Last month, fellow post calvin writer Clint Wilson penned a social commentary on the topic of smut in fiction, and with my own dive back into fiction over school break this past month, I found the debate about smut increasingly close to my heart. And my fists, frankly. So I decided to join the round table, or at least drop a sharply worded letter upon it for review at earliest convenience.

First, for those who aren’t familiar with the romance or fantasy (or the recent combo genre, “romantasy”) publishing industry, books whose protagonists are old enough to have romance are generally classified into either Young Adult (YA) or Adult. There is no hard-and-fast set of rules that delineates between these two categories, but the basic determiners are (a) the emotional complexity or maturity of the plot and characters, and (b) the presence or absence of swearing, gore, and sex. The adult “romantasy” genre that has emerged in the past few decades is a combining of these two factors basically so that in the vast majority of cases, teen-depth plot equals “clean” romance and adult-depth plot equals any measure of unrestricted “smut.” It’s just about impossible to find romances in adult-maturity books (well, I can’t comment outside of fantasy, to be fair) that don’t contain graphic sex scenes. Why does the desire for complex stories imply a desire to observe imaginary people’s sex lives? And why in the world is it so hard to tell what sort of romance you might be picking up before you’re already halfway through the book and suddenly [fill in the blank] has scarred your brain’s retinas and will reappear in said retinas later, uninvited, when you’re spacing out at school or work?

Looking for stories that suit one’s maturity level after outgrowing YA fiction is a confusing and treacherous line to walk when intellectually mature plots are so casually paired with smut and both the industry and the community treat it as normal. On every online and in-person conversation I can recall, in contrast to being shamed (perhaps any shame culture is predominantly among male groups?), reading smut is treated like a guilty pleasure among the girls, something snickered about between friends or even made a point of pride for writers. But ladies, smut is not harmless at all. Far from it.

For the purpose of social commentary, yes, as a general statement, women’s sexuality has historically been repressed and I can understand how a “broader range of human experiences” now printed in books could be seen as a step in the right direction for women to express themselves sexually. But in the plainest terms, unintended porn addiction is the dead last place where I want to pursue equality.

Reading about sex in books, especially in first-person perspective self-insert stories, is essentially text-based voyeurism. Which is porn. And romantasy, which I saltily dub elf erotica, has thus far managed to escape the erotica bookshelves by using terms like “spice level” to indicate what is actually the intensity or frequency of explicit media contained in an otherwise fantasy-esque story. But it’s not “spicy.” It’s R-rated. And the language around the genre is attempting to normalize reading descriptive sex in a way that is very easy for booklovers (usually and especially young female fantasy readers) to fall into unsuspectingly. Even in my close friend groups, I know girls who have struggled with reading smut addictively and experience a lot of the same fallout from it as porn causes for men.

The fact of the matter is that reading smut is not a neutral activity. It’s not “just part of the story,” as I and many others are wont to tell ourselves when we first encounter it; it’s expressly erotic and is distinct from the aesthetic or emotional exploration that characterizes general reading. All kinds of romances that don’t have this erotic element (“closed door,” “black-out,” etc.) stand to prove that pornographic content is completely unrelated to the components of a good story.

So by all means, please do not celebrate this notch in the sexual revolution unless you are also going to celebrate pornography. They are the same level of deceptively addictive and harmful, and we should be doing more both online and in the publishing industry to educate young readers and viewers, male and female alike, about exactly what narratives of sexuality and intimacy they are consuming in pornographic content. Getting into something like this cannot just be undone, unseen, unlearned. So ladies (and all other interested parties), smut is porn and it doesn’t matter how good the plot of the book is. Do not read it unless you want to invite the slippery addiction and romanticized sexual objectification of pornography.

Sincerely, a friendly neighborhood ticked twenty-something fantasy booklover. Happy prudent reading.

Emilyn Shortridge

Emilyn Shortridge (’25) spent her Calvin years studying English linguistics, Asian studies, and ministry leadership, and intends to finish her Asian studies program in Chiba, Japan, in 2026. When at home in Plymouth, Michigan, she thrives anywhere near fantasy novels, houseplants, hot tea, or her calico cat, Genie, but she plans to live and learn in many cultures before deciding which corner of the world needs her most.