For example, one area of
scientific ignorance is the chemistry of female ejaculate. Various researchers
have reported that it's identical to urine, or that it has compounds related to
semen, or that it doesn't exist at all. When one considers the difficulty of
collecting and isolating the fluid, it ceases to be surprising that we remain
in the dark. And the same goes for the nature of the female orgasm (clitoral?
vaginal? multiple?) and the relative importance of the brain, as opposed to
simple reflexes, in arousal and climax. When possible, Roach observes
researchers doing ghastly penis surgery or quantifying bonobo mating behavior
or manufacturing artificial vaginas. But when privacy is an issue, the author
gamely inserts probes while watching pornography, and even enlists her husband
to have very scientific intercourse with her while being recorded
ultrasonically.
Bonk obviously isn't for the
prudish, but it also isn't for the squeamish. (Those who feel light-headed at
the thought of objects being inserted into the male urethra are advised to read
in a reclining position.) Its one minor fault is a tendency to downplay
chronology in favor of a good yarn; Roach prefers to hook her history onto
firsthand contemporary narrative, so Masters and Johnson, along with other
sex-research classics, tend to pop up whenever they're needed. But her
humorous, frank style—frequently digressing to hilarious effect in the
footnotes—seems to have matured completely in her third outing. Perhaps that's
because sex and science are both poignant efforts to attach meaning to
fundamental human desires. (There's a reason there's a Biblical connotation of the
verb "to know.") Laughter is a perfectly appropriate response to both.
Keep scrolling for more great stories from A.V. Club.