My country, ’tis of porn

We see it in Carl’s Jr. commercials, tabloids and cooking programs: Pornography is everywhere. According to The Porning of America, what once was marginalized now is mainstream; porn is in our lives and our lives are in porn. More importantly, though, The Porning of America gives us a startling reality check on the consequences: violence, degradation and, yes, an unabashed sexual freedom.

Incredibly important to the book is the nonjudgmental approach that the authors take. Occasionally, Carmine Sarracino and Kevin M. Scott will allow their roles as fathers to guide their narrative, but for the most part, the tone is exploratory and educational. They trace American pornography from the Civil War battlefields, through comic books and to the present-day proliferation of porn Web sites. What makes the ride so powerful is the insightful analysis. Choosing to explore the multiple viewpoints that make up this subject, The Porning of America is a discussion, not a diatribe about wicked ways or sexual salvation. At its heart are always the questions of power, control and supremacy.

Not surprisingly, in American porn, the male is usually dominant over the female, but this doesn’t stop with who’s on top. Anyone who’s looked at online porn knows that it has taken a violent turn. Though the authors point out that violence and degradation are not new methods of getting off, the extreme form it has taken recently is historically unparalleled.

While that may not surprise anyone, Sarracino and Scott put forth the interesting theory that this need to mix violence and sexuality is a reaction to the decline of American status, where American men engage in a quest to reclaim the lost authority and power they once held in the world, the workplace and at home—a cultural trait last seen with pre-Nazi Germany.

The topic is huge, but Sarracino and Scott do a good job of using relevant material to highlight finer points. Always cerebrally stimulating, the biggest problem with the book is that the research seems to be skin-deep in select areas.

One instance is the citation of professionals’ wrestling moves in World Wrestling Entertainment (referred to as WWF, a moniker that hasn’t been used in more than five years) as “mock sexual positions” and an example of mainstream entertainment edging closer to pornography. As Freud might have said, sometimes a wrestling move is just a wrestling move. If they could figure out another method of performing a stepover toehold sleeper without bumping uglies, then the authors might have had a point.

In another example, Sarracino and Scott point to Wonder Woman as a nonsexualized comic-book superhero. However, early Wonder Woman comics featured heavy bondage, with the heroine losing her Amazonian powers if anyone bound her wrists together. Still, these examples of iffy work are the exception; for the most part, the book has a solid grasp of pornography’s symbiotic relationship with our culture.

Succeeding in their efforts to create a pro-sex book, the authors point to the truly amateur porn and pornography created by women as instances of celebrating sexual freedom without violence and abuse stomping out the progress. As Sarracino and Scott point out, in an age defined by sexual freedom and technological possibilities, “We can choose badly as easily as choose well.”

It seems that with great pornography comes great responsibility.