Smut is not a dirty word: Author Sarah J. Maas (and romantasy at large) deserves more respect

The massively popular author of fantasy books offers way more than faerie smut, which itself is worth more than many are willing to acknowledge.

Smut is not a bad word. 

Some journalists and readers throw it around like they’re the "Pick-a-Little Talk-a-Little" ladies of River City gossiping about Marian the Librarian. It’s a winking term, meant to signal that they know this book they enjoyed is just a silly little trifle with some good sex in it (read: orgasms for ladies), but they just can’t help themselves. They think they’re being cute, but their disdain and self-loathing is as transparent as a throne of glass.

Earlier this week, Sarah J. Maas’ third Crescent City novel, House of Flame and Shadow hit shelves, bringing with it the fresh hell of a new wave of romance discourse (and we're only just entering February!).

It seems that every time something romance or romance-adjacent hits big in the book world, that is the magical signal for every culture writer to sharpen their proverbial quill and find a way to both praise the success of the novel(s) and trip over themselves to assure us that they don’t actually take it seriously. Even if they're a fan or enjoy it, it always comes with an asterisk.

In Maas’ case, she’s praised for the ways that she deals with trauma through the travails of her heroines, the inherent emotionality and empathy of her work. But in the same breath, she’s singled out for including sex scenes, the appeal and thematics of her work given winking adjectives like “throbbing” and “soft-core.” But it’s all a bit too much damning with faint praise.

Why should something that taps into our most visceral, naked emotions be considered lesser? What’s wrong with including scenes of intimacy and physical connection that aren’t a regurgitation of the rape tropes we so often find in male-penned fantasy? The reality of life is that passion, desire, lust, and love all occur alongside sadness, death, and war. Why are so many hell-bent on framing books that acknowledge that reality as lesser titles just because they’re popular with teenage girls (who, frankly, deserve more credit for driving pop culture and taste)?

sarah j maas and the cover of house of flame and shadow
Sarah J. Maas; House of Flame and Shadow.

getty; amazon

The “smut” label implies that Maas’ books have an undue amount of sex in them, if that limit does exist. Smut even suggests Maas' titles verge on erotica, which is also a genre with immense worth and full of great writers. It’s just not what Maas is writing. But Maas’ novels are hardly stuffed with sex scenes. They’re more plentiful than some books, sure, but they’re always crucial to plot and character development. All of the Throne of Glass and most of the A Court of Thorns and Roses series were originally categorized as Young Adult fiction, despite containing more sex scenes than many YA novels.

A male author is rarely dissected for their sex scenes amid praise of the appeal of their intricately plotted court intrigue. I don't seem to recall terms pertaining to obscenity being bandied about in regards to George R.R Martin or Robert Jordan, despite their sex scenes often being ones of sexual violence. Maas has devised entire universes (possibly interconnected?) jam-packed with dynamic female characters who are rescuing entire worlds, while still finding time to deal with interpersonal conflict and build meaningful relationships. But she (and other romantasy authors) are singled out, with a tee-hee, for “smutty” passages.

Those that employ the word “smut” want to imply that the sex is there purely for prurient reasons. Even if it is, that’s not a reason to dismiss, infantilize, or belittle a book. Sex scenes, particularly those in romance novels and romance-adjacent titles, offer a cornucopia of literary value: titillation, yes, and a safe canvas on which to explore and indulge one’s fantasies. But beyond that, they can offer examples of sex positivity, model consent, and generally provide a window through which readers can better understand and communicate their sexuality and desires.

Maas accomplishes all of this with her sex scenes, as well as infusing them with electric chemistry, steamy scenarios, and delicious dirty talk. When you consider that many of her novels were first targeted at teen and young adult audiences — those most in need of that type of insight — it makes the sex appeal of her books both scintillating and vital. There’s so many reasons why Maas has captured the imagination of millions of readers, but to reduce those factors to an arch smirk is infuriating.

Her novels are popular not only because they give us sweeping worlds full of sexy fae, compassionate humans, and dynamic demons, but because they give readers a safe place to project the traumas, tragedies, and triumphs of their own lives. That includes unpacking the vagaries of desire, yearning, and romance that so often prove the most challenging and complex issues of our individual lives. 

We may never know what it is to fight a powerful king who wields the magic of a sinister cauldron, but we may come up against the obstacle of communicating around deep-seated trauma in our sex lives. By reading about that situation through characters who are as thorny, complicated, and messy as we all are, it grants us language through which to understand ourselves. And a framework through which to convey the needs that we are able to recognize through such understanding. What’s more it helps remind us that such desires are normal, even essential parts of a well-rounded life.

That’s powerful stuff when we are confronted on a daily basis with the reality of living in a nation encroached upon by forces as evil as the King of Hybern. At this very moment, Iowa is trying to pass an obscenity law that will require those who violate their book bans (which may include LGBTQ+ titles and some classics) to register as sex offenders. Fiction has been and is increasingly becoming a battleground on which to police identity, self-expression, and self-reflection. In this landscape, where anything that remotely defies a narrow view of the world is considered obscene, reading “smut” isn’t merely a pleasurable act, it’s a defiant one.

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