Warprize, by Elizabeth Vaughan (review)
Posted: 2012/02/06 Filed under: Literature | Tags: chronicles of the warlands, elizabeth vaughan, fantasy, review, warprize Leave a comment »What a disappointment! Warprize, the first book in Elizabeth Vaughan’s Chronicles of the Warlands, falls short on about every aspect that matters: writing, plotting, characterization, and world-building. Though not all bad, it is never very good, and combines some of the worst problems often found in both fantasy and romance.
The Xyians and the Firelanders, or the people of the Plains as they call themselves, are at war. Xylara, though half-sister to the King of Xy, has chosen the path of a healer. As her oath is to take care of all men in need, she insists on tending the prisoners as well as her own army. Meanwhile, the Xyians are losing ground, and the enemy is soon camping at the city gates. Keir, Warlord of the Plains, offers peace in exchange for a warprize: Xylara. Though terrified at the idea of becoming a slave to an unknown man, Lara is determined to save her people…
1) The writing
Fantasy settings are often inspired from the Middle Ages, and the Xyian civilization is no exception. Where most fantasy authors see a reason to make their character’s mindset and language similarly old-fashioned, Vaughan, on the other hand, only does so in a few instances of formal speech. Most of her novel, told in first person by Lara, sounds oddly modern and familiar, especially for a king’s daughter… Which makes it hard for the reader to imagine and believe in either her world or her character. Add to that a writing without colour, without elegance, and a tendency to digress into meaningless details, and you get an idea of what Warprize sounds like. Minus the numerous mispellings (including in the hero’s name, who switches from being called “Kier” to “Keir”) that look really, really bad and unprofessional.
I had been a bit surprised when he said I could go, but now that I had seen the size of the camp, I understood. There would be no escape, even if that had been my intention. (p. 81)
- Warprize, Elizabeth Vaughan (Gollancz, 2005)
2) The plotting
I was ready to overlook the poor writing as long as the story promised to be exciting. And in the first two thirds of the book, it kind of does. There is proper conflict: someone seems to be trying to sabotage the peace, while Lara has to deal with her new life in the Warlord’s camp and bed. It’s all common enough, but it could have worked well. Unfortunately instead of a climax, we get a lame turning point near the end of the novel that has everything fall flat. After that, there was no salvaging the story… I finished it, but I was immensely bored, and unsatisfied.
For those who aren’t afraid of spoilers, we basically learn what a “Warprize” actually means for the people of the Plains: far from being a slave as Lara was made to believe, it is a person whom the Warlord claims but who nonetheless remains free (not sure how that works), and who has the power to bring historical change in her new people’s traditions and customs. Does that make sense? Not to me. I think it’s an utterly nonsensical and forced concept, created for the sole purpose of resolving a conflict the author hadn’t imagination and courage enough to bring to a proper conclusion.
He met my eyes calmly. “You are not property. If you choose to leave, no one will stop you.” (p. 241)
- Warprize, Elizabeth Vaughan (Gollancz, 2005)
3) The characterization
I already said something of Lara’s voice. Let me just add that, all throughout the story, she appears as totally selfless, disinterested, open-minded, liberal, hard-working, and altruistic. Yet, despite all these incredible qualities, she didn’t manage to touch me. She didn’t manage to convince me. I can’t believe that a woman who was raised by a king could so easily dismiss all her royal privilege and her patriotic bias. And while these may seem like flaws out of context, I think they would have actually made Lara more human, more loyal and more intelligent, given her situation. Lack of prejudice can be fairness, as it can be stupidity.
The hero also didn’t ring true. As a feminist, I used to think I could do without heroes who were too alpha, domineering, and forceful. Yet I find myself consistently disappointed with many romance heroes’ lack of edge and ambiguity. They are too nice, too good, too perfect. Too corny. But the worst thing yet is that authors think they can compensate those traits with a cliche: the brooding, black-wearing killing machine (also known as the Whippet, a marshmallow in dark chocolate coating). Ms. Vaughan, no. It only makes it worse. The scary-ass warrior and the love-sick dog are not natural sides of the same coin: more in-depth characterization is required.
4) The world-building
I don’t have the time and place to go into details here, but just know that weak world-building is the reason why I read so little fantasy. I have very specific standards, and while I can make excuses for a lot of things in the books I read, fantasy world-building is not one of these things. I cannot tell you why; I am simply touchy about it. Lara’s anachronistic voice, her inconsistent characterization, and the Warprize plot trick are examples of what makes the “Warlands” a poor fantasy world IMO. But the main issue I’d like to address in this review is the racist undertones that nagged me while I was reading this story.
Xy is built on the model of European feudal kingdoms, while the tribes of the Plains are clearly inspired by primitive societies. But while at first the author seems rather critical of the Xyians (who in today’s liberal world isn’t critical of the Middle Ages? it’s actually so easy its reeks of ignorance), by the end of the novel almost none of their cultural practices―sexist, patriarchal, hierarchical―are discounted; only concrete persons are―namely the King and some wicked lords. Everything bad in Xy actually happened because there were bad men in power. The fact that people are married off as virgins, that there is a hereditary nobility―all that is not really a problem. It even seems as if Xylara would like to introduce these weird ideas to the people of the Plains…
… who, noble savages that they are, are quite open to new ideas! They cannot read or write or heal broken limbs, but boy, can they ride horses! They are free to have sex with each other (not something Lara envies them), and though men and women fight as equals in the army, all are expected to produce five children each before going to war―does the author have no knowledge of the biological process that brings babies into the world, or is she missing the meaning of the word “equality”? They are also a people of mixed races. Why, then, must the Warlord be blue-eyed, and the only woman Lara gets close to, tall and blonde? Is that a way to make them look appealing, and beautiful? (Because black skin is all good in theory, but it’s not a measure for beauty?)
I stifled a smile, for Simus out of uniform was a sight to behold. He seemed to prefer gaudy colors, and shone like a peacock among drab pigeons.
- Warprize, Elizabeth Vaughan (Gollancz, 2005)
The only black dude in the book, in truth, is a stereotype for black dudes―which is all the more absurd in fantasy, where nothing accounts for racial identities such as they developed in our world. He’s big, jolly, and loud, but with a temper; likes to fight, eat, and dress up in “gaudy colors”. He’s the perfect sidekick, the perfect foil. I think it wouldn’t have bothered me so much if Simus hadn’t been the only black dude in the book. But he is, and a stereotype at that. Otherwise I quite liked him. When they first brought him in, I wished he was the hero (but they had to leave that role to a blue-eyed guy, right?). And later I wished he would maybe engage in some gay action with Joden―anything to make the story less boring. But no, he doesn’t get his own story or his own feelings. He’s just a foil, remember?
Have you read that book? What did you think? Do you read a lot of fantasy romance? Do you agree with my assessment of some of the book’s elements as racist, or does it seem like I’m overreacting? Is Simus a more successful inclusion of black people in fiction than Jack Harkness is of queer people?
The heart of a fangirl
Posted: 2012/02/05 Filed under: Cinema | Tags: benedict cumberbatch, captain jack harkness, characterization, homosexuality, hugh laurie, jeeves and wooster, john barrowman, martin freeman, mystery, p. g. wodehouse, science-fiction, sherlock, stephen fry, torchwood, tv show 7 Comments »Interestingly, I hardly ever write about TV shows on this blog. I’m not much of a TV girl in the first place, I’ll confess, but my boyfriend is―a TV girl? ha ha, oops―and he’s made me discover a lot of shows in the past year and a half we’ve been together. Today isn’t the day I’m going to make a list of all the shows we’ve watched, or give your a review of every single one of them. Instead, I’ll focus on three of the last ones we’ve found, which also happen to have one thing in common: they’re British. (We’re not the only North-Americans who know about British TV, far from it, but… among the innumerable cool things about my hubby is the fact that he went to boarding school in Cambridge for two years.)
1) Jeeves and Wooster
Adapted from P. G. Wodehouse’s “Jeeves” stories, the show was filmed in the early 90′s and features Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie in the title roles. You may also know the double act for their sketch comedy show A Bit of Fry & Laurie…
Jeeves and Wooster tells a series of events, adventures and accidents in the life of Bertie Wooster, a rich idle young man, and his valet extraordinaire Jeeves. Most stories involve Wooster’s friends trying to attract a lady’s attention, or one of his aunts asking him for a service, or various people trying to marry him off. Wooster always comes up with plans that end up failing or making the situation worse, while Jeeves is there to save the day and make it all better again. Though the show is funny enough, it’s the context I like the most, the atmosphere of the 30′s and all the little details that used to make up these people’s lives. It is really well done, especially in the first season. The second season so far hasn’t been as appealing to me… One of the reasons may be Laurie’s slight change in acting style (Bertie has gone more “shrill” all of a sudden).
2) Sherlock
You’ve probably heard about this one, though it’s only a year or two old. I was very skeptical at first―how does Sherlock Holmes work in a contemporary setting? Am I happy with the technological side they added to the character? It’s all about smartphones, tracking devices, cool apps, and Internet search nowadays. The thing that bothered me the most, though, was the cast. Not only did this 2010 Sherlock look completely different from what I used to have in mind, but I found the actor’s looks disturbing and unpleasant (actor’s name is Benedict Cumberbatch, for the record). I guess I eventually got used to it. It’s not like I ever was a Sherlock Holmes fan and knew much about the original stories, anyway.
The second season is what really convinced me. They’re not showing us how Sherlock works as much anymore, as delving deeper into his character, in his relationship with Watson (Martin Freeman) and revealing higher stakes. I’ll definitely be there for the third season.
3) Torchwood
Okay, now comes the explanation of the blog title. Just so I don’t have to go into the details of what this show is about and what it’s like, I’ll link you to an article that does it well enough: Why is ‘Torchwood’ so boring? I know, it’s a critical piece. The worst part is, I mostly agree with its author. He is a Doctor Who fan, and Torchwood didn’t live up to the expectations he’d based on the former. I’ve never watched Doctor Who―it’s on my life’s to-do list―but I knew it was cult, and Torchwood‘s first episodes didn’t live up to my idea of a cult show, either. In fact, the only thing I can’t support is his opinion on the use of sexuality, simply because it didn’t come across to me that way. Not that I would notice, as I still haven’t even watched most of the first and second seasons.
So what’s left to love, you ask? To be honest, I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem like the first show that gains a cult following in spite of being semi-interesting and semi-well done. (I’m thinking of Battlestar Galactica, or Merlin. Couldn’t watch past the first few episodes of either, different as they are.) Except this time, I am part of the following. And this leads me to address another point our Torchwood reviewer makes:
And while the British press raved about the show’s controversial inclusion of an openly bisexual character (Captain Jack), he was a chronic sex addict who wanted to sleep with everyone! I wouldn’t necessarily call that good PR for the GLBT community.
Like I said, haven’t watched all the episodes. I still feel like Captain Jack’s “omnisexuality” was toned down in Torchwood. What, in the end of the second season and the entirety of the third, he could have passed off as a regular gay! (Which I initially assumed him to be when I caught up on the show.) Sure, like he’s made to say in Children of Earth (season 3), he’s “lived a long time; [he has] done a lot of things”. But right then and there, he’s caught up in a relationship with one man, and it feels kind of serious. Not exactly the sort of attitude you’d expect from someone who’s always intent on shagging everything he meets. But of course it made the fans rave…
As I’ve suggested in my post on supporting/secondary characters, they are often more likeable, because more caricatural and simple. But make them into the MC, and it becomes almost necessary to reveal their many layers or facets. As they become more human, so they often become more normal, therefore more boring. On the other hand, one has to wonder if it’s even possible to keep people interested in the adventures of a clown without feelings… Torchwood‘s Captain Jack Harkness (played by John Barrowman) may not be exactly the same as the one who originally showed up in Doctor Who, but viewers don’t seem to mind very much. I know I don’t.
Regardless of his dubious morals (which are clearly not limited to his sexuality), just the fact that they showed him getting involved with another guy has triggered a whole lot of questions regarding the sexual orientation of my own characters… There’s a part of me that also thinks: just because we’ve finally got a non-heterosexual lead character doesn’t mean he should be perfect and realistic. The whole GLBT community’s image should not have to rely on him.* I mean, getting rid of heteronormativity also implies that we get non-heterosexuals who aren’t necessarily the upstanding type. Putting him centre stage is already damn cool. There is an insidious and patronizing sort of discrimination that always wants “minorities” to both be impeccable and stay on the sidelines. But you’re going to hear a lot more about that next week…
What’s your fangirl heart breaking over these days? Any other good TV shows to recommend us? How do you really feel about Captain Jack Harkness?
* Maybe the “British press” were all secret shippers, who either campaigned for Gwen/Jack, or couldn’t get enough of him and Ianto getting it on!
couldn’t get enough of him and Ianto getting it on
Writing nonfiction and autofiction
Posted: 2012/02/04 Filed under: My writing | Tags: autofiction, nonfiction Leave a comment »One of my friends once claimed that I loved everything. (It was during a conversation in which I must have cried, “I love it!” at every new topic that was brought up.) Some people may find that hard to believe, because I can also be very opinionated. In fact, I love almost every concept, but I don’t love every content. I love books in general, but I don’t love every single concrete book. I am not, however, able to describe which books I like in a conceptual way. I don’t love one type of books. I love many books, and they can be of any type. I am a hell of a person to ask for a decision or a choice.
Same goes with my writing, of course. I am very scattered. Some people can tell you what they write rather easily. Fantasy, romance, mysteries, or lit fiction. Or maybe they don’t write fiction at all. Me, I want to write everything. I have ideas for everything. Recently I have attempted to narrow it down to genre fiction if I couldn’t limit myself to romance… Hell, even when I know that novel-length is what I like best, who’s going to stop me from writing short stories? But you don’t know the latest news. I’m thinking of writing nonfiction, as well as autofiction. What’s the idea?
As you can see from this blog, I love writing, and not just fiction. I love making points, arguing, disagreeing with everybody else, and playing devil’s advocate. I have a lot of opinions I’m willing to share with the world, and I’m slowly accumulating material to back them up and connect them together within a bigger picture. Writing an academic thesis isn’t bad practice in that respect. As for autofiction… I’ve traveled some. More than many people. I’ve seen some funny things. Lived them, too.
I may have a bit of a problem telling reality from fiction. (But then, postpositivism explains how it’s impossible to single out “reality” as such. Everything we observe, we interpret according to symbolical, one could almost say fictional patterns.) When I was younger, I made more choices based on “how interesting a plot twist it may be” than ones based on my or other people’s interests. This probably made me appear quite selfish to the people who had to suffer the consequences of my plotting fancies. If there was an experience to be had, then I went for it. Whether it would turn out for the better or the worse seemed irrelevant.
I have deliberately dramatized my life, and as a result it is more dramatic than some. Writing fiction is definitely a way to dedramatize my life; I can fulfill all my plotting needs and fantasies without hurting anyone, including myself. But what about the past? It’s still a part of me. I feel like finally putting it on paper would be a way to recognize and reclaim it. Right now I am thinking of keeping it centred on my experience in and with Poland. I used to have a name for it: the Promised Land. More generally, I think I want to talk about the sense of escapism I got every time I went there. It was so very heady…
Do you write across genres? Do you go from fiction to nonfiction? Which is the hardest to write? Do you ever find yourself behaving like a character in a story rather than like a rational human being?
The romance community as a women-only space
Posted: 2012/02/02 Filed under: Literature, Politics | Tags: feminism 2 Comments »
I’ve kept away from Twitter for a long time, because I didn’t fully understand its use. Now that I’m on it, I understand why it’s so wildly popular, not just among celebrities or people with a highly developed online life, but among professionals, journalists, and basically anybody who’s interested in what’s going on in the world. If you’ve read my blog before, you may know that I am currently jobless. I stay at home a lot. Most of the people I interact with in real life think roughly like me (they go from radical to liberal, but one thing they’re not is conservative). So Twitter, with its rich and unpredictable web of “ReTweets”, is very much like an open window to the rest of the world for me.
Sometimes what I see through this window angers me. Recently I was given to read these two articles: When She Codes, The Revolution’s Coming and Happy National Girls and Women in Sports Day! They’re both very interesting and cool. Too many of the comments they received, on the other hand, are not. They are disturbingly sexist, misogynistic, or simply ignorant. Of course the two initial posts deal with slightly different topics, but in the end they are related. They both raise the question of whether it’s fair to give women more opportunities in order to reach a more equal representation of sexes in male-dominated fields (the first asks not only if it is fair, but if it’s “feminist”).
I was unpleasantly surprised to see how often gender equality was mistaken for the status quo. Actual equality as it is understood by many people would mean to not do anything. To not do anything special. Because, let’s face it, that’s where they’re wrong: we already do something. In fact, our whole society down to its most subconscious roots does something. It conveys and reproduces gender inequality, and sexism against women. Western democracies are too PC to engage in massive outward sexism―though a lot of individuals unfortunately still do. But the way they work, the way they’re built, their culture and traditions―they’re implicitly sexist for a large part. Once that is acknowledged, then the only way that’s left to promote equality is to change the content of what we do. There’s no other solution than a positive, active one.
That’s what feminism says. That’s what feminism is. Feminists will tell you that feminism simply equals believing in gender equality. That’s true, of course. (And that’s why, you know, there’s no reason to feel uncomfortable with the notion…) But the difference between feminists and simple gender equality advocates is that the former understand the issue, while the latter don’t seem to. Like I said before, many people will overtly admit that men and women are equal, but they mistakenly think that equality is achieved, and that recognizing equality implies leaving things as they currently stand. These people are not feminists. They agree with a concept, but they have no practical grasp whatsoever of what it means in reality. In reality, it means actively working to reverse the sexist patterns entrenched in our everyday habits and thoughts.
It’s not easy. Wait, how can you even do that? Well, over time feminists have developed different means to achieve that. One of them is a women-only space, also referred to as a “safe space”. Since the normal, general world is entirely build on gendered, often sexist dynamics, the easiest way to start working against them is by temporarily and instrumentally removing oneself from that world, and those dynamics. Women-only spaces offer that temporary and instrumental respite. They work to recreate a feeling of solidarity between women, as well as to give them a break from the male gaze.
I was very happy to find this article on sexism because it explains how sexism is different from gender prejudice. A woman can be prejudiced against her own sex. But she cannot be sexist, because sexism implies a power relation based on that gender prejudice. A woman cannot have gender-prejudice-based power over another woman. In that respect, though power dynamics can also happen among women, at least sexist dynamics can’t. It also helps understanding why, while men-only spaces can have some interest in a specific context, they are much less needed than their opposite. The world is men’s safe space! (I’m obviously generalizing here. The world is less safe for certain men than others. There are many kinds of oppressions, not just one based on sex/gender.)
Now onto the title of this blog. My purpose isn’t to claim that romance is feminist, or even that the romance community is. But it’s still interesting to note that, through its dominantly female participation, modern romance is unwittingly recreating some of the conditions feminists were looking for when they started their women-only spaces. This clearly states that being a “women-only” genre isn’t an end unto itself. I’d love it if more men ultimately read romances (and openly confessed to it). But in the meantime, I appreciate the fact that the romance genre is developing under the influence of women alone. That it is not subconsciously trying to reproduce a male vision of the world. That women are portrayed the way they see themselves, and not through men’s eyes (though the hero’s POV implies some speculation on that point).
If I ever become a romance writer, I know I will consider it a feminist move. Feminism isn’t just politics; it’s a lifestyle. Then again, the personal is political, remember? Writing as a woman, writing for women, has and will continue to hold meaning for as long as we live in a men-dominated society.
Did you know of women-only spaces as a feminist tool? If you are a woman, does the fact that romance is women-dominated make you feel more confident and free? Within the community, or also outside? What do you do for equality?
Annie on My Mind, by Nancy Garden (review)
Posted: 2012/01/30 Filed under: Literature | Tags: annie on my mind, lesbian fiction, nancy garden, review, young adult 1 Comment »When I confessed to Jade that I had never read any F/F romance, I guess she must have felt sorry for me, for the next thing she did was send me a PDF copy of Annie on My Mind. Of course it took me over a year before I actually got around to reading. But woman, was it worth the wait!
Liza, now a freshman at MIT, remembers what happened during her high school senior year. It all starts with a girl… Annie. They meet inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where Liza searches inspiration for her project, and Annie sings aimlessly. Besides being both seventeen, and not relating easily to other people their age, the girls have little in common. Liza is from Brooklyn Heights, where she attends a private school in which she has been elected president of the student body. Annie, of Italian descent, lives in a shabby neighbourhood with her parents and grandma, and goes to a public school. Liza wants to become an architect, Annie, a singer. Yet opposites attract, and they soon form a deep friendship… or one might as well call it love.
A big part of the novel is taken up by Liza’s troubles at school, which start when she fails to report one of her classmates for piercing ears in the lavatory. Apparently random and meaningless, the incident snowballs in the context of Foster Academy’s financial difficulties. In order to raise money as well as attract new students, the school must indeed present a pristine image. The student body president’s conduct especially cannot be anything less than irreproachable… I think you see where this is heading.
Annie on My Mind certainly deserves to be called in equal part young adult, romance, and lesbian fiction. The way the three are interwoven within one plot may in fact be this novel’s greatest achievement. In Liza and Annie’s story, their being high school students, their being in love and their being lesbians cannot be separated. Things happen the way they happen exactly because they are all three things at once. Better yet: each of these three facts is admirably portrayed. Being in trouble with the high school hierarchy as a good student? Been there. Liza’s experience perfectly conveys the alienation one feels as a teenager, regardless of one’s sexual orientation.
We didn’t really talk much about being gay; most of the time we just talked about ourselves.
We were what seemed important then, not some label. The day the first snow fell was a Saturday and Annie and I called each other up at exactly the same moment, over and over again, tying our phones with busy signals for ten minutes. I don’t remember which of us got through first, but around an hour later we were both running through Central Park like a couple of maniacs, making snow angels and pelting each other with snowballs.
- Annie on My Mind, Nancy Garden (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1982)
Parts of the book (and maybe you could add, the whole story) sounded a little like The Homosexual Experience 101. By which I mean, things are described exactly the way such things are usually and typically described, not in fiction, but in general whenever we’re talking about homosexuality. But then, why wouldn’t they be? These “typical descriptions” must come from somewhere, and in this respect Ms. Garden’s novel offers an engaging greater picture for all these elements to fit in. Although I’ve read it a dozen times, seeing it within the context of the full story sheds a decidedly fresh light on the matter.
That was the worst thing, another thing I’m never going to be able to forget even though I want to. It was as if everyone were assuming that love had nothing to do with any of this, that it was just “an indulgence of carnal appetites”―I think Ms. Baxter actually used those words.
- Annie on My Mind, Nancy Garden (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1982)
Also, the feeling of repetition (which possibly wasn’t there when the novel was first published, in 1982) may be said to carry a meaning of its own. In the last part, Annie on My Mind becomes the story of how genuine love between two persons can be turned into a caricature by others; how the two only protagonists in that love story are robbed of their agency, how the meaning of their own love is taken away from them. As everybody else jumps in to appropriate their private life, their relationship ceases to be what they make of it. It becomes a case. Garden shows all the nuances in the many reactions Liza and Annie have to face, yet they seem to have one thing in common: misunderstanding.
“There was one night when June and I slept in the same bed. At her house, it was. And we―we kissed each other. And then for a while we pretended one of us was a boy―until it got so―so silly and we got so giggly we stopped. Honey, lots of girls do that kind of thing. Boys, too. Maybe boys more than girls. It doesn’t mean anything unless―well, I don’t suppose I have to draw any pictures, you’re nearly grown up.”
- Annie on My Mind, Nancy Garden (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1982)
Just read that last line twice and tell me if there is a clearer way to express both the invisibilisation of lesbian sex, and the o so erroneous belief that sex is an only-physical urge/act (a belief which directly implies another mistake: that love is a platonic emotion). As a heterosexual―by which I don’t mean to emphasize that my experience is different, as much as that it belongs to the dominant/default discourse―I would lie if I said that this book hasn’t opened up a few more blind spots in my understanding of the gay experience. I cried, too. Maybe everyone needs a Homosexuality 101 course. I know I really want to recommend this book to every person who hasn’t had the chance to read it yet… Any more F/F romance recs, Jade? 
Are you familiar with lesbian fiction? Homosexual romance? What do you like (or dislike) about it? Any personal thoughts on Annie on My Mind?
The dark side of love
Posted: 2012/01/26 Filed under: Faith, Politics | Tags: brenda joyce, eloisa james, feminism, gender, julia quinn, karen hawkins, love, sabrina jeffries, sex 2 Comments »
Evocative covers anyone?
It isn’t a coincidence that most romance heroes are dark-haired. It isn’t a coincidence that there aren’t all that many blonde heroines either. It isn’t a coincidence that romance heroes are sexually experienced. It isn’t a coincidence that the hero and heroine have to fight, sometimes hate each other at some point in a romance novel. It isn’t a coincidence that romance has been known to stage cases of forceful love-making or seduction. All these traits of modern romance can be explained by one single idea: romance represents or emphasizes the “dark side” of love. Love as temptation, love as sin, love as carnal desire, love as physical pleasure–think of it, it’s everywhere in romance.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that romance actually endorses a Satanic view of love. There are many romance writers who are Christian (which is a different thing from authors who write “Christian/inspirational romance”), and why shouldn’t there be? What I’m trying to say can be better articulated in two distinct, yet complementary hypotheses: 1) Romance challenges some historically dominant interpretations of Christian love or “good” love, either by abandoning religious validation altogether (non-Christian writers), or by suggesting new criteria for religious validation/shifting the religious paradigm (Christian writers).
2) Romance is literature, fiction, and art; beyond delivering a message, its purpose is to play with popular representations and symbolism. Since Western societies are embedded in Christian symbolism, so we find it at work in Western productions. It is here crucial to note that the romance hero must always end up on the side of good, and the relationship eventually be saved (there is no “moral indecision” in a romance novel); but the devilish, demonic hero, as well as love as redemption, are extremely powerful and common images in romance. The commonplace misconception that the romance genre presents a mawkish, corny, fluffy depiction of love is therefore entirely unfounded: on the contrary, its sensational, popular roots explain its traditional preference for the subversive, dark side of love.
This is basically what occurred to me while I was reading A Duke of Her Own. The novel features a textbook example of what I mean by “the hero as devilish” and “love as sinful”–although the story obviously does a job of turning it around. Some novels will do that by using revelations or a Big Misunderstanding plot device: in reality the hero isn’t as bad as his reputation claims, and the love we thought was forbidden becomes actually possible and honorable. Other books, like Eloisa James’s, don’t attempt to make amends for the hero’s past mistakes (six bastard children! five duels!) or the characters’ behaviour (having sex three times while each is betrothed to someone else?). These books glory in their characters’ faults, in an attitude that is half “so what?” (rejection of assumed good and evil), half “and still they found love” (love as redemption).
“Do you know what I keep thinking?” A wildly mischievous smile spread across her face.
“Please don’t feel that you have to share it with me.”
“Oh, Lucifer, angel of the morning, how art thou fallen,” she said. And then whisked herself off, grinning.
Two could play at that game.
- A Duke of Her Own, Eloisa James (Avon, 2009)
Lucifer proti Pánovi, by Mihály Zichy
This excerpt isn’t just one among many examples of a romance hero being likened to the Devil, Lucifer, Satan, a demon, or a monster. (The recent rise of dangerous fantasy creatures as romantic heroes makes, in this light, perfect sense.) Besides the use of an imagery that can quickly get old and meaningless, it shows a verbal sparring between the heroes that belies all conceptions of love as fluttery hearts, sickly adoration and dreamy feelings. It is such a cliche in romance that the hero and heroine must fight and irritate each other, that sometimes the reader doesn’t even know why, and gets annoyed at the characters for being so ill-tempered, stubborn or blind (always in the sense of not seeing the other’s goodness, though, ie the opposite of the saying that “love is blind”).
But what better way to underline the romance heroes’ imperfections and the rockiness of their relationship, than by contrasting them with “perfect” supporting characters and smoothly boring human interactions? That’s another strongly recurring pattern in romance. In A Duke of Her Own, the hero considers marriage with Lisette, a blonde, childish, joyful creature, because she seems more conform to society’s standards for women. Conversely, Eleanor is originally enamored of Gideon, who represents everything upstanding, honorable, and good (and blonde)–quite the opposite of the amoral (and black-haired) Duke of Villiers.
He didn’t mind showing some skin to Eleanor. But Lisette was a gently bred lady, with a kind of innocence that made her eyes shine with a deep-down purity.
Eleanor was leaning over the balustrade now, bantering with Tobias. Her bottom was very round under her thick robe. She was the antithesis of innocent.
- A Duke of Her Own, Eloisa James (Avon, 2009)
One could also mention An Affair To Remember, by Karen Hawkins, in which the hero is engaged to a very blonde, very shy, very proper and very young lady, while the heroine is a tall, fiery redhead who lost her place in the Ton through her eccentric grandfather’s wild investments (his latest idea is to make “French sheaths” available to the lower classes). Or On the Way to the Wedding, by Julia Quinn, in which the hero imagines himself in love with the heroine’s perfect and blonde friend, before realizing he likes the oddball better. Or In the Prince’s Bed, by Sabrina Jeffries, in which the heroine pines for her blonde poet, before falling for the hero’s wicked kisses and fondling. The list goes on…
Of course blonde heroes and heroines exist. Romance doesn’t depend on a single plot device, either. But when it comes to heroes especially, their fair colouring is hardly used as a symbol, rather as evidence that “appearances are deceiving”. He may look like an angel, but he’s really wicked, tempting and lustful like the devil. However, equally often (especially in a series) blonde heroes are portrayed as less virile, less dominant than dark ones. Just look at Brenda Joyce’s Deadly series: (golden-haired) Bragg, the first love interest, can only be legitimately dethroned in Francesca’s heart by an even “maler” male, if I may say so. It will be Hart, the dark-haired half-brother with the scandalous ways, who is even more of an orphan (both parents vs only Bragg’s mother), and has chosen a darker professional path (building a financial empire vs serving in the police force).
Double standards? Clearly most of the dark, subversive burden lies on the hero’s shoulders, while romance heroines often continue being virginal, well-bred, and blonde. Well, yes, and no. The diagnosis may be correct for the romance genre as a whole; but it isn’t intelligible as such. You must consider that the genre is ever-evolving, that different authors occupy different niches, and express different belief systems through different styles, settings, plots and characters. I don’t think anybody who reads romance ever reads a statistically representative sample of the genre as a whole. Readers have favourites, as suits their personal understanding of love and the sexes.
Even so, I would like to offer an argument in favour of very male males and the imbalance between the hero and heroine. This is a genre written mainly by women, for women, yet it cannot abstract itself from the patriarchal environment in which not just the authors, but the readers are socialized. The heroine can be said to do her part in recognizing the hero for who he is–the hero–as opposed to condemning his wickedness or immorality and keeping away from him–and acceding to the fulfillment of her own desires. But there is comfort in thinking that the initiative and responsibility for this scandalous type of love rests primarily on the man. Men do, after all, have a distinct cultural advantage when it comes to doing as one pleases and the rest be damned. Thus romance seeks to speak to women as they are, not as they should be. As for men, well, romance may portray them a little more as they should be… Who’s going to complain, right?
How do you feel about the lack of political correctness in romance? Do you agree with my assessment of modern romance as outrageous rather than sentimental? Do you prefer romance heroes to be very wicked, or more like ordinary men? How do you envision the evolution of het romance regarding gender equality? Is it in urban fantasy (and its sexually hyperactive heroines)?
A Duke of Her Own, by Eloisa James (review)
Posted: 2012/01/25 Filed under: Literature | Tags: a duke of her own, desperate duchesses, eloisa james, georgian, historical, review, sex 7 Comments »This wasn’t initially supposed to be a review or reader’s blog. You may have noticed that I never rate books in my so-called reviews, and that I regularly give up on being exhaustive or comprehensive, preferring to address a specific issue–either something I really liked, or really disliked about the book, which doesn’t necessarily represent my overall sentiment. I opened this blog with the intention of exploring and promoting the romance genre, and my reviews are only one of the ways I’ve allowed myself to do it.
Since reviewing and rating books is becoming addictive, but I don’t wish to clutter this blog with my reader’s track record, I have decided 1) to use my Goodreads account to track and rate everything I read; 2) to squeeze books of a same series together into one review post. Obviously the latter isn’t working very well with Eloisa James… Ahem. (In my defence, some series are longer than others.)
So I picked book 6 of the Desperate Duchesses before book 5. Because A Duke of Her Own was on sale… so I just up and bought it. Yeah, I know, I’m way too predictable. And then I read it, never mind that there must be 50+ books in my TBR pile, or that I was disappointed with James’s books 2, 3 and 4 of the series. There’s just something about the Georgian period… You want to lose yourself in it. Even if the story itself isn’t amazingly good. So if the story turns out to be amazingly good… You’re just in for this crazy, exhilarating experience that will leave you happy and giddy for the next several days.
A Duke of Her Own is the book we’ve been expecting since Desperate Duchesses, in which the Duke of Villiers becomes briefly engaged to the heroine, before being injured in a duel against the hero. Follows a long and scary illness that brings him to the threshold of death. Poor Villiers, he’s been through a lot. And through it all he’s never lost his cynicism, talent for chess, and taste for fashionable, flamboyant clothes (he never wears a wig or powder, though). Finally recovered, he is almost a new man, or at least, a new father: he has indeed decided to take responsibility for his six–yes, six!–bastard children, and therefore needs a wife. Meaning, a mother for his children.
His requirement: she must be the daughter of a Duke, so she can use her credit and good breeding to make his illegitimate children more acceptable to society. Two women fit the bill: Eleanor, who also won’t marry lower than a Duke (actually a trick to never be anyone’s but her ducal ex-lover), and Lisette, supposedly mad, who lives retired in the country. A party gathers at Lisette’s estate to allow Villiers to retrieve missing twins of his, as well as to make his choice between the two ladies.
The first few chapters of the book are so-so, but once they’re in the country… The rest of the novel is an absolute treat. I just couldn’t put it down, and more than that, I enjoyed myself immensely. I happened to be alone at home, and… I started to talk to the book. And no, that’s not something I usually do. This book made me do it. By “talking” I actually mean shouting things like, “I KNOW, RIGHT?” “Awwwright!” “You go, girl!” “Hey, f*** you!!” “Er… thank you?” or “Hell yeah!” It was just that entertaining, that hilarious, that spot-on. I kept wanting to interfere in those dialogues and shout at the characters for being alternately stupid, stubborn, incredible, or awesome.
I once wrote a post in which I briefly discussed realism in historical romance (it’s at the end of the entry), arguing that historical romance shouldn’t sacrifice romantic and progressive ideals to realism. Reading A Duke of Her Own gave me an additional insight into the debate. It isn’t merely about having to choose a side when historical reality conflicts with modern ideas. Historical romance is also about, well, having fun. There is an element of comic relief in Eloisa James’s work which cannot be denied. It isn’t straight-out farce that relies on deliberate anachronism; it has, however, often occurred to me that some passages you had to read with today’s mindset to fully appreciate.
All the considerations that should have made her run shrieking into the woods seemed inconsequential, when she could instead watch Leopold’s beautiful haunch as he leaned over and pulled a French letter from the pocket of his breeches, throwing them toward the riverbank.
“Do you carry those with you at all times?” she asked.
- A Duke of Her Own, Eloisa James (Avon, 2009)
I assume you know what a French letter is… Speaking of which, something I positively loved about this novel was how much they talked about sex (how could they not, when the hero fathered six children out of wedlock for starters?). Not all romances do, mind you. Sometimes the only sex in a novel is the one that actually happens. Which seems to convey the idea that sex is either only physical (aroused genitalia need release) or only emotional (two beings in love take it to the next level). A Duke of Her Own does a wonderful job showing that it is neither: it’s only a pillar of any successful relationship. If you can talk and joke about it outside the bedroom, then you’ve virtually got it covered.
He leaned back against the balustrade again and deliberately crossed his arms, because it made his muscles look even larger and he had the feeling that Eleanor liked muscles. Thank God, there was no way that Tobias could see the tent in his towel from below.
He moved his legs apart a bit, just in case she wanted to take another look. Obviously nothing would shock the woman.
“Am I to understand that you think I couldn’t be ready in less time than you?” he demanded.
- A Duke of Her Own, Eloisa James (Avon, 2009)
from E James's website
The amount of banter and sarcasm that is exchanged between those two is simply delicious. Unlike with many other books I’ve read, it never feels forced, incomprehensible, or immature. It actually feels fun. And just having that much fun with someone probably means you should marry them. But of course, Villiers doesn’t realise that until it’s too late. I found it contradictory that when it came to choosing his children’s mother, he favoured the woman who admittedly has no concern for propriety–didn’t he want a Duke’s daughter for her to compensate his bastards’ objective lack of propriety?
In spite of this minor plot weakness, the author develops a deeply satisfying reflection on motherhood, and how it’s got nothing to do with being proper, pure, and innocent (quite the contrary). Eleanor isn’t a virgin, by the way. But I’ll write another post this week specifically on this subject (not just virginity and sex, but good and evil and where romance stands). A Duke of Her Own certainly has opened many avenues for thought…
So, which is your favourite Desperate Duchesses novel? Do you ever talk to your books? Have I gone completely crazy? Don’t you love it when sex isn’t just performed, but discussed, hinted at, implied, and made fun of?
Eloisa James and I + Desperate Duchesses (review)
Posted: 2012/01/23 Filed under: Literature | Tags: an affair before christmas, desperate duchesses, duchess by night, eloisa james, georgian, historical, marketing, review, series, when the duke returns Leave a comment »
I proclaim this week to be the Eloisa James week on my blog. For no matter how I go about it, there seems to be too much I want to say for one tidy little blog post. I must confess that I spent six to seven hours on Saturday reading A Duke of Her Own (initially it was supposed to be “one or two chapters before I set about doing my school work”), and I am super excited. But since it’s a long story, I figured I might as well start with the beginning.
Last Thursday I wrote about marketing strategies to attract new readers. Well, suffice it to say that Ms. James has it down pat, at least where I am concerned. I first heard of her in 2008 (ie the year I started reading romance) when she was received as a guest on The Goddess Blogs for her then-latest novel, When the Duke Returns (aka Desperate Duchesses #4). She was also giving away an autographed copy of the series’ first book. Guess who was the lucky winner? Yes, that’s right, you got it! (I can’t show it to you because it’s currently at my parents’ place.)
I’m generally not very sentimental about romance paperbacks; I buy most of them secondhand, and I like giving mine away, even those I really enjoyed, to make room for new ones. (I have a theory concerning romance novels being supposedly “all the same”: each one is like reading something new and re-reading your favourite book all at once!) But autographed books, now that’s another thing… If ever I should decide to empty my shelves of all my books, there are three romance novels that would be the last to leave. Desperate Duchesses is one of them. The fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it also helps (otherwise I may have tried to cash in on the autograph…).
from E James's website
When most historical romances are set either in the Middle Ages or the 19th century (Regency-Victorian), Eloisa James preferred the late 18th century. Probably so she could describe the outrageous clothing and hairdos aristocrats favoured at the time. Be my guest! I’ve always had a guilty soft spot for the 18th century myself… Things were all so much more… decadent, weren’t they? Men got to be virile in very flowery stuff, you know; a far cry from the early-19th-century new male standards, which to this day continue to inform what we (arbitrarily) consider “masculine” and, conversely, “feminine”.
But what really made me love Desperate Duchesses, besides its amazing atmosphere and stylishness, was its plot. Roberta, a willful debutante from the country, catches a glimpse of the striking Duke of Villiers, and decides on the spot that she must marry him. To that end, she enrolls the help of Jemma, Duchess of Beaumont, who isn’t only the (estranged) wife of Villiers’ old friend and rival, but also a master chess player, as both Villiers and Beaumont are. Yet, in spite of her new mentor’s skills and influence, things won’t exactly go the way Roberta had planned… She will soon learn that a mere glimpse and a sudden inner conviction, epiphany-like though it may be, aren’t nearly enough requirements for a successful marriage!
I cannot stress enough how much this story appealed to me, from a narrative as much as a philosophical point of view. I love seeing characters grow out of their former mistakes. I loved Roberta’s desperation, her youthful enthusiasm and stubbornness. Love is not obvious. Falling in love is not like being hit by Cupid’s arrow. It’s much more insidious, unexpected, quiet, simple, wonderful. And lasting.
Compared to Roberta’s story, its direct sequel, An Affair Before Christmas, was a big disappointment. The elegant and clever writing was still there, and so too were the supporting characters I’d loved in Desperate Duchesses. The main romantic plot, on the other hand, despite its promising premise (a couple’s intimacy is restored after being destroyed by bad sexual experience), completely failed to 
capture my interest and imagination. And yet I went on reading the third book, Duchess by Night, featuring a cross-dressing heroine. I liked it a little better, but still I was far from enthralled.
And yet I read the fourth book, When the Duke Returns. Not bad, but God, oh God, where had the absolute joy I’d felt when reading Desperate Duchesses gone? (Interestingly, I gave book 4 a higher rating than book 3 immediately after reading them, but with hindsight I have a much clearer and fonder memory of Duchess by Night, so who knows?) You’d think after liking only one of four books of Eloisa James’s, I would have given up on her, or at least on her Desperate Duchesses series. You may even wonder why I bothered to give her so many chances in the first place, seeing as I often claim not to care about reading a series in the right order, let alone all books in a series. Except Desperate Duchesses is not a typical romance series.
In modern romance, the term “series” applies to novels that seldom share more than a common setting and a few secondary characters. If a supporting character you’ve particularly enjoyed gets her/his own novel, you’ll probably wish to read that one too. But sometimes the next novel in a series is about a presumed sibling who was virtually absent of the first book, so honestly, why would you care? Desperate Duchesses is much more of a series than either of these examples. First of all, the first scene of the next book always takes place on the same occasion as the previous book’s last scene.
Secondly, there is a story arc that spans the first five books, namely Jemma’s relationship with Villiers and Beaumont. And while this concept is all to James’s credit, since it has clearly worked with me, it is perhaps one of the reasons that made books 2, 3 and 4 less good than the first and last ones. From the second novel, this story arc indeed forks into two story arcs: one focuses on Jemma and her husband, and leads to This Duchess of Mine; the second follows Villiers’s tribulations, and finds closure in A Duke of Her Own. Unfortunately, though these characters made for a colourful and intriguing subplot in Desperate Duchesses, they seem to take up entirely too much space in the following three books, and useless space to boot, since we know none of their conflicts will be resolved till books 5 and 6.
What type of series do you like better? Do you think that series with an overarching supblot (or main plot, as it were) are a marketing tool? Which of the first four Desperate Duchesses novels did you enjoy the most? Did Jemma, Beaumont and Villiers spoil you for all the other couples?
The more you do…
Posted: 2012/01/20 Filed under: Bio | Tags: organization, work Leave a comment »… the more you do? That’s how the quote goes, right? Well, it better be right!
Through a conjunction of unfortunate events, I may soon find myself forced to work hard. And pray, and cross fingers all at the same time. In other news, I did my five master’s courses without knowing that there were mandatory ones. Therefore I still have to take the mandatory course, but because I’ve already taken five, I’m going to have to pay extra bucks for it.
Also, because the session’s already started, I don’t have a choice anymore between said mandatory courses; only one isn’t full. It is also taught by a teacher with a very bad reputation among students because… in the past she’s tried to countermand a strike which was voted democratically by the students. And as it happens, there is a pretty big chance we’ll go on strike again… Precisely. This. Session.
The gist of it is that I’m going to have to take an additional course, with the substantial workload that goes with it, at the same time as I was expected to start writing my thesis, and at the same time as we hope to go on an unlimited strike which will necessary disrupt, if not ruin the session. Oh, yeah, and all my New Year’s resolutions… (Among which I forgot to mention that I am learning how to drive. In the snow.)
But don’t they say that the more you do, the more you do? What’s your opinion on that? Ready to jump on the hard-working bandwagon with me?
How can authors attract new readers?
Posted: 2012/01/19 Filed under: Literature | Tags: books, ebooks, genre, marketing, molly o'keefe, pricing, promotion, publishing, seth godin, strategy, target audience 1 Comment »
I was discussing book pricing strategy the other day. More specifically when the “book” was a self-published, electronic debut novel. In other words, when there are no pre-existing, solid criteria to help one determine what the pricing should be. Because it is her debut, the author has only the vaguest idea about how many people she can reach and convince to buy her book. And since she is self-published, she most likely hasn’t invested any calculable money to turn her novel into a saleable product. It is entirely up to her to decide how much she wants to bill her own time and efforts.
One way to look at the question is to assume such a book has an inherent or “real” value. Based on what I’ve stated so far, this value should be neither too high nor too low, so as to faithfully reflect both the virtually costless process of producing ebook copies, and the author’s unique talent and hard work. According to this view, the strategical price for the book is the book’s estimated value: somewhere around $5, for example. Another way to consider the problem, though, is to realize that, however unethical or economically unsound that may be, prices never reflect the products’ value, but only the state of the market.
Indeed, I believe that the message hypothetically conveyed by a price tag, especially in the case of self-publishing, is hazy at best: just because you (the novel’s author, for God’s sake!) think that your book is worth $5, hardly tells me anything about its actual worth (is $5 little, or a lot?), let alone about its potential to captivate or entertain me, a specific, particular reader. It’s not how much it cost you, how much you’d like to be paid, or how much is a fair price; it’s how much the consumer is ready to pay. That is also Seth Godin’s opinion when he writes about How much should an ebook cost:
I would start those books at ZERO and raise the price a penny for every ten purchases until I got to $15 and then hold it there for three months.
If the book really is great, the first 1000 readers (who are easy to find, because they love to read and love a bargain and have to hurry before the price exceeds a dollar) either start raving about the book or they don’t. If they do, then the next few thousand readers are going to stampede along. Still a bargain, but moving fast.
Now, by the time the book hits $15, it’s been read by 15,000 people (understand, please, that in the book business, 15,000 readers in a week is a national bestseller, a huge hit), and you’ve just created a new must-read author.
The reason why this makes sense to me may be that I am one of these people who “love to read and love a bargain”. I’m always in for a contest or a giveaway. I have discovered two talented authors, Lori Handeland and Eloisa James, by winning free autographed books of theirs. Now I buy their novels, and I give them to my friends to read. And, like I always say, giveaways build curiosity and expectation: if you’re too frustrated for not being drawn this time, chances are you’ll end up getting your own copy in the bookstore! Molly O’Keefe agrees in A conversation about category romance and effective promotion:
Readers want giveaways. Who doesn’t? Do a little blog tour – there are a lot of websites out there who would LOVE to have guest bloggers. Do the blog. Giveaway some books. Be on Facebook – do some giveaways. Are you going to see sales – can’t say. No idea. But giving away books in my opinion is the best promotion there is. Especially if you’re proud of the book. I did a Good Reads giveaway, which is free – I do recommend that, they pull from a huge pool and get a lot of rabid readers who might not know your name, or romance.
This leads me to the second part of this post. Beyond pricing, and assuming that like I claimed, price is not what makes a book ultimately successful or not, because the signals it sends are too mixed: how can authors attract new readers? I have made a list of three additional key elements:
- Summary and cover
Who said that e-books didn’t have covers? Maybe they don’t as an object, but as a marketable product, they definitely must have one. Something appealing, that attracts the eye, conveys the novel’s genre or atmosphere, and most importantly, which can be easily identified every time people will post on the web about your book. Similarly, the official summary will be on display everywhere your book is, so better work on that one, too. - Reviews
It’s great to be in as many places as possible, but you know what’s even better? Letting your readers do that work in your place. Try and get them to leave reviews of your book, or the other way around, try and get those people with review blogs to read your book. - Genre and target audience
Know your target audience. Know who’s most likely to appreciate your book. These are the people your book cover and summary must be aimed at. These are the people who will write positive reviews of your book, and be able to reach more like-minded people, ie their own readers.
And now, dear readers, is the time for a little poll. I’ll be overjoyed if you leave me a comment to develop whatever your ideas may be! (You can pick up to 3 answers if you really cannot decide.)
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