A CO-CREATED
BODY AND
ITS SECRETS
Victoria Brooks is the author of the novel Silicone God (MOIST Books, 2023, House of Vlad Press, 2025) and two nonfiction books Mistress Ethics (Bloomsbury, 2022) and Fucking Law (Zero, 2019).
Blue Parlour: Hello Victoria, thank you for taking the time to chat with us. Our first question is a simple one…
What is erotic art?
And would you describe your work as erotic?
Victoria Brooks: I would describe my best work as erotic. Erotic art is work that provokes a strong reaction, together with an intense need for touch—physical or not—with other bodies—even, or perhaps especially, our own. I think erotic art is always somehow taking root in the body—it’s as if we see it and it jumps inside, titillating our senses, causing excretion.
BP: A wonderful definition. You know, many, if not most definitions of erotic art rely on some idea of sexual arousal - an idea that is so bound by hetero-patriarchal conceptions of sexuality and desire. But regardless of how one experiences sexual arousal, definitions that rely on it exclude the enjoyment of readers/viewers of erotic art who don’t experience sexual arousal, be that because of disability, medical reasons, perhaps that is an aspect of their asexuality, etc. So thank you, this is a wonderful definition.
VB: It’s also true that the art in question might not be obviously sexual, in fact it could be something gross, or inhuman or painful.
What is unique to written erotica?
VB: I have always loved written erotica. There’s something about seeing sex—or anything about the body—written on the page which I find especially arousing. I love the Deleuzian idea that the power of erotic text is that it creates a kind of hyperreal, yet limitless and perverse ‘body for the mind’. Unexpected things—like two slimy mushroom aliens fucking inside an egg—suddenly become sexy when the details are there on the page, crafted in letters, words—instruments usually reserved for more serious purposes. Even though the written word can be so proper, as can the process of writing—that seeing an erotic text becomes so irresistibly seductive and intimate. It’s like the collapsing of the author’s “authority” and then the reader being invited into this naughty, secret encounter that has so shockingly been committed to something so formal as words. The images the work generates are held between the author and reader—as though the erotic hallucinations belonging to both mix, and set alight desire in both bodies.
To what degree can an artist control the parameters of a viewer’s experience? - That’s is a horny question. And I wonder, is there something about the erotic that has the potential to collapse power dynamics?
VB: I think the erotic is the ultimate shapeshifter, something so malleable than can become a plaything for us as writers/artists. I like the idea of it as a co-created body, and yes I think it could collapse power dynamics, but I think it can also be power. I think a lot about that because with power comes responsibility, and I feel that heavily as a writer. That being said, I think my inclination in my practice is to want to play with my reader and shock them, as well as play at the edges of what I dare to write. I find it the most thrilling when I let go of that responsibility and go with the flow—almost a submission to the erotic, and all the bodies I’m writing/creating in my work.
For me, as a sometimes writer of erotica, there is also something arousing about the confessional aspect of the work, the risk of it, the joy of it. I think I write better work when I’m aroused.
BP: We love queerly coded, confessional, messages in artworks. And knowing that some people will “get it” and others won’t is also a power trip. But with the written word this feels so much more direct, more radical somehow.
VB: Yes, I also think there’s something about writing that makes the confession more direct or obvious, or there could be. I think that’s why I love fiction so much, and especially autofiction which incorporates some of my own experience. No one knows if I’m being serious, if I’m telling a story that actually happened, or if it’s completely made up and I love that dangerous zone. I guess I can also hide there, but I can also come out if I want to. Of course with the more weird and wonderful sci-fi, that’s different, but also kind of not, since I feel that’s where my more grounded ideas, storylines (real or not) take flight too—that’s where they end up. I guess I can be more instructive with words than it might be possible to be with paint, maybe there’s more power in that.
VB: I think the written word leaves a lot to chance. It relies on the dance of fantasies (of both author and reader) in order for the work to function and actually have its intended affect. In a sense, this is not so dissimilar to the image. Perhaps with the written word, the distinction is that the interplay between author and reader is more secret, since it is unseen.
BP: Unseen – that’s hot. Can you tell us more about that?
VB: I think I mean that there can be more places to hide out in the open, as I say about the whole is it real/is it not slipperiness. I think that’s what I mean by secret in the sense that I can hide my intentions, but also that the images I want to evoke are hallucinations in a sense and I can never be quite sure what they are, even though I know what I intend—they are always secret to the reader. There’s a tantalising link with mushrooms here now I think about it, with words/pages/books acting like fungal bodies using brains and bodies as their network…
What might that tell us about the written word vs the image?
VB: Maybe that it thrives in dark, moist, secret environments, like fungi? I think I find this idea exciting as it gives a lightness and joy to the darkness. I think mushrooms can teach us a lot about fucking and connection—they are experts. I’m thinking now about vast networks of mycelium and how fungi communicate and facilitate connection, transition and decomposition.
And the erotic?
Erotic art vs porn? How are they distinct in your opinion?
This reminds me slightly of the genre fiction/literary fiction divide, with the suggestion that one is more “highbrow” than the other. I don’t think this is the case, nor do I think so with erotic art/porn. Both are forms of art in their way, and can tell us about social, political, and cultural aspects of sexuality. The distinction is in the stigma, in my view—while erotic art can be displayed in galleries/bookshops etc (depending on who the creator is and their privilege, particularly class privilege) and porn is deemed obscene because of who has made it and the explicitly transactional nature. Porn is considered sex-work and sex-work isn’t valued under capitalism. This is a shame given the inherent artistry and value within sex-work, which necessarily requires proficiency in eroticism, as well as skill and the ability to connect with others.
BP: Has your work ever been labelled pornographic?
VB: I can’t think of a time that my work has been labelled pornographic—to my face at least! I’m sure people have thought that privately. I also think that my erotica genre writing—commissions for websites that are making such writing available for the purposes of pleasure, is definitely (hopefully!) pornographic. BUT for all my work the censorship is real. I’m talking by algorithms, of course when I used to be in academia, and sadly by bookshops too who need to cater to the algorithm, propriety etc. That being said, I have had some wonderful support from lots of artists, readers and bookshops too. I think with erotic art, it’s about finding your people.
Is all art horny?
Also give us your thoughts on the AI meme - that AI can’t make art because it can’t get horny?
I love this meme. Who is to say that AI can’t get horny? I think we make the mistake that human horniness—and a particular kind of lust, usually the conception of which is based on cis-hetero, definitely non-queer, male-centric ideas of arousal—is the only way to be horny. Maybe AI has its own kind of desire, and one that is being cultivated as its collective body grows in ways the human mind/body is unable to yet conceive. At least I hope so.
Who are your top 5 sexy writers and artists?
I chose 6!
You! [Haha! As are you. Ed.]
Zoe Williams (especially the cover art on Silicone God (MOIST) and the forthcoming US edition).
Anais Nin
Audre Lorde
Helene Cixous
Nicolson Baker
Read Silicone God
Read a chapter of Silicone God to whet your appetite. The book is published by MOIST Books in the UK and House of Vlad Press in the US. Support your local bookshop and buy/order from them or directly from the publishers’ sites.
Thank you Victoria Brooks.
Victoria Brooks is a queer non-binary author living in London, UK, and parent to an octopod (2 year old identical twins).
@queermistresswifehuman
www.victoriathewriter.com
Portrait of Victoria Brooks © Tracy Johnson Photography
Their first queer sci-fi novel, Silicone God, was published by MOIST Books in the UK, December 2023, and House of Vlad Press in the US, 14 February 2025. They have also published two nonfiction books (Fucking Law, Zer0 and Mistress Ethics, Bloomsbury), various essays on writing trauma and trauma-writing, time-travel and ethics, as well as short fiction, usually relating to trans-dimensional and futuristic sexuality.