Becoming Venus. Having lived my life in the shadow of the other E. L. James, I have hoped to write a new, feminist Fifty Shades of Grey. While depictions of sex in this novel are, yes, copious and titillating, they also function beyond this. The erotic becomes space to negotiate identity and agency, to test the boundaries of self and relation to the world around.
Sex is a part of all of our lives in some way (humans would have had an incredibly short history if that hadn’t been the case). We stand to gain a lot of understanding if we cease to shroud it in secrecy and instead represent it on the page.
When we let sex speak, I believe it has a lot to say.
Becoming Venus (Simon & Schuster) by Dr Esmé Louise James is out September 1.
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