What the fuck is this novel?

I mean, I know what Lightning Rods is. It’s a satire of sexual politics in the workplace. But from the opening page, I was caught off guard by the sexual proclivities of its protagonist. I’m not here to fetish shame. If a guy selling Electrolux vacuums also gets off fantasising about a gameshow where the contestant has to guess which of a panel of buxom women is getting rogered from behind, her bum sticking through a hole that the audience, but not the contestant can see—then all power to him. I just don’t expect it to be mentioned in the first five pages of a novel.

I also don’t expect that fantasy—a woman, consensually, baring her arse through a hole in a wall to be utilised by a horny bloke—to become a multi-million dollar idea making the once seller of Electroluxes—his name is Joe—very, very rich. Joe’s idea goes something like this: sexual harassment is a key issue in the workplace because, despite all the training, men can’t seem to keep their dicks in their pants. So what if you gave them a sexual outlet? What if you hired a group of women to work in the same office, where they also provided the men with sexual favours? A sort of “lightning rod” to stop more brazen acts of sexual aggression in the workplace. And what if you could promise the man and woman anonymity? As the man only sees the woman’s bum through a hole in a wall, neither knows who is being shtuped and who is doing the shtuping. The story that unfurls is how Joe turns this bonkers idea into a nationwide success.

What I loved most about this novel is how DeWitt brazenly commits to the bit. This might be a satirical novel, but it’s one set in the real world, and, as such, Joe faces several obstacles in implementing his idea—not least the legal concerns.* He is helped by one of the lightning rods, Lucille. Later on, a black woman, Renee, points out that his need to enforce anonymity means that black women can’t apply, especially if there’s only one black woman in the office. This is, of course, a form of discrimination (Lucille and Renee are wonderful characters).**

The novel is hilarious, mainly because DeWitt plays it straight. Everyone is so earnest, especially Joe when he’s selling the product or convincing women to join the company. The fact that the lightning rods work, reducing sexual harassment in the office and significantly increasing productivity, only makes it funnier.

Yes, the novel takes a dim position toward sex work; Joe makes a clear distinction between lightning rods and prostitution. But, I appreciate that DeWitt has other fish to fry, lampooning the way office culture tries—and often fails—to curtail a man’s worst tendencies while not condoning the inappropriate lech who ogles the women he works with. Still, I can’t help but agree with the underlying message that the corporate response to sexual harassment, both proactive and reactive, is underwhelming. This novel came out before the “Me Too” movement, and while it’s not prescient, it highlights the horrific state of affairs women face when an idea like Joe’s sort of makes sense.

This is one of those what-the-fuck novels that makes reading so much fun.

*But also how to stop the randier men from taking things too far.

**Briefly, the novel also explores how the program doesn’t favour queer office workers. DeWitt, sadly, doesn’t take this any further; it remains an open question.