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)?
2011 Wrap-Up: Romance
Posted: 2011/12/31 Filed under: Bio | Tags: love, relationships 2 Comments »Actually, that’s a bit of a joke I’m making of my blog’s caption: “Ramblings on writing, reading, and romance.” I did the writing and reading wrap-ups; romance is what’s left… And this year, though monogamous, has been the richest so far in my life where romance is concerned.
Here’s something I wrote back in April 2011:
Last night my boyfriend and I played at “what will we be in X years”. “So how do you see yourself at 37?” he asked. “I will be a highly successful woman,” I replied.
Him: “What will you do?”
Me: “I will write books. And I will be preparing my gift for your fiftieth birthday: a dojo (like I promised).
I will have been doing yoga for… fourteen years by then. I will be able to teach. I will teach yoga in your dojo.
You will be a black belt. You will teach BJJ in your dojo. (There he said: “Good.”)
We will have children. (“How many?” “Two or three.”) You will teach them yoga when they are little, like your own father did with you.
Well, I will teach them yoga too, since I will be the yoga teacher. Basically, we’ll just have yoga family sessions all together.”
Him: “Good. I’m looking forward to it.”
In April we almost broke up. I am so glad we proved stronger than the obstacles standing in our way, and fought for our happy ever after.
I didn’t expect the startling, powerful realization of coming home, of creating my own family, which struck me when I finally moved in with him. I lived on my own for so long (well, seven years). True to ourselves, it seems we have decided to marry, not by any official proposal from The Man, but during a random night conversation when I mentioned by the way, “Because we’re going to marry, right?” And he groaned, “Huh-uh.”
I refuse to feel bad about the fact that he has become my best friend, ie that my love is at the centre of my life. It is not a stereotypical trait of the female, for I believe it is the same for him. It is not a sign of dependence, or weakness, or lack of self-fulfillment. It is only human. Romance is, at its core, deeply human.
My resolutions for 2012:
- Love.
- Love.
- Love.
- Wedding party?
I wish you all the best in 2012: lots of happiness, friends, joy and good health!
Everything I Know About Love…, by Sarah Wendell (review)
Posted: 2011/12/21 Filed under: Literature, Politics | Tags: everything i know about love, love, modern romance, relationships, review, sarah wendell, smart bitch sarah Leave a comment »A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to win an ebook copy of Everything I Know About Love, I Learned From Romance Novels (hereinafter referred to as EIKAL) on The Waterworld Mermaids’ blog. I say “lucky” not merely because it was a random draw with only one winner, and it turned out to be me, but also because as much as I enjoyed reading Ms. Wendell’s lively, sometimes caustic prose and nodding to her oh-so-true opinions, I’m glad I didn’t actually pay for it. Here’s why…
Sarah Wendell is none other but blogger SB Sarah (for “Smart Bitch Sarah”), co-founder of the popular romance review and discussion blog Smart Bitches, Trashy Books and co-author of Beyond Heaving Bosoms: The Smart Bitches’ Guide to Romance Novels. In this second opus which she wrote alone, she explores all the ways in which romance can positively impact its readers’ own experience of love and real-life relationships. And she does it very well, too, with excerpts and many quotes from romance readers and authors to support her claims.
Author Julia London says that her readers thank her for the ability to re-experience their joy and excitement through fiction: “[...] I think that feeling of falling in love is something we have all experienced and for many of us, that falling in love had turned to companionable love. Yet the feeling of falling in love is something we want to experience again, and I think readers can do that safely in a book and keep the love without giving up the love we have.”
- “We Know Who We Are, and We Know Our Worth”, Everything I Know About Love…, Sarah Wendell (Sourcebooks, 2011)
Now if the Beatles said so...
From the fact that reading about happy, optimistic endings helps readers relax and smile in real life to the do’s and don’t's we spot in the hero and heroine’s behaviours, everything is given due attention. Far from naively believing in the fantasies they read about, Sarah Wendell emphasizes the readers’ ability to discriminate between fact and fiction, as well as between which romance they like and dislike, or which hero they’d get along with, and which they wouldn’t stand in reality. She shows how varied the genre’s audience really is, and thus how it can both guide younger readers through their discovery of love, sex, and intimacy, and help more experienced ones rekindle the flame, keep their relationship exciting, or simply keep hope in second chances.
Yet sexuality is an enduring part of the romance genre, and one of the reasons it takes so much crap from people who don’t read it or understand it. [...]
Denise A. Donnelly, a sociology professor at Georgia State University who studies sexless marriages, said in a recent New York Times interview that “there is a feedback relationship in most couples between happiness and having sex. Happy couples have more sex, and the more sex a couple has, the happier they report being.”
But Donnelly points out that sexual relations are not the point. The requirement is intimacy: “Keep in mind that sex is only one form of intimacy, and that some couples are fairly happy (and intimate) even without sex.” In other words, intimacy is a requirement for healthy relationships.
- “We Know Good Sex”, Everything I Know About Love…, Sarah Wendell (Sourcebooks, 2011)
Obviously the book is brimming with quotes and passages I strongly agree with and wish everybody on earth could read and understand. But more than just a passionate defense of romance novels, EIKAL is also a witty, racy, humorous read that does not hesitate to make fun of the stereotypes in the romance genre, in a tone well known to those who read SB Sarah’s blogs. I challenge anyone to go through it all without bursting into laughter at least once!
At last, it is a book that celebrates love, relationships and happiness. As the author warns from the introduction chapter, “Happiness is Serious Business”. In spite of her denial of having written a self-help book, EIKAL contains many a timeless truth about what it takes to be happy, or what it means to love and be loved. As with most existential issues, it takes a balance between two seemingly opposed notions. On the one hand, you need to make the effort, question yourself and change your selfish, jealous and general douche bag habits. On the other hand, you should love yourself first, for happiness won’t happen when you become (or find) some ideal of perfection, but when you accept imperfection in yourself and others alike.
“A common misperception about romance characters is that they have to be perfect, that they’ve earned their HEA [...]. For me, characters ‘earn’ an HEA less than they ‘accept’ the HEA. I don’t think we (or characters) earn love or happily-ever-afters. They/we don’t start out unworthy and become worthy. They/we start out muddled and become less muddled. If we writers do our jobs well, they start out human and become more human.” – Anne Calhoun
- “We Know That Happily-Ever-After Takes Work”, Everything I Know About Love…, Sarah Wendell (Sourcebooks, 2011)
When all is said and done, why can’t I regret that I didn’t pay for this ebook? To be honest, only because these issues are so close to my heart I have already thought about them quite a bit. EIKAL made me happy, but it didn’t teach me a lot which I didn’t already know. Which won’t stop me from congratulating Sarah on putting together all this material and reflection, and recommending her book to absolutely everyone, especially those who have lingering prejudice against romance!
Have you read the Smart Bitches’ first book? Was it useful to you, or do I risk the same feeling of deja vu? Do you feel like romance may have helped you in your romantic or general life? If you don’t read any, do you believe that genre fiction can make people happier?
In defense of relationships
Posted: 2011/12/12 Filed under: Politics | Tags: lessons, love, modern romance, relationships, virginity 4 Comments »Do relationships really need to be defended? Don’t we already live in a society which frowns upon single people, and considers couples as the normal unit, even more so now than the multi-generational family? We unfortunately do, and so my purpose isn’t to confirm the same implicit message we seem to hear over and over again. In my very modest way, I aim at following in the footsteps of Claude Lefort, who has always defended human rights, and more ferociously so against those most commonly and loudly advocating them. So will I, in my defense of relationships, strongly oppose the reason why relationships are most often praised: that they are a measure of success, the evidence of being loved.
Mare and stallion, by me 
No, being in a relationship doesn’t mean you are better. In fact, it doesn’t per se allow for any judgment whatsoever. I cannot deduce anything from the mere fact that you are dating or sleeping with someone, or its contrary, that you are not. Being single or in a relationship at a given point in time does not define us.
I am also of the various opinions that: 1) you must learn how to be alone before being able to truly be with someone, 2) break-ups are healthy and you should walk away as soon and as often as you wish (though if it’s with the same person over and over, maybe ask yourself why you’re coming back?), and 3) being single and being chaste are two distinct things. For all these reasons, I want it to be obvious that I fully support singleness, and that being afraid of it can lead to some pretty nasty stuff like staying with someone you should definitely leave, or never taking some time alone for yourself, when you don’t have to worry about anyone in the world but you.
However, surprising as it may sound, I am writing this blog today to oppose the often repeated quote: it is better to be alone than in bad company. I do not oppose it entirely, but I do oppose its being used in the absolute, as well as the judgmental overtone it contains. Let’s say I am tired of hearing people maligned, mocked or pitied for their poor choice of partner, or people hiding their own cowardice behind self-righteous assertions. No, you don’t get to judge other people’s relationships and the reasons why they got into them. And no, having never been in a relationship yourself doesn’t make you more of an expert on what relationships should be and what patterns they should follow.
In other words, what I mean to defend today isn’t the successful, smooth, gradual, reasonable, well-balanced, healthy, loving relationship. This one doesn’t need my help to be put on the pinnacle. What needs my help, on the other hand, is the failed, the tentative, the hazardous, the crazy, the rushed, the clandestine, the stormy, the rocky, the ill-advised, the short-term, the casual, the loveless relationship. It is better to be alone than in one of those relationships, most people think. I disagree. As a rule, it is better to experience than not. It is better to live than to regret. It is better to take chances than to dismiss on sight. It is better to try than to avoid. It is better to have memories than nothing at all.
Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
- Václav Havel
I recently reblogged this quote on Tumblr, and I feel it describes my outlook so well. Romantic relationships and involvements make sense, regardless of their outcome. It isn’t the HEA that makes them matter; they already matter, just as they are. I have learnt so much about myself, about other people, about life in general throughout failed, short, impulsive relationships and casual, random hookups. I will not lie: I have believed, I have trusted, I have dreamt, and in return I have suffered, I have cried, I have been angry, sad, despairing and broken-hearted.* But I have built on these feelings, on the knowledge that they could happen, the knowledge of how and why they happened. What I built is stronger for the knowledge, stronger for these feelings.
© Andrzej Tylkowski
Then again, perhaps my position on this issue isn’t complete without my definition of love. All throughout these experiments, some fun, some distressful, some unexpected, some disappointing, I was looking for love. But love for me is an ideal, something we can only strive for in the reality of our concrete lives. So in the failure of my past relationships, where many people would see expressed the intimate relation between love and pain, I have seen nothing but a path out of pain, a path toward pain-free love. Wherever I found pain, I knew I was further from love; whenever I felt happy, I knew I loved. How would I have known true love without the compass of trial and error, of bygone relationships?
This explains, I think, the root of my reluctance towards virgin heroines in (contemporary) romance. It’s not that I can’t believe it. This sort of thinking is what leads to finding “good reasons” for the heroine to be virginal, which usually end up being very bad, even less believable reasons (she lived on a desert island until her 25th birthday, was locked up in the basement by an abusive father, etc.). But, I am afraid I can also not countenance the opposite call for more realistic virgin heroines: she has just never felt like it. That is fair enough in real life, but it contradicts the romance genre at its core.
I have actually realized I don’t much care whether the heroine is a virgin or not, as long as she will jump in with both feet where the hero is concerned. My only claim is that, if she’s going to take chances with the hero, shouldn’t she be a chance-taking gal in general, and shouldn’t she have taken chances before him too?** I am very sorry to say, romance does not depict women as they are according to statistics. Romance is a genre with a message, and that is, that sex and sexual desire aren’t shameful, but enjoyable; that women can feel attraction, desire and act on it, too; that being adventurous, overcoming one’s prejudice, daring what “other women” (or the norm for what women should be) dare not do is good, and will be rewarded.
Romance almost always says it is better to be in “bad company” than alone. Because “bad company” are the words venomous tongues use to disparage whoever isn’t like them, does not abide by the rules, and makes them feel uncomfortable. Being alone is easy; it’s what we all are by default. But overcoming one’s fears, one’s insecurities, one’s doubts and other people’s judgments, opinions and tongue-lashing by getting together with someone who may not be right for you, but whom you happen to like… now that is not so easy. However, it pays off. Even when it ends, even when you have to admit you were wrong, even when you’re alone again and lost. It pays off.
Have you also felt like the “I’m single and I’m happy” discourse tends to become as moralizing as the one it supposedly criticizes? Why does defending one’s status (single or in a relationship) always have to include untruths and contempt for the other? And lastly, what can prepare someone for a successful relationship better than a string of failed ones?
* I am such a cry-baby. For fairness’s sake, note that I have also been known to have depression and panick attacks and self-destructive behaviour when I was single (perhaps even more so), and that during all my months of dating guys with mental disorders on medication and other kinds of crap, I have never let myself feel trapped, deprived of choice or freedom or burdened by the sole fact of being with someone. It was mainly the difficulty of dealing with people who don’t respond to normal emotional stimuli, who physically suffer from side effects or addictions, have very dark outlooks on life and express confusion about a number of issues. It would have dragged anyone down, yet it eventually also toughened me up.
** A very interesting option IMO is found in Sabrina Jeffries’s In the Prince’s Bed, in which the hero tries to seduce the heroine with the argument that she should have a basis for comparison before committing herself to another. Life is also like that, that the best and strongest attachments can begin on the most frivolous grounds!
Favourite love songs #8
Posted: 2011/11/12 Filed under: Music | Tags: love, my love is your love, whitney houston Leave a comment »I’ve been listening to Whitney Houston songs all night (the 80′s were kuh-ray-zee!!)… So much better than writing! Here’s a little gem of an oldie (not as “oldie” as the 80′s, though), written by Wyclef Jean (my boyfriend’s #1 favourite music artist!) and Jerry “Wonder” Duplessis:
If tomorrow is Judgement Day
And I’m standing on the front line
And the Lord asks me what I did with my life
I will say, I spent it with youIf I wake up in World War Three
I see destruction and poverty
And I feel like I want to go home
It’s okay if you coming with meYour love is my love and my love is your love
It would take an eternity to break us
And the chains of Amistad couldn’t hold usIf I lose my fame and fortune
And I’m homeless on the street
And I’m sleeping in Grand Central Station
It’s okay if you’re sleeping with meAs the years they pass us by
We stay young through each other’s eyes
And no matter how old we get
It’s okay as long as I got you, babeYour love is my love and my love is your love
It would take an eternity to break us
And the chains of Amistad couldn’t hold usIf I should die this very day
Don’t cry, ’cause on earth we wasn’t meant to stay
And no matter what the people say
I’ll be waiting for you after Judgement Day
© Arista Records, Inc.
Does that conjure up as many memories for you as it does for me? Do you have a favourite song by Whitney Houston? What other ways have you found to procrastinate and not write your NaNovel?
Love, and God
Posted: 2011/10/22 Filed under: Faith | Tags: epictetus, franny and zooey, j. d. salinger, love 8 Comments »I realize that I have not to this date written a single blog properly devoted to my faith. Katie [Still Growing] makes me want to remedy that.
My reserve regarding my religious views are not due to uncertainty. I have a pretty clear concept of what I believe in, why, and how it all fits together. It’s talking openly about it which is tough. When it comes to faith, I am somewhat of a maverick. I feel uncomfortable labelling myself as a Christian, partly because I am never getting baptized and don’t even go to church anymore, and partly because I have never read the Bible, and fear my faith may be very unorthodox.
Michelangelo's God
In fact, I tend to use the word “Christian” as a trust-inducing tool. If I discuss religion with a Christian, I’ll introduce myself as a fellow Christian; if it’s with an atheist, I’ll claim to be an atheist too. What may seem hypocritical or contrary to some is neither in my eyes. It is my firm belief that the very name of “God” is misleading, that the Christian God is hardly a “god” at all in the meaning that has been given to “god” as a common name. European Renaissance, with its renewed interest for classical imagery, certainly hasn’t helped us. The “traditional” image of God as a powerful, bearded old man is none other than directly taken from representations of Zeus. Even the French word for “god” (“dieu“) comes from the Greek name “Zeus”. Our confusion is now complete.
As we know, the only reason why God is a god is in regard to the actual gods. God’s worship replaces the worship of all other sorts of deities and supernatural beings; in that sense, he can appear to be “the new god“. But, if you think about it, this replacement isn’t one of equivalence. It is one of contradiction. God doesn’t take the other gods’ place so much as He negates it altogether. God says: there is no such place. He says: there are no gods. God is the anti-god. God is not “a god”. The name of Yahweh may, in that respect, be a significantly more accurate way to describe God than “God” itself is. “God”, like “Lord” or “Father”, is therefore more of a metaphorical substitute than a definition of what God is.
This is why, in other words, I can call myself a Christian and yet an atheist without perjury. Indeed, an atheist is not an infidel. Its etymology suggests the rejection of gods (θεός is a common noun, and may be masculine, feminine, and plural), which is exactly what monotheism has represented in the history of religions. God is the anti-god. But that’s enough of what God isn’t. Surely you are curious about what God is, and how I happen to know it.
First of all, let me just say that I didn’t make it up. My faith may be unorthodox, I am referring to religion as Christianity for a reason. I am by no means a free-thinking believer in a nameless Higher Entity, nor Jewish, nor Muslim (though I was crying like a baby the one time I went to a concert of Sufi music; it was soul-shattering). The reason why I experienced my epiphany as a recognition, and not as a simple discovery, is that I already knew who God was. I knew it in words, but I didn’t know it in my heart. I had heard it said, but it had made no sense to me. God is love. Jesus loves you.
When I was a child, I could understand loving God, but how did God love you back? As far as I knew, He didn’t, and that’s why He didn’t exist, either. My parents were great parents in many ways, but somehow, through their fault or mine we’ll never know, I don’t think I felt that they loved me. I knew that all parents love their children, and my parents certainly never behaved like they didn’t. But I couldn’t feel how they did love me, either. It wasn’t just God; it was love I was ignorant of (which in the end is one and the same, since God is love). As I grew up, I went through a moment in my life when I didn’t have friends, which made me feel exceedingly lonely and dejected. Where were my parents then? I now remember them trying to support me, but somehow it didn’t come through. It wasn’t enough, or it wasn’t right, who knows? But I just couldn’t feel it.
That’s when I became a geek; the Internet was my getaway. And for some reason, I found a few people I “met” online much more supportive than my family. Except these were people from all over the world, people I’d never truly meet or speak to, people who would never pat my back, hold my hand or “be there for me”. We were lucky if we were online at the same time at all. And then… that’s when it struck me: just because they aren’t physically there, just because I don’t hear their voices, see their faces, or even sometimes read their words for days on end doesn’t mean that they cease to exist, that they cease to support me, to think I’m great, that I’m worth something. Feeling loved… it’s not about the words, it’s about the knowledge. The confidence. The trust.
God is love. God is the mystery of human coexistence, the paradox of being alone in our minds, shut out from other people’s thoughts, yet acknowledging the other person as your fellow creature, as your kind. You have no objective means to know, yet you know. You trust. You believe. Love is the magic that happens because we’re at once separated and related, single, and plural. God isn’t an illusion. Loneliness is. There’s always someone, somewhere, who loves you. You don’t have to be with them, they don’t have to tell you. Because who they are, is God, and God is always with you.
“Both Testaments are full of pundits, prophets, disciples, favorite sons, Solomons, Isaiahs, Davids, Pauls―but, my God, who besides Jesus really knew which end was up? Nobody. Not Moses. Don’t tell me Moses. He was a nice man, and he kept in beautiful touch with his God, and all that―but that’s exactly the point. He had to keep in touch. Jesus realized there is no separation from God.” [...] “[...] who in the Bible besides Jesus knew―knew―that we’re carrying the Kingdom of Heaven around with us, inside, where we’re all too goddamn stupid and sentimental and unimaginative to look? You have to be a son of God to know that kind of stuff. [...]“
- Franny and Zooey, J. D. Salinger (Little, Brown, 1955)
Concerning the Gods, there are those who deny the very existence of the Godhead; others say that it exists, but neither bestirs nor concerns nor has forethought for anything. A third party attribute to it existence and forethought, but only for great and heavenly matters, not for anything that is on earth. A fourth party admits things on earth as well as in heaven, but only in general, and not with respect to each individual. A fifth, of whom were Ulysses and Socrates, are those that cry: –
“I move not without Thy knowledge!”
- Epictetus
So, that’s my story, I guess. Of how God came into my life and became my guiding light when I was plunged into darkness. There is much more yet to tell, but that will have to wait for a future entry.
Favourite love songs #7
Posted: 2011/10/08 Filed under: Cinema, Music | Tags: jeanne moreau, jules et jim, le tourbillon de la vie, love 2 Comments »Hi everyone,
I hope you’ve noticed the recent addition of a page dedicated to My favourite quotes! Today’s musical blog is related to it, since I was reminded of this love song by the Jules et Jim quote. Jules et Jim is a French classic movie from 1962, which I didn’t really get back when I first saw it as a teenager. It was only years later, as I happened to read the screenplay, that I developed a new interest in it―hence the quote.
The song, on the other hand, has been known to me for a very long time, as my mother used to sing it to us when we were little kids. I didn’t use to understand the lyrics, obviously, but now that I’ve thought of them again, I find them rather fitting for my “Favourite love songs” series. Trivia: In the movie, Le Tourbillon is performed by Jeanne Moreau (playing Catherine) and Serge Rezvani, playing a secondary character. In reality, the song was indeed written by Rezvani for Moreau, and is supposed to refer to her repeated breakups and reconciliations with her lover of the time.
Elle avait des bagues à chaque doigt,
Des tas de bracelets autour des poignets,
Et puis elle chantait avec une voix
Qui, sitôt, m’enjôlaElle avait des yeux, des yeux d’opale,
Qui me fascinaient, qui me fascinaient.
Y avait l’ovale de son visage pâle
De femme fatale qui m’fut fataleOn s’est connus, on s’est reconnus,
On s’est perdus de vue, on s’est r’perdus d’vue
On s’est retrouvés, on s’est réchauffés,
Puis on s’est séparés.Chacun pour soi est reparti.
Dans l’tourbillon de la vie
Je l’ai revue un soir, aïe aïe aïe
Ça fait déjà un fameux bailAu son des banjos je l’ai reconnue.
Ce curieux sourire qui m’avait tant plu
Sa voix si fatale, son beau visage pâle
M’émurent plus que jamaisJe me suis soûlé en l’écoutant
L’alcool fait oublier le temps
Je me suis réveillé en sentant
Des baisers sur mon front brûlantOn s’est connus, on s’est reconnus
On s’est perdus de vue, on s’est r’perdus de vue
On s’est retrouvés, on s’est séparés
Dans le tourbillon de la vieOn a continué à tourner
Tous les deux enlacés
Tous les deux enlacés.
Puis on s’est réchauffésChacun pour soi est reparti
Dans l’tourbillon de la vie
Je l’ai revue un soir ah là là
Elle est retombée dans mes brasQuand on s’est connus,
Quand on s’est reconnus,
Pourquoi se perdre de vue,
Se reperdre de vue?Quand on s’est retrouvés,
Quand on s’est réchauffés,
Pourquoi se séparer?Alors tous deux on est repartis
Dans le tourbillon de la vie
On à continué à tourner
Tous les deux enlacés
Tous les deux enlacés
- Cyrus Bassiak (Serge Rezvani)
Have you ever seen the movie Jules et Jim? How did you like it? What does this song bring back or conjure up to you?
Realism vs idealism in modern romance
Posted: 2011/10/04 Filed under: Literature, Politics | Tags: feminism, genre, idealism, love, modern romance, realism, stereotype 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?
Lord of Scoundrels, by Loretta Chase (review)
Posted: 2011/09/20 Filed under: Literature | Tags: characterization, georgette heyer, heroine, historical, lord of scoundrels, loretta chase, love, miss wonderful, regency, review, the grand sophy 2 Comments »
When Sabrina Jeffries was asked to name her favourite book last Sunday in Ottawa, she mentioned Lord of Scoundrels as her favourite historical romance. Back in 2008, when I was new to romance and asked for recommendations, I was told Loretta Chase was considered “the modern Jane Austen”. Being a huge fan of Ms. Austen, I diligently picked up Miss Wonderful, the first novel of hers I found. Alas, I was rather disappointed. I could see the effort the author had made to be original and depart from cliched plots like Tracy Anne Warren‘s, what with her crippled, dandy hero and practical, inelegant heroine. It wasn’t a bad story, or badly written by any means, yet I failed to recognize anything great about it, either.
Although I later reasoned that Miss Wonderful might have suffered from being the first romance novel I ever read, it took me three years to give Loretta Chase another chance. Knowing better, namely that even my favourite romance authors write a bad book once in a while, I decided not to take any chance this time and go for the book that had built Ms. Chase’s popularity some 16 years back: Lord of Scoundrels. So maybe Miss Wonderful simply wasn’t her best work; Lord of Scoundrels, on the other hand, is unanimously celebrated. I have such consensual tastes that I thought I couldn’t go wrong.
Well, err. I’m sorry. I actually feel bad for not being transported by Lord of Scoundrels. Maybe something’s wrong with me? The truth is, I didn’t dislike it. I thought it was okay. But “okay”, you know. By no means amazing or delightful or fascinating or gripping or extraordinary. God, what is wrong with me??
Lord of Scoundrels is a strange romance. It doesn’t fit in my perception of the genre. At least I have to recognize that Chase seems like one of a kind as far as romance writers go. This book of hers felt old school, but not Johanna Lindsey or Kathleen E. Woodiwiss old school. More like Georgette Heyer old school, except more sensual. And here I have to confess to reading only one Heyer book, and not liking it overmuch, either―it was The Grand Sophy, another “classic”.
“In my dictionary, romance is not maudlin, treacly sentiment,” she said. “It is a curry, spiced with excitement and humor and a healthy dollop of cynicism.” She lowered her lashes. “I think you will eventually make a fine curry, Dain―with a few minor seasoning adjustments.”
- Lord of Scoundrels, Loretta Chase (Avon, 1994)
Miss Jessica Trent, Lord of Scoundrels‘ heroine, reminded me of Sophy: bold, pragmatic, skilled in manly arts, strong-willed and beautiful. Men drop at her feet like dead flies, but she’s too picky and eccentric to be interested in any of them. Can I just hijack this review for a bit and rant about how much I hate this type of heroine? They’re just too good to be true, you know. In my last review, I expressed some discomfort with heroines who were very forceful, successful and had a spine of steel. However, as it turned out, Krentz’s Juliana became lovable because she also knew all the problems this kind of temperament implied. She consistently scares men off, and her oddities are at least as hilarious as they are endearing.
Jessica is not that. She’s the girl who always lands on her feet, who always finds her way around, who always wins. The only reason why there is any kind of tension in Lord of Scoundrels as to whether she will eventually triumph or not, is that the hero is pure jackass material. It’s funny because I recently reviewed an amateur romance story, and one of my main negative points was: the heroine is too good, the hero is too difficult, they’re just fighting all the time over nothing. Granted, there must be a conflict between the two main characters; it is one of modern romance’s codes. But if I go along Sabrina Jeffries’ advice, then the conflict in Lord of Scoundrels is entirely internal. And that’s a problem.
There is absolutely no circumstance that justifies them being cross or suspicious of one another. There is no objective taboo, proscription, or obstacle stopping them from liking each other. There is only Jessica’s pride and Dain’s sexist, obstinate view of women. And since Jessica immediately, blatantly, obviously defies all that he used to believe about women and particularly ladies, the only reason he’s got left for behaving the way he does is that he is a jerk. A traumatized jerk, sure. He’s had the worst childhood, bla bla, bla bla. Of course. So he takes it all out on the first incomparable woman he meets.
That’s silly. I mean, it’s not silly to root their internal conflict in their past experiences; that’s what all romance authors do, as they should. But it’s silly for Dain to be so aware of what he’s doing to Jess, and why he’s doing it, and still do it. Internal conflict, realistically, is the buried secret that rears its ugly head once the relationship is already on its way. In Lord of Scoundrels, because there is no external conflict to speak of (the story of Jess’s brother is underexploited in that respect), internal conflict is what drives the story from the start, and what makes the hero appear like a jerk, instead of a victim.
Another way to put it is that there are too many negative emotions between the protagonists for me to believe in their love. You get together with someone to be stronger and happier in the face of the world’s misery, not to add to that misery: that is my opinion, and I will not waver from it. I read modern romance because it mostly depicts a specific comprehension of love which I happen to approve of. Talking about “love” as just a word to define as one pleases is not enough.
How do you like Loretta Chase’s books? Is there still hope for me if I liked neither Miss Wonderful nor Lord of Scoundrels? And if you’re one of the many who loved the latter, please tell me what I missed?
The happy end, or what love is, part 3
Posted: 2011/09/08 Filed under: Faith, Literature, Politics | Tags: code, feminism, happy ending, jennifer crusie, love, modern romance 1 Comment »Many people who are unfamiliar with modern romance often think that it includes any plain old love story. Well, it doesn’t. (Which is why it’s silly to even compare modern romance with love story classics.) For many reasons. One of these reasons, which I picked for today’s Opinion Blog, is the Happy Ever After, or HEA, which must conclude every romance novel. So what is this about? Is the happy ending only a feelgood device meant to take the readers’ mind off the grimness and misery of real life?
Ah, not really. First of all, modern romance isn’t exactly all pink bunnies and fluff. There are obviously trends and styles, authors who do write light and humourous stories vs authors who like to wrench their readers’ guts and make them cry. And modern romance certainly aims at developing an optimistic and positive message. However, whatever success must crown romance love stories, it never comes down to sheer luck, coincidence, or having things handed over on a silver platter―otherwise there wouldn’t be any plot, now would there? Modern romance characters struggle with the past, the present, experience hardships and difficulties, and are sometimes up to their neck in thick, sticky shit.
Modern romance isn’t about having it easy, or easier than real people in real life. It is, in fact, quite the opposite. In order to build proper tension and conflict, authors will not hesitate to insert all kinds of traumas in their characters’ pasts or to put them in ridiculously tough situations. Now the whole challenge for a romance author is to bring her protagonists from shitty point A to wonderful point B and have her readers believe it. Romance is not BS. You can’t take a crack addict heroine and make her recover through sheer force of will in a couple of months, for instance. But you can imagine one who used to be an alcoholic and is working towards patching up her life ten years later. Or you can decide that this is heavy stuff you don’t want to get into, and choose stable, healthy characters from the start.
© Andrzej Tylkowski
All in all, I tend to view modern romance as stories about people who overcome their problems. Because even if that doesn’t faithfully represent statistics (in real life, some people fail to overcome their problems), at least that’s inspiring and uplifting and definitely constructive. I am not opposed to reading books that end badly once in a while, because they still might have a valuable, if different purpose, but in general, why would I want to read about how someone failed to fix their problem? What does that teach me? How does that help me? It only tells me, “Don’t do that,” using reverse psychology.
Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t exactly adore it when people tell me not to do such and such. (It’s just annoying, you know.) I’m much more interested in reading examples of what people did to succeed. Moreover, it leaves the field open for whatever you might want to try. Books with happy endings can’t say, “You must do exactly the same thing to get exactly the same result,” for that doesn’t make sense. We’re all different and we all have different goals. The moral is therefore necessarily much more subtle and flexible than in sad-ending books; it’s only, “Well, this person did that. You go from here.”
Now, a lot of things in life don’t fully depend on ourselves. Where these things are concerned, overcoming problems or succeeding may often include a certain amount of luck, I admit it. Yes! but… love isn’t one of these things. Love is the one, unique, extraordinary thing in life which depends on us completely and always. (Get this straight: whenever I’m talking about love, I almost always mean the love you give.) That is the only reason why there is a Hell for people who don’t love God, by the way―because unless you’re a Calvinist and believe in predestination (argh!), then you may recognize that each person is 100% free to decide for themselves whether to love God or not, and face the consequences.
Back to romance: if love is entirely under our own conscious control, I’d like to go so far as to suggest that happy-ending love stories are, ultimately, the only love stories. Okay, no, there’s the sort of story like Romeo and Juliet, where shit is heaped upon the main couple until they both die (sadly I can’t find the link to that article about how Romeo and Juliet is more like an anti-romance filled with implicit “thou shalt not do”s). In that sense it’s more a tragedy than any kind of love story. Real love stories have to end happily, because that’s what love does: it makes one happy. If it doesn’t, sorry, it’s not love. In other words, the HEA is not just icing on the cake, or the touch of fantasy that makes a novel better than reality: it’s the crucial element which validates the love in the story. It’s what says: it’s not infatuation, it’s not an immature crush, it’s not simple passion or lust, it’s not selfish interest―it’s LOVE. For love conquers all and lasts forever. (If it doesn’t, sorry, it’s not love.)
As a conclusion, I stumbled upon this article by romance author Jennifer Crusie which you must read because it’s so true and well-articulated: Romancing Reality: The Power of Romance Fiction to Reinforce and Re-Vision the Real
Do you like happy or sad endings better? Why? Do you think it’s possible to decide whether happiness or sadness is the more realistic, or is it only a matter of being a pessimist or an optimist? ‘Cause good things do happen to some people, don’t they?
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