The article discusses several recent novels that tackle sexual violence and sexual health. One striking example is Lucy Monroe's Blackmailed into Marriage:
Its entire plot revolved around vaginismus, a condition that causes vaginal muscles to involuntarily contract shut.... The book is laden not only with explicit depictions of a wide variety of sex acts, but also jaw-dropping clinical-yet-romantic descriptions of the couple engaging in the most common treatment for vaginismus: the insertion of a series of dilators.I realize it's a painful medical condition, but surely everyone who reads the article thinks... A Harlequin with dildos?! That certainly seems to be the magazine's take.
I wasn't impressed by the one Lucy Monroe novel I tried, but I am impressed that she's apparently managed to write about something horrendously intimate in a matter-of-fact way, and get it published widely. (See Monroe's website for an interesting contrast between the banal fairytale described by the book's cover copy and the public health statement farther down the page.) She has also written about endometriosis and about impotence in a wheelchair-bound man.
Taboo topics
The argument is sometimes made that romance fiction is inherently feminist. I’m not convinced that romance is inherently feminist, though many individual novels have feminist themes1. One could argue that the genre’s focus on relationships inherently facilitates discussion of sexual health. That has only recently become true as romances become more explicit--and it's by no means true for all of romance’s subgenres. However, I do find it significant that romance is the one fiction genre in which these issues are aired to a broad audience.(General health is a subject found in all genres2. Sexual violence crops up regularly in other genres, but I think the focus on the path to recovery is primarily found in romance and nonfiction.)
What's clear is that romances broach subjects that are taboo in other genres. Whether this is feminist depends on whether the taboos are differentially applied to subjects relevant to women, and on how these woman-oriented themes are written and received. Regardless, it's a good thing that these stories can be written and widely disseminated and discussed.
The flip side: They're short
1. "The brevity of the books can force quick solutions", e.g. the vaginismus sufferer who was cured in a single night.
Macleans focused entirely on short-form Harlequin Presents novels (generally less than 200 pages). In erotic romance, you find still more of these themes. For example, Robin Schone’s Scandalous Lovers (450 p.) involves post-menopausal sex; Megan Hart's Broken (380 p.) explicitly describes masturbation and quadriplegic sex.
Unconvincing happy endings can happen in longer novels too (cf. Broken). But I agree, the short format can constrain the plot's development (apart from the sturm und drang)... and sometimes leads to curing systemic illnesses overnight.
Conundrums
Macleans talked about issues to do with format. I think some of the thornier issues are more qualitative.• Even given an important topic, not all portrayals are equal. Illness, violence, pain, and shame can all too easily be trivialized and commodified into simply a means to ratchet up the emotional intensity of the read.
• Romance novels spread both good information and misinformation. For example, Kalen Hughes has debunked several myths about the hymen. Given how often the hymen is mentioned in the romance genre, it's astonishing how frequently it's accompanied by inaccurate physiology and counterfactual emotional and moral interpretations.
• Many romance novels use sexual health as a metaphor for character. Having a sexually transmitted infection can indicate bad character. A powerful, attractive man is often depicted as potent almost to the point of priapism. Many novels portray the heroine's virginity or ignorance of orgasm as emblematic of good character and femininity; some explain her virginity by invoking abuse or ill health. While I think it's almost always done unintentionally, this pattern can implicitly equate victimhood or frailty with feminine desirability, or sexual repression with good character.
Even though all of the above can (and has) gone wrong at times, it's great that romances from Harlequins to erotic romances are, in their own ways, expanding the boundaries of what's written. And ultimately I think it says something important about readers:
"I think that women who do read our books know damn well that they're going to get something that could be light but could have some meat to it," Marton says. "They are not just perfectly happy getting that -- they're interested in getting that."Yes, Virginia, the romance novel is nearly as varied as its readership.
1 From Laura Vivanco's examination of Harlequin/Mills & Boon novels:
while I found many romances which could be considered feminist, and while the authors I corresponded with identified as feminists, there were a few novels which were anti-feminist in tone and yet others where feminist issues simply didn't arise in the course of the story.2 In romance, several sites list novels involving major health issues. Laura Vivanco enumerates a number of ways in which love and physical health are intertwined in romance narratives; physical health may reflect the health of a relationship (from weight loss and pallor through literal heart failure).
16 Comments:
Not really a comment on the topic, but I love the way you write your articles. :)
Thanks! I'm still new at it, so I'm not sure I have a "style" yet, but I'm glad to hear it makes sense to you!
I'm not sure I have a "style" yet
Well, you put in lots of interesting links, you reference your sources fully, and you've got footnotes. You also make use of headings and subheadings/numbered paragraphs, which makes it easy to follow the flow of your argument.
I just noticed that you also have a similar colour-scheme to the Harlequin Presents romances (dark red, white, grey).
Ahh yes, that's the way to be inimitably stylish. Footnotes! ;)
you also have a similar colour-scheme to the Harlequin Presents
They do look good on my site. Perhaps I should feature a Harlequin a week.
Speaking of covers, the Macleans article reminded me of something that's long puzzled me about Harlequin/M&Bs. I'm intrigued by the contrast between their stylized cover copy and the intense content sometimes found inside. Not just these "serious sex" books, either--many Harlequin Presents discuss difficult topics.
Perhaps the insipid covers provide an element of surprise. As a reader, I complain about lack of "freshness" more than almost anything else. Maybe the bland covers engage the frequent reader's curiosity without spelling out too much? Is it sometimes preferable to buy a pig in a poke for novelty?
Some readers say that they value a certain degree of predictability in a romance--e.g. they avoid tear-jerkers, or they want romance to be escapism and escapism should be light. (These comments at SBTB show quite a spread between "Surprise me!" and "Tell me everything that's in the book so I know whether to invest.") Marton's statement about sales figures and fan mail, and the covers themselves, seem to indicate that a lot of readers are happy to be surprised by challenging content.
I have the sense that by putting their novels into lines, Harlequin Mills & Boon manages to simultaneously give the readers a degree of predictability while also allowing for some surprises/challenging content.
Different lines give different "guarantees". The level of sexual explicitness, for example, is fairly clearly defined between some of the lines. You expect something different from a "Romance" than from a "Modern", which is different again from a "Blaze", for example. Some lines give guarantees about the setting/type of plot you can expect e.g. romantic suspense in Harlequin Intrigue, or medical settings and fairly detailed discussion of injuries/diseases/treatments in a medical romance. Each line has its own ambiance.
Within that, though, there's a fair amount of room for manoeuvre, and while I can see that variety within the lines in which I've read fairly heavily, I suspect it's something that might well be missed by people less familiar with each particular line, or who don't happen to come across one of the novels which very explictly deals with a difficult topic.
It really parallels the way in which the entire romance genre promises a certain amount of stability (the ending will be happy, the central couple will end up together) and yet also has an increasing variety of sub-genres and includes romances which deal with some quite difficult subject matters. Perhaps it's even that the safety net provided by the guaranteed ending (and, in the case of Harlequin's lines, each line's ambiance) allows readers to feel secure as they explore some of these more challenging themes?
Anyway, I think sex as it relates to power/male abuse of power and how it can become something that a woman can enjoy, rather than being a source of fear/shame/inadequacy is a thread that runs through a lot of Presents/Moderns. Not every single one, but it's quite often there, even if not so explicitly so, at least in the romances I've read from the past decade (I didn't go further back than about 1990).
The medical line might touch on the same issue, but from a different perspective, They've had novels about asylum seekers and dealing with natural disasters. Those are topics I'd probably not expect to find in a Modern/Presents, but they do fit in with the ethos of the Medical line which is about heroes and heroines who are in the caring professions. Or if it did turn up in a Modern/Presents the angle would be different. I'm not explaining that at all well, but it's to do with the ethos/ambiance of the line and which general themes it deals with.
I think the dynamic you describe is very clear. Each series romance line has a distinct tone. My curiosity was more about the covers themselves--they're very stylized, from the cartoon people on the front through the fairytale plot outlines on the back.
E.g. the I Heart Presents blog has just posted about the Macleans article:
"For some reason, mainstream media is always so surprised to learn that romance novels deal with love and sex in a realistic manner."
I think some degree of surprise is to be expected. First, because it's not subject matter that appears anywhere else. Second, because the covers of Harlequins don't promote the books as "realistic".
The Monroe novel's cover copy would lead most people to assume this is a fairytale, not a book about reality. A regular reader of the Harlequin Presents line would know that detailed sex scenes are possible within the line--though that reference to "the marriage bed" could imply anything from "You're my secret brother!" through "I was raped and sex scares me silly". But the regular reader know from experience that there may be challenging sexual themes in the book, not from the book's marketing. The sexual health issues are neatly elided on the cover:
"Lia had turned her back on her rich aristocratic family. But now she needs their help to save her daughter. Their response - to sell her off to the highest bidder. Damian Marquez prizes Lia’s blue blood – he was stripped of his own title at birth. Lia is the perfect brood-mare, who can provide him with an heir – and a spare!
But, as the wedding night looms, Lia knows the truth will out – because Damian doesn’t know she can’t be his in the marriage bed…"
A Harlequin with dildos? This I've got to read.
I don't read HMB these days, but I have an aunt who had SHELVES of them when I was younger, and I really got my fill back then.
There are Harlequin authors I like - Sophie Weston and Jessica Hart. There's something about their down to earth Englishness that I quite enjoyed.
My curiosity was more about the covers themselves--they're very stylized, from the cartoon people on the front through the fairytale plot outlines on the back.
My M&Bs have photo covers, unenclosed by rings. So the covers do vary from one market to another. The blurbs, though, from what I can tell, stay pretty much the same in the UK and US. I think you're right that they're written so as to "engage the frequent reader's curiosity without spelling out too much".
Meriam, strictly speaking the objects used in this story are dilators, not dildoes.
This I've got to read.
That's the interesting thing--even romance readers are surprised!
I read a lot of Hqn/M&B years ago, including many of the Australian-set "Presents" books, but I don't recognize anything on Hart's site.
I know what you mean about "down to earth Englishness". I've enjoyed some of those too, in somewhat the same way that I enjoy Regencies or other period pieces.
I think part of the appeal is that some authors have the ability to tap into comforting ideas of a less complicated life. E.g. Betty Neels wrote highly stylized period pieces with explicit moral and symbolic messages about men and women, and national and individual character. Her writing reminds me of children's books--not in a pejorative sense; I mean because the messages are so clear.
Meriam, strictly speaking the objects used in this story are dilators, not dildoes.
Laura, have you looked at the photo of the dilators? :)
Actually, as I wrote that phrase in the post I hoped it wouldn't be offensive to those suffering from vaginismus. I do think it's what most people would think of when reading the Macleans article, but I still hesitated.
I realize "dildo" normally implies sex "toy", rather than therapeutic treatment. I don't have any moral outrage over dildos*, so using that term doesn't bother me--but I'm sure it could sound judgmental to some.
*Dildos? Dildoes? I'm not sure I've ever written it before. Merriam-Webster says:
"Dildo: an object resembling a penis used for sexual stimulation
Inflected Form(s): plural dildos also dildoes
Date: 1598"
I read a lot of Hqn/M&B years ago, including many of the Australian-set "Presents" books, but I don't recognize anything on Hart's site.
Jessica Hart writes for the Harlequin/Mills & Boon "Romance" line (previously called "Tender" in the UK), and she's never (as far as I know) written for the Modern/Presents line. If you mostly read in the Modern/Presents line that could be why you haven't come across her before.
Betty Neels's books are nothing at all like Jessica Hart's, at least, not in any way that springs to my mind. Betty Neels had no premarital sex for one thing, and she had heroes who were very enigmatic (i.e. they said little and, apart from taking the heroine out to eat or finding her a job somewhere, just waited until the heroine fell in love with them).
I realize "dildo" normally implies sex "toy", rather than therapeutic treatment. I don't have any moral outrage over dildos*, so using that term doesn't bother me--but I'm sure it could sound judgmental to some.
I mentioned that it was dilators not dildoes not out of moral outrage but because I didn't want Meriam to be disappointed if she approached the book expecting there to be detailed sexual play with them and then there wasn't. I mean, obviously the dilators are being used to facilitate sex, and they're not used in a clinical way, but it's not exactly a fun choice for the heroine to have to use them and the hero and heroine don't use them once the need for them is past.
I hadn't looked at the photos before, but now I have. I wouldn't have guessed, from looking at them, what they were for.
Sorry! I was using the term very lightly indeed and obviously my lame attempt at tongue-in-cheek did not communicate well.
"...and the hero and heroine don't use them once the need for them is past."
Well, that's a shame. Plus ca change...
Jessica Hart is actually quite cool. She wrote one book where the heroine was in her forties(!), had two teenage kids(!!) and some pretty great exchanges with the hero. She didn't give him an inch. I really enjoyed it.
I suppose when I say 'English-ness' I mean "sensible" heroines? I'm not sure if I can articulate it, there's just something about them that I find refreshing. I've never read Betty Neels, although I've read a lot about her (on teachmetonight, I think).
My local library carried mostly Hqn Presents, with the occasional influx of books from the other lines--probably whenever a patron donated a box. Looking back, I'm not always sure which line an author wrote for, but at the time I was very clear on the distinctions.
Neels [heroes] said little and, apart from taking the heroine out to eat or finding her a job somewhere, just waited until the heroine fell in love with them
The heroes also tended to put the heroine in positions where she'd be abused by the hero's fiancée. Very strange.
From reading the synopses on Jessica Hart's site, it's clear that she's not of the same generation as Neels, and not the same type of writer. It's Meriam's comment about "Englishness" that struck a chord, because sometimes I enjoy a novel that has a specific, familiar setting or period or tone to it, and sometimes part of that's because the book evokes a mythic setting built on specific archetypes--e.g. a world where the English are "English". (Choose any archetype.... It could be "When men were authoritative". Or in this case, men were enigmatic, bossy, and rather weird.) None of which is necessarily what Meriam enjoys about them at all.
"...and the hero and heroine don't use them once the need for them is past."
Well, that's a shame. Plus ca change...
Presuming there's some discomfort involved in the treatment, I can imagine the dilators might make uneasy toys. For now, I'm sure the hero and heroine are simply relieved to have solved the problem. But who knows what they'll get up to next. Check back for the sequel... written by Robin Schone ;)
When Schone's Awaken My Love was released, there was so much scandal around the heroine masturbating at the beginning of the novel; looks like times haven't changes all that much.
I am grateful that the complicated landscape of women's sexuality is being represented more faithfully in Romance, but I'm still wary of the sexual dysfunction/trauma plotline as a means to make the hero more heroic and the sex between them morally okay (she's going to marry him, after all, AND he's practically saving her!).
One of the books that I thought dealt with this dualistic approach to female sexuality was Lisa Cach's Dream of Me, in part because she really tackled the theme of sexual healing overtly, and tried to work through some of the double standards to which women are beholden when it comes to enjoying sex.
I haven't read Monroe, nor Neels or Hart, though.
I'm still wary of the sexual dysfunction/trauma plotline as a means to make the hero more heroic and the sex between them morally okay (she's going to marry him, after all, AND he's practically saving her!).
Yes, there are a lot of plots in which hero = savior = first (good) sex experience.
I agree that a number of styles of romance can convey a message that sex is morally OK if the couple are getting married. But there are so many virgin widow heroines that clearly marriage is not always sufficient to sanction sex. There's also a message that for a woman, sex has to be emotionally OK (i.e. not only in a marriage, but with her true love: Our Hero), whereas for men sex can be more casual.
I doubt it's a coincidence that an I Heart Presents commenter finds:
the “old double standard” seems to be making a come back.... if a married couple is separated for some time... the “hero” has affairs during the separation — while the heroine remains true to the marriage vows."
It's interesting that some readers don't want the heroine to have had more than one good love/lover in her life (even a dead husband). I'm sure some of that's about social mores, but some of it may be that readers want the slice of the heroine's life that they read to be the most significant slice so far. (I think this is similar to Jennifer Crusie's "a great book is about the most important moment in a character's life".)
Perhaps some readers feel a happy past love distracts from the current relationship--just as adding a child to the story near the end can take the focus off the central relationship. (Though giving either protagonist a traumatic past can be equally distracting. It's effectively romantic suspense/thriller/horror, with the action in the past tense.)
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