Not Always in the Mood: The New Science of Men, Sex, and Relationships

September 25th, 2020

Not Always in the Mood: The New Science of Men, Sex, and Relationships
$15 from Amazon

Sex and science are my butter and bread. I think my readers know this already. Though, I have sadly fallen behind on Science of Sex posts.

Still, don’t fear! Because I’m here to talk to you about an entire book about science and sex, and one that aims to examine something that we take for granted: male sexual desire.

In Not Always in the Mood, author Sarah Hunter Murray relies on her experience as a couples’ sexual therapist to delve into the complexities of male sexual desire and bring a more nuanced look of the subject — mostly.

This is a caveat that I need to address and early on. In her work, Murray works with couples. She specifically mentions men in their 30s through 60s. While it’s a pretty wide range, these men are presumably in relationships, and she doesn’t mention men in their 20s at all. I think the title and tone of this book suggest all men, but there’s clearly a large swath of them who are left out. And while it can be reassuring to learn that, yes, men are human, too, and their desire reflects that, not explicitly stating who she talked to for this book may lead some readers astray. Men who are younger or prefer casual sex over relationships might differ from the men who Murray talked to. Namely, they may not be as invested in their partner’s emotional and physical satisfaction. If those partners think this information applies to those men, I can see them being let down.

In short? This book might better be subtitled “The New Science of Some Men, Sex, and Relationships.” I wish that were explicit.

In her book, Sarah Hunter Murray tackles common myths about men, sexuality, and desire. As the reader dives in, they’ll see that Murray’s research is qualitative and not quantitative. She crafts amalgamated stories from her past clients and sometimes uses quotes. It’s helpful to know when sentiment has been frequently expressed by her clients. For example, they want their partners to initiate sex more often or sometimes find their desire has waned for no discernible reason.

But I cannot help but wonder if it would often be even more useful to see some hard numbers along with this qualitative evidence. Murray’s research almost seems incomplete without that. Right now, Not Always in the Mood is interesting and helpful to a select group of people, but it doesn’t feel groundbreaking. It’s reassuring. It might spark some conversations. But it’s all sort of common sense.

With that said, we all know that common sense isn’t always that common. Maybe too many buy into the beliefs that men always want sex or measure masculinity by the strength of an erection. These reminders are useful. I can imagine scenarios where I would recommend this book. It’s certainly cheaper than therapy. And once people start viewing male desire with more nuance, they may spread that knowledge to others: partners, friends, even children.

Not Always In the Mood isn’t the perfect book for everyone, however. Despite a disclaimer that it can be useful to those who aren’t straight or cisgender in the beginning of the book, it’s really heternormative. I would hesitate to recommend it to anyone who isn’t straight or cis.

Furthermore, while the author mentions some sexual research, she never really uses scientific terminology, the type which I have discussed on this blog in the past, that might tie her research into existing research on sex and relationships. In several instances, it would have been worth mentioning and comprising spontaneous and responsive desire by name, yet Murray did not. The dual-control method would have fit right in, too. In fact, she did mention Emily Nagoski, whose book Come As you Are, discusses both topics. It would have been a great way to show the similarities, between men and women to hammer home the idea of men as being just as complex and human as women, but this book never reached that point. Perhaps Murray thought the concepts weren’t basic enough for her readers. Or maybe she wasn’t personally familiar with them.

I don’t feel like I am worse off for reading Not Always in the Mood, but it may not be the ideal book for me, a lover of science who has mostly casually sleep with men in their 20s. I would love to have seen some statements made that applied to men more generally, coupled up or not. Quantitative evidence would give this book an edge, too. On the other hand, maybe I just wish it had a different subtitle. For example..

Not Always in the Mood: The Truth About Men’s Desire in Relationships

Okay, so it’s a work in progress. But it’s a bit less misleading.

I know I’ve gone on about this at some length, but I think that these things matter. Had this book simply suggested it was about lessons on male desire from the POV of a couples’ therapist, I would have had different expectations.

Frankly, that angle is precisely what the reader gets, and it’s valuable. Sure, the idea that men want to be wanted, too, have hangups about their penis size or looks, or that their desire is impacted by stress might be common sense if you stop to think about it, but people don’t think about these things as much as they should. We can use another authoritative voice speaking on these things.

Sarah Hunter Murray might yet come to be that authority, but I don’t think she quite proves it in Not Always in the Mood: The New Science of Men, Sex, and Relationships. This may not prevent the book from helping some people, but it may not help as many people as it could if Murray had taken a different approach.

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The Vagina Bible: The Vulva and the Vagina — Separating the Myth from the Medicine

June 17th, 2020

The Vagina Bible
$15 from Amazon

Note: this book is currently free to rent if you have Amazon Prime.

Since reading The Vagina Bible, there have been several instances in which I wanted to recommend it to other women who asked had questions or expressed ignorance about how their body works. I’m sure it’s a combination of me spending time in different online communities these days, but I have been consistently reminded how very little that women — and others with vaginas — know about their bodies. We certainly need a resource like The Vagina Bible aims to be.

Let me start by addressing the misnomer, and it’s one that this book’s author, OBGYN Jen Gunter, explains herself. In her disclaimer, Dr. Gunter tackles the common misuse of the word “vagina” to mean vulva and not just the internal organ. The Vagina Bible is about both, but the good doctor uses the word that is commonly used to refer to both when naming the book.

The other thing that I think needs addressing regards to this book is whether it’s cis-normative. Right off the bat, Dr. Gunter discusses the woman patients she’s treated over her 30+ years in the field. If a reader were, for example, a trans man with a vagina, they might think that this book has nothing for them or find the tone exclusionary. It’s unfortunate because The Vagina Bible does have information that applies to trans folks, not just those men who may have a vagina but also trans women who have a vagina. There are sections in the book that apply explicitly to these situations, yet readers don’t know that until the third chapter when Jen first mentions the word “trans.” It strikes me that including mention of this in the introduction would be such an easy fix.

As a resource, The Vagina Bible can be read straight through like I did. You could also simply use the ToC or index to navigate to the section that pertains to the subject in question. In this way, The Vagina Bible is like a reference. However, the reader might miss some information in The Vagina Bible that is quite interesting if they approach the book in this manner. I do suggest at least glancing over the more preliminary information, such as the anatomy lessons. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I learned just a few pages in (eccrine glands and melanin in the vulva), and the lessons continued.

I’ve already mentioned the chapter for our trans friends, and its information was mostly new to me. Dr. Gunter follows this with a section on sexual pleasure and education, which I wish explicitly used the phrase “responsive desire,” and more than once i thought she was a bit reductivist when discussingtopics. For example, she states that FE comes from the bladder and is, therefore, urine but does not discuss the differences in how the body processes the fluids. Similarly, she does not mention that one of the reasons that spermicide is bad is because of how toxic it is to the delicate mucus membranes, a shocking oversight in my opinion. Although The Vagina Bible is not intended to be a book about pregnancy, Dr. Gunter does include some basic information at the end of the first section.

Readers looking for practical advice might skip right to the second section, which focuses on maintenance and issues such as exams, yeast infections, underwear, Kegels and lube. The author tackles wipes and their potential to cause irritation in a chapter in the third section, which also includes information on cleansing, grooming, and moisturizing. Jen relies not just on her experience as a doctor but also as a woman, especially in this section.

She continues to bash myths as she moves on to discuss the menstrual cycle, products, and the risk of Toxic Shock Syndrome before moving on to a section on menopause that I no doubt might find more useful in a few years but that does paint The Vagina Bible as a useful resource for people with vaginas no matter their age.

I found the information about biofilms and how they interact with IUDs interesting as a person who has had three of them now. The facts that Dr. Gunter presents in the chapter on contraception exemplify just how easy it is to miss out on information related to sex or be actively misinformed. After discussing how various medicines and chemicals affect the vaginal ecosystem, Jen moves on to cosmetic procedures. It is here where she outright dismisses the possibilities of the “O” Shot in just a few paragraphs, and I’ve seen criticisms of the author/book from other medical professionals in response to this.

I think that this highlights one of my main issues with The Vagina Bible. While Dr. Gunter has decades of experience as a doctor and even more as a woman, she’s more than a bit dismissive about some topics. The tone she uses can be offputting, and this is coming from a sex-positive feminist who generally agrees with her position on many things. I would never say that there is any place where feminism doesn’t belong, but I can imagine that there are some people who would better receive this book and its much-needed content if Dr. Gunter would soften her tone occasionally and allow room for new research and ambiguity rather than doubling down on her opinions, which are not always lenient when it comes to men.

With a few caveats, I would still recommend The Vagina Bible as a resource until someone else puts together a book that’s even more comprehensive and updated. This is especially true regarding the conditions and symptoms sections, which provide information that can help people advocate for themselves medically. This can be so difficult, and even more so when things aren’t working quite right.

For anyone who is wary about the tone used in this book, I might suggest looking up topics only as needed, which brings me to my final point.

Rest assured that while the information in The Vagina Bible might seem encyclopedia, it’s not nearly as big of a tome as it appears. The font is huge! It really makes this book bigger than it has to be at 400-some pages.

 

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Categories: Books, Reviews

Screwed: How Women Are Set Up to Fail at Sex

December 24th, 2019

Screwed: How Women Are Set Up to Fail at Sex
$8.69 (Kindle) from Amazon

You wouldn’t necessarily think that a book about how society sets women up to fail at sex would be fun, but you might be wrong. “Fun” may not even be the right word to described Screwed, but it was a real page-turner, and I found myself eager to pick it back up after a break and reluctant to put it back down. This was a surprise, considering that the book hadn’t even been on my radar before I picked it up.

Screwed would be a brisk read for anyone at fewer than 160 pages, of course. But the content within those pages is shrewd in its wisdom and well-timed, at least, as well-timed as it can be considering that not everyone has pondered these things before. Sex, while it can be great, is generally less good for women than men, especially when the desires and even consent of those women is ignored and when those women are not taught how to get what want — and deserve. Screwed tackles all of this.

The book is written by Lil Boisvert, a French-Canadian and host of the show Sexplora, a six-episode documentary, which is “thirty minutes of orgasmic television focused on sex and IQ.” Unfortunately for me, it’s in a mix of English and French, which I haven’t studied in over 15 years. Fortunately, Boisvert brings the same IQ to her Screwed.

Lili actively avoids staying into telling the reader what to do. There are plenty of resources that do this (including Becoming Cliterate and Better Sex Through Mindfulness). Screwed’s focus is how we got to where we are as a society and not how individual women must remedy that to (re)claim their sexualities. Lili Boisvert is transparent about this from the very start. Her warning prefaces the book, stating what it is not and what it is. That includes a note that the slant is heterosexual because it’s the different ways society handles sex in regard to men and women that is so often the problem.

With that in mind, Boisvert jumps out of the gate, explaining how sex in western society is something done for and originating with the man and being done to the woman. This, she says, is the “cumshot principle,” and she’ll references it many times before the end of the book. She quickly breaks down the different roles that we have been taught: how women are the gatekeepers of sex that they “possess,” how men must make the first move even as women seduce (and must be visually appealing to do so), how women must remain passive, and how women must simultaneously fend off unwanted interest and advances from men while also appearing receptive if they do not want to offend. Boisvert even breaks down how women are expected to act in the bedroom. From here, she segues to a reflection on how this impacts a woman’s libido — as the “prey,” she isn’t allowed to focus on her desires the way a man is. Of course, this all paves the way for rape culture, and the author wraps up the chapter with an analysis of that.

It might sound like this first chapter of Screwed covers a lot, but it set the foundation for all of the arguments that follow. Boisvert paints a picture of the cumshot principal and the hunter/prey dynamic as the string that ties the greater mistreatment of women’s sexuality together.

From here, Boisvert jumps into a critical examination of why young women are prizes the way they are, Cougar culture, and whether those arguments that these preferences are all based in biology hold any water. The author continues her forward charge as she takes on the idea that a woman/girl must be pure and that a sexually promiscuous woman is immoral. Boisvert even examines why other women contribute to slut-shaming, including policing the bodies of girls and women.

We’re halfway through the book, now, and Boisvert isn’t nearly finished. She moves from policing of bodies to the way that the sexes are segregated, starting with clothing and moving on the cosmetics, hair, and body hair. It’s here that she swings at feminity, itself a prison that keeps women objectified.

From there, the author deconstructs the very reasons why women, as a whole, cannot objectify men, as a whole. She argues that men are subjectified while women are objectified and examines the way this unfolds every day. Of course, Boisvert comments on how porn upholds these views.

Perhaps the most contentious claim that Boisvert makes comes in the next chapter, where she explains that women who engage in casual sex are not playing on an even playing field because of the way that women have been socialized to seek love and men sex, and everyone is taught that the other team is only out for their single-minded goal. Yet I do not disagree with the author’s reasoning; it’s absolutely true that we are taught these things. Yet, Boisvert breaks down how this is not actually the case, using science to back up her argument. But even when that isn’t the case, Boisvert continues, these lessons color our sexual interactions and often result in women getting less out of sex than men.

Boisvert is no more fired up than she is in the final chapter, perhaps her coup de grace. What might be the ultimate result of this uneven playing field? That’s right, the orgasm gap. The author rails against the continued prioritization of men’s pleasure over women’s and penis-centric sex, which can make many women wonder what’s wrong with them when they do not orgasm easily (or at all) from vaginal penetration. She takes umbrage with Freud’s persistent teachings that clitoral orgasms are lesser than vaginal ones, which has, perhaps, lead to an over-emphasis on finding and stimulating the G-spot. In this final chapter, Boisvert gives a brief anatomy lesson that so many people dearly need before neatly wrapping up the book with a reminder that advice for women to explore their bodies may be misguided until we deal with sexism in sexuality (and life) on a large scale.

I did not intend to summarize Screwed as I did, but the structure is thoughtful, and the argument only picks up more speed and becomes fiery as the book presses on. While the book isn’t especially long, Boisvert manages to be articulate and pragmatic about complex topics in a way that’s accessible without being too daunting or minimizing. It is a book I wound encourage my teenaged sister to read as she considers becoming sexually active and one that I would recommend to any feminists, not to mention a primer on why so many women find sex to be bad or, at the very least, disappointing.

There are very few things that I didn’t love about Screwed; one of them is the tagline. Women don’t fail at sex; society fails women when it comes to sex. and I think “How society fails women when it comes to sex” is just as pithy and perhaps less open to misinterpretation than the tagline we actually got. However, this is really a small thing to pick at when considering the book overall.

Secondly, I was a bit surprised that Boisvert didn’t take on the issue of spontaneous versus responsive desire more thoroughly. She could have if she wanted to. As it stands, she mentions it but perhaps not to the extent that would impress upon the reader how much it impacts sexual frustation between men and women. Perhaps this would treat too far into the territory of telling women what to do individually, rather than criticizing how society views sex. Unfortunately, Screwed doesn’t include a list of resources or recommended reads, but it wouldn’t hurt if it did.

Still, what Boisvert says in these pages remains valuable, and for many people, the book could open their eyes to these issues and start them on their journey to doing better, learning more, and having better sex, even if the intent of the book is to illustrate the way that women are collectively failed when it comes to sex.

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Categories: Books, Reviews

Heavy Flow: Breaking the Curse of Menstruation

December 12th, 2019

Heavy Flow: Breaking the Curse of Menstruation
$20 physical/$10 digital from Amazon

I came across Heavy Flow when it was “reviewed” by another blogger. Her review piqued my interest, but I didn’t feel as though I had enough information on the book. Still, I know it’s a topic that deserves to be talked about and taught with information and no shame. I was lucky enough that the publisher sent me a digital copy.

You may already be familiar with the author, Amanda Laird, if you’ve heard her podcast of the same name. She’s a registered holistic nutritionist, which is apparent throughout the book. I must admit that I was surprised to learn a medical doctor didn’t write this book. It may be a bit elitist of me, and I know that doctors aren’t infallible and that other medical professionals have important experience, but Ms. Laird only adds to this skepticism at times when she refers to a holistic approach.

Readers should beware that Heavy Flow relies heavily on Laird’s professional experience and a bit less so on medical research. So while much of what she says seems factually correct, there are times when it may be wiser to take her advice with a grain of salt, at least, until science and medicine have evidence to back it up.

That’s not to say that the book or Laird’s experience are without value. There are times when her experience provides unique insight into the menstrual cycle. When Laird talks about how diet can affect the menstrual cycle, her experience as a registered holistic nutritionist shows. This is a concept that I’ve never really heard discussed before, and I think it’s worth thinking about. It certainly encouraged me to rethink my relationship with certain foods.

Laird does rely on science and medicine in the first section of the book, wherein she introduces the reader to the biology of the menstrual cycle and goes well beyond what we may have learned in health class. Specifically, she describes the complex role that hormones play during the menstrual cycle and its phases. It’s often not represented as complicated as it is.

It is here that Laird introduces the idea of the menstrual cycle as a vital sign. My familiarity with the phrase is limited to TV shows, where they use vital signs to check if a person is alive or dead, so this usage expanded my definition. But it sometimes seems a bit heavy-handed, especially when considering how vital signs such as pulse, blood pressure, or breathing provide such immediate and actional information. Still, there isn’t a ton of consensus on just what counts as a vital sign: organizations recognize between four and eight vital signs. This lends some credence to Laird’s suggestion that the state of the menstrual cycle could be one.

One of the more helpful ideas that Laird presents to the reader is that of finding their own normal and tracking their cycle. The length of your menstrual cycle, for example, may not be the average. She discusses how birth control affects the menstrual cycle and while the “period” experienced by most people who take birth control is not really a period at all. This is something that is often overlooked. Laird also explains how life changes, such as pregnancy and menopause, can affect your cycle.

As she rounds out the biology section, Laird discusses unpleasant side effects of menstruation as well as outlining some abnormalities/conditions such as endometriosis and PCOS, which can impact menstrual cycle. She then takes the time to bust some myths and answer some crucial questions about the menstrual cycle, including:

  • Why does my period mess with my skin?
  • Do menstrual cycles sync up?
  • Can you get pregnant on your period?
  • What’s the deal with period poops?

You know, the sort of things we might have better knowledge about if we talked about periods less shamefully.

Laird’s good advice continues as she teaches readers how to advocate for themselves when dealing with doctors and read test results. In the second section. It is here where she recommends alternative medical professionals, and I had to roll my eyes a bit. However, the power of placebo is strong, and these approaches may be helpful.

The chapter about nutrition follows, and it includes helpful advice about topics such as reducing inflammation, which can be an issue at certain points of the menstrual cycle. There is an entire chapter dedicated to foods that support hormonal health, which includes information about vitamin deficiencies. However, I think it may be easy to overlook this chapter, especially if the reader simply wants to know more about how their cycle works and not change it. The author introduces readers to the concept or seed cycling or adding specific seeds to their diet during particular phases of their cycle. This was one of those sections that seemed a bit too “crunchie” for me, no pun intended.

However, the advice in the following chapter about stress and your cycle is important. I think most of us understand that stress can impact our cycle but not necessarily how. Heavy Flow continues in its goal to educate readers and empower them to make choices about how they view and deal with their cycles. Laird advises against endocrine-disrupting chemicals and makes suggestions for menstrual products, including the suggestion for using natural sea sponges to absorb menstrual blood. This was the first time I’d heard of that option; although, they seem relatively easy to buy. Again, this chapter jumps between alternative methods and those that are more traditional/accepted by science. Laird recommends getting enough sleep just pages before discussing vaginal steaming.

After spending the first two sections educating the reader, Laird dedicates the last to helping them embrace their cycles. The third section lacks in cohesion but makes up for it with information. The first chapter in this section revolves around working with your hormones rather than against them. As the book comes to its conclusion, Laird also has words for parents and people who may have to discuss periods with adolescents.

Laird leaves the reader with hopeful words about understanding and embracing their menstrual cycles to break the societal taboo about menstruation. Heavy Flow can certainly be part of those efforts. For most people, the information in these pages will expand their knowledge of menstruation and the menstrual cycle exponentially, even if some of the author’s words and experience teeter a bit too far to the alternative for my tastes.

And since I haven’t managed to work it into this post before now, Laird uses mostly inclusive language in Heavy Flow to acknowledge that not everyone with a menstrual cycle is a woman. In her introduction, she warns that she may use binary terminology in places when comparing the experience of men and women.

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Make love to your long distance lover online

Good Sexual Citizenship

October 25th, 2019

Good Sexual Citizenship: How to Create a (Sexually) Safer World
$17.95 from Amazon

Although I do not generally list the chapters in every book review that I write, I think it’s important to so to explain how Good Sexual Citizenship strives to create a “sexually safer world.”

  1. The Bases for Our Biases
  2. Standing Up for Sex
  3. Consent – (I Promise) It’s Not That Complicated
  4. Little Kids, Big Questions
  5. The Teen Sex Situation
  6. Getting to Good Sexual Citizenship

Whu do I list these? Because I consistently struggled to understand the overall structure that the author, Ellen Friedrichs, was aiming for. I am not sure if it’s the examples the author uses to introduce each chapter that makes them feel so disjointed rather than work in congress, but it’s so distracting. I don’t want to be stuck on the author’s organizational choices over her words, especially when I agree with what she has to say.

This begins with the first chapter, which delves into sexism. Honestly? I understand why discussing sex (and gender) and sexism is a sensical place to start when it comes to discussing the issue of a safer sexual world, but others may not. Some people may be on the word but haven’t fully formed their thoughts on the subject. It seems a bit presumptuous to me that the reader should have to already know this. At the very least, it could be overwhelming to the reader. There is room to make the argument and it may be necessary to do so that we cannot start a book without first examining gender. Perhaps the author things the entire first chapter accomplishes this, but it would not hurt for the point to be more explicitly, either in the introduction or at the start of the chapter itself.

As Friedrich moves into a history of sex culture and education (and the lack thereof), she paints the bigger picture of how we got to where we are. including casual sex and hookup culture, and what’s wrong with that if you want to build a sex-positive society. I suspect this is where many people would expect the book to begin. From there, it makes more sense to move onto the topic of consent, which includes discussion of how it plays out in college hookups and established relationships as well as how we define sexual assault, in the next chapter. Framing consent as a simple but essential solution to sexual assault is so important. The questions Ellen asks readers to consider about consent at the end of the chapter are especially poignant.

But the segue to teaching children about sex is almost nonexistent. It would be so easy to explain that if we teach children about sexuality and consent from a young age, providing them with age-appropriate information so that we can impress upon them the importance of consent. The chapter that follows, on teenaged sexuality, is the clearest transition in the book.

Her final chapter does reiterate why we are where we are as a society and ties together how all the misinformation or simply lack of education has contributed to that in a way that makes the preceding chapters make more sense. I just wish there was more of a common thread throughout the pages.

With that said, each chapter in this book relies on research, which is referenced throughout the book and listed in the notes, to make points that I do often agree with. And as readers move through those chapters, there are asides that help to challenge the unhealthy, harmful, and sex-negative messages we may have absorbed from living in a society that has created such a dangerous culture around sex. Each chapter also ends with a worksheet containing questions to gauge the reader’s knowledge, opinion, and comfort with the topics discussed in the chapter that encourage the reader to consider the topics on a personal level and rethink the ways they navigate sexuality.

As Ellen Friedrich makes her points and educates the reader to dispels myths, she makes sure to include LGBTQ+ members and to point out how sexism and these ideas about sex hurt men as well. However, she’s careful to point out how these limited narratives depict sex and gender at the same and a binary and how sexism against women has allowed the current sexual culture to proliferate.

The author also takes the time to point out the actions people can actually take not just to change their own minds but to impact sexuality in society from their interactions with other people on a daily basis to how they vote. Good Sexual Citizenship doesn’t just describe a problem without offering solutions. It didn’t leave me feeling hopeless as it very well could have. At points, the advice might have been a little superficial, but the reader is given enough information that they can seek out other resources, which they will have to do on their own because aside from references used, Friedrich doesn’t list any resources that her readers may want to read in addition to her book.

One thing that I found was interesting was that Friedrichs initially uses a couple of footnotes to define terminology with which the reader may not be familiar. I mean literally two in the introduction, and then she never does this again in the book. It’s confusing. But there were also places where I thought that those definitions would be incredibly useful to a reader who has maybe never heard a term before or isn’t quite sure what it means. “Slut-shaming” is a good example; yet, the author quickly seemed to forget about using definitions or decided that the only two terms that would benefit from them were in the beginning of the book.

Although there are many points with which I agree in Good Sexual Citizenship, and I’d like to see them made more often and vocally, I still felt that the book lacked an overall narrative to help the reader progress from one chapter or point to the next. Although I could draw some conclusions because the content was familiar to me, this might not be the case for others. The reader shouldn’t have to make assumptions or have a ton of prior knowledge to understand the overall argument made by a book. That’s the point of the book.

I wonder if the imperfection of Good Sexual Citizenship would leave others frustrated or cause them to set it aside, perhaps before they even pick it up, rather than just leaving them confused like I was. However, I still recommend this book, perhaps just as a starting point. And it’s not only that there are some weak points in Good Sexual Citizenships, it’s just that no one book or source can provide all the information we need to truly become good sexual citizens. As long as the reader understands this and that the onus is on each of us to create a sexually healthy world after reading the last page, I think this book will ultimately be helpful.

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Turned On: Science, Sex and Robots

August 13th, 2019

 

Turned On: Science, Sex and Robots
$9.99 (Kindle) from Amazon

Writing about science, sex, and robots is a daunting task, but one that Dr. Kate Devlin, computer scientist and AI expert, proves she is up to in Turned On. Almost immediately, I found Turned On to be a delight, mostly because Kate Devlin is funny and uses her humor in this book. However, that specific brand of British humor that I became accustomed to when reading authors such as Douglas Adams is also present in this book, which made it all the more entertaining for me.

Rest assured that while Turned On is entertaining, it’s also incredibly educational. Whether Devlin is writing us about the current state of sex dolls and robots (hint: less advanced than some people would have us believe or fear) or examining the implications of sex dolls that might look like minors, Kate Devin did her homework. Devlin’s research took her around the world, and she brings the reader with her to attend English conferences, speak with sex doll connoisseurs in Michigan, meet the manufacturers in California, and more. In this way, the reader gets an overall picture that sex tech is truly a worldwide affair.

Before diving into where we are right now, Kate Devlin writes about the history of sex toys and erotic representations and breaks down the myth that vibrator was created to cure hysteria in women. Rather, its use as a sexual device was known but not discussed. This wasn’t news to me and wouldn’t be anyone who is familiar with the history of sex toys, but the myth is pervasive. I’ve read it in more than one book. Devlin doesn’t settle for pervasive myths, however.

Even if you are intimately familiar with sex toys and their sex toys, you may not really know the current state sex robots or what is on the horizon for teledildonics. This is where Devlin’s research sheds new light on the subject. She goes back to basics when she defines robots and discusses the reality and implication of them. In many ways, robots have improved our lives, and the reader gets the feeling that Kate Devlin thinks they can improve our sex lives as well. As she dives into computers and how machines can learn to think, and the relationship between man and machine, she illustrates the finer details and outlines the broad context that helps the reader understand the significance of sex robots.

While this book is ostensibly about science sex and robots, you can’t help it feel like it’s actually about what it means to be human and to interact with other people. I think that’s the crux of the sex robot debate. When Devlin delves into the more recent history of sex dolls and those who purchase them, she doesn’t fall into the trap of picking fun at the people who choose to use them. She approaches the subject with a kind of necessary sensitivity. Yes, these people are mostly men, but they’re still human, after all, even if their companions are robots.

Turned On isn’t the only book I’ve read recently that tackles how technological changes will affect us. However, it’s the only one that’s thought to broach the topic of sex let alone sex robots.  Devlin gives the subject its due respect. It’s not something that everyone can do well or would even be willing to do, yet Devlin does. Judging from the public’s obsession with sex robots, it’s difficult to understand why so many academics ignore the subject. Kate writes about how the 2016 Love and Sex with Robots conference she attended was moved twice before finding a home at Goldsmiths, University of London.

The questions that she attempts to answer and even those that she admits cannot be answered at this point in time are those that anyone who has given any thought to sex robots has entertained at one point or another:

Just what is sex, and is sex with a robot masturbation? Can sex robots mitigate violence, especially sexual violence, against humans or will it worsen objectification of women? If robots become sentient, will we need to protect them from violent offenders (the author busts the incorrectly reported myth that robot “Samantha” was “molested” at one con) or protect ourselves? How will sex robots affect sex work? What are the legal implications of sex robots or someone else using your likeness to create one? Will people want to marry robots and, if so, what will that mean? Is sex with a robot still sex? Do robot opponents have a point when they say that sex robots only contribute to further objectification of women? Will we see sex robot brothels like the doll brothels that already exist in Japan and Europe?

In Turned On, Devlin spends some time examining why sex robots so often look and sound like women (at least one misunderstood study has been cited by those who choose to use female sounding voices) and the implications of this. Again, she pulls back the curtain to reveal how the state of robots is a commentary on the state of humanity.

Fembots are designed to play to cultural stereotypes, generally taking an eroticized form: shapely, sexy and obedient. There’s an essence of the Femme Fatale about some of them – the perfect woman, but without an underlying potential for danger.

The author’s background in technology is never more apparent than when she considers the privacy risks that sex robots present. She points to the vulnerabilities of one of We-Vibe’s smart toys that were revealed by hackers in 2016 who were able to access information collected from toys. There are so many implications of sex robotics, and Devlin leaves out none.

Perhaps the most important question of all and the one that Devlin ends the book with is where we go from here. After reading Turned On, I found myself curious and hopeful but also with a side of trepidation. Like any technological breakthrough, sex robots have the potential to change the world. But if humanity misuses that power, those changes could be awful instead of awesome. Kate makes a plea at the end of her book for designers to think abstract and fantastic — outside of the box — when creating sex robots. She implores the world to focus on how a robot can give pleasure and why they don’t have to imitate women to do so. It might surprise some that Devlin believes the current fembot style robots will remain a niche market and that true innovation can go much further when those limitations are lifted.

And those changes are happening. In fact, Kate added an epilogue after she wrote the initial bulk of the book about how technology had already changed so much. Turned On may not be accurate for long if changes keep occurring at this pace. Yet it’s still a good resource for anyone who wants to know how we got to where we are. Kate Devlin makes you laugh along the way, which helps balance any worries you may have about sex robots and the influence of technology on our sex lives. Her writing similarly balances education and entertainment, and I’m glad to recommend Turned On to anyone who has an interest in the subject.

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Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight For Sex Workers Rights

June 6th, 2019

Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight For Sex Workers Rights
$9.99 (Kindle) from Amazon

Not two days ago I had an elegant summary for Revolting Prostitutes bouncing around my head. It was the perfect segue into a review, and I’ve gone and lost it. That’s what I get, I suppose, for waiting to write it down. And I really waited far too long to even start writing this review because my memory is not hazy. Good thing Revolting Prostitutes leaves an impact.

Just what impact is it?

This book makes the argument that sex workers’ rights are women’ rights are sex workers’ rights and human rights by extension, and because of this should not be excluded as feminists or members of society. Juno Mac and Molly Smith do this by taking a hard look at the reality of sex work: why people do it, how it can be done safely, whether it’s feminist, how sex work and sex trafficking differ, and how society can protect some of its most at-risk members. Mac and Smith examine laws about sex work around the world to make their ultimate argument that in a world where some people must resort to sex work to make money, decriminalizing and not legalizing sex work is the only way to protect those people. Furthermore, they illustrate how pivotal sex workers have been when it comes to the fight for women’s rights and why excluding them from feminist arguments is not just unethical but grossly ignorant.

Revolting Prostitutes takes us through Nevada where just a few brothels operate legally toward Sweden where it examines the Scandinavian model of criminalization to the UK and, finally, to New Zealand. It is here where sex work has been decriminalized, and sex workers have a voice when it comes to laws that would affect them.

The feminism promoted in Revolting Prostitutes is not white feminism. Even though the authors admit to their own privilege (being cisgender, white and middle class), they examine the issues surrounding sex workers, many of whom are working class or people of color, through and intersectional lens. Among the topics addressed in these pages is immigration, which makes Revolting Prostitutes seem especially timely to this American.

Aside from teaching the reader what they don’t know about sex work, the authors smash longheld myths about sex work, including the idea that legalization is the best route. I once viewed sex work similar to marijuana and fell into the camp of “legalize sex work so it can be taxed.” But this book thoughtfully points out that legalization offers no protections for sex workers when one of the main dangers they face is from the police. In a world where that wasn’t the case, they argue, legalization may be an option. But for now, it remains out of reach.

It is far from the only myth torn apart in these pages. While so many people who argue for sex worker’s rights paint the picture of the “Happy Hooker,” you will not see that imagery in Revolting Prostitutes. This book is more frank than that. The authors would not paint with such broad strokes. Instead, they write honestly about how sex is neither good nor bad by definition, and neither is sex work or people, for that matter. These things can be positive or negative, health or otherwise. And when it comes to people, they are people who deserve our care faults and all. This is why the authors write candidly about the damage done to sex workers by so-called carceral feminists who want brothels shut down, and sex workers deported even if doing so will result in the greater abuse and potentially death of those sex workers.

When disproving these ideologies, Juno and Moll never take the easy way out by simply claiming them false. time after time they are prepared to say it’s more complicated than that and explain why. For example, when they touch on whether sex work is a bad thing because some sex works do not enjoy their jobs or because sex workers sell their bodies, the authors are quick to point out that there are many grueling jobs that do not bring joy to those who perform them. Those workers simply need the money. They trade their time and, yes, their bodies, to jobs that take a toll day in and day out. Revolting Prostitutes breaks down the issues one by one into palatable bites like that, and more.

Those people who have a strict anti-sex work stance would likely not enjoy or agree with Revolting Prostitutes. I’d hope that some people who are on the fence or who have not thought deeply about these issues might find themselves swayed by the book, however. Furthermore, the authors are clearly proponents of socialized elements of society. In this way, Revolting Prostitutes look as society as a whole using sex workers as a litmus test. A society that lacks support will surely fail this marginalized group of people. Readers who disagree with a government supporting its people through socialized healthcare and similar programs will surely balk at statements within the pages.

As for me, I am neither of those types of people. I found the arguments thoughtful and eye-opening. With the words they’ve written, Mac and Smith do an excellent job bringing sex workers, and they work they do from the other. They humanize people that are all too often written off, ignored, and otherwise erased. I am all too happy to recommend Revolting Prostitutes as long as society overlooks sex workers. I am angered that this book needs to exist but glad that it does. I hope that people and governments can learn from words like these and the people who are willing to write and speak them. Perhaps reality could be not quite so harsh for sex workers and women as a whole.

Until then, I can only lend my support to the revolt.

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