On Having Standards

Why clean fiction is good

Photo by Christin Hume on Unsplash

I’m very particular about what media I consume. There’s certain music I don’t listen to, certain movies and TV I don’t watch, and certain books I don’t read. Everyone is like this, to a certain extent; everyone has tastes, but I take it to another level, due to my belief that what we consume forms our beliefs, thoughts and actions in ways we can’t fully comprehend. I’ve spoken about the “catechetical” quality of media before.

Thus, I do not read or watch what is casually termed “smut”.

There are two definitions of “smut”. One refers to a species of fungus that infects grain, making it inedible. The other refers to sexually explicit content. As a gardener, reader and writer, I try to avoid both.

Now, to be fair, people have different levels of what they consider “smut” and what is an acceptable level of sexual content. Some might consider some of R.E. Howard’s or Edgar Rice Burroughs’ stories to be “smutty” (however, I do not personally agree). That’s fair. But most of us agree that there’s a certain point beyond which sexual content is just gratuitous. In my own work, there’s a lot of content that I simply leave out for the sake of good taste.

Now, the moment you bring this up, people, particularly on the internet, go on the defensive. “You’re just a prude! What, are you trying to shove your beliefs down my throat? Real life isn’t Little House on the Prairie! Grow up!” They take pride in their reading of smut. They make a big deal out of how much smut they read or write and how they love their smut. The moment they find out you have standards, the claws come out. It’s quite annoying, if you ask me.

I’m not telling you what you can or cannot read; please don’t try to shove your beliefs down my throat. You are allowed to like that, just as I am allowed to avoid it. It seems hypocritical of people who make such a big deal about not being told what to read or write should try to shame or pressure others into liking the same things.

They’re right, of course, about the real world not being rated G; that doesn’t mean one has to be steeped in all the ugliness and sensuality of the world. It’s alright to read a book as a sort of escape from all that.

It is my own opinion that too much fictional smut has much the same effect on one’s soul as the fungal smut; it rots away the grain, leaving only black, sooty dust in it’s place. My fear is that consuming too much of such explicit material would negatively affect how I think about others and how I treat them. And perhaps this is why the pro-smut crowd gets so up in arms; they know they’re wrong and they don’t want to be corrected.

I might take some heat for writing this, but someone had to say it; might as well be me. I’m a grown man. I can take it.

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