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elrhiarhodanJust wait until you read some of the purple prose put out by a New York Times best selling author (Wilbur Smith), a previous winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Literature (Michael Cunningham), this year's winner of the Man Booker Prize (Richard Flanagan), and a previous Man Booker winner (Ben Okri), all nominated for the annual Literary Review Bad Sex in Fiction award, 2014 Edition.
However, most of these (except for the scene from Richard Flanagan's Man Booker prize winner, which had coitus interrupted by a big dog about to chomp down on a dying penguin) are tame in comparison to prior years' nominees.
Bibliodaze, a book and writing blog I follow, has compiled a list of the most truly awful "literary" sex scenes and I wanted to share the worst of them with you.
The Last Banquet by Jonathan Grimwood
I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe
And maybe the worst of the worst, although Tom Wolfe's was hard to beat (off to):
Black Swan Green by David Mitchell
However, most of these (except for the scene from Richard Flanagan's Man Booker prize winner, which had coitus interrupted by a big dog about to chomp down on a dying penguin) are tame in comparison to prior years' nominees.
Bibliodaze, a book and writing blog I follow, has compiled a list of the most truly awful "literary" sex scenes and I wanted to share the worst of them with you.
The Last Banquet by Jonathan Grimwood
“Reaching behind me, I found the Brie and broke off a fragment, sucking her nipple through it. She tasted almost as she had the day I took the drop of milk on my finger.
Manon smiled when she realised what I was doing.
You know the peasant saying? If you can’t imagine how neighbouring vineyards can produce such different wines put one finger in your woman’s quim and another up her arse, then taste both and stop asking stupid questions… My fingers found both vineyards. At the front, she tasted salt as anchovy and as delicious. At the rear, bitter like chocolate and smelling strangely of tobacco.”
Manon smiled when she realised what I was doing.
You know the peasant saying? If you can’t imagine how neighbouring vineyards can produce such different wines put one finger in your woman’s quim and another up her arse, then taste both and stop asking stupid questions… My fingers found both vineyards. At the front, she tasted salt as anchovy and as delicious. At the rear, bitter like chocolate and smelling strangely of tobacco.”
I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe
“Hoyt began moving his lips as if he were trying to suck the ice cream off the top of a cone without using his teeth … Slither slither slither slither went the tongue, but the hand that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns …
Oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest no, the hand was cupping her entire right – Now! She must say ‘No, Hoyt’ and talk to him like a dog… ”
Oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest no, the hand was cupping her entire right – Now! She must say ‘No, Hoyt’ and talk to him like a dog… ”
And maybe the worst of the worst, although Tom Wolfe's was hard to beat (off to):
Black Swan Green by David Mitchell
“If Dawn Madden’s breasts were a pair of Danishes, Debby Crombie’s got two Space Hoppers. Each armed with a gribbly nipple. Tom Yew kissed them in turn and his saliva glistened in the April sun. I know watching was wrong but I couldn’t not. Tom Yew slipped off her red panties and stroked the cressy hair there.
‘If you want me to stop, Madam Crombie, you have to say now.’
‘Oooh, Master Yew,’ she croodled, ‘don’t you dare.’
Tom Yew got on her and sort of jiggled there and she gasped like he was giving her a Chinese burn and wrapped her legs round him, froggily. Now he moved up and down, Man-from Atlantisly. His silver chain jiggled on his neck.
Now her grubby soles met like they were praying.
Now his skin was glazed in roast pork sweat.
Now she made a noise like a tortured Moomintroll.
Now Tom Yew’s body jerkjerked judderily jackknifed and a noise like a ripping cable tore out of him. Once more, like he’d been booted in the balls.
Her fingernails’d sunk salmony welts into his arse.
Debby Crombie’s mouth made a perfect O.”
‘If you want me to stop, Madam Crombie, you have to say now.’
‘Oooh, Master Yew,’ she croodled, ‘don’t you dare.’
Tom Yew got on her and sort of jiggled there and she gasped like he was giving her a Chinese burn and wrapped her legs round him, froggily. Now he moved up and down, Man-from Atlantisly. His silver chain jiggled on his neck.
Now her grubby soles met like they were praying.
Now his skin was glazed in roast pork sweat.
Now she made a noise like a tortured Moomintroll.
Now Tom Yew’s body jerkjerked judderily jackknifed and a noise like a ripping cable tore out of him. Once more, like he’d been booted in the balls.
Her fingernails’d sunk salmony welts into his arse.
Debby Crombie’s mouth made a perfect O.”
