Forget EL James, let’s have some real dirty fiction

As Grey smashes UK sales records, Scarlett Thomas reveals a lifelong love of dirty books, and asks whether female writers who focus on sex are taken seriously

I have always enjoyed a really dirty book. As a child, I loved the sensual thrill you could get from reading – before I was old enough for books with sex in them, I would read food scenes again and again. At school, people practised kissing and looked at each other’s knickers. I wondered why no one in my books did things like this. They had midnight feasts, but no midnight assignations. Some children believe their toys come to life when they are asleep. I hoped that the Famous Five characters were secretly getting off with one another when the pages were closed. What were they doing? I wanted it to be more exciting than what I had already encountered in the playground – literature is supposed to broaden one’s horizons after all – but had no idea what this would mean.

It was 1982. Christian Grey did not exist. To enlighten me, along came a collection of progressive, no-holds-barred sex-education books from Compendium Books, Camden, in north london. Previously, I had suspected the Famous Five of things like showing their bums to pirates. “Have you ever put a pillow between your legs and squeezed it?” asked The Playbook for Kids about Sex. Was this what other children were doing? Was this what George and Anne were doing? I didn’t know what to think. I was 10, and already felt twee and repressed. Damp‑looking pages from pornographic magazines would sometimes flutter sadly past the gates of my primary school, but I was not allowed to touch them. I wanted to know as much as I could about life, but felt that the important details were being kept from me.

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