Books like Sex Workers Unite

I really have no idea how Corporate Crush ever ended up in my hands.

The set up was all wrong for me—the boss and admin trope (power disparity concerns), the female villain defined only by her money-grubbing ways (eyeroll), the romantic relationship controlled by a formal contract (both ew and legally unenforceable). But I quickly discovered that I, as the judgmental reader, was the only one-dimensional villain in this story. 

After I put down my ego, I discovered a hilarious book about strong, smart, potty-mouthed women fighting for power in an ever-antiquated corporate America. It promotes body positivity, shifts traditional sexual power dynamics, and is sexy as hell both inside and outside the bedroom. 

I am a sucker for any and all sapphic romance but throw in two main characters that are individually powerful before they find love...and I’m done. Stars Collide got to me, folks, and not just for its portrayal of strong female leads.

This book sticks with me because of its thoughtful description of an older woman discovering her sexuality. It challenges the idea that all people are able to define their orientation early in life and allows older people to question their sexuality, despite any past romantic relationships (even, gasp, the infallible institution of marriage!). 

In fairness, you may not have missed this book. However, I will die on my hill arguing it has not yet received the accolades it deserves. 
Among many other topics, Honey & Spice brilliantly explores modern romance through the eyes of college students—a topic very near and dear to my own sappy, romance-author heart. It questions sexual dynamics from both male and female perspectives, with emphasis on unpacking underlying gender stereotypes and evolving the concept of sexual consent.

With its unflinching descriptions of slut-shaming and its gratifying treatment of those that dare use women’s sexuality against them, Honey & Spice should be dominating any romance reader’s TBR list.

A Witch’s Guide to Fake Dating a Demon is a laugh-out-loud read with just enough spice and tension to get you squirming in your seat.

I adore the grumpy x sunshine dynamic between the two leads, Mariel (the witch who accidentally summoned the demon) and Ozroth (the aforementioned demon who wants Mariel’s soul). This is a fun, delightful, and heartwarming paranormal romance with great stakes and plenty of shenanigans. If this unlikely pair is able to find love, then so can you!

The plot of this book seems simple enough. A guy goes to Vegas to drink himself to death, but whilst there, he develops a relationship with a prostitute. Now, if this were Hollywood, they’d end up eloping and starting a new life together. Yet, whilst there is indeed an excellent Hollywood adaptation of it starring Nicholas Cage, it is no less bleaker than the novel it is based on. A novel that was written by an alcoholic who killed himself and whose book was called a suicide note by his father.

Despite its sadness, however, the book is beautifully written. Aside from its doomed romance, it also has a romantic sense of being doomed, which I like.

In my quest to learn about the inner lives of 19th-century prostitutes, I found three memoirs, all gold mines. Demi-mondaines always used a stage name and that’s what the eponymous Madeleine chose. Even though she wasn’t a writer by trade, her story as a young “public woman” in the 1890s is riveting, and heartbreaking. When Madeleine’s autobiography was first published by Harper & Brothers in 1919, it caused a scandal and led to a lawsuit against the publisher. Harper eventually successfully defended itself but still ended up withdrawing the book from circulation. It wouldn’t be available to the public again for nearly 70 years. 

Published by Oxford University Press, Common Women is an academic rather than a popular history of medieval English prostitution, and its author is an expert in medieval sexuality.

I adore the wealth of historical detail founded on original research that Karras presents. It’s a goldmine of inspiration for those of us who write fiction set in medieval England. Where else can you learn about the cross-dressing prostitute John Rykener, the Bishop of Winchester’s brothel empire in Southwark, or discover names like Clarice Clatterballock?

Nell Kimball was the least educated of the prostitute authors I read but also the most colorful. And the only one who didn’t feel trapped in the profession. Like Josie Washburn, Nell couldn’t find a publisher for her memoir when she looked for one in 1932. She was 78 years old and reportedly in dire straits financially. Nell had started in the “trade” in St. Louis at the age of fifteen in 1867 and worked as a prostitute and then as a madam, lastly in New Orleans’s famed Storyville red-light district, until it was shut down in 1917. Nell died in 1934. Her book was finally published by Macmillan in 1970.

I’m grateful that Madeleine, Josie, and Nell were fortuitous enough to pen their stories, to record a first-hand account of an era that we otherwise would not be privy to in such a personal way.

I suspect one of the reasons I enjoy reading (and writing) about amateur detectives is that I’m instinctively drawn to stories of the dispossessed – those without a voice, forced to take matters into their own hands because the proper authorities won’t listen. Kirstin Innes’ debut novel, about a woman investigating the disappearance of her sex worker sister, is not for the fainthearted: a deep dive into a parallel world that foregrounds the voices of the women who inhabit it and challenges widely-held conceptions about them – namely that they’re all poor, pathetic victims in need of rescuing. Innes’ thorough research shines throughout, and the result is a compelling, informative, and thought-provoking novel that avoids the common tropes associated with the “dead hooker” subgenre of crime fiction.

I also write about this book in my work. I again have problems with it, but it gives a kind of slice-of-life snapshot of Cuban life at that moment (around 2005), and especially about jineteras, or “jockeys,” women who supplement their income by going out with wealthy foreigners. Doing research on that book gave me a look at Cuba that was invaluable. And it is sometimes funny. It serves as a kind of coda to my book in that it reproduces many of the rhetorical moves of other chica lit but in a completely different setting.