Lovers XXX by Allie Rowbottom review – a wild journey through the 80s LA porn scene

The Uncharted Territory of Women's Pornography

Just as there is a lack of pornography made by women, there is a lack of books about making pornography written by women. Recent nonfiction titles such as Polly Barton’s Porn: An Oral History and Fiona Vera-Gray’s Women on Porn have sought to address the silence and moral confusion, while Rufi Thorpe’s novel Margo’s Got Money Troubles imagined a student mum paying her way with OnlyFans.

Into the Neon-Lit Underworld of 80s LA

Allie Rowbottom, author of a memoir, Jell-O Girls, and a novel, Aesthetica, braves the dicey terrain in her sleazy, cinematic second novel. Published into a contemporary landscape where algorithms promote increasingly extreme content, Lovers XXX takes us to the so-called golden age of the Los Angeles porn industry, through the eyes of two teenage runaways who trade troubled homes for big-city dreams.

The Dark Side of Desire and Power

The obvious preoccupations of any porn industry narrative are: how do you get into it? What is it like? And how do you get out? Rowbottom answers these questions and more in a hurtling trip through LA’s early 1980s underworld. It’s a neon-lit, tobacco-stained scene as dusted with cocaine and packed with toupeed men touting “modelling” work as your wildest Boogie Nights fantasies might conjure; a place where desire is shaped by men, for men, yet which runs on an endless supply of disposable women.

A Mirrored Structure and Divergent Journeys

The novel uses a mirroring structure, the first half opening with Jude searching for Winnie and the second with Winnie, 30 years later, on a mission to discover what happened to Jude, who vanishes in 1984. As Winnie retraces Jude’s steps, she must confront the industry she has struggled to outrun.

A Reckless Joyride into Youthful Longing and Hedonism

Lovers XXX is a reckless joyride into youthful longing and hedonism, and their bruising flipside. In its humane, heady portrayal of lives on the margins, and its evocative sense of place, it recalls the films of Sean Baker and the novels of Emma Cline – and is presided over by the ghost of Eve Babitz.