[from the stabenow.com vaults, 7/16/2010. Reposting, just because.]
I’m just saying.
I was on a local radio show recently, me and host Aaron talking about good summer reads, when someone called in to say that he’d read a couple of my books and called them soft porn. I admitted that, yes, there was sex in my books, told a funny story about me at age 12 and and my mom and Lady Chatterly’s Lover and finessed my way back to the topic under discussion, good summer reads.
But I’ve been thinking about his comment. My books have been accused of having sex in them before, and I find it fascinating that it is invariably the sex by which people choose to be shocked, shocked.
Nobody ever says anything about the body count. Evidently it is acceptable to slaughter any number of innocents but when two adults dare to have consensual sex and then have the further audacity to enjoy it, not so much.
What does it say about Americans that we are more comfortable with written murder than with written sex?
We really need to get over the whole Puritan thing.