It’s been an exciting week. With a little frisson of excitement, the media finally twigged that the Erotic Review was back in business. Well, sort of twigged. Copstick, our publisher and Dear Leader(ene), was talking to the Today Programme from Kenya, where she is currently giving the Nairobi working girls a bit of much-needed support. In the programme she was defending a position she had taken about women writers, which was that they seldom write well about sex because “they have an agenda, they complicate sex, they make layers, it’s conditional. And they lie as well.” And when Kathy Lette, the doughty Aussie literary sexpot popped up in the studio, the sparks flew in a highly entertaining way (that is, whenever Lette managed to get a word in edgeways, which wasn’t often). Today, I’m told, has 6.6 million listeners. Then the Times and the Guardian picked it up. So we were sort of back on the map, albeit with one half of the literary world potentially up in arms against us and the other laughing up their sleeves, no doubt saying “Tee-hee, but thank God I didn’t say that...”

But them was fightin’ words, Copstick, and I’m not really surprised that the Sisters rose up as one and shrieked their disapproval. Of course, some of them got the point that if you’re going to get any publicity these days it has to come with more than a whiff of scandal or controversy. Others had a sense of humour, if not of proportion, about it all.

In our last issue, over half the articles and stories were by women, and my personal view on female writers is unequivocal: while I know what Copstick means (take In Bed With, the recently published anthology of ‘top women writers’, conveniently pseudonymous, panned in the press by every self-respecting critic), I don’t agree with her generalisation, but then that’s the prerogative of our excellent working relationship. I think that women can write brilliantly about sex – and often write about it extremely well. But when selecting copy for the magazine I edit, I simply look for good writing; the gender of the author doesn’t enter into it.

What did surprise me (especially as it gave everybody a marvellous chance to plug their latest book or website) was the shrillness of some of the ‘debate’ in the comments attached to the blogs and online articles. Perhaps ‘a red rag to a bull’ seems inappropriate under the circs, but that, dear readers, is what it was. But there was some funny stuff, too: “Anna, you forgot to mention Zane! One of the best sex writers out there for women.” Or “I would invite Ms. Copstick to read my erotic space trek, LUST IN SPACE, and then restate her claim!” But what did make me laugh even more was how one person in the blogosphere imagined how feminist porn might be written:

“And then he asked permission to kiss me, and after careful consideration I agreed. He didn’t try to slip me the tongue without asking permission first as well.”

In this issue Copstick elegantly nails her thoughts to the cathedral door. I hope you enjoy her piece as much as I do.