Is There *gasp* Sex In This Book?

By Natasha Sinel

Like many of us, I don’t feel like I have enough time to do all the things I need/want to do. Sometimes I have to make tough choices about whether something is “worth” the time.

Last Saturday, I had my first signing at Barnes & Noble. When I arrived, the lovely B&N manager set me up at a table with a stack of my books and a very official-looking table sign. I felt pretty damn special. But after an hour, my spirits had sunk. Not because shoppers seemed more interested in the “What Your Poop Says About You” daily calendar and the Star Wars toy table than in my book. Not because I get suddenly very shy when I have to promote my own work.

It was this:

I was ashamed. 

Here’s the common scenario: a mom approaches to buy a book for her daughter. I know with near certainty that she will not end up buying my book. Because she will inevitably ask me this, and only this, question:

“Is there sex?”

The answer to the question is so much more complicated than yes or no, isn’t it? I want to sit her down and tell her the answer. The real answer. “Yes, the teenagers in the book are sexually active, as many are in real life. The sex is not very explicit in the book, no. At least by my standards, it’s not. And the sex that’s written about is necessary to the main character’s realistic growth.”

But that just sounds so defensive, doesn’t it? And I know that the only answer she wants is, “Nope, no sex.”

I understand the instinct to want to protect a child’s innocence for as long possible. But I start to wonder, at what point are we doing a disservice to our kids—our daughters in particular—by censoring out the sex?

One mom approaches my table holding a book by one of my fellow-2015 debut authors.

“Oh, that’s a great book!” I say. “I know the author.”

She tells me she’s getting Christmas presents for her twelve-year-old daughter. She picks up my book, turns it over. I wait eagerly, hoping the question won’t come, but then…

“Is there sex in your book?”

“Some, but it’s not really explicit,” I say.  (See how defensive?)

She puts my book down, shakes her head. I’m disappointed, but I also understand. Twelve is on the cusp. I get it. My book covers some pretty tough, mature topics, so I understand that discomfort. I have a friend who's read my book and decided to wait another year before giving it to her daughter. I totally respect her informed decision. But, the thing is, this woman at B&N didn’t ask what the book was about or whether it was appropriate for a twelve year old. She only asked if there was sex.

“What about this one?” she asks, holding up the other book.

I think through the scenes I remember of my colleague’s book.

“No, I don’t remember any sex,” I say. “There’s pot smoking, though.” 

“That’s fine,” she says, and walks away.

This is what I’ve found since my book has been out. Moms don’t want sex in their daughters’ books. Drugs are negotiable. Violence is fine. But I’m so curious—do moms care about sex in their sons’ books? What about drugs? Violence? By ruling out books that have sex in them, are we teaching our daughters to be afraid of sex? That it’s shameful? If knowledge is power, then by limiting their knowledge, are we fostering powerlessness? This isn’t the point of my post today—but I’m genuinely interested—I don’t know the answer.

Anyway, after that mom leaves, the manager sends over a mom who’s been browsing the teen section, looking for a gift for her tenth-grade daughter. Perfect. She picks up a copy of my book.

“Hi, what does your daughter like to read?” I ask, trying to fill that awkward moment when someone is making a buying decision about my book right in front of me.

Instead of answering, she asks a question:

“Is there sex in your book?” 

Deflated, I answer as I always do, “some, but it’s not explicit, blah blah blah.”

I swear she sneers at me as she says, “Well, the first word I saw when I opened the book was ‘sex,’ so…” She puts the book down.

Here’s what I want to say:

Bella and Edward do it

“You’re joking, right? It’s very possible that your tenth grade daughter has actually had sex. And if not, then at least one of her friends has. And if not, then I can guarantee that your daughter a) has heard about sex and knows how the whole thing works, b) has read books with graphic sex, c) has seen movies and TV shows and heard songs with actual explicit sex that you can see with your eyes and hear with your ears instead of just your imagination. And you don’t even know what my book is about. You saw the word sex and you FREAKED THE EFF OUT.”

I don’t say any of that, obviously. I straighten my stack of books and try to shrug it off. But I can’t. I feel like I’ve been shamed. By a complete stranger. As if she’s just called me a slut.

I start making resolutions in my head: From now on, I’m writing squeaky clean, no sex, nothing. No one can question it. I won’t feel this horrible shameful feeling. And: This was a waste of my time. I’m never doing this again.

But then a woman comes over to my table. I put on my game face.

“My niece would think it’s so cool to have a book signed by the actual author,” she says.

I smile and wait for the question.

“What’s your book about?” she asks. Oh, okay, a warm-up.

“A seventeen-year-old girl who seems to have it all falls for a troubled boy, and she has to face her own difficult past.” (Or some version of this.) The one sentence description of your own book is so hard to say.

She takes a few moments to read the flap copy.

“Well,” the woman says, and I brace myself again for the question. “I’d say my niece is a bit troubled herself. I think she’d like to read this. She may even see herself in here.”

She hands me the book to sign.

“It’s perfect,” she says when I return it to her. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I hope it is perfect for her.” (Yay for cool aunts.)

My signing table at Barnes & Noble

So, because of this woman (and a few others, like the boy who asks me to sign a copy for his girlfriend because she’s too embarrassed to ask me—nice boyfriend, right?), I know that I haven’t wasted my time. There are girls and boys out there who will read this book, and maybe it’s exactly the right book at the right time. All of my time spent writing, thinking, revising, and doing book signings like these is worth it. And no more shame—if the characters in my books are supposed to have, or think about, or talk about sex, then that’s going to happen in my books. 

* Post retitled thanks to the brilliant Ami Allen-Vath

Natasha Sinel writes YA fiction from her home on a dirt road in Northern Westchester, NY. She drives her kids around all afternoon, but in her head, she's still in high school, and hopes that no one near her can read minds. Her first novel THE FIX, released from Sky Pony Press in September 2015.