How can authors attract new readers?

Posted: 2012/01/19 | Author: | Filed under: Literature | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.)

11 mythes sur la romance dévoilés

Posted: 2011/12/28 | Author: | Filed under: En français, Literature | Tags: , , , , , | 8 Comments »

Parce que plus de trois ans après avoir ouvert ma première romance, je continue à lire et à entendre tout et n’importe quoi, surtout le pire, sur ce genre littéraire qui en vaut largement un autre.

Mais tout d’abord, pourquoi “romance”? On est en effet plus habitué en français à parler de “roman d’amour” ou de “roman sentimental”… Je vous rassure tout de suite: il s’agit bien de la même chose. Alors pourquoi leur préférer une autre appellation?

Mythe #1: La présence prépondérante de sentiments ou d’amour dans un roman en fait automatiquement une romance.

C’est la limite des termes de “roman d’amour”, “roman sentimental” ou “histoire d’amour”. La princesse de Clèves est-il une romance? La Chartreuse de Parme? Madame Bovary? Roméo et Juliette? Bien sûr que non. Cela ne m’empêche pas d’apprécier ces œuvres pour ce qu’elles sont (sauf Madame Bovary, auquel je trouve des relents misogynes). Mais la romance, ce que j’appelle “modern romance” en anglais, est tout autre chose: c’est ce genre apparu dans les années 1970, qui tout en étant écrit d’un point de vue féminin, fait une place inédite au(x) personnage(s) masculin(s), à la sensualité et à la résolution du conflit―non dans une perspective de retour au statu quo, mais de progression vers un équilibre nouveau, souvent subversif. Tout un programme!

Mythe #2: Harlequin représente un genre, une recette, une formule spécifiques de romans.

Impossible! Les premiers romans d’amour publiés par Harlequin sont ceux de Mills & Boon, un éditeur britannique (Harlequin en obtient les droits de distribution en Amérique du Nord). S’il y a spécificité ou formule, c’est donc originellement celle de Mills & Boon… Et lorsque Harlequin se décide finalement, tardivement, à publier ses propres romances, c’est aussi évidemment le moment où ses collections se multiplient et se diversifient.

Actuellement, les Entreprises Harlequin possèdent 32 collections différentes au Canada (c’est-à-dire sans compter les collections des filiales qui impriment leurs traductions), pour lesquelles écrivent plus de 1 300 auteurs du monde entier. Harlequin est également à l’origine d’une récente collection entièrement numérique, Carina Press, qui publie, outre des romances (y compris homosexuelles), des œuvres de fantasy, SF, action/aventure, paranormal, comédie, policier, western, BDSM…

Mythe #3: Romance (ou roman d’amour, ou roman sentimental) = roman Harlequin.

J’ai déjà montré qu’à la base, un roman Harlequin est en fait un roman Mills & Boon; il n’y a donc pas d’”identité Harlequin”. (Harlequin n’est alors qu’une compagnie qui réimprime les livres des autres.) Mais on est encore dans les années 40-50, loin de ce qui fait la romance actuelle, que j’ai définie plus haut. Celle-ci est présumée voir le jour avec l’auteure américaine Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, qui est publiée par la maison d’édition Avon, alors spécialisée dans les livres de poche et les bandes dessinées!

En effet, à l’époque, Harlequin refuse de publier des auteures américaines. Les premiers manuscrits de Nora Roberts seront d’ailleurs rejetés pour cette raison. De plus, Harlequin étant une compagnie canadienne, aux États-Unis les romances Mills & Boon sont d’abord distribués par Simon & Schuster, grand éditeur américain. Quand Harlequin, ayant racheté Mills & Boon, décide de ne plus passer par Simon & Schuster, ces derniers se lancent tout naturellement à leur tour dans la romance (et offrent à Nora Roberts ses premiers contrats d’édition)!

Mythe #4: Harlequin est la seule maison d’édition à publier de la romance, des romans d’amour, ou des romans sentimentaux.

Au cas où vous n’auriez toujours pas compris: c’est faux! Parmi les 31 romances que j’ai lues cette année, seules 2 étaient publiées par Harlequin (l’une dans sa collection Harlequin SuperRomance, l’autre chez MIRA). 2 autres étaient publiées par des éditeurs indépendants (Dorchester Publishing et Sourcebooks). Les 27 restantes étaient publiées par ce que l’on nomme “the Big Six“, soit les six groupes qui dominent largement le marché de l’édition nord-américain: 8 par HarperCollins, 6 par Penguin Group (USA), 5 par Random House, 4 par McMillan Publishers Ltd, 3 par Simon & Schuster, et 1 par Hachette…

En France, où l’élitisme sexiste de mauvais goût a empêché l’essor d’une romance francophone, les traductions sont notamment publiées par le groupe Flammarion (collection J’ai Lu Pour elle) et les éditions indépendantes Bragelonne (Milady), en plus de la filiale française de Harlequin.

Mythe #5: Il suffit de lire un auteur ou une collection de romance pour se faire une idée d’ensemble du genre.

Eh, non… C’est comme si vous disiez: je lisais la série Alice de Caroline Quine quand j’étais petit -e, je sais donc tout du polar! En romance, les collections, formats et sous-genres sont tout aussi riches et diversifiés que dans n’importe quel autre genre. Sans parler du fait que, la romance abordant des thèmes assez délicats (rapport entre les sexes, sexualité, condition féminine, violence, traumatismes, injustice, bonheur, foi…), la façon particulière qu’aura chaque auteure de les aborder et de les traiter pourra trouver des échos violemment négatifs comme pleins d’enthousiasme selon les expériences et opinions propres des lecteurs.

Du reste, la romance est un genre en pleine évolution. Si certaines réussites des années 70 et 80 nous étonnent par leur modernité et leur fraîcheur, dans l’ensemble le marché change, les auteures se renouvellent et les mentalités progressent…

Mythe #6: Il n’y a pas de suspense (voire d’intérêt) à lire des histoires dont on connaît la fin à l’avance.

C’est vrai, quand on choisit une romance, on sait à l’avance que les héros finiront ensemble et heureux. Mais de là à connaître la fin… Il n’y a pas de romance sans intrigue secondaire, laquelle peut être digne d’un bon roman policier. Et de la situation initiale à la situation finale, les personnages principaux ne se contentent jamais de former un couple; des surprises les attendent en chemin, des secrets sont révélés, leurs convictions sont ébranlées. La romance est un genre qui met l’accent sur le comment davantage que sur le quoi, tout comme un nombre incalculable d’œuvres classiques, à commencer par celles qui se basent sur des circonstances historiques (on sait à l’avance qui a gagné la guerre, quelle femme le roi a épousée, et que le Titanic a coulé).

Mythe #7: Comme toutes les romances se ressemblent, les lecteurs de romance lisent toujours la même chose.

J’ai déjà montré que les romances ne se ressemblaient pas davantage entre elles que les romans de fantasy entre eux, ou les romans policiers entre eux. Pour ce qui est de la seconde proposition, elle sous-entend que les lecteurs de romance ne lisent que de la romance. C’est globalement inexact. Les amateurs de romance sont avant tout des amateurs de lecture et de littérature; ce sont ces fameux individus qui font vivre l’industrie du livre et continuent à promouvoir le plaisir de lire et d’écrire à l’heure du culte de l’image. Grands lecteurs, ils s’intéressent à plusieurs genres, ou du moins, s’y sont forcément intéressés avant de déterminer leur préférence pour la romance.

Mythe #8: Les lecteurs de romance ne sont pas difficiles.

Ce mythe contredit directement le précédent. Il faudrait savoir si les lecteurs de romance recherchent quelque chose de précis dans la lecture, ou bien s’ils sont ouverts à tout et indifférents à ce qu’ils lisent. La réalité, bien entendu, est quelque part au milieu (surtout dans la mesure où l’on ne peut généraliser). Cependant, en admettant que les amateurs de romance en lisent souvent beaucoup et loyalement, lire et relire la même chose, comme suivre des auteurs bien précis, n’est-il pas le signe sûr d’un goût affirmé, d’une discrimination, d’une sélection? Les lecteurs de romance ne lisent pas plus qu’ils n’aiment tout et n’importe quoi: ils lisent et aiment de la romance.

Et puisque la romance n’a pas d’unité de qualité, d’idéologie, de format ou de style, ils lisent et aiment rarement n’importe quelle romance, mais seulement certains auteurs, sous-genres ou collections. (Je ne compte plus les lecteurs de romance qui boycottent Harlequin, ou bien les historiques, ou bien les paranormaux… ou bien les contemporains.)

Mythe #9: La romance est un genre limité, qui ne peut prétendre à l’universalité de l’art, car il est écrit et lu principalement par des femmes.

Tandis que, bien sûr, les œuvres écrites et lues principalement par des hommes (ne serait-ce que pour cause évidente d’alphabétisation ou d’accès à la culture; c’est tout nouveau dans l’Histoire que les femmes y aient droit) fondent, quant à elles, le critère de l’universel. La femme, c’est le particulier. L’homme, c’est l’universel. Ce n’est pas un hasard si “homme” désigne également l’être humain en soi, ni qu’en grammaire le masculin l’emporte toujours sur le féminin.

Les hommes représentent l’humanité, pendant que les femmes ne représentent qu’elles-mêmes. D’où la crainte des républicains universalistes français, jusqu’en 1944, que les femmes ne viennent polluer la recherche de l’intérêt général avec leur intérêt de “caste”, de “communauté”. Les femmes sont la “minorité” la plus importante de la société: elles en constituent la moitié (minorité car traitée et opprimée comme telle par une législation soi-disant neutre, universelle, abstraite, générale…). Ce n’est pas nouveau, mais c’est toujours aussi misogyne et sexiste.

Mythe #10: La romance, c’est de la pornographie pour femmes.

Signet's Lover Awakened cover

Parce qu’on y parle de sexualité? Parce qu’on l’y représente? Mais si les scènes “hot” de romance peuvent être utilisées à toutes fins possibles, cela ne les rend pas plus pornographiques qu’une photo quelconque de célébrité sur laquelle un homme choisit de se masturber. Les scènes d’amour n’ont pas vocation principale à exciter sexuellement le lecteur, mais avant tout à reconnaître une part indéfectible de toute relation amoureuse complète, épanouie, saine et heureuse. Ce n’est pas que les femmes préfèrent le sexe dans un cadre émotionnel, mais bien l’inverse: elles ne sont pas dupes des conséquences physiques qu’entraîne ce type d’émotions! L’amour platonique est un mythe masculin particulièrement malsain, qui a servi de tout temps à justifier des horreurs contre les femmes (prostitution, infidélité du mari, concept de virginité).

Mythe #11: L’amour vrai, absolu, passionné, fidèle, sain et heureux n’existe pas.

Juste parce que vous voilà tout à la fois cynique, défaitiste, malchanceux et pusillanime… ne vous donne pas raison!

Des mythes sur la romance, il y en aurait sans doute beaucoup d’autres à briser… Si vous lisez de la romance, quel autre mythe aimeriez-vous voir détruit? Êtes-vous d’accord avec mon interprétation du genre? Si vous n’en lisez pas, pourquoi? Avez-vous des préjugés qui font partie des 11 mythes que j’ai exposés ci-dessus, ou bien est-ce pour d’autres raisons?

Romance against societal norms

Posted: 2011/12/07 | Author: | Filed under: Literature, Politics | Tags: , , , , | 11 Comments »

By recommendation of the Modern Princesses, I picked up In Her Shoes at the library. It’s not a romance, more of a women’s fiction or, in my opinion, a chick lit novel. And though I enjoyed it, the things I enjoyed less all seemed to relate to the genre, and to point out why I still like romance better than chick lit: because, contrary to popular belief, romance makes much less room for stereotypes.

But first of all, what is the difference between romance and chick lit? They have some common points, as chick-lit books generally feature a romantic subplot and a happy ending. Moreover, some contemporary romances incorporate chick lit elements or aspects (some of Jennifer Crusie’s novels, for example, strike me as a successful cross between the two genres). However, in general, I would define chick lit as the story of a woman (or several women) who struggles to live up to societal norms and standards―be married with a career by thirty, be thin, have good sex, etc.―before eventually breaking free of all that pressure, while actually achieving some of these standards, as per the belief that “it will happen when you expect it least”.

In short, chick lit is about the conflict between women and society’s standards; a conflict which leads to a resolution, therefore a certain reconciliation with and acceptance of said standards. The romance only shows up in so far as “a stable and successful relationship” is part of these societal norms. In comparison, romance is about the conflict between two people (a woman and a man in het romance), which gets resolved by their falling in love with each other and happy ever after. Societal norms are relegated to the background, and more often than not, they contribute to the conflict: when the conflict is resolved, so are the norms rejected, refused, and condemned.

Here are a few examples of the chick lit stereotypes that annoy me:

1) Women are either too fat (for the norm), or they very explicitly don’t eat enough/don’t like food

from Bridget Jones's Diary (movie)

On the other hand, in romance heroines may have all kinds of problems: too tall, too skinny, too red-haired, too dark, wrong nose… Women are universally pressured about their appearance, not just the bigger ones in our size-obsessed societies. AND we also get heroines without physical hang-ups! Just because you know you look good doesn’t mean your life is made, or that you don’t deserve to be a heroine.

2) Heroines are plain, ordinary women who wish they were better (better-looking, better employed, richer, thinner, brighter, smarter…)

On the contrary, romance heroines generally have at least one thing unusual or exceptional about them that they already know about. They can be strikingly beautiful, or successful, or famous, or tough, or super intelligent, or especially talented in a given field. They are eccentric and different. They are inspiring.

3) Heroines are unhappily single and desperately hope to catch and keep the man they like (often obsessing about looks-related details, from shaving to lingerie)

A lot of romance heroines want to stay single, or for some reason have given up dating, or avoid a particular type of relationship or man. They often resist the hero, imagining tricks to put him off. If later in the story they have a reason for chasing, then they do so with enthusiasm and without shame, once again coming up with clever tricks or more simply throwing tantrums, but never trying to fit in what they think the hero expects them to be (except as part of a plan, as a lure).

4) The good guy is the nice, respectable, unremarkable one; the bad guy mainly wants to fuck you

Romance will tell you the opposite. There’s often a really boring, bland, albeit goodhearted ex or suitor whom the romance heroine insecurely clings on to, until she acknowledges the merits of some devastatingly sensual rake, ruffian, pirate, barbarian, low-life… or duke, or billionaire. Whose interest in the heroine usually begins with crude lust before leveling up to something nobler.

4) A successful relationship begins with (initially sexless) dating, continues with a proposal and ends with a marriage

Wow… I don’t even know where to begin. This reads like the antithesis of the typical romance. Think of all the romance cliches: the arranged marriage, the fake betrothal, the seduction, the kidnapping, the Big Misunderstanding, the mistaken identity, the secret child… or the most basic of all: being overwhelmed by a blind, irrational passion. In other words, romance protagonists tend to do either one of two things: marry before they even like each other, or fuck when they really shouldn’t.

Once again, we’re up against romance’s notorious “lack of realism”. But because chick lit relies on a lot more stereotypes, is it necessarily more realistic? Is it true that all women are fat or disordered, that we are average, unsuccessful beings, who must settle for the “nice guy” and follow the steps carefully in order to make our relationship work? How many real women actually are like that? Romance is much more fun, and more empowering to female readers, because it acknowledges all the ways a woman can be torn down, or blossom; all the ways she can be special, be better than men, take chances, change the world around her, be adventurous, keep hope, enjoy sex without guilt or consequences…

Chick lit thrives on taking a chaotic, unbalanced situation and setting it “right”. At the end of the chick lit novel, the heroine is the embodiment of what society wants women to be: good-looking enough, well employed, married or engaged to some nice, regular dude. Romance goes the other way around: it takes a peaceful, functional situation and throws in some chaos. In the beginning the hero and heroine will fight the chaos and strive to return to their previous, safe situations, but not only is it too late, they also learn that a little chaos is good, that it makes you feel alive and wonderful. In the end, their relationship is the talk of the town, the scandal of the year, the unlikely match, and they are cast out of “good society”.

If you are an avid chick lit reader (unlike me), are my assumptions mostly correct, or did I extrapolate from too narrow a sample? Are stereotypes in literature more acceptable if they are realistic? Which do you find more empowering: chick lit, or romance?

Target audience vs genre

Posted: 2011/10/26 | Author: | Filed under: Literature | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments »

The other day, someone on a writing message board was asking: what’s the difference between the genre (or subgenre) and the target audience? Meaning: doesn’t your choice of a genre imply a definite audience, and won’t your audience feel automatically targeted by the genre your work is labeled under? In other words, if you write a romantic suspense novel, then your target audience is romantic suspense readers, and if you write medieval romance, then your target is medieval romance readers. There is, of course, some truth in that. And of course, the more detailed and specific the genre label will be (like “historical time travel dystopian romance”―review coming soon, I promise), the more obvious the correlation will be with the book’s target audience.


One book, four covers… what’s the target audience?

There are a lot of novels, though, that don’t mix enough labels for the genre to mean anything in terms of target audience. I’m thinking of the novel I want to write for NaNoWriMo; it’s just plain fantasy. Just because there is a romantic element at some point doesn’t turn it into fantasy romance or romantic fantasy IMO, because that is not what the story is about. I think calling it thus would be misleading to the potential reader, yet calling it “plain fantasy” is equally misleading in its utter vagueness. I think the difference between genre and target audience is the cold, objective aspect of one, vs the emotional, subjective nature of the other.

Genres, by definition, categorize books. Even though we know that each book, and even more so each author, is unique, genres work that way that they consider an indefinite amount of books to fall in one single category, according to one main element common to them all. If there is a love story with a happy ending, it’s a romance. If it involves imaginary creatures or worlds, then it’s fantasy. If there is an investigation, then it’s a detective novels. But these are only cold, hard facts. How much do they really tell us about what the book feels like, expresses, conveys? Interestingly, Randy Ingermanson, describing the target audience, writes:

In my view, the demographic stuff ― age, gender, and socioeconomic status of Locke’s reader (or your readers) are the least important part.
The real gold comes from knowing what emotive buttons your target audience wants pushed.

- Advanced Fiction Writing E-zine, vol. 7, no. 7 (July 2011)

I believe it is very true if you think that even adults can enjoy so-called middle grade or YA literature, and even men can enjoy romance. In this regard, the recent experiment I ran with Bélier has definitely helped me pinpoint the distinction between genre and target audience. I sent him three novels which I hoped were representative of the romance genre: Slightly Scandalous, a historical romance, Force of Nature, a romantic suspense novel, and Faking It, a contemporary romance. Based on his reviews, I realized the following:

1) Men are part of romance’s target audience.
> Does that mean that all romances are targeted at all men? Certainly not. No more than all romances are targeted at all women. The romance genre’s target audience is composed of some, but not all women, as well as some, but not all men.
> Conclusion: Can we define a target audience solely based on literary genre? No.

2) His order of preference seems to go: Faking It > Force of Nature > Slightly Scandalous. Because, to be extremely simplistic, humour > social issues > cliches.
> Does that mean that contemporary = humour, suspense = social issues, and historical = cliches? There might be trends, but it’s far from accurate if you consider the whole subgenre, for any of these.
> Conclusion: Can we define target audiences solely based on subgenres? No.

3) He remarked on and criticized the heroes’ all-round perfection.
> Does that mean that romance always implies a perfect hero? Nope. But these three books, before being “representative of the romance genre”, are three books I liked. Among other reasons, because I like “perfection” in romance heroes.
> Conclusion: Can we define a target audience solely based on the (sub)genre of other books they liked? No. Just because Bélier and I both liked the same books, doesn’t mean we liked them as much, nor for the same reasons.

As a global conclusion, I would offer that though I initially thought to prove that Bélier (a man) and I (a woman) could belong to the same target audience (romance readers), this experiment actually ended up proving me that not all romance readers belong to the same target audience. You know, “some like it hot”, some don’t; some like it as realistic as possible, some don’t; some like it gut-wrenching, some don’t, etc.

Do you have any personal anecdote that could illustrate the difference between genre and target audience? Do you feel like mixing up these two concepts can lead to bad marketing? If you’re a writer, do you think it’s important to define your target audience?

Petals on the River, by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss (review)

Posted: 2011/10/18 | Author: | Filed under: Literature | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment »

It’s been a while I haven’t had so much trouble getting into a book as with Petals on the River. The fact that this romance exceeds 500 pages wasn’t very encouraging, either. But because it’s Woodiwiss, I ploughed on and waited for the magic to happen. Wise decision! I didn’t regret it.

But before I explain why in more details, once again let me add a little context for my friends who might be new to romance. First of all, while people often like to mention Jane Austen or Georgette Heyer as the precursors of today’s romance writers, Kathleen E. Woodiwiss is the one who, in the 70′s, pioneered in the actual subgenre now known as “historical romance” (at the time distinct from the Regency subgenre). Her recipe? Rebellious heroines, lots of adventure, passion, violence and explicit sex in a 600-page format.

At the time, Regency romances were shorter, lighter, and devoid of sexual content (in other words, much closer to the style of Jane Austen). Only in the 90′s did historical romance’s influence permeate Regency romance, with authors now writing “historicals” in Regency settings, and Regency romance becoming more of a (sub)subgenre within historical romance, albeit with its specificity―Regency romance remains usually lighter, with less drama and more emphasis on banter and witty dialogue than, say, medieval romance, or Woodiwiss’s colonial America romance.

Woodiwiss wrote Petals on the River in the late 90′s, yet she still writes like in the 70′s. Meaning her sentences are convoluted, heavy with qualifiers, and everything is a pretext for a description and a bit of colourful dialogue. Mind you, it’s well done. But it certainly isn’t fast, efficient or straight to the point, and it takes some getting used to. By page 20, I had finally adapted to the novel’s peculiar pace and was able to enjoy it till the end of the book. I can even say that, once you take it in stride, Ms. Woodiwiss’s rich style turns out more captivating than many a modern, condensed and concise one, and the perfect tone for her fantastic stories, reminding one of the never-ending historical frescoes of old.

Shemaine O’Hearn, a respectable, if half-Irish young woman, is kidnapped from her home and wrongly imprisoned before ending up on a ship to the colonies, where she will be sold as an indentured servant along other criminals. Thank God, the man who buys her is even better than she’d hoped for. Gage Thornton, an honest cabinetmaker with dreams of building ships, is a widower and father to a toddler. As both Shemaine and Gage soon discover each other’s good qualities, nothing could stop them from falling in love but 1) the mysterious death of Gage’s first wife, and 2) the many enemies Shemaine has made, who will not rest until she is dead and buried…

William raised the sights of his pistol toward the man and began to squeeze the trigger, but before he could complete the motion, the roar of another flintlock echoed in resounding waves across the ship. Ever so slowly, the huge brigand’s knees buckled, twisting oddly beneath him as his body began to collapse. Blood glistened wetly in the rosy shade of the coming dawn as it oozed from a large hole in his head and cascaded down over his ear.

- Petals on the River, Kathleen E. Woodiwiss (Avon, 1997)

In reality, though, this novel is much less somber than it sounds. In a way, maybe it is not enough so. There is practically no internal conflict preventing the heroine and hero to find happiness together, and though it is a refreshing change from the “love-hate relationship” cliche, it makes one wonder what, then, is taking so long to tell. And, indeed, the whole subplot feels quite artificial. It is ironical that what Woodiwiss is best known for, and what I was most expecting from her, is what I liked the least in Petals on the River: heightened emotions, hatred, revenge, jealousy, gunshots and blood. A strongly Manichean story, it wouldn’t end until all the bad guys were defeated, and all the good ones happily settled.

She grew flushed and warm, while in the depths of her being there again sprouted that strange, insatiable longing that grew apace with her mindful meanderings, as if her young body desperately hungered for fulfillment from that particular entity whose face and form haunted her imaginings.

- Petals on the River, Kathleen E. Woodiwiss (Avon, 1997)

What I liked, then, was the positive, fluffy love story. Shemaine is just perfect for Gage; Gage is just perfect for Shemaine. They follow the perfect steps on the path to love, and find perfect love together. It sounds boring, yet it was the least boring part of the novel to me. It was, in fact, enchanting. Following Shemaine as she rediscovers the simple pleasures of life in a colonial’s handmade cabin―and discovers more adult pleasures in the same colonial’s arms―is very touching, fun, and entertaining. Petals on the River may not be as epic as Woodiwiss’s more famous works, but it’s a fully satisfying romance with a raw, genuine back to nature flavour.

Are you a Woodiwiss fan or hater? Which of her novels is your favourite? Know any other author who still writes in the style of Kathleen Woodiwiss?

Realism vs idealism in modern romance

Posted: 2011/10/04 | Author: | Filed under: Literature, Politics | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Most criticisms aimed at modern romance can be grouped under two main types: those that attack it on the grounds of lack of realism, and those that disparage it for its lack of idealism. It may seem contradictory at first sight, yet it isn’t if you stop and consider that modern romance, just like any other fiction genre, features elements of both realism and idealism. It just happens to be very stable ones: from one romance to another, the idealist aspect is always the same, while the realist ones likewise don’t vary. But first of all, what exactly do I mean by “realism” and “idealism”?

1) Realism

William Bouguereau, Câlineries (passage)

There is much in modern romance that feels real to its readers, which is probably the only valid explanation for its success. Dismissing romance as being mere “fantasy” is therefore an inaccurate shortcut that avoids real questions, by which I mean: how is romance realistic, and is realism always a good thing? We’ll define realism as whatever draws from firsthand, concrete experience, what seeks to faithfully represent the world as it is.

Probably because reality lends us too many examples of horror and misery, we have been used to think of realism as something that reveals the world’s shortcomings and bad ways. As I have already argued here (these two blogs actually complement each other), modern romance is true to this usual definition and does not shun pain, injustice or hardship in any way. Professional as well as personal failure is a common device used to create as much of a contrast as possible between where the protagonist comes from, and what they will find in the course of the book.

However, reality is not made up of suffering only, as Jennifer Crusie aptly points out, and the fact that the heroine and hero find happiness and love could also be considered as realistic. However, this is the fine line where realism and idealism mix, especially in historical romance, and as it is more often criticized as overly “romanced” and “idealized”, we will tackle this specific problem in a following paragraph. Instead, let’s look at why romance may seem too realistic to some readers’ minds. Indeed, as romance strives to relate to real people’s fantasies and experiences, it tends to reproduce stereotypes and social norms, which it will often portray in a flattering light if they are part of the main, successful love story.

Male-Female height differences for birth years of 1980-1983

Example: As quoted by Ms. Crusie, Jeanne Dubino claims that “the hero is always older, taller, and richer than the heroine”. Although the emphasized use of “always” invalidates her point (as this is simply not true), nobody can deny that what she sees as an absolute rule remains a clear pattern in romance. Those romance novels I’ve read which went against this pattern evidently existed, but they were few and far between. And of course, when I hear this kind of comment, I want to defend romance on behalf of realism: isn’t the male average height bigger than the female one? Don’t boys mature later than girls? Haven’t men got higher salaries than women?

I’m sure the critics will understand that romance wouldn’t stand a chance if it presented us too often with situations that remain unusual in the real world, ie couples in which the guy would be younger, shorter and poorer than the heroine. (Of all the guys I’ve been with, one-night stands included, I don’t think any fit any of these requirements. Yet I’m neither picky nor prejudiced.) On the other hand, it is romance authors and readers’ job to be careful that such efforts towards realism don’t fossilize into conservative, stereotyped models going against society’s changes towards equality.

2) Idealism

Whenever idealism is opposed to realism, the former often takes on negative connotations. For reasons that only our specific, narrow sociohistorical context can explain, sticking to reality as it is has become a more valid endeavour than trying to change the current reality into something better. I guess I like modern romance for that, that it keeps trying to set a better example rather than simply bemoan the current state of affairs.

Obviously, examples of happiness and love exist in reality, which provides romance with reference points to make it as realistic and believable as possible. The reason why I consider it idealistic anyway, is that it isn’t enough for romance to show us any kind of relationship that is reputed to work out, or which the people in it are merely content with. I can imagine how some couples in the Middle Ages were happy with what they had, because that is what made sense in their world, yet equality between husband and wife wasn’t achieved in any way. Well, modern romance wants none of that. It isn’t just a vehicle to express all and any definition of love or happiness: it is a definition unto itself.

Now let’s look more closely at how this is problematic, but in the end so much more rewarding than it is problematic. When I sent Slightly Scandalous to Bélier, I felt that it might be the one he would have the most trouble understanding and appreciating (which I tried to balance out by picking an author known for her relative realism and reserve). I couldn’t pinpoint why, though, until I read his review. Then it came back to me in one word: idealism. Historical romance mixes modern ideals (on love and happiness, mainly) with historical settings, something neither contemporary romance nor historical fiction does. Because of that, historical romance is not just romance in a historical setting, but something completely different, completely original, completely unique.

You definitely need to “suspend your disbelief” if you want to truly enjoy historical romance. By definition it is unrealistic at its very core. But is this lack of realism bad? Is it only an easy way out for authors who can’t be bothered to fully recreate the frame of mind of a past era? In truth, what is it really? Why would anyone choose to do such a thing? Well, idealism. Because you believe in something that is too important to yield to a mere literary rule (the necessity of realism), which has moreover been much undermined since fantasy genres have become so popular. Modern romance basically says: “Fuck what was (or still is) considered proper or good or desirable at a given time in a given culture: it was oppressive to women, lower classes, and non-Westerners! I’ma show you what I consider good and desirable!”

When we had a discussion on Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, it was very interesting for me to note that many romance readers had reservations on all aspects that pertained, in my opinion, to the mores of the time. Although Darcy’s pride is described as a flaw, and he is seen to later overcome it, for many modern readers it was either incomprehensible or unacceptable. And it is, too, in today’s eyes. There are no social classes to speak of anymore, and if there are some remnants of it, then talking about them in terms of who’s better is completely unthinkable. And it isn’t just political correctness―we are simply used to thinking of society and individuals in a completely different way, and our contemporary reality mostly supports us doing so.

I think, therefore, that no matter how fond you are of Jane Austen and realism, it would be a great mistake nowadays to write historical romance with the aim of truly recreating that day and age’s mentality. If you did, then that’s historical fiction. But romance is romance; it has to say that love means equality between partners, that the heart speaks true, that women deserve it, that sex isn’t evil, that desire is human, that freedom is essential. It has to say all that, and it won’t be stopped by qualms about historical realism.

Which do you think is worse: too much realism, or too much idealism? Do you remember having to jump the gap between historical facts and modern romance when you first read historical romance? Do you now understand why I coined the term “modern romance” to speak of the genre too vaguely known as romance, and often likened to the works of Austen or the Brontë sisters? Do you agree, for that matter, with the distinction I make between these two types of literature?

Lady’s Choice, by Jayne Ann Krentz (review)

Posted: 2011/09/14 | Author: | Filed under: Literature | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Lady’s Choice is a slim contemporary novel of only 250 pages. Being accustomed to romance novels of 350 to 400 pages, I was not a little intrigued by the reason why Krentz had made this one so short. Especially after reading it and finding it smoothly written, with a good and steady rhythm all the way through. A quick research revealed what I should have suspected from the start, if I had noticed all the obvious signs: Lady’s Choice is a Harlequin category romance. Even if the new cover says MIRA. But if you have no idea what I’m talking about, now may be the time for some modern romance history and trivia.

When they hear “romance”, most people who don’t read it think “category romance”: Harlequin, Mills & Boon. 150 pages of short, cliched easy-reading. Up to a certain extent they are correct. I understand that this is indeed how romance began. Over forty years ago. Harlequin was founded in 1949; Mills & Boon in 1908. Looks like you’ve got some catching up to do, eh? And FYI, Harlequin is Canadian (Toronto-based), while Mills & Boon was originally British.

Harlequin started out as a paperback reprinting company, selling the works of authors such as Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for a quarter. Only in 1957 did they become involved in romance by obtaining the rights to distribute Mills & Boon romance in North America. In 1971, Harlequin bought Mills & Boon, and initially went on publishing solely British writers. As the romance genre developed in the United States, though, New York publisher Simon & Schuster created Silhouette Books to compete with Harlequin and publish American authors addressing American issues in American settings. Harlequin bought Silhouette in 1984.

In the meantime, many more American publishers were joining the romance market, increasing the number of category romance lines (there was only one up to 1973). With the 1990′s, the romance industry changed again under the impulsion of writers who wanted to publish single-title romance, as opposed to category romance. To stop them from leaving the company, Harlequin launched new imprints such as MIRA. In an effort to differentiate this new type of romance novels from their well-ingrained category romance image, Harlequin have been very careful not to feature their distinctive name or logo anywhere on MIRA books.

(Most of this info was gleaned on the Wikipedia page for Harlequin Enterprises.)

Jayne Ann Krentz sold her first novel in 1979, a time when there was only category romance. Although she is one of those who eventually broke the mould and strove to write what she pleased (she is known for penning the first famous sci-fi romance in 1986 with Sweet Starfire), in the first years of her career she had little choice but to write category: Lady’s Choice was thus initially published in the Harlequin Temptation line. All I can say is that 250 pages is long, and Lady’s Choice is good, for standard category romance―if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have been reissued as single-title, both in paperback and hardcover.

A peek at the story: Juliana Grant is a tall, passionate but pragmatic red-haired businesswoman who knows what she wants, and never fears to be candid about it. And what she’s wanted since she met Travis Sawyer, her new business consultant, is to marry him. Too bad it doesn’t fit in his plans. After getting cheated by the Grant family five years ago, he is determined to have his revenge on them. On all of them. Now if only he didn’t want Juliana so much…

In the beginning, I was afraid I was going to hate Juliana. A woman who expects a man to propose after their first night of sex? Come on… Thank God, while that behaviour is typical of what makes her unique and “crazy” (in a good way), we soon find out that she’s had an instant intuition about Travis being the man for her. And the rest of the book is all about her going: “Was my intuition wrong this time?” Another thing about her is that she is “too much woman”. Not being very girly or feminine myself, I don’t identify with these heroines easily. But then two things occurred to me: 1) this is the 80′s; 2) this is not serious! In the end, I had quite some fun picturing her in her outrageous outfits and ultra-modern house:

The electric-blue jumpsuit she’s been wearing should have looked tacky or at least overpowering, and on anyone else it probably would have. But on Juliana it looked just right. It was as bold and animated as she was.

- Lady’s Choice, Jayne Ann Krentz (MIRA, 1989)

2006 hardcover reissue

This short novel really is all about the heroine―for once the title is relevant. As a result, the hero didn’t make a lasting impression on me. I could hardly visualize him wearing his “conservative striped ties” and driving his “nondescript Buick”. The motive for his revenge also didn’t fully convince me; not because it wasn’t strong enough, but on the contrary, it seemed too big a deal for Juliana to resolve so technically. Travis and her family have a painful, awkward history together, yet past the unpleasant surprise of finding out, she doesn’t really seem to care. I guess it’s the heroine’s prerogative to be mature enough to get over such annoying details, but in this case it felt just a little too artificial. Revenge plots are hard to carry through.

“You’re engaged to me, you bastard,” she yelled back through the windshield. “You can’t walk out on me like this. I deserve an explanation and I’m warning you right now, whatever the explanation is, it won’t be good enough. Because we aren’t just engaged, we’re partners, remember? You might be able to end an engagement like this, but you can’t end a business relation so easily.”

- Lady’s Choice, Jayne Ann Krentz (MIRA, 1989)

You have to admit, Juliana is glorious. Read this book for her, because she doesn’t do half-measures, never gives up, and always gets what she wants.

Have you read Lady’s Choice, or Krentz’s other category romance? Is there a type of heroine you love above all, or can’t stand? Can you like a romance book in which the hero is forgettable?

The MacAllisters #1, 2, 3, by Kinley MacGregor (review)

Posted: 2011/09/05 | Author: | Filed under: Literature | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Kinley MacGregor is the pen name for urban fantasy author Sherrilyn Kenyon when she writes Scottish romance. On top of the fact that the variety of classic romance subgenres is only limited by factors historical or linguistic (eg there is a whole branch of romance with Indian settings), Scots, and especially Highlanders appeal to romance writers and readers for many reasons:

  • LOL @ cover

    Scotland is a wilder, colder, harsher country than England; Scots are in turn portrayed as the less refined, less civilized, therefore rougher, more genuine “cousins” of Englishmen, at least in historicals;

  • the history of Scottish clan feuds and the long antagonism between Scotland and England makes for interesting and passionate subplots;
  • while the English were heavily influenced by French culture, Scots are seen as having preserved their Celtic heritage, which happens to make much more room for the paranormal;
  • Scotsmen wear kilts!

All these elements have been most successfully exploited in Diana Gabaldon’s time travel series Outlander, but many other romance authors have at one point or another tried their hands at it (among those I’ve read: Liz Carlyle, Karen Hawkins, Sabrina Jeffries, Julia London, Mary Jo Putney, Nora Roberts, Christina Skye; see My Ratings for titles).

MacGregor’s MacAllisters series arguably contains five books, which were written in the following order: Master of Desire (2001), Claiming the Highlander (2002), Born in Sin (2003), Taming the Scotsman (2003), The Warrior (2007). Indeed, although the last four titles each tell the story of one MacAllister brother, the first one objectively isn’t a MacAllister novel, and is only related to the series in so far as Sin (hero of Born in Sin) was fostered at Ravenswood, where Master of Desire takes place. The latter’s main characters, Draven and his wife Emily, then make an appearance in Born in Sin, and Draven’s younger half-brother Simon is an important secondary character in both books (the author told his story as Midsummer’s Knight in Where’s My Hero? an anthology co-written with Lisa Kleypas and Julia Quinn).

This review will focus on the first three books, which are the only ones I’ve read so far, and whose comparison makes for an interesting analysis. Truth is, I’ve hated Master of Desire with a passion rarely matched (it’s one of the three E’s in over a hundred ratings), loved Claiming the Highlander, and merely liked Born in Sin. Kinley MacGregor is the reason why I give romance authors second chances, and why I trust in my judgment not being clouded by “how used I am to romance cliches”, “how great a book is supposed to be” or “how great a book I expect it to be”. Even the authors I admire the most may let me down, and even those whom I dread the most may pleasantly surprise me.

The only common point I found between Master of Desire and Claiming the Highlander was the simplicity of MacGregor’s writing. Other than that, they’re the exact opposite of one another. Master of Desire is cheesy, desperately flat and literal all the way through, which rapidly escalates into downright boring and eye-rolling territory. Ugh. I’d say it’s one of those books that give modern romance a bad name. Claiming the Highlander, on the contrary, was… simply delish! Witty, funny and always somehow spot-on in its exaggerations. The relationship between Maggie, a plain, tomboyish and dreamy girl, and Braden, Scotland’s worst womanizer and seducer, was adorable and hilarious. In fact, Claiming the Highlander is so far the only book that has managed to make the “irresistible hero” cliche work for me. Ain’t that quite a feat!

And Braden MacAllister… there wasn’t a lass in Scotland who didn’t know of him. More handsome than sin itself, he was said to be able to seduce any woman he met. When it came to fighting, everyone agreed the only person to match his skill was one of his brothers.
No one ever wanted to cross a MacAllister.

- Born in Sin, Kinley MacGregor (Avon, 2003)

But my favourite part in that novel was the trip through the Highlands which Maggie, Braden and Braden’s bastard half-brother Sin eventually undertake to resolve some conflict between clans. In age, Sin is the eldest MacAllister brother; except he’s not really a MacAllister. Rejected by his English mother, spurned by his stepmother and ignored by his father, he spent part of his childhood in England (at Ravenswood, where the old Earl mistreated him), was later sold by Ravenswood as a slave to the Saracens in the Holy Land, where he learnt to be an assassin, before being rescued by Henry II of England. Heavy stuff, right?

Sin is the archetypal tortured hero, who knows everything about pain, rejection and loneliness, and seemingly nothing about love. His life has led him to deny his MacAllister and more largely Scottish heritage, so he considers himself English, if anything at all. He wears black, speaks his mind, does what he must, never complains and never compromises. I wish I could get my hands on Claiming the Highlander again so I could recall why I loved his character so hard. In my memory, he was just to die for, and I felt like I absolutely must read his story (that is, Born in Sin) next. Sadly, as is sometimes the case, Sin turned out only half as exciting in his own novel as he’d been in Braden MacAllister’s.

His heart pounding, he rolled over with a dagger in his fist to confront his attacker. To his complete shock, he saw his wife approaching him with another pillow in her hand.
Sheathing his dagger, he relaxed, until she hit him with her pillow.
“What are you doing?”
She answered him with another smack. “I gave you a weapon; defend yourself, knave, or surrender.”

- Born in Sin, Kinley MacGregor (Avon, 2003)

Born in Sin is somewhere half-way between Master of Desire and Claiming the Highlander. It’s more interesting, less cringeworthy than the former, but not nearly as entertaining as the latter. The whole first part, I’d say, is very neutral. Blank. Okay-like, but by no means absorbing. I couldn’t wait until the MacAllister brothers would show up (because I’m a sucker for a bunch of hot brothers who love each other… it’s like seeing a litter of newborn puppies: it’s sooo cuuuute!). There was a sort of cool climax when the heroine, a Scottish royalty who thought she’d been married to an Englishman, discovers Sin’s true identity, and from then on the romantic plot also gains in depth. The feelings rang true, so all in all it was a good love story, but I definitely missed some sizzle and spice. And I’m not referring to the sex, either.

What is your favourite Scottish romance novel? What is your opinion of Sherrilyn Kenyon’s work under her Scottish alias? Don’t you hate it when authors spoil a great supporting character when they turn them into another book’s hero or heroine?

Why write in genres?

Posted: 2011/08/19 | Author: | Filed under: Literature, My writing | Tags: , | 4 Comments »

This could have been titled … And there was light part 2. Why? Because literary genres are, ultimately, what made it possible for me to believe in ever writing as a career.

When I was younger, I thought genres were too restrictive. I thought if you followed a specific genre’s codes, only people who liked that sort of thing would enjoy it. Whereas I wanted to appeal to everybody, to achieve universality like those great authors everybody loved. What I didn’t understand is that writing for everybody is even more restrictive. Without even realizing it, I began to internalize more and more taboos and constraints, so afraid was I to alienate anyone:

  • no violence
  • no sex
  • no mushy romantic feelings
  • no swearing
  • no superficial concerns (for people’s sex appeal, for clothes, etc.)
  • no touchy topics like mental instability, disorders, etc.

Yeah, I know. It sounds like I was trying to write a treaty on morality. But that’s what you get when you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or let anyone judge you on account of what you write. That’s what you get when you want everybody to think well of you. In the end, nobody does.

When I was twenty, I suddenly realized that most of my story ideas included love in a way or another. They weren’t romance; still, that was a hint. Since that’s what I feel like writing, why not write it? Mind you, I was all too aware of romance’s bad rep, and how cool it is to despise love stories and romantic stuff. That’s why I had never thought to write proper love stories before. I was convinced people would just start laughing at me.

But then it struck me: why did I keep trying to please people who evidently didn’t like what I liked? Why did I keep trying to make these too-cool-for-romance peeps interested in romance? Why did I twist and turn romance until it wasn’t romance anymore, for the sole benefit of people who didn’t want romance in the first place? Why instead not try and find out if some people didn’t already like what I genuinely wished to write, so that I could appeal to them without censoring myself? I just wanted to be me for a change…

The more advice I read from published authors, the more convinced I am that genres can only help and free you, not restrain you. By trying to make everyone happy all the time, you might well end up not making anyone happy at all. Whereas even if someone hates what you write, chances are someone else will love it for the same reason. That, and if you’re looking for a publisher, then fitting in a genre can only be a plus. As written in this article:

from Sarah MacLean's website

Think of it this way: booksellers need to know where to shelve you. If yours is a crime novel, they put you with Dennis Lehane and Lee Child; if it’s literary fiction, they put it beside Michael Chabon and David Mitchell. If your book features blaster-wielding damsels tap dancing against the clock to prevent a terrorist attack, they put it down.

Genre is a marketing tool. It tells publishers how to promote something, booksellers where to stock it, and fans where to find it. So as temptingly fresh as cross-genre novels can be, they’re risky. Firefly is the perfect example: the writing was spectacular, the world vivid, the idea original. Critics raved and fans swooned.

The network canceled it halfway through the first season.

- Marcus Sakey

What genres do you write in? Do you enjoy playing around with codes, or do you think they’re for dummies? Have you found your peace of mind settling on a genre, or ignoring that concept altogether?

Full Moon Rising, by Keri Arthur (review)

Posted: 2011/08/17 | Author: | Filed under: Literature | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

In a world where nonhuman races are socially controlled, if not always fully accepted, secretive dhampire Riley Jenson finds herself involved in a series of violent events that might all be linked to a potential worldwide danger… Add in the nearing of the full moon that has the werewolf in her in a state of rising sexual need, arousal and appeal, and things could become really complicated.

I don’t often read urban fantasy/paranormal romance. It is meaningful because that specific romance subgenre has its own codes, which can be as far from standard romance ones as to make it feel more like regular urban fantasy than romance. In other words, this type of literature effectively straddles two genres, and it’s not always clear which one is dominant. Full Moon Rising struck me as having in common with romance only its steamy sex scenes, and even in that regard it was different, since most romance is not that steamy, especially when it doesn’t involve the hero.

Here is a basic list of what makes urban fantasy/paranormal stand aside from modern romance:

  • 1st person narrator (the heroine) vs 3rd person (with a balance between the heroine and the hero’s POV)
  • We follow the same heroine throughout a series, vs one couple per book
  • The heroine has several sexual partners over time, vs exclusive couples
  • No HEA to allow the series to continue, vs HEA

To soften the apparent contradiction between fantasy romance and standard romance, I should point out that at the end of the series, the paranormal heroine must find her happy ever after with the man whom we suspected was The One from the start. And the world must be saved for good. If you’re reading the first novel of an urban fantasy romance series, though, just be sure not to expect it because it won’t happen. It doesn’t in Full Moon Rising. And yet, the book ended better than it started.

As opposed to romance novels, in which the subplot supports the main romantic plot, in paranormal the romantic element often only accompanies the disaster scenario. The heroine must (help) save the world first and foremost, and good on her if she can find love at the same time (in modern romance, it would be rather like: in order to follow her heart and make love triumph, the heroine will incidentally find herself saving the world). Because of its prominence, as well as its necessity to span a whole series, the plot should therefore be pretty complex. Well, Keri Arthur’s book is evidence that introducing a complex plot from scratch isn’t easy.

By the first third of the book, I was only half-convinced. The action was both too intense and too slow: the fact that everything was coincidentally happening at once in Riley’s life, yet each thing tidily after the other, felt neither realistic nor consistent. Among the weaker points of the book, I would mention the repetitive character of fight and sex scenes. Don’t get me wrong, I like both kinds of scenes. And I understand that Riley is a vampire-werewolf, which implies an extraordinary sex drive and healing power. Still, at the end of the book all these orgasms and tearing of flesh left me tired.

It’s only when the plot thickens by the middle of the book, and the “hero” finally becomes more present, that I really began enjoying the story. By then, most fantasy elements were in place: the little team of miscellaneous experts, the outline of what they’re fighting against, the hints as to who the bad, bad guys are, and a general impression of the universe we’re into. It isn’t the most original or unpexected story, but I closed the book with a good feeling, and a distinct curiosity for its sequel.

A note on Riley’s sexuality: she’s a wolf, therefore she wants to fuck all the time. I mean especially during the week before the full moon, which is when the whole first book takes place. For me, it was a little frustrating to see her have so much fun with other guys than the hero, and relegate the latter to the role of potential third partner (the more, the merrier!). I mean, he’s the hero, godammit! The reader gets an I-want-him-if-she-doesn’t kind of feeling. But then, I have to say, the woman in me also went: phew… At last a book in which it’s the hero rambling on about fidelity and genuine feelings, while the heroine is allowed to have some fun!

“Hey, I fuck millionaires, so I already know all about luxury. Danger and discomfort can be just as thrilling, believe me.”
He shook his head. “I’m going to have to teach you better.”
I grinned. “Or maybe you just need some of that stuffiness shaken out of you.”

- Full Moon Rising, Keri Arthur (Dell Spectra, 2006)

Truth be told, the way she goes from one partner to the other might not be romantic, at least it was realistic. In real life, you can’t tell when you’re going to meet the one guy who’s going to touch your soul. Chances are, you’re already fucking someone else, just because there’s no more reason to wait for sex than to wait to eat good food or take a good hot shower. So, all in all, in spite of the ever-presence of sex in Ms. Arthur’s book, I liked the way it was portrayed, how she used it symbolically to define werewolves and the way they’re perceived in society. In the end, I grew fond of the heroine’s independence and strength, of her determination not to accept love at any price.

The freedom and excitement of these moon dances were part of my nature, and I’d be damned if I dropped them just because it offended his human sensibilities. I wasn’t human, and he shouldn’t judge me by those standards. And asking me to give up the moon dance would be like asking him to stop drinking blood. I wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right.

- Full Moon Rising, Keri Arthur (Dell Spectra, 2006)

Do you read paranormal romance? Does crossing genres sound like it can increase your audience, or narrow it? How does Keri Arthur rate as an author of that genre, if you’ve read some of her books?

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