11 mythes sur la romance dévoilés
Posted: 2011/12/28 Filed under: En français, Literature | Tags: genre, harlequin, publishing, roman d'amour, roman sentimental, stereotype 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?
In Her Shoes, by Jennifer Weiner (review)
Posted: 2011/12/09 Filed under: Literature | Tags: chick-lit, contemporary, in her shoes, jennifer weiner, review, stereotype, women's fiction 2 Comments »
It’s the story of three women. Rose Feller is a plain, conservative, bright thirty-year-old lawyer in Philadelphia. Her younger sister Maggie is a learning-disabled, shallow, irresponsible young woman who loses one job after another and keeps a string of boyfriends. Ella Hirsh is an old widow in Florida with a heavy secret. What connects the three of them is the premature death of Rose and Maggie’s mother, who was also Ella’s only daughter. After an ultimate fight between the sisters, each of them begins a journey of self-discovery that will lead them ito Ella’s doorstep, and eventually to happiness.
The problem with this book? The first hundred pages. I understand the author’s need to establish the setting and the characters, but when you’ve read any summary or review of the story before picking up the novel, you know what’s coming up (Rose and Maggie’s fight, Rose and Jim’s breakup), and you can’t wait till it happens. For a while I really wasn’t sure I was going to like the book, because of how impossible it was to get into the story. The characters were like caricatures to me. So, okay, it’s a comedy, but that part is not even that funny. It’s just… stereotypical, artificial, and over-the-top.
Rose is the ugly, brainy, reasonable big sister. (But she’s not actually that ugly, she just lacks self-confidence because of her “stepmonster”, a botox-filled, snobbish woman who’s always trying new “weird” diets, like… vegetarianism. Yeah, I know; me too.) Maggie is the hot, uneducated, flighty little sister. (But she’s not actually that stupid, she just lacks self-confidence because she is a victim of the school system.) It feels like reading large print in bold letters, underlined. Just to be sure that you picked that up: Rose is the ugly, brainy one with a good job; Maggie is the pretty, shallow one without a job. You can repeat after me to check you got it right. (And all the while I was wondering, “Is any real person even remotely like either of these sisters?”)
I’m being a little cruel here. But the thing that bothered me the most, maybe, was how much it contrasted with the rest of the book. The rest of the book, FYI, I liked. It made me laugh, it brought tears to my eyes, it made me smile and sigh and nod with understanding. But it isn’t all in the writing, in the narration, or in the plot. It’s in the meaning: how does the rest of the book account for such a beginning? The Rose and Maggie we discover after the Big Fight are suddenly much more interesting, much more real and enjoyable than the ones who were initially introduced. So my question is: how did women who can actually realize and achieve all that, live for respectively 28 and 30 years without showing the smallest inkling that they could?
Why would an unmarried, childless lawyer have known about Three Bears Park, a tiny pocket of a playground between Spruce and Pine Streets? Would a woman who took the same route to work every day have known that on the five hundred block of Delancy every house flew a different flag? How could she have suspected that the shops and grocery stores would be bustling at one in the afternoon, filled with people in khakis and sweaters instead of business suits and briefcases?
- In Her Shoes, Jennifer Weiner (Atria Books, 2002)
Because she is old enough, duh? Don’t get me wrong, I loved this part. I could finally relate to it. My point is that the Big Fight is overplayed. No matter how big it was, I don’t believe that it can change a person’s life so completely and suddenly. You’ve got to have it in you, or it’s going to be an extremely long road. You can challenge me on this one, but from my perspective, thirty sounds like a mighty advanced age to me to make such naive, baby steps into life. What I loved about the book basically reminded me of my adventures between ages 18 and 22. When you first get into the adult world and learn how men work, how dating works, how jobs work, how city life works. How you work. What you want. What you can do.
She was having… what? [...] Fun. Well, not fun exactly, not fun like a party was fun, not fun like getting dressed up and looking great and feeling people’s jealous eyes moving over her was fun. It was a challenge―the kind of challenge that her series of dead-end minimum-wage jobs never gave her. It was like being the star of her own detective show.
- In Her Shoes, Jennifer Weiner (Atria Books, 2002)
Also, I liked Maggie’s story better than Rose’s, though it’s obvious that Rose is the main character. Now another thing about In Her Shoes, is that many things are very predictable (again, an unfortunate consequence of the obvious, exaggerated, repetitive beginning). Like which guy she’s going to end up with, what job would be ideal for her, and whatever would do her good. All this I could tell from a very early point in the novel. But what happens to Maggie and Rose right after the Big Fight, I couldn’t have foretold. And it’s really cool, and original, and fun. That’s what makes In Her Shoes a good book, in spite of everything I criticized. Moreover, remember it’s a light and easy read, so if you’re the least bit curious, you’ll still read through the first hundred pages without too much trouble, like I did. I guess it’s worth it.
Do you agree with my opinion of the book’s beginning? Which sister could you relate to the most? Can you come up with a realistic explanation why Rose or Maggie took so long to do the right thing, or understand themselves? Can you recommend other women’s fiction that’s perhaps less chick-lit-ish, that relies less heavily on stereotypes?
Romance against societal norms
Posted: 2011/12/07 Filed under: Literature, Politics | Tags: chick-lit, feminism, genre, modern romance, stereotype 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 t
ell 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?
Supporting/secondary characters
Posted: 2011/11/11 Filed under: Literature | Tags: arthur high king of britain, characterization, christopher pike, final friends, michael morpurgo, point of view, secondary characters, stereotype, supporting characters 1 Comment »
I have already devoted a few blog posts to main characters (hereafter known as MCs), more specifically to romance heroes and heroines. But what about supporting or secondary characters? It is my firm belief that supporting characters (hereafter known as SCs) are necessary to any novel plot. Even if SCs aren’t physically present throughout the story due to peculiar circumstances―in Midnight Rainbow, by Linda Howard, the MCs are stranded in the Costa Rican rain forest―they must exist as figures, as relationships that give the MCs’ worlds depth and realness.
But how do you avoid the two opposite extremes of shallow, purely instrumental SCs, and overdeveloped SCs who end up upstaging your MC? I will attempt to answer this by defining MCs and SCs according to points of view, rather than an “objective” relation to the plot or its various twists and turns. My reflection on the topic is based on my experience as a young reader and audience. Up until when I was well into my teens, I remember being almost systematically drawn to SCs more than MCs. The MC was usually supposed to be the bravest, the best-looking, the smartest, the most successful. Yet my preference always went to some SC, who often acted as the jolly, eccentric, faithful friend.
I am not trying to say that, by embodying a certain traditional hero posture, the MC was dull and fake, while the SC was a more original type. The “jolly, eccentric, faithful friend” is just as much a traditional character as the “hero”, and I am really talking about a vast sample of stories (books and movies alike), some of which are considered classics, and aren’t “dull and fake” by any means. My analysis is more closely linked to my own personality: I was drawn to the “friend” SC, just like in real life, I am drawn to other people and feel very strongly about my friends. The identification factor at play where the MC is concerned would, to a certain extent, stop me from loving her/him in a simple, open way.
By “identification factor”, I do not mean I would naturally identify to the MC as such, but to the way s/he is diplayed. I have mentioned that the MC usually has the qualities that justify her/his central role in the storyline. S/he usually is the one with the exceptional abilities and the exceptional destiny. However, the MC is also the character we get to see from the inside: under the outside, shining appearance, skills and position often lie doubts, insecurity, guilt, anger, jealousy…
In Arthur, High King of Britain, by Michael Morpurgo―which I will probably mention time and again, as it was a long-time favourite―Arthur is the secret, orphaned heir, and he reconquers his lands through his own courage in battle. Yet this takes about one chapter in the whole book. The rest of it, besides introducing us to a number of captivating SCs, shows Arthur: being selfish, weak, cheating on his wife, lying, being jealous, spiteful, and bringing about his own ruin. I won’t deny that Morpurgo’s Arthur has a really compelling and complex quality about him. But can you blame the little girl I was for preferring a simpler, happier, less tragic kind of character than this MC?
Illustration by Michael Foreman
Yet, when you think about it, which of Arthur’s SCs/knights isn’t tragic in his own right? Gawain probably isn’t too bad, considering―and guess what, he used to be my favourite. But don’t tell me Tristan, Percival or Lancelot… The main difference, then, really is one of POV. In Morpurgo’s novel, Arthur is 1st person narrator. The reader is in his thoughts, his heart when Lancelot confesses his betrayal―and believe me, his thoughts are not all nice and pretty. He may be Guinevere’s lawful husband, therefore luckier, happier and more successful on the outside; on the inside, he’s very human and very mad. Lancelot, on the other hand, may be in one hell of a fix; from Arthur’s POV, he is his best friend, as well as the man his wife prefers.
In other words, it always feels better/safer from the outside. I am used to thinking my friends are so cool and awesome and I’m so lucky to have them; it’s a shock when I learn that they feel the same about me, because I know myself too well to believe I’m cool and awesome. I have to bear with myself when I’m awful and annoying, kind of like we have to bear with the MC when they’re doing some really stupid mistake. The SCs, by comparison, are the guys who always seem to have things under control, when in fact, we never really go deep enough to find out. For the same reason, they actually tend to fit a (stereo)type more often than the MC, just the way we like to categorize our friends (the crazy one, the quiet one, the joker, the grouch…), while being utterly unable to define our own selves.
Christopher Pike’s YA novels perfectly fit that description. In his Final Friends trilogy, he even uses the characters’ stereotypical personas to muddle up hints and motives. The two MCs, on the other hand, are less easily definable because we see too much of their thoughts. As they become more like realistic persons than concepts, they also fade into a sort of neutral, boring zone. Russ, the seventeen-year-old alcoholic cross-country runner who chops down the varsity tree, or Bubba, the womanizing self-made millionaire computer hacker who wears a sombrero at his high school graduation party, are both as much fun as they are unlikely. But in reality, how unlikely? A great deal of their appeal consists in the mystery that surrounds them, and the distance that separates them from the POV.
I think that the trick for creating SCs who aren’t challenging to your MCs, while still being interesting in their own right and adding depth to your story, is to keep your POV centered on your MCs, and develop the SCs’ image rather than their full-fledged reality. I would also argue that in many romance novels, the hero maintains a position half-way between an MC and a SC. While he is entitled to his own point of view and a significant amount of attention throughout the story, his image such as perceived by the heroine remains prevalent. The identification factor is stronger on the heroine’s side, while the hero takes on the role of “perfect best friend” (such as Lancelot in Arthur, High King of Britain) and “mysterious oddball” (such as Russ or Bubba in Final Friends) all at the same time.
Do you think supporting characters are important in a plot? Whether you write or just read, have you come up with do’s and don’t's concerning SCs? As a reader, do you generally like an SC more than the MC? Do you feel like romance heroes are treated like SCs by their authors?
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?
Writing a summary/hook
Posted: 2011/06/11 Filed under: My writing | Tags: genre, modern romance, paranormal, stereotype, summary, writing tip 3 Comments »I was a little surprised when I found out that the first (and only) review for my novel in progress The Vampire Connection essentially consisted in a critique of the summary. FictionPress allows for a 255-character summary for each story you post, a space which I tend to fill with random comments and author’s notes rather than calculated, intriguing information about the plot. Clearly I’m bad at writing hooks, just like I’m bad at finding titles. They’re usually the last thing I think about, and I admit that I’ll often treat them as superficial, unimportant details. The story‘s what’s important. Who cares about either title or summary?
Well, some people obviously do. Some people, aka readers who have no reason to read your specific story unless the title caught their fancy or the summary appealed to their curiosity. On a website where users post hundreds of new stories every day, advertising a vampire story as one of many following a trend may not be the wisest course of action. Yet in my smug carelessness, it is basically what I did. No wonder I only got one review after posting four chapters; what do you think?
I haven’t always been in the proper frame of mind to see my mistakes and learn from them, but I’d like to think that has changed over the past couple of years. The many responses prompted by Les Romantiques’ short story contest is a significant example of how greatly personal tastes and understandings vary; proof that you can never please everybody. Nevertheless, I am now used to conceding most any point to somebody who bothers enough to make one. I could, for example, argue that summaries don’t play any role in the quality of the story itsel, which would be true. Except I am not on FictionPress to argue, but to learn. If a reader found my summary lacking, then I better do something about it.
Aaliyah as vampire Akasha
Here is what my reviewer had to say about my summary:
[...] what is so interesting about Ola’s life that it makes us want to read? A very important thing about the story that it must have some sort of conflict. Something she is struggling with or a main problem of the story.
- Fairyn
The fact that 255 characters represent about two lines and three short sentences is in itself a challenge. How to give readers a tempting, yet accurate enough taste of the story in so few words? I took up the challenge. Here is my new summary/hook:
Great powers come with great responsibility… Especially if it involves the power to kill! For teenager Ola and her two best friends, being vampires is no piece of cake. When the opposing vampire factions start hunting them, how much worse can it get?
Another novelty is I changed the main genre from romance to supernatural. Since I last wrote about codes and cliches, I must recognize that romance codes would have the heroine and hero clearly identified from the start. In The Vampire Connection, actual romance is scheduled to begin around the seventh chapter, and as for main characters, it rather follows the fantasy code by featuring a bunch of them. If a reader started reading my “romance” story expecting a declaration of love in the first chapter, they would indeed be sorely disappointed.*
Now on to cliches. I’ve deliberately used at least three cliches in this story: 1) three best friends, of whom one is a blonde, one is dark-haired and one is a redhead; 2) they’re orphans; 3) teacher-student attraction. I hope that I have managed to give each of them a new, interesting twist, though! You tell me… 
* Not that romance novels, as opposed to short stories or novellas, should necessarily focus on romance so fast: iconic romance author Judith McNaught thus waits for chapter 16 to make her characters meet in Perfect (and yes, the first fifteen chapters are great!). Modern romance novels are just as rich pieces of writing as fantasy or detective novels; the prominence of the romantic element doesn’t imply the obliteration of all other themes/concepts.
Codes vs clichés
Posted: 2011/06/09 Filed under: Literature | Tags: code, modern romance, stereotype 1 Comment »I was telling my man that some short stories for the contest @Les Romantiques contained a lot of cliches, to which he said teasingly: “But your whole genre is only cliches.” What does he know? He never reads romance… Tsss. Still, the answer I offered him could be understood even by non-romance readers: modern romance is a highly codified genre, but codes aren’t cliches. You can respect the genre’s codes without resorting to cliches. Just as much as you can fall back on cliches without understanding or following all the codes. Most romance readers will feel cheated if an author breaks the codes, but my guess is they would hardly notice the absence of cliches.
A Walt Disney cliche...
More concretely, what do I mean by codes and cliches? Here are a few typical examples to help you distinguish the formers from the latters:
1) The hero
a) It is a code in modern romance that the hero must be good-looking, usually in a tall and sinewy way.
b) But it is a cliche for a Regency hero to be a Gipsy, a bastard, a rake, or for a contemporary hero to be a ruthless entrepreneur and a self-made millionaire. Or a cop with a death on his conscience.
from Sabrina Jeffries' website
2) The heroine
a) The code consists in having a heroine who is different, who stands out among other women.
b) In historicals, the cliched heroine is a tomboy (with an unladylike knack for horse-riding) and/or a twenty-something-year-old spinster who doesn’t believe she will ever marry. In contemporaries, she’ll be still a virgin in spite of her “advanced” years (late twenties or early thirties).
3) The plot
a) The main plot should consist in a reason that brings together the hero and heroine, while standing as an obstacle to their love.
b) One of the main protagonists seeks revenge on the other one (usually involves a Big Misunderstanding). The heroine and hero fake an engagement/betrothal/affair or get trapped into an arranged marriage. etc.
4) The ending
a) Romance codes demand that the ending be a happy ever after.
b) Cliches include an “I love you” ending, a wedding scene or an x-years-later epilogue (with children, of course).
I hope I have managed to prove that a coded genre doesn’t have to rely on cliches. Now onto my second point: there is a negative connotation attached to the very notion of cliches… Why? As you may have noticed from my reviews, I generally praise stories for being original or unusual; however, from recognizing an honest attempt at broadening the genre’s horizons to liking a whole book for it is a big step I do not always take. It is even possible that a truly fresh, intelligent, subtle approach to an old cliche might impress and appeal to me more than any random attempt at “change”.
Kings of Leon, 2004
This takes me back to the days of 2003, when I spent my free time reading about music… From folk to heavy metal, I hardly got to listen to anything, but I sure knew who had done what, when, with who, and what people thought about it. These were the early 2000′s, and the rock music world was experiencing a kind of rock’n'roll revival from the 60′s-70′s in the shape of all these new bands beginning with “the”. Some were obviously better than others, independently of which people started questioning the value of rehashing what had already been done. In literature, we speak of cliches; in music we don’t. We say, “We’ve heard this line of bass before.”
In reply to this, one of the Kings of Leon’s brothers rhetorically asked in an interview something along the lines of: “Would you rather be good or original?” Of course it was a provocation. But did its implied suggestion (that most artists could not hope to be both good and original) not hold some truth? So it’s my question for you today. How well can you stand cliches? Would you rather read something good, even if it had a feeling of same old, same old, or something original, even if it wasn’t that well done? Are some cliches a complete no-no for you? And lastly, if you write, what’s your relationship with codes?
Characterization: writing romance heroes
Posted: 2011/03/24 Filed under: Literature, My writing | Tags: characterization, gender, pairing, stereotype, writing tip 5 Comments »Since I was talking about romance heroes characterization yesterday, but the entry was getting pretty long as it was, I’m posting more concrete advice in a separate entry. Somebody in a forum asked what makes a good romance hero. Here’s an expanded version of what I replied:
Obvious qualities expected in a romance hero: faithful, honest about his feelings (which doesn’t exclude misunderstandings, or dishonesty on other matters), respectful of women, physically responsive, minimally entreprising/forward…
Besides that, your hero could be anything. Since his own particular qualities and skills will shape his personality, it’s your job to come up with them! It depends on your plot and what you are comfortable writing. Just remember a few general rules:
1) Challenge stereotypes. Not all literary/bookish types hate maths, not all intellectuals aren’t also manual/athletic, not all easy-going guys aren’t secretly scarred inside, etc…
Or maybe that’s just me liking well-rounded people. I’ve got to say my dad and my boyfriend both pretty much defy any such categorization.
2) What matters isn’t WHO your character is, it’s HOW you’ll write him.
In this respect, try to show the reader what your hero is like, instead of telling it. Don’t just mention what he’s good or bad at; set up your scenes in contexts which will allow us to actually see him in action and gradually learn who he is. Also, don’t say what his personality traits are, give us concrete examples. Give your character opportunities to prove that he’s brave or caring or funny, don’t just tell us so.
Nothing is more frustrating for a reader than finding out through the omniscient narrator that the hero’s actually a good, loving guy (which later justifies that the heroine falls in love with him), when he’s come off as a jerk in every scene he’s been granted so far. I once came across that problem in a manuscript, and that’s what got me thinking: this is not romance, it’s just a badly written love story!
3) Be wary of the too-perfect hero trap. We want the male character to need the female character for something, and not just to stop being single, either. As a female romance reader, I like nothing better than when the heroine proves her hero wrong, teaches him a thing or two and gets to save him in the process. Men need women to comfort and listen to them and save their asses just as much as the other way around.
An interesting link on the topic: Creating Great Heroes and Heroines
I personally enjoy taking classic pairings and swapping the genders assigned to each “type”. I’ve recently written an adventure/sci-fi short story in French, in which the heroine has the role of fearless adventurer and experienced guide, while the hero is introduced as a clueless tourist. Obviously this is just a premise; as the story unfolds, it is gradually revealed that the hero isn’t quite the one we initially thought he was… For what seriously independent heroine could fall for a “clueless tourist”? However, the hero never gains the upper hand. He merely turns out to be something of an equal to the heroine.
For the past few years, I’ve also wanted to write a historical Regency romance between a deeply religious, virgin hero and a former courtesan. Intriguing, right?
But I’m not the only one experimenting with twists on corny pairings. Published romance authors do it too, and generally to great effect. I thus cannot get over the clandestine affair between the nineteen-year-old student and his older teacher in Chill Factor, by Sandra Brown. Hawt. Or the story of a geeky teenager and a girl with more physical assets than self-assurance in The Unsung Hero, by Suzanne Brockmann. Cuuute! These are both, however, secondary plots to the main love story, which is often more standard and pc (and less exciting).
Men in modern romance
Posted: 2011/03/23 Filed under: Bio, Literature, Politics | Tags: ann major, characterization, gender, modern romance, nora roberts, stereotype, suzanne brockmann Leave a comment »The other day I was talking about the best romance heroine… So what about the best romance hero? Maybe because modern mainstream romance is mainly directed at heterosexual women, a good hero is often more important than a good heroine. But what is a good romance hero?
I’m personally not sure that such a question can be answered beyond the basic advice about characterization. Unless it seems to imply that there is one easily spotted, easily described brand or breed of “good romance heroes”, when the first remark that springs to mind is: to each his own… There is no more single type of romance hero than there is a single type of man women fall in love with.
Now because modern romance is all about happy endings and morality, of course romance heroes should ultimately be loving, faithful, not abusive and respectful of women. But does this really define a “type” of character? If it does, I can only apologize on behalf of all romanc
e writers and readers for spreading progressive, positive and peaceful ideas into the world. *snort*
I’m not going to deny that there are stereotyped or even archetypal romance heroes (tall, dark and handsome?), although considering the number of modern romance novels in print, this hardly seems avoidable. However, I am very much rebelling against the notion that romance heroes are 1) all out of the same mould, 2) unrealistic and too-perfect, 3) sexist and essentialist representations of gender. Not that such issues are something you won’t bump into in many romance novels; like in every genre, there’s good and there’s bad, there’s original and there’s déjà vu, there’s subtle and there’s crude. Just don’t assume that this is what modern romance is made of, because now that’s simply not true.
1) I actually enjoy reading about all the different kinds of heroes romance writers can make us fall in love with. They all have specific physiques, specific talents, a specific place in the world. I know I have a personal fondness for darker (ie not Caucasian) heroes and rough, lower-class types… But even then, the best is probably to be kept on your toes by a writer who knows just how to play with your prejudice and turn it against you!
The man looked smart and elegant and corporate—way too smart and rich as far as she was concerned. Money did something to men. [...] Thinking about money all the time, dealing with it, investing it—it made them weak. It tamed them. It took the beast, all the grrrrrr out of the man.
- The Girl with the Golden Gun, Ann Major (MIRA, 2005)
2) Sure, romance heroes are usually better than average. But then, so are romance heroines, if not more: how many times is the woman the one who’ll reach through the man’s defenses and ease the baggage off his shoulders? Does that make them perfect and unattainable? To my mind, it only makes them grown-up, smart and generous, something each of us has the capacity of being if only we make the effort. To put it briefly, romance heroines and heroes are people who make the effort. They must deserve each other, and each other’s love. Which is never quite as simple as it may seem…
“[...] We’re still friends.”
He laughed. “Friends?”
“Yeah, well, you’re now my naked friend, but that really works for me. Look at you—you’re my own personal hot-naked-guy fantasy come true.”
“Is that really what you think?” Ric was starting to get mad again. “Because there’s nothing easy in what we just started. You want a fantasy? Find someone else.”
- Force of Nature, Suzanne Brockmann (Ballantine, 2007)
3) Are all romance heroes incredibly handsome, with well-defined muscles, skin like velvet on steel? Hahaha. Okay, well, maybe a little. But tell me, why should we complain when for once in this friggin’ sexist world, women are left alone and it’s men’s turn to look fabulous and yummy?! And talking about yummy, romance heroes don’t usually look like these models you see on the covers of romance novels, or like male strippers. That’s what men think women like. That’s not what women actually write about.
She felt the shape of his face with her hands. Not fairy-tale handsome, not perfect, but beloved.
- Blue Dahlia, Nora Roberts (Jove, 2004)
As for romance heroes being manly and masculine… Maybe the actual problem lies in what we’re used to defining as “masculine”, not in what these characters are like. Brave, strong, opinionated, responsible, sensible? Wait, women can be that, too. Women should be that too! And a lot of romance heroines, in fact, are.
So does reading about all these intelligent and secretly romantic hunks make us frustrated when we don’t have one in real life? Not really. I’d rather say it’s a great lesson in hope, optimism, self-confidence and self-respect. How can it be a bad thing when it gives us the courage to dump this loser or that douche bag, or better yet, to not start anything with them at all? And finally finding your own romance hero, like I have, only makes you enjoy romance novels more. Because it’s like reliving your own love story forever, because you can relate all the way, from the beat your heart skipped when you first saw his über hot self coming through the door, to the way your whole body warmed and tingled when he whispered, “I’m completely in love with you”.
I’m 24 today, and it feels like my man and all the love he gives me are the best birthday present I’ve ever got. Which hasn’t stopped him from buying the cutest, easiest-to-use new camera for the unskilled novice photographer that I am. Hopefully the next pictures I post on this blog will be nicer than the ones I’ve managed so far…
Who is your favourite romance hero? And what was the best birthday present you’ve received?
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