This is going to be a somewhat blurry question, though I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I suspect it also has a blurry answer.
What are the boundaries on erotica? I mean, when does a story stop being a primarily erotic work and start being some other sort of story with a lot of erotic content?
I don't just mean the books where you tip your head to the side and say, "Well, really, if it lost the sex scenes it would still be perfectly readable coherent sci-fi," or whatever other genre. Is there a level of grim gritty realism that intrudes too far on the sexual fantasy and ruins the mood? Or does that grit make the contrast more intense?
Okay, make that a blurry set of questions. If I weren't prone to going on a bit when a keyboard is in front of me, I'd be someone else and that person wouldn't be here!
What are the boundaries on erotica? I mean, when does a story stop being a primarily erotic work and start being some other sort of story with a lot of erotic content?
I don't just mean the books where you tip your head to the side and say, "Well, really, if it lost the sex scenes it would still be perfectly readable coherent sci-fi," or whatever other genre. Is there a level of grim gritty realism that intrudes too far on the sexual fantasy and ruins the mood? Or does that grit make the contrast more intense?
Okay, make that a blurry set of questions. If I weren't prone to going on a bit when a keyboard is in front of me, I'd be someone else and that person wouldn't be here!