Interview with Mónica Soto Icaza
On Eroticism, the Female Body, and the Aesthetics of Liberation
Interview by Ali Bader
International Berlin book fair
I met Mónica Soto Icaza at the International Berlin Book Fair, where our conversation unfolded as a lucid meditation on eroticism as freedom rather than provocation. Her work approaches the body as both language and knowledge, reclaiming desire from moral panic and the historically dominant male gaze. Moving between writing and image, she refuses apology and justification, insisting instead on autonomy, pleasure, and aesthetic discipline. For Soto Icaza, eroticism is not scandal—it is a form of clarity, a lived ethics, and a serious artistic practice.
In a world that still confuses eroticism with scandal, how do you distinguish between erotic writing as an artistic expression and as a social provocation?
For me, eroticism is a way of life, in addition to the literary genre I chose, and much more than a desire to scandalize others, so I look at it as an invitation, as a seduction, and never as an imposition. Eroticism is living with the senses wide awake, in intense contact with the world, at all times, in all circumstances: from the moment I open my eyes in the morning and become aware of the sensations of my body, the texture of the sheets, the consistency of the mattress, the pillow, the weight of the quilt, the smell of the fabrics, the environment, the color of the light that sneaks through the slits of the curtains, the emotion that my dreams bequeathed to me, until the moment I return to bed at night. Thus, there is no routine, but a day-to-day feast of sensations and stimuli for the skin, intellect, spirit and imagination.
Do you believe erotic literature can truly liberate women from the stereotypes imposed by a long male literary tradition?
Erotic literature can help liberate people, both women and men, from social stereotypes and those that have been imposed by centuries of books dominated by a male vision, both of women, who were objects of desire and not subjects, and of the way in which we desire and execute that desire. Erotic literature is an opportunity to discover other ways to fall in love, to love, to have sex; to expand the possibilities of our desire and experience. In addition, eroticism was typically violent against women, just look at the enormous influence of authors such as the Marquis de Sade, Henry Miller, George Bataille, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch and so many more, which shaped a generalized idea of what was expected of sexual relations, eliminating the opportunities to seek more diversity of interaction. Fortunately, we now know that people have very different preferences, and erotic literature has had a lot to do with that discovery.
In your work, the body appears not merely as an object of desire, but as a form of knowledge. What can the body say when language fails?
The body is a form of language in itself; sometimes the movements, the nuances of the gestures, the chemistry between the smells, can be more eloquent than the words. Words sometimes lie, the body is honest, and together they are our dialogue with the world.
For you, is writing about desire an act of confession, resistance, or artistic creation?
It is sometimes confession, sometimes resistance, always artistic creation. Something that characterizes me as a self-published author of erotica is my emphasis on literary creation, the search for narrative intention, for finding original ways to tell what has been told since human beings began to leave a record of their activities and their history. Furthermore, I am very careful with word choice, text structure, syntax, and the use of punctuation as a resource that enhances style. For me, writing erotica is a literary vocation. That it is provocative and liberating are side effects of artistic creation.
To what extent can a woman write about her own pleasure without being forced to justify or defend it before society?
I have never had to justify or defend my writing to anyone, because my writing defends itself against prejudice. I discovered that writing about sex and desire is my calling, and I started doing it. What people think or interpret about me because of it, is the business of the people, I do not worry, rather they should ask themselves why they find it disruptive for a woman to write about topics that should be everyday for them, why they are afraid of the freedom of someone else, instead of living theirs fully. I like freedom and I believe that true personal freedom is being you without asking permission or apologizing for being you. I have learned in these 15 years of publishing erotica that the real taboo is not sex, it is that a person recognizes, assumes, performs and enjoys with joy, lightness and freedom their right to enjoy life.
Many critics argue that erotic literature exploits the body. How do you respond to that, as a writer who treats the body both as symbol and as subject?
I like to think that as a creator I am in total possession of deciding what the raw material of my stories will be. I decided to celebrate the body in its multiple dimensions, and that includes putting that body to experiment and then narrate. Just as other creators exploit ideas, global conflicts, other's misfortunes or their own, I use the physical part of my existence. It seems that we are in an age where fashion is to write as if it were a competition for who suffers more, where it is valid to advocate for crime, drug trafficking, sexual abuse, violence, but they try to censor you if you talk about the multiple possibilities of joy. If you think about it, it is even perverse. If critics find it frivolous, it is frivolity that is in the eyes and in the judgment of critics. I am interested in the eyes and judgment of my readers (the ones there are and the ones that have been(.
Your language is infused with poetry, even in prose. Do you feel poetry is the original space from which your erotic narratives emerge?
First, I must say that I am glad that this feature of my books was maintained in the English translation, because I write in Spanish and it is not easy to maintain the original rhythm when modifying the language, so I am very grateful for this question. I believe that poetry is everywhere: in the street, in the movement of the trees, in the sound of the water, in the smile of the people, in the color of the air, even in fear, in pain, in sadness, in despair; it is in the individual perception of the world and all the neural processes that occur for that perception to happen.
Is eroticism in literature a kind of politics — a re-distribution of power between male and female voices within the text?
Literary characters have been role models or critics of societies according to the time, whether in books, cinema and, today, also in television series, hence literature is also political, an auxiliary that liberates and imprisons, shapes, manipulates, shows. That is why it is so important to read the stories from the time they were written, and not with current eyes, even as a way to become aware of those violent, warlike and retrograde situations that it would not be healthy for humanity to repeat, such as totalitarianism.
How do you approach writing intimate scenes — from lived experience, imagination, or the tension between both?
From the memory of my skin, my nose, my ears, my taste buds, and also from what I have witnessed when looking at other people in the ritual of uniting with body, imagination and fantasy. The tension between desire, memories, imagination is always present, and I use my readers power of suggestion to make their experience more expansive when opening my books.
10. What does it take today for a woman writer to free her body from censorship — moral, social, or aesthetic?
Simply by doing it. Something very important to consider is that, at least in my case, I don't write as a woman, nor do I write with censorship in mind. I write as an individual who loves telling stories through eroticism because that's what I want to do. I never question how I should act, write, or exist because I'm a woman. And I'm fortunate to have been born into a society and a time in which women and men have the same rights and obligations. Other people's prejudices and fears are not my problem; they are the problem of those who hold them.
The Body as Image and Language
You don’t just write about the body — you also stage it in your own images. Do you see these provocative photographs as an extension of your literary work or as a separate artistic act?
The photographs are both an extension of my literary work and an independent artistic expression. I didn't like having my picture taken; I didn't like how I looked in them. But from the first time I had a professional photoshoot, where the photographer intended to portray me as a being who desires and as someone desirable, I discovered a side of myself I didn't know, one that only someone skilled in the art of seeing could have revealed. That's how the photographs became my personal trademark as an erotic writer. I was fascinated by seeing myself like that: not just beautiful, but sexy, provocative, free, just as I am. In the photographs, I found more of myself than I had ever seen before. Fourteen years have passed since that first photoshoot, and now they are also part of my identity.
In your photos, the female body often appears as a force rather than as seduction. How do you balance desire and autonomy, exposure and freedom?
That balance is something natural for me, I believe that desire and autonomy are not opposites, nor are exposure and freedom opposites. It's not an imposture, it's the expression of my identity as a being who uses her life and her body in her human existence.
Is the body we see in your images your real body, or a symbolic one that speaks for the universal feminine?
It is my real body that invites the viewer to interpret. And sometimes in that interpretation, it speaks to universal femininity, according to the criteria of whoever looks.
Some viewers read your photos as visual provocation, others as feminist statements. How do you perceive this duality in the public gaze?
I love that people read whatever they are inspired by, both my writing and my photos. The same freedom of expression that I defend for myself as a creator, I defend for my readers and for the viewers of my photos. At the end of the day, everyone looks according to their own depth: there are those who see only photos, want to see skin and bodies; there are those who read every word with intention, every period, every comma, and find in my texts and photos entertainment, learning, inspiration and much more. Interpretation always comes from the experiential frame of reference of each person.
Would you say your work seeks to reclaim the body from the male gaze that has historically dominated literature and art?
Definitely yes. Erotic literature needed the female gaze. Even female characters were created from male perception, as in Lady Chatterley's Lover, Venus in Fur, Madame Bovary, The Ages of Lulu, Story of O, Emmanuelle, etc. My books recover the desire of women from the possession of their own body, not as objects of male pleasure, but as subjects.
When you photograph yourself in sensual poses, are you thinking about the viewer — or about your own inner gaze? Who is being addressed in that moment?
I think about what I want to convey. My texts are stories that I want to tell, and my photos are an expression of my desires and instincts of the moment. Also, I love being seen, wanted, excited, to provoke orgasms: I am very much an exhibitionist.
Do you feel that literature alone is no longer sufficient to express desire — that the image has become the new language of the body?
Each of us approaches a book from a particular frame of reference, shaped by what we have seen, smelled, heard, touched, tasted, felt, experienced, and witnessed; by our family, neighborhood, city, and the country where we were born; by our religion, the school where we were educated (or not educated); by the books we have read; by the plays, films, series, and documentaries we have watched; by the concerts we have attended, the museums we have visited; even our physical and mental health influences it. Therefore, even if we read the same book as millions of other people, in reality, each of us is reading our own personal book. I like to create with this in mind, so that it is each reader's individual preferences that round out the fantasies. Each medium provides a different stimulus, and the image is just one more.
In the age of digital censorship, do you consider posting your daring images an act of courage or an artistic risk?
My images are daring, but suggestive, that is where their erotic nature lies, which is why there has been little censorship. I do not see them either as an act of courage or as an artistic risk, I simply focus on what I want to express and share and I do so without asking permission or apologizing for who I am. This is the same in my professional life and also in my personal life.
How do you react to male audiences who interpret your images as mere provocation rather than a reflection on female freedom?
I do not react. I am very realistic when posting my photos, I know that there will be those who believe that I am open legs, that I am ready to be penetrated by anyone, and I am not angry that they interpret it like that, although it is a misinterpretation. For me, sex is not just an act of the body, it is a ritual of seduction, and the decision to let myself be seduced or not is mine. If I cared about the opinions of others, men or women, I would not enjoy the freedom with which I create, and that is the cornerstone of my work. I like to experience freedom from daily experience; to demonstrate it, to relate it, to write it down, not to theorize it.
Finally, do you want to be read or seen? Is your art a writing of the eye or a writing of the body?
I like being seen, but I'm fascinated by being read. Historically, pleasure has had a bad reputation; it's been interpreted as sinful, frivolous, dirty, and that seems perverse to me, because it's actually a fundamental part of a full and satisfying life. Our dissatisfaction is a multi-billion dollar business, and that's why celebrating the body and its impulses is an act of rebellion. Since my images are complicit in my stories, my legacy will be ideas, concepts, words—everything that doesn't erode with the passage of time.