Feminism and BDSM: Teresa Noelle Roberts' KNOWING THE ROPES

Feminism and BDSM (Bondage/Discipline/Domination/ Submission/Sadism/Masochism) have a long and fraught relationship. Feminists concerned about the violent, coercive elements of patriarchal discourse have suggested that BDSM is a reflection of the woman-hating inherent in patriarchy, and believe that any women participating in BDSM, or involved in a BDSM relationship, has simply been brainwashed into colluding in her own oppression. Feminist proponents of BDSM argue that such criticisms are a form of sexual policing, a policing just as coercive and repressive as the patriarchy protesters aim to undermine. If a woman enjoys being submissive, being spanked, or even being beaten as part of erotic or even non-erotic play, as long as she has consented to partake in such acts, then her sexual choices should be none of anyone's business. Even a feminist's.

Given this wide divergence of feminist opinion on the topic, I've been wondering about the possibility of a feminist BDSM romance. What would such a novel have to contain in order to satisfy feminist sensibilities of both types? Teresa Noelle Roberts* must have been wondering, too, for her new erotic romance, Knowing the Ropes, clearly works to address the concerns of both feminist opponents and feminist proponents of kinky pain, not only debunking myths about BDSM but pointing out its potential feminist pitfalls, particular for women who take on the submissive role.

At the start of Knowing The Ropes (which might better have been titled Learning the Ropes), our nearly thirty-year-old protagonist Selene Daniels, a graduate student who has worked with victims of domestic abuse, is about to attend her first "Boston Kinksters United" meet and greet. Her pressing question is the same one shared by many feminists: is there a line between consensual kink and abusive violence? And if so, where is it? Despite her professional interests, even despite having witnessed domestic abuse in her childhood best friend's family, Selene finds herself craving "pain mixed with her pleasure, to want so desperately to give up some of the control other women were fighting to regain." As a newbie to the BDSM scene, Selene thus serves as a stand-in for readers who might share her curiosity and doubts, as well as her unfamiliarity with and stereotypes of the rules and practices of the BDSM community.

As we travel with Selene, readers are introduced to both "doms to duck"—arrogant cavemen who show little respect for the women whom they seek to dominate—and "alpha-in-a-good-way" doms—men who, though they enjoy taking on a dominant persona for the purposes of sexual or other play, do so with respect, kindness, and sometimes even love for their partners. As Selene thinks when she meets good-alpha Nick, who doesn't completely look the part: "Even a dom couldn't be all imposing and serious and stern 24/7, or he'd be impossible to deal with." Doms come in all shapes, sizes, and ideological persuasions; finding a dom who is not a sexist pig is possible, but only if you're aware of the differences that exist between men who are into BDSM.

Readers also get to meet a troubling submissive, one set up in opposition to heroine Selene. When first meeting her, Nick intuits that Selene "didn't take shit from anyone. She might take orders, if it entertained her, but not shit. And she got it. She might be new to the scene, but she got that it was about people shaping fantasies, not fantasies shaping people." Nick's old girlfriend, Natalie, however, threw Nick over because he wouldn't dominate all aspects of her life. Later, Natalie finds herself in the midst of an emotionally and physically abusive rebound relationship, a relationship that she can only be persuaded to leave because of Selene's previous experience counseling victims of abuse.

Natalie, though, still feels guilty for leaving her "master." "Slaves don't get to ask, except maybe once in a while when we've pleased our master.... We exist to please our masters. It's not about us. We get our pleasure from pleasing," Natalie tries to explain to Selene. While Selene finds the idea of ceding more control to Nick a turn-on ("loved but controlled, with status and respect but with rules and rituals to follow"), she finds Natalie's willingness to be locked up, punched in the face, denied clothing and even contact with anyone besides her "master" unhealthy and scary. Natalie's extreme form of submission is a problem not just for the submissive partner, but also for the dominant one: "Control was one thing, but that was way too much responsibility for someone else's life and safety, like having a perpetual toddler. How could the dom ever relax?" Natalie thus proves to be the example of the "bad sub," one who does seem to embody feminist fears that a submissive BDSM woman is truly victimized by patriarchal desires, while Selene, who keeps her self-respect and sense of self even while sexually submitting to Nick, provides the example of a sub who is also able to commit to feminist ideology and activism in other parts of her life.

As Selene becomes more involved with Nick, readers learn about the rules BDSM'ers use to keep the "play" "safe, sane, and consensual." First is the importance of informed consent. "Consent's definitely key, even if we're all pretending we're forcing you," Nick tells Selene before their first BDSM encounter.

Second is the necessity of having a discussion about rules and expectations before any BDSM encounter takes place: "And then he proceeded to ask her a series of no-holds-barred questions that made her squirm on the leather couch in a combination of embarrassment and lust. After they'd gone over her experiences... and the things that were absolutely off-limits... the subject turned to her fantasies." As in any sexual relationship, but especially important in a relationship involving pain, not just pleasure, open communication is vital.

Last is the concept of the "safe word," a word the submissive can say if the violence of the play goes beyond the boundaries of acceptability. Natalie believes that safe words are a cop-out, and shouldn't be used by "real" subs. But as Nick and Selene's relationship shows, sometimes even a "fun" scene can unintentionally slip over into frightening or dangerous. Without a safe word, "good" pain can all too easily morph into "bad."


If BDSM is all about highly unbalanced power relationships, while feminism is about creating relationships in which power is shared between equals, can the two ever intersect? At the crux of a feminist BDSM, at least in Roberts' depiction, is that the BDSM power imbalance must be regulated, set within protective boundaries. And that it must occur between consenting individuals, each of whom understand and accept said boundaries. And, perhaps most importantly, that the thrill come not just from the power differential, but also from the sharing, and satisfying, of another's fantasies: "No, not callous, because it was exactly what she needed, exactly one of her fantasies, and it seemed clear to her that Nick not only knew that but was turned on precisely because of it, because her fantasy and his collided so precisely."

I didn't always find Selene and Nick's romance emotionally compelling. Because their kink is not mine? Or because the progress of their romance felt a bit too programmatic at times, a bit too much like a deliberate lesson? But I still found Roberts' novel worth reading. Because her story struck me as a good one to "think" with—introducing me to concepts and practices that I had read about in the abstract but had a difficult time imagining actually occurring between two consenting adults, especially feminist adults, giving me a jumping-off point to think about the implications of them. Given that studies suggest at least 1 in 10 American adults has experimented with S&M, many of them women, dismissing BDSM practice as without any feminist value seems shortsighted. Roberts' novel helped me to imagine what rules have to be in place in order for feminism and BDSM to find common ground.

Do you believe that feminism and BDSM are mutually exclusive? If not, in what romance/erotic novels do you see the two portrayed as compatible, rather than in opposition?



* Disclaimer: Both Teresa Noelle Roberts and I are members of the New England Chapter of the Romance Writers of America.


Photo/Illustration credits:
"Quit Judging Me": memegenerator.net
Safe word: redbubble.com

Teresa Noelle Roberts, 

Knowing the Ropes. 

Samhain, 2013.

Next time on RNFF

Fooling the Reader: 

Narrative Tricks and Treats