One of my favourite literary awards, the Bad Sex in Ficton Award, was just announced and this year Ben Okri runs away with the prize for the sex depicted in his latest book The Age of Magic.
When his hand brushed her nipple it tripped a switch and she came alight. He touched her belly and his hand seemed to burn through her. He lavished on her body indirect touches and bitter-sweet sensations flooded her brain.
She became aware of places in her that could only have been concealed there by a god with a sense of humour. Adrift on warm currents, no longer of this world, she became aware of him gliding into her. He loved her with gentleness and strength, stroking her neck, praising her face with his hands, till she was broken up and began a low rhythmic wail. She was a little overwhelmed with being the adored focus of such power, as he rose and fell. She felt certain now that there was a heaven and that it was here, in her body. The universe was in her and with each movement it unfolded to her.
Somewhere in the night a stray rocket went off.
Accepting the prize on Okri’s behalf at the appropriately named In & Out Club, his editor Maggie McKernan at Head of Zeus said: “Winning the award is fun but a bit undignified, just like sex, assuming you do it properly”. I guess all PR is good PR…
Okri had stiff competition from hot-shots like Richard Flanagan (The Narrow Road to the Deep North), Haruki Murakami (Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage), and Wilbur Smith (Desert God).