Yea! It’s time for the annual Bad Sex in Fiction awards! (Via Catch.) This is an annual event I enjoy far too much for my own good. But please forgive me–in my former life before I was a Porn Liberal, I was a humble owner of a B.A. in English lit, so this combines a lifetime of favorite interests with a big dose of schadenfreude to boot.
The fun of the Bad Sex awards is that the writers targeted are generally accepted as Very Good and Important Writers. You yourself may like some of these writers. In fact, if it weren’t for the subject at hand, the Bad Sex awards would have the foul odor of a bunch of lesser writers coming up with a reason to dogpile their superiors with a trumped up excuse. But since the subject is sex, they get away with it, because writing about sex is a fucking nightmare, especially if you want the passages to come across as hot.
I think it’s for this reason that writers have a hard time talking dirty in bed. Everything that sounds hot is also a cliche. Since so many readers out there are also writers, I’m guessing you know what I’m talking about–the gentle, whispered request in the ear, the verbal agreement, the sudden dirty talking version of writer’s block–”No, no, and no, that won’t work, been done a million times before in Penthouse Letters.” And next thing you know, you’ve disappointed someone very dear to you. Or at bare minimum, someone you wanted to see naked.
So, I think we can all approach the bad sex scenes that win this year with a mixture of awe at the huevos it takes to humiliate yourself by writing bad sex scenes and pity that it’s such a difficult and often impossible task. Except Updike’s entry, because this shit is inexcusable.
Faye leaned back on the blanket, arranging her legs in an M of receptivity, and he knelt between them like the most abject and craven supplicant who ever exposed his bare ass to the eagle eyes of a bunch of crows.
Faye took him in hand. He slipped in. He became an adulterer. He went for the last inch. She grunted, at her own revelation. His was that her cunt did not feel like Phyllis’s. Smoother, somehow simpler, its wetness less thick, less of a sauce, more of a glaze. It was soon over.
The use of the term “bare ass” is the only thing acceptable in this passage. For shame.
62 Responses to “It was a dark and stormy night and then suddenly she came like a firecracker!”
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That’s fantastic! I never knew Updike wrote comedy.
He definitly did not need to go for that last inch- Unless it was also the second inch. Being vaugely familiar with John Updike (no way i’m dignifying him with “last name only” status), that is a distinct possibility.
he knelt between them like the most abject and craven supplicant who ever exposed his bare ass to the eagle eyes of a bunch of crows.
Oh, god. Now I’m picturing Heckel and Jeckel perched on the bedposts, staring at his bare ass and snickering.
What is schadenfreude? I’ve been wondering for some time now.
More like “Reason and Memory”…
Holy crap. That is execrable.
Taking pleasure in someone else’s humiliation, silent.
ah, the old ‘m’ of receptivity. That is HAWT.
‘less of a sauce, more of a glaze’
Now I want some ham.
Wow…only one of the offenders is a woman. I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
When I was taking sex-ed, we were warned that the M of receptivity could lead to many bad, bad things, the least of which was exposing our bare asses to the eagle eyes of a bunch of crows.
Isn’t the literal translation something like “damaged joy” or “guilty joy” or something like that? Schadenfreude is laughing at somebody else’s misfortune. a guilty pleasure. Slapstick. Or in politics, when Bush I puked on the prime minister of Japan.
Suddenly I’m not horny any more.
… reduced on her simmering fire, then viscidly enrobing his loin. He moved his whisk again. She boiled over, sizzling as their sauce spattered. He added his zest for good measure, a bit of extra tang. Oh, Marsala! he cried. She stirred slowly, her flame ebbing. Her passion congealed before him, became a turgid, lumpy thing. He would roux that day forever.
…suddenly, i’m not hungry anymore.
… suddenly I’m not an abject and craven supplicant any more.
Why is Vox Day not on that list?
from his personality, you just know there are incredibly bad sex scenes in almost everything he writes. Worse than Latter-day Frank Herbert.
Chris, you’re SUCH a wonderful writer.
Eeeew, I wish I hadn’t read those. I don’t think I will be able to have sex for a while without those “icky” images appearing in my mind. Eeeew.
I think Chris wins for the best pun in a very long time. Roux. *snerk*
I am never going to look at fox hunting the same way again…
Is there some kinda context that could possibly make “the eagle eyes of crows” less awkward?
Was that last one George macdonald frasier?
The Tally Ho! line is Ben Elton.
Er, did anyone else picture Marlon Brando* in that one he wrote?
All I can picture is a small polynesian women with her fist in Marlon Brando’s ass.
Somebody please kill me.
*May he rest in peace.
To be honest, I saw Marlon Brando’s name and my first thought was “wait, where’s the butter?”
“Slapstick. Or in politics, when Bush I puked on the prime minister of Japan.”
Ha, now that is schadenfreude at its finest!
Ok, I’ll bite. The “tally-ho” one didn’t seem to me to be bad sex writing. I’m pretty sure that he was trying to be funny. You can say that it’s unsuccessful humor, but bad sex writing, I think, is writing that is meant to be overwhelmingly erotic but ends up being overwrought and goofy.
Heh. Updike has been writing sexless sex for several decades, now. I still like him for some odd reason (but definitely not that one).
you mean like this
be sure to get the gem
before you make the M
I like the crows. I think the crows are a nice addition.
Oh, and Chris deserves to be flogged. And I don’t mean that in a good way!
I remember reading a Writer’s Digest a long time ago about sex scenes. It had some good advice, such about wheather you should even have one: when in doubt, don’t.
Oh, and how could you forget Bill “she signaled her desire by leaning back” O’Rielly?
togolosh, I want to marry you. But of course, I won’t be doing any Ms beforehand and afterwards only for procreative purposes. Which, considering that I don’t like children, might be meager as well.
Of course, I just realized it’s highly likely you’re not male. In that case, I’m not a lesbian. But I still want to get married for your lovely, lovely poetry.
*blush*
Actually, I am male (as an ex put it “a penis carrier” - which makes it sound like a disease). The cat I borrowed my pseudonym from is female, though.
Schadenfreude literally means “dark joy.” It’s the wicked pleasure you feel when an enemy is publically embarassed or humiliated.
I have noticed that women tend to write better descriptions of sex than men do. The descriptions I read of sex by men tend to be much too instrumentalist. It’s like all characterization goes out the window when the pants come off.
Schadenfreude literally means “dark joy.” It’s the wicked pleasure you feel when an enemy is publically embarassed or humiliated.
Not quite - when anybody else is publicly humiliated or embarassed. It doesn’t have to be an enemy; I have to admit to having felt a touch of it when my friends have come a cropper, but I’m a prick.
Regarding sex writing, Mark Steyn had a review recently of “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire”, where he mentioned that Ron and Hermoine were going through the throes of adolescence, with an obvious attraction to each other developing and Ron ejactulating “Bloody Hell” every six minutes…
And as regards bad sex scenes:
I fingered her port, looking for a connection. “RAM me, honey,” she cried, “fill up my socket!” “I’d love to, darling,” I said, sadly, “but we’re both UNIX.”
yeah… I hate it when I ejaculate Bloody Hell. It burns holes in my clothing, linens, flesh, etc.
Avenue Q tells you everything you need to know about Schadenfreude. in fact, it’s the song title.
GARY COLEMAN:
Right now you are down and out and feeling really crappy
NICKY:
I’ll say.
GARY COLEMAN:
And when I see how sad you are
It sort of makes me…
Happy!
NICKY:
Happy?!
GARY COLEMAN:
Sorry, Nicky, human nature-
Nothing I can do!
It’s…
Schadenfreude!
Making me feel glad that I’m not you.
NICKY:
Well that’s not very nice, Gary!
GARY COLEMAN:
I didn’t say it was nice! But everybody does it!
D’ja ever clap when a waitress falls and drops a tray of glasses?
NICKY:
Yeah…
GARY COLEMAN:
And ain’t it fun to watch figure skaters falling on their asses?
NICKY:
Sure!
GARY COLEMAN:
And don’tcha feel all warm and cozy,
Watching people out in the rain!
NICKY:
You bet!
GARY COLEMAN:
That’s…
GARY AND NICKY:
Schadenfreude!
GARY COLEMAN:
People taking pleasure in your pain!
NICKY:
Oh, Schadenfreude, huh?
What’s that, some kinda Nazi word?
GARY COLEMAN:
Yup! It’s German for “happiness at the misfortune of others!”
NICKY:
“Happiness at the misfortune of others.” That is German!
Watching a vegetarian being told she just ate chicken
GARY COLEMAN:
Or watching a frat boy realize just what he put his dick in!
NICKY:
Being on the elevator when somebody shouts “Hold the door!”
GARY AND NICKY:
“No!!!”
Schadenfreude!
GARY COLEMAN:
“Fuck you lady, that’s what stairs are for!”
NICKY:
Ooh, how about…
Straight-A students getting Bs?
GARY COLEMAN:
Exes getting STDs!
NICKY:
Waking doormen from their naps!
GARY COLEMAN:
Watching tourists reading maps!
NICKY:
Football players getting tackled!
GARY COLEMAN:
CEOs getting shackled!
NICKY:
Watching actors never reach
GARY AND NICKY:
The ending of their oscar speech!
Schadenfreude!
Schadenfreude!
Schadenfreude!
Schadenfreude!
GARY COLEMAN:
The world needs people like you and me who’ve been knocked around by fate.
‘Cause when people see us, they don’t want to be us, and that makes them feel great.
NICKY:
Sure!
We provide a vital service to society!
GARY AND NICKY:
You and me!
Schadenfreude!
Making the world a better place…
Making the world a better place…
Making the world a better place…
To be!
GARY COLEMAN:
S-C-H-A-D-E-N-F-R-E-U-D-E!
Is there nothing Off-Broadway can’t teach us?
and last time I’ll post something that long, I swear.
I’ve been reading Pandagon for about 6 months now, ans I keep seeing you use this phrase. I must ask… what does it mean?
“Faye leaned back on the blanket, arranging her legs in an M of receptivity. In his arousal, he formed a K. They banged serifs like a cub reporter on a Smith Corona.”
I like the way this one is both bad sex writing and bad sex. Gives it a sort of symmetry.
I’ve been reading Pandagon for about 6 months now, ans I keep seeing you use this phrase. I must ask… what does it mean?
Waaaaay back in the day (in blogging time, that is, which makes it about 6 months ago), Dawn Eden deemed this site a “porn liberal” site. It made my day, nay, my year. And instead of insulting the bloggers and readers here, I think it was taken more as a badge of honor. With our tongues planted firmly in cheek.
Oh I get it.
It’s Republican sex, no?
I fingered her port, looking for a connection. “RAM me, honey,” she cried, “fill up my socket!” “I’d love to, darling,” I said, sadly, “but we’re both UNIX.”
“Oh baby I can feel your 4meg broadband pinging my ISP so good!”
Sometimes, for variety, I like to make a W of receptivity.
Sometimes, for variety, I like to make a W of receptivity.
Pervert!
That just confirms my dislike for John Updike’s writing. What a hack. He actually managed to write a more turgid, celibacy-inspiring “sex” scene than Bill O’Reilly. I’m in awe, truly.
Why is he considered a good writer?
Dang. I’ve been leaning back in chairs all over the place and nobody’s answering this signal of receptivity.
“Why is he considered a good writer?”
I don’t like Updike much, but to be fair, you can isolate horrible passages in every writers’ body of work. It’s pretty fun, actually.
I also suspect that once you become Updike the Famous Brand Name, editors don’t cut as sharply into your work as they did when you were Updike the Contender.
Easy now. It’s not like zuzu was advocating the ‘ffl’ ligature of promiscuity.
Some of that sex writing is bad, but I’m still aghast at Updike’s “eagle-eyed crows.” Wouldn’t crows be, y’know, crow-eyed? What an awful, awful metaphor. And if he did it on purpose, then what an awful, awful joke clanging into the middle of an awful, awful sex scene.
Crap. Inappropriate quotation marks. You all see what I’m saying, though.
Hey guys, read the Updike a second time, but move your mouse to your left hand. Mmmmmmmmm, less of a sauce, more of a glaze.
In the Deutch, people say “Schade” when they mean “that’s unfortunate” or “too bad.” “Freude” is happiness or joy.
In the English, when people say “Updike,” they mean “talent-free hack.”
The joys of language!
Dang. I’ve been leaning back in chairs all over the place and nobody’s answering this signal of receptivity.
I’ve had women make “L” shapes on their foreheads when I’ve asked them out. Is that a signal of receptivity?
“L” for love!
Okay, I was searching for a euphemism that begins with L and found this:
Wikipedia rul3z.
I’m beginning to think that all things are better with “poo” at the end. Wait.
Updike sucks poo.
German lesson. “Schadenfreude” does not mean dark joy. “Schade” means unfortunate, like shame. People use the word “schade” like “bummer”. Freude comes from the verb “freuen” and means excitement. So, misfortune excitement.
ich gewinne, du verlierst.
[…] 1993: Britney Spears is selected to join the 3rd generation of the Mickey Mouse Club. This launching pad sets her up for an extended run of sweet success. Also in 1993, President Bill Clinton takes office and guides America towards unprecedented prosperity. 1999: Following on the heels or her hit single of the same name released in the fall of 1998, Britney releases her solo album, Baby One More Time. Featuring her sitting in the “M” of receptivity, the cover photo demostrates the harmless, poppy good times of the album: Also at this time, America managed to rack up budget surpluses of over $70 billion in 1998 and $125 billion in 1999. The dot com boom was peaking, and Bill C. had dodged all that impeachment business. In broad terms, life was pretty damn good. […]