It’s time once again for Britain’s annual Bad Sex in Fiction Awards, and this year’s nominees are a particularly ripe bunch. The finalists include Jeanette Winterson, for a description of robot sex; Gary Shteyngart, who penned the description of a vagina at the top of this post; and a typically fecal passage from the late Norman Mailer, among others. The past winners are a moderately distinguished group, although their names will probably be more familiar to British readers than to subliterate Yanks like myself. Probably the most prominent name on the list is Tom Wolfe, who won in 2004 for three outstandingly unfortunate passages from I Am Charlotte Simmons. (”Slither slither slither slither went the tongue, but the hand that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns.”) Churlishly, Wolfe refused to show up and claim his prize.

This year’s winner, assuming he or she shows up, will have the pleasure of hearing the offending passages read aloud by a celebrity presenter, and will receive an award supposedly showing “an abstract depiction of sex in the Fifties.” Me, I’ve got several intriguing new titles to add to my reading list. I mean, robot sex. This Winterson person really knows how to push my buttons. So to speak.

Previously: Her Breasts Were Like Two Firm, Pouty Danish Pastries