A Lover's Pinch: A Cultural History of Sadomasochism
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Although there are many books about S&M, most of them focus on the erotic or instructional. This isn’t the case with A Lover’s Pinch: A Cultural History of Sadomasochism, a book by kinkster Peter Tupper. This means that A Lover’s Pinch fills a void, and it dives to depths I couldn’t have imagined before I started reading.
A Lover’s Pinch is a deep dive that goes far beyond Leopold von Sacher-Masoch the Marquis de Sade. Admittedly, I wasn’t expected to read analyses of how religion, war, and slavery impacted our sexualities (and relevant imagery is included on some pages), but the author of this book is not afraid to broach those subjects.
I wouldn’t say that tricky subjects aren’t handled with care within these pages or that it’s un-PC, but the tone is sometimes decidedly frank. If you’re especially religious or still experience trauma from war or slavery, then A Lover’s Pinch might not be a book you wish to pick up (or you may wish to skip those specific chapters).
With this in mind, the book starts with a strong historical tone. The author touche on worldwide (sometimes longstanding) stereotypes of sex and power including the Orient as well as Nazis (and the strange, erotic movies inspired by them). It’s, thorough and interesting to learn but definitely dry and perhaps not applicable to modern kinksters.
I found that A Lover’s Pinch really picked up as Tupper dove into Victorian England’s relationship with sex, one that is similar to that in modern America: both obsessed and prudish. As he analyzes the (not-so) secret kink in this era, describes the lives of specific individuals and introduces the reader to publications that deal with S&M, you really get a feel for how long we’ve been into power exchange in our sex (and lives). Of course, these ongoings are generally fragmented, and there isn’t much to speak of in terms of community.
The reader watches the community come and build together in the 20th century, and this is where I think Tupper does the best at describing how things really were. Yes, some men returned from war, donned leather vests, and continued to live within the structure they’d grown to know in the service by practicing S&M with other men. But the author describes how, for some, the leather community was not one that was sexual.
As the book — and time — progresses, we learn how the kink community overlaps with the gay community and how, slowly but surely, gay women and, eventually, straight people join the S&M community. Tupper discusses some of the better-known groups from across the country and world, including DC’s Black Rose, Janus, and the many gay and lesbian communities that supported — and sometimes opposed — such activities.
I was especially struck by the way that the book describes how some feminists railed against S&M as something that was misogynistic. I learned of similar opposition from feminists to sex toys, especially dildos when I read Buzz.
Tupper’s analysis of gay, lesbian, and straight S&M is important, and he impresses upon the reader how these communities are still separated in ways — and even the division within the leather/gay S&M communities due to an entire generation succumbing to AIDS. If there is a more overarching theme of A Lover’s Pinch, I don’t know what it is. While many people are into S&M, and there are groups in many major cities, it’s still as fragmented as the Android market.
Still, S&M has followed a similar trajectory as homosexuality, first ignored and denied, then pathologized and illegalized, next slowly decriminalized, increasingly understand, and, to some extent, accepted. Tupper skillfully draws the parallel.
It was interesting to see the progression from haphazardly-created communities and risky scenes to planned organizations (and to learn the origin of munches) to the adoption of the “Safe, Sane, Consensual” creed, which was never intended to guide an entire sexual subculture. In some ways, BDSM became commodified alongside these other cultural shifts.
My favorite chapter in this book may have been that on “Alt.sex”. Although I am too young to have used Usenet, I remember the days of HTML-based chatrooms, which may have been my own introduction to BDSM. Tupper discusses the usefulness (and lack thereof) of capitalization conventions and how S&M relationships have existed solely in the online realm. He touches on Gor communities and online roleplaying. I remember many of these things fondly, and while they’re in relatively recent past when it comes to the overall history of S&M (as this book does a good job at pointing out), my own memories from 15-20 years ago seem so long ago.
As the book wraps up, Tupper reveals his own interest in S&M and coming out, and how coming out is different for kinksters than those in the LGBTQIA+ community, especially when it comes to the still-existing ramifications for those who might like their sex on the kinky side. Tupper discusses specific cases as recent as 2001 in which S&M interests left people ostracized and unable to find employment. And this is all despite the strides society has made to accept those who practice consensual S&M.
Finally, the author makes the case that S&M has both expanded sex and brought the idea of consent to the forefront in sexual and nonsexual interactions. He makes a nod to Fifty Shades while arguing that thanks to its popularity, BDSM is more visible than ever but still not part of the mainstream because the story wraps mild kink in a package of acceptable hetero romance. In comparison to this and other pop culture representations, BDSM can much more extreme, and mainstream portrayals still struggle to get it right.
On the other hand, Peter Tupper has worked hard to “get it right” in A Lover’s Pinch. His hard work is noticeable. It’s easy to appreciate the research that went into making this history of sadomasochism.
