When my kids were younger, book club night was a bright shining beacon in my life. It was the only night each month when I could count on getting a night away. I’d actually hire a babysitter if my husband was working late. I loved to talk with adults (yay! adults!) and, better yet, to talk about my favorite subject (yay! books!). One of the things I did not love about book club was the inevitable discussion that cycled through every (Mormon) group that I was in, which was where we’d talk about where to draw the line when it came to language and sex in the books we read. Should we read The Kite Runner or not? Should we prep the group by telling them which pages they should skip if they want to avoid the pivotal rape scene? Is a book verboten if it has even one f-bomb? If not, how many are okay?

I remember one particularly painful night where we met to discuss The Book Thief and a newbie to the group proceeded to ream out all of the group regulars for reading smut (just as an aside, there are plenty of uncomfortable aspects in this fantastic YA novel, but its use of German profanity barely registered with me). The poor person who recommended the novel and had to lead the discussion was practically in tears, and the rest of us felt profoundly rankled and uncomfortable. 

I don’t go to book clubs any more. Part of it was because my kids got older and I could talk to them and they’d talk back, and part of it was because the books that were picked were invariably things I’d read before (which is fine a few times each year but gets lame after a while). Honestly, a lot of it was because I’m a book slut, and I constantly found myself falling into groups where people would say “we only read the classics” or “we only read nonfiction,” and I always got the sense that it was so they could avoid the “objectionable material” in contemporary fiction. To be even more honest, I felt a little bit judged when people said the books I loved were smutty or dirty. Maybe you feel a little bit judged now, and that’s not my intent, so stick with me.

I recognize that calling myself a book slut will probably put some of your four-letter-word hackles up, but let me explain– I read widely; books with sex scenes and lots of four-letter words don’t really bother me. I know that part of this is because I didn’t grow up with born-and-bred Mormon parents. My dad did a great job of modeling omnivorous reading and colorful cursing. I picked up both habits before we joined the church, and didn’t see my church membership as a reason why I should stop either one.

For the last eight or nine years, I’ve been reviewing the books I read on my personal blog. To date, I’ve reviewed more than 1,100 books. One of the things I always do is give readers a content alert– I tell people what’s in the book that they might find difficult, whether it’s swearing or abuse or teen sex or purple prose or wartime violence or whatever. I do this for my book club friends of days gone by (and because people tell me they appreciate it), but I feel conflicted about it. If I knew ahead of time that The Fault in Our Stars would be full of cursing and that the teen protagonists would have sex would I have wanted to read it? Would I want my teenage daughter to read it? I often worry that by putting out that content warning, I reduce the book to only the red flags. It would be so sad not to have the adorably sweet, tragic love story of Hazel and Augustus to draw on as a great narrative that expanded my worldview (and also my teenage daughter’s).

And that’s just it– the main reason why I read is not just to pass the time or entertain myself (although those reasons are definitely important). I recognize that my lived experience is narrow. I’m a white, American, Mormon housewife. My own life is pretty whitewashed and sanitized. I may let my mouth run wild when I get really angry (or for comic effect), but four-letter words aren’t part of my everyday experience in the same way they might be for Nazi prison guards who use language to shame and intimidate. While I know the struggles of getting six kids to practice the piano, I know nothing at all about what it’s like to grow up in war-torn Afghanistan. But if I don’t shrink away from what that life looks like, rape scenes and all, I may learn and have more empathy for someone who does. I’ve recently started reading more romance novels, and let me just tell you, I’ve learned quite a few useful skills from those books, too (where is that winky emoticon when you need her?).

I know that many people worry that if they read books or watch movies with profanity or violence or vulgarity, they may start on a slide down a slippery slope. But in nearly thirty years of reading from the “grown up” section at the library, that hasn’t happened to me. I don’t swear any more than usual after reading Aziz Ansari. I haven’t knocked off any bad guys after reading Stephen King. F. Scott Fitzgerald didn’t turn me into a drunk. But as far as the bedroom stuff I’ve picked up in reading romance novels goes, my lips are sealed.

What’s your experience with book clubs? With smutty reads? What do you hope to gain out of reading?