So I subscribed to Audible Escape and have read several to get a sense of their structure. Also, a female poet and I are collaborating on a book about a relationship that evolved over time. This structure might be worth knowing to follow or to buck. I didn’t know how to tell which writers were good, which not, so I skipped around, sometimes looking at popularity, sometimes brevity to get a feel for the genre.
In romances, the above barriers are often just initial hurdles to appreciating these books. I really like Debbie Macomber’s [Debbie Macomber?] Shirley, Goodness and Mercy, which is about a man who owns an ailing vineyard and has neglected his wives in the past but will turn around here. The title refers to not only a Bible verse, but also three angels [angels? can a good book be written about angels?]. But it unfolds a sweet, lovely tale with a semi-sophisticated theology along the lines of the prodigal-son parable. Its closest literary kin would be “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens.
Cassie Edwards wrote a few with the word Savage in the titles, which I had no idea what they meant. Maybe a primitive or “violent” love, but instead it referred to a racial slur about Native Americans and turned that into steamy romances about falling for Native American men in the Old West, which repurposes something negative into something positive although some may still balk. Caucasian cowboys tend to be the bad guys.
Often, both protagonists are struck by the “thunderbolt”—an unreasoning, unreasonable love-struck state that Mario Puzo described in The Godfather (discussion here). However, since there are often a good guy and bad guy who both are struck by the thunderbolt—why should one thunderbolt make her fall in love but not the other? Sometimes in the novels it’s sheer persistence (if she has only one suitor), which men aren’t supposed to do any more. If she says no, then that’s supposed to be it although some romance novels suggest otherwise, especially if it’s an opposites-attract type.
A number of romances—especially from decades prior to #MeToo, which went from confession to a political movement—involve the male pushing physical boundaries, not simply pursuing with words. The man presses her lips with a kiss, which if she doesn’t melt immediately, she will eventually. You can glimpse it even in literary speculative fiction like John Crowley’s Little Big, so it seems to have been a literary expectation in romances. In fact, it is often male desire that initiates female desire. I read an article that romance writers vowed not to write this way, anymore, but I’m guessing, given the nature of the humanity’s distribution of tastes and attributes being cast along bell curve, it will continue to be written.
Not that I’m taking feminist stance, but romance stories without reason were most striking from a “scientific” or objective study of human nature, but I’d be more interested in tales about like minds uniting—a type I never found in my forays across the genre (undoubtedly, they exist in a dusty library alcove). Often, the couple’s reaction is immediate and without logic. This isn’t to say that love isn’t like this, but why aren’t there stories where people slowly fall in love, taking tentative steps forward? Yes, this seems right. No, I’m not sure about that....
You’d think caution would be reasonable since the commitment is supposed to last, as the novels often conclude with this being “forever” or “always.”
Usually the couple are of unlike minds; bizarre circumstances thrust them together; and the couple accidentally fall into each other’s arms and unable to resist falling in love. There sure are a lot of alpha males out there with money breeding in their pockets.
In some stories, the male protagonist is conveniently contrived to know exactly what’s happening in the female’s mind, which would be nice, but highly improbable, especially if he’s an alpha. If he’s a beta, he may well have the ability to sense emotion, but not read minds.
Think about it. One type takes action. The other observes. Which will be more likely to read? But there are exceptions to any rule—probably someone who has spent time in both categories.
Why not a romance where, strangely enough, the characters might be able to gauge emotions, but not know the reasons behind them? Or maybe they mistake emotion “X” for curiosity. Perhaps this is too literary and complex for a genre romance—much as male lovers of thrillers want definite good guys and bad.
Romances seem to be more wish fulfillment than an attempt to mirror reality, which carries no shame. That vein is the same men mine from James Bond, especially the early films. Whether or not a romance story stretches credulity throughout, most seem to be sweets for those weary of a dismal life and dismal news reports.
(I may or may not revisit this topic as I finish this Audible Escape trial. My plans include more, ahem, Debbie Macomber, Georgette Heyer (Kij Johnson recommended her, if I recall correctly), and the usual literary suspects, and anyone else who comes recommended.)
