How Does 'Fear Of Flying' Portray Female Sexuality?

Erica Jong's 'Fear of Flying' revolutionized how female sexuality was portrayed in literature. The protagonist Isadora Wing isn't just sexually liberated—she's unapologetically horny, thinking about sex constantly in ways male characters always got to do. The famous 'zipless fuck' fantasy captures female desire stripped of emotional baggage, something rarely depicted before. Jong shows women's sexuality as messy, complicated, and sometimes downright embarrassing, which makes it feel real. Isadora masturbates, has affairs, and makes terrible decisions driven by lust, just like male literary heroes always have. What's groundbreaking is how Jong connects sexual exploration to self-discovery—Isadora's journey isn't just about orgasms, but about claiming her whole identity.

Compared to contemporary works like 'The Stepford Wives', Jong's approach was shockingly raw. She wrote about vaginal odors, birth control failures, and the awkwardness of extramarital sex with a candor that still feels fresh. The novel doesn't portray female sexuality as beautiful or poetic—it's often funny, frustrating, and deeply human. That's why it still resonates decades later.

'Fear of Flying' presents female sexuality as a battleground between societal expectations and primal desire. Isadora Wing's sexual escapades aren't glamorized—they're depicted with all the humor and humiliation real life entails. The novel's genius lies in showing how a supposedly liberated woman still struggles with internalized guilt. Isadora fantasizes about anonymous sex but panics when actually having it. She craves independence yet constantly seeks validation through men. This contradiction makes her one of literature's most authentic female characters.

Jong's portrayal differs radically from predecessors like 'Valley of the Dolls'. Where those novels punished sexual women, Jong celebrates them flaws and all. The infamous deli scene—where Isadora has sex among pickle barrels—isn't erotic but absurdly relatable. Her thoughts during intercourse (worrying about thigh jiggle or faking orgasms) reveal how even 'free' women perform for male pleasure.

What's most progressive is how Jong links sexual freedom to creative freedom. Isadora's writer's block lifts as she embraces her desires. The novel suggests female artistry requires bodily autonomy—a radical idea in 1973. Modern works like 'Normal People' owe debt to Jong's blueprint for depicting sex as both empowering and complicated.

Reading 'Fear of Flying' feels like flipping through a secret diary—it's that honest about female lust. Jong didn't just break taboos; she smashed them with a sledgehammer by showing a woman enjoying sex purely for pleasure. Isadora's fantasies are graphic, selfish, and occasionally ridiculous (that airplane bathroom scene lives rent-free in my head). The novel nails how sexuality shifts with age—the younger Isadora seeks adventure, while the older version craves connection.

Jong's portrayal stands out because it rejects victimhood. Unlike 'The Bell Jar's Esther, Isadora owns her mistakes. Her disastrous affair with Adrian isn't tragic but darkly comic. When she worries about her 'loose' vagina post-childbirth, it's a moment of vulnerability rarely seen in literature.

The book's legacy lies in its imperfections. Some scenes haven't aged well (that incest subplot is yikes), but that's part of its charm—it captures the awkward, uncharted territory of female desire without polish. Contemporary authors like Sally Rooney clearly inherited Jong's willingness to show sex as both transcendent and silly.