Ruth, who goes by various names such as Ruthie, Baby Blue, or Miss Sunday, is an exotic dancer and dominatrix based in San Francisco. She considers herself a 7/10 at her best, mentioning, “I’ve often been described as cute, approachable, and sporty. I always tried to highlight my unique look, which resembled an exclamation point.” With hair resembling wholewheat bread and a figure shaped like a lowercase ‘b’, she carries a distinct presence.

Her latest novel, Soft Core, marks the second release from Stanford graduate Brittany Newell, following her 2017 romance Oola written when she was just 21. Outside of her writing career, Newell works as a professional dominatrix and bears the phrase “bad girl” tattooed under her collarbone.

Soft Core is an engaging look at the diverse desires found in human nature. Ruth performs at a strip club named Paradise Lost and a sex dungeon called Dream House. Among her clientele are many tech industry workers whom she characterizes as “under-socialized overachievers who treat their gym time like a second career.”

The portrayal of San Francisco within the novel is both gritty and dreamlike, imbued with an erotic ambiance. Newell describes, “The late summer air hung heavy with the scents of dying flowers and barbecues. The light was thick, an amber haze that cast eerie shadows upon the warm concrete.” In a daring beach encounter, Ruth shares an intimate moment with a man she met on the train, noting, “He wore a cowboy hat, which he politely removed before engaging with me.”

Ruth’s observations on intimacy are laced with dry humor, but she exhibits real empathy for her most vulnerable clients. A notable connection develops with Simon, a barista at Starbucks who has a peculiar hobby of collecting dollhouses and pays Ruth $800 monthly for degradation. “I spat in his face, stepped on his toes, and pinched his belly fat until he cried out. I even gave him my worn underwear in a Ziploc bag,” she reveals. Additionally, a frequent email correspondent who calls himself Nobody shares his disturbing fixation on themes of suicide.

More than anything, these clients crave conversation. They often discuss their relationship struggles, new medications with unusual side effects, and health concerns like dry mouth and unexpected weight gain.

However, unsettling events begin to unfold. Ruth lives with Dino, her former partner and a prominent ketamine dealer with a penchant for women’s silk lingerie, accompanied by three dogs named after famous supermodels — Cindy, Linda, and Naomi. When Dino vanishes unexpectedly, Ruth finds herself unexpectedly heartbroken. Even Simon, despite his financial support, expresses a desire to end their arrangement, further fueling her paranoia.

Newell’s writing is vivid and sensory, though it sometimes veers into absurdity with over-the-top metaphors. Lines such as, “Loss in me opened up like a Ziploc bag” and “Her mouth was as endless, red, and wet as a Slurpee” may feel exaggerated but are nonetheless intriguing.

The recent surge of memoirs, novels, and films focusing on sex work has attracted attention for their candidness. Sean Baker, director of the Oscar-winning film Anora, has expressed a desire to “remove the stigma” associated with sex work. Soft Core follows a similar vein, presenting Ruth as someone who relishes her work, enjoys her interactions, and earns good money. She reflects, “Show me a lifestyle that feels good all the time. Prove to me that your lifestyle is immune to longing.” However, the narrative does not delude itself into claiming that Ruth finds happiness.

The novel poses several tantalizing questions—such as Dino’s whereabouts, whether Emeline, a colleague, is attempting to usurp her identity, and the true identity of Nobody—but most remain unresolved, leading to a somewhat unsatisfactory ending. Yet, the sensation of unfulfilled desire is inherently alluring. As Simon explains to Ruth, the essence of eroticism lies in yearning for something deeply, more than merely possessing it.

Soft Core by Brittany Newell (4th Estate, £16.99, 352 pages).