It’s the day we’ve been waiting all month for: the announcement of the Bad Sex in Fiction winner (if knowing you’ve written something people thought was absolutely awful can be called ‘winning’).
his big generative jockey was inside her pelvic saddle, riding, riding, riding
but now it’s all over. The excitement, the lols, the weird metaphors.
Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of Literary Review‘s Bad Sex in Fiction Award for 2012 is Infrared by Nancy Huston.
If you want to read lines such as
never will I tire of that silvery fluidity, my sex swimming in joy like a fish in water
then check out this excerpt of Infrared. I have to say though, if you’re the kind of reader who’s not into erotic writing (and if you were, what the hell are you doing reading this post?) then maybe skip the excerpt. There’s a lot of licking.
Personally, I thought some of the other excerpts that I’d read were far worse. You can read the other bits and bobs of bad sex here. Is it just me or is the winning entry not so bad?
Sure, Huston names just about every body part and slaps in a cliche about seeing stars when you climax, but the excerpt from The Quiddity of Will Self by Sam Mills just doesn’t make any sense. It reads more like stream of conscious poetry than part of a novel (though, I haven’t read the book, so I can’t really comment).
Personal opinions on crazy sex scenes aside, congratulations to Nancy Huston (or commiserations, depending how you look at it) and good luck finding room on your shelf for that massive plaster foot trophy.