The Logical Lover: Seiichirou Kondou

On Votaries, I discuss the the accountant detective, a nice variation in mystery shows. 

Seiichirou Kondou from The Other World's Books Depend on the Bean Counter is a prime example and gets a mention in the Votaries' post. 

From a romance point of view, Kondou is so enchanting because throughout the series (manga and light novels), he retains the characteristics of a somewhat uptight workaholic with a gut sense of money matters being "off," a gut sense he then backs up through research and detailed paperwork. He continually makes logical appraisals of what will actually save the country money, as opposed to what certain nobles and leaders want for self-aggrandizing and sentimental reasons. 

What is even more amusing is that his lover, Aresh, uses his logic against him! 

So in several scenes, Aresh argues, "Yes, but what I want (that you live with me, get more rest, eat the foods I provide) will make you more efficient."

I love the chibi associated with Kondou. He knows Aresh is right. He can't argue, "I don't want to be efficient." He is irritated all the same!

In the end, Kondou is a great defense of the position maintained on this blog: The best romances keep people who they are. 

A-Z Romances: Ives, The Competition Plot & Mild Disagreement with Literature Devil

Averil Ives is one of those romance authors with a dozen names. I naturally chose the one that fit my list.

The book was Island in the Dawn, a Harlequin that I had to purchase through AbeBooks. It uses the type of plot that led Literature Devil to state that in romances, women identify with an (ordinary) woman who beats out competitors to get a suitor. 

In other words, the plot of Rebecca, which parts of Island in the Dawn quite closely resemble. Like in Rebecca, the main character is young and lovely but not gorgeous and sexy (not a siren). She is criticized by a female "boss" (unlike in Rebecca, the female "boss" of Island is beautiful and young, rather than the older, caustic Mrs. Van Hopper). Like in Rebecca, the hero is slim and handsome and remote and somewhat damaged (quite literally in Island since he nearly lost his eyes). He also has a very nice house. Like in Rebecca, the friendly, gentle, unsophisticated main character has to compete with a dead fiancee/wife who was unfaithful to the hero (though this part of the plot seems rather tacked on with Island). 

The main character has a name, Felicity, unlike in Rebecca. Nothing burns down (though there is a hurricane). And there's no Mrs Danvers. 

In addition, the main character is--as Literature Devil suggests--the "winner" in the relationship sweeps. In comparison, as I point out in a separate post, with Rebecca's ending, it is not entirely certain if the narrator 's marriage to Maxim was the best choice. She probably would have done better marrying someone else. 

Here, however, I want to take issue with Literature Devil's suggestion that women read such books because they are primarily interested in "partner selection." When I first watched the related video--Woke American Comics vs. Manga--with which I largely agree, I was irritated that Literature Devil hadn't chosen better examples of romance, such as, oh, just for instance, Jane Eyre, Pamela, works by Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Eloisa James, Julia Quinn, Lisa Kleypas, and Georgette Heyer...

There is far too much romance out there to suggest that the plot of "mate selection"--in which a woman is pursued by several suitors due to her being more inherently special than all other contenders--is the common thread in romance. 

I suggest the common thread is more universal and human. That is, though men and women largely (statistically) differ over what they read and watch, in the Venn diagram of life, the thread in romance (like in action) is something that men and women have in common. Genre is about focus. Storytelling elements and human character don't change that much.  

The commonality here is not beating out others. It is having someone take one's side. In Jane Eyre, sure, Jane Eyre is temporarily out-shined by Blanche Ingram, but Blanche Ingram was never a true competitor (not like the dead wife in Rebecca). And Jane Eyre, though uncomfortable in those scenes, never takes her seriously. She also utterly undermines Rochester's attempt to get her to speak to him in front of others by leaving to go see her dying aunt. 

In fact, Jane Eyre is a fascinating example because the person who truly wants to "win" is Rochester, and he wants to win by being recognized, seen, defended. 

Some women enjoy "beating out others" romances, just like some men enjoy revenge plots. But many, many, many women enjoy romances in which the plot circles around the couple sparring, getting to know each other, and having each other's backs. I personally can't stand mystery books where the main female character struggles over which of two men to pick for about 15 volumes (hey, pick them both!). I far prefer the hilarious manga Otomen by Aya Kanno and Cat Sebastian's You Should Be So Lucky, in which the choices are pretty much already a given and the couple work together towards some desired or necessary goal. It's very human.

In sum...

McClane-Powell is a variation on Darcy-Elizabeth. Having someone have your back is something that both men and women totally "get."

Hence, both single and married men and single and married women enjoy Forever, Bones, Castle, animated Beauty & the Beast, and Miyazaki's works. 

In the end, I agree that ultimately, "It isn't the gender people connect with. It's the character," as Literature Devil proposes.

The Laid-Back Detective

On Votaries, I discuss characters from books by "G" authors.

One of those "G" authors is Dorothy Gilman, who wrote the Mrs. Pollifax books, A Nun in the Closet, and The Clairvoyant Countess, one of my favorites.

The Clairvoyant Countess is one of my favorites in part due to Lieutenant Pruden. Lieutenant Pruden is one of those laid-back heroes. In fact, he is quite a bit like Loid from Spy X Family. He is quiet, skeptical, straight-laced but willing to go outside the lines (consult with a clairvoyant). A tad like Hotchner from Criminal Minds but not quite so uptight. For most of my teen years, I was half in love with Pruden.

When I wrote Aubrey, my character Charles Stowe was inspired by Pruden and another Charles: Charles Parker from Sayers' Wimsey detective novels. 

I've covered the attraction of the laid-back hero in a number of posts (see below). Here, I will state that another attraction is the underlying skepticism. Pruden, Parker, and Charles Stowe are open to evidence. They don't make up stories about people and impose them. They go where the clues take them. Their inherent skepticism comes from knowing that where the clues take them might change. They are prepared for their initial reckonings to be wrong. 

For all their by-the-book attitudes, they are actually quite adaptable.

Other Laid-Back Heroes

• More about Loid
• Justin from Secret of Nimh
• Karasuma from Assassination Vacation (with a tribute to Arthur from Inception)
• Yuri from Yuri on Ice!
• Itami from Gate
• Sam Gillespie from Sister Boniface 
• Lieutenant Tao from The Closer and Major Crimes 
• Saitama from One Punch Man
  

Shakespeare's Jealous Couples: Imogen & Posthumus and Others

First of all, Cymbeline is a strange play. 

It is credited to Shakespeare, but it comes across as a kind of spoof play using bits and pieces of Shakespeare from Othello, The Tempest, Romeo & Juliet. Except it ends positively--with pure schmaltzy moralizing--not tragically.

It reads like Stargate having fun with its own tropes, except it is supposed to be serious. So more like a Hollywood production that is trying to capitalize on the latest trends by throwing them all into the screenplay and then demanding that the Oscars treat the result as an intellectual triumph.

Or something. None of the oddities are helped by people continually running off to Milford Haven in Wales (I'm serious). The whole thing sounds like a Greek tragedy set in Swansea or Staten Island. 

The biggest reason to doubt that Shakespeare was taking himself even remotely seriously is the cause of jealousy between the primary couple. It is one of those cases where the Iago figure, Iachimo, persuades the dopey husband that because he has a particular belonging from the wife, she must be guilty of adultery. The dopey husband immediately believes Iachimo--who isn't motivated by anything more than being Italian and something of a playboy (again, I'm serious)--and complications ensue. (The play also includes kidnapped brothers grown to manhood living in the wilderness--Wales--and Roman senators wandering around Briton trying to get tribute and an evil stepmother and an evil prince and...I'M SERIOUS.)

Consider the differences between Imogen/Posthumus and Claudio/Hero from Much Ado About Nothing, not to forget the classic jealous husband/innocent wife: Othello/Desdemona. 

Claudio believes Hero is faithless based on what he sees. His reaction is completely over the top and not all versions keep the couple together at the end. However, Shakespeare is fully aware of Claudio's overreaction. It motivates Benedict to challenge Claudio at the instigation of Beatrice, who is justifiably outraged by the humiliation of her cousin. It also underscores Shakespeare's theme, that words are more reliable than "seeing." 

"Here's our own hands against our hearts," Benedict proclaims at the end. 

In Othello, the behavior of all characters, while not entirely explicable, is grounded in personality. In part, Othello is worked on by Iago, who is jealous of the world and wants to tear others down (Iago is a pre-social media "troll"). In part, Othello is susceptible due to his own mindset.

Sarah Caudwell's Thus Was Adonis Murdered delivers an excellent explanation of Othello. Cantrip, who was forced to see a stage play version of the play, is speaking:

I said afterwards I thought it was pretty silly, because the Othello chap's meant to have done frightfully well in the army and be a wiz at strategy and all that. And in that case, he wouldn't be the sort of twit who thought his wife was having it off with someone else just because she lost her handkerchief. And Julia didn't agree. Well, what she was actually said was that I was a semi-educated flibbertigibbet whose powers of dramatic appreciation would be strained to the utmost by a Punch and Judy show....You see, the way Julia saw it was that a chap who'd spent all his life in the army was just the sort of chap to get a bee in his bonnet about pure womanhood and so on, because he wouldn't get the chance to find out that women were more or less like anyone else and he'd start getting all idealistic about them. So as soon as he found out that Desdemona wasn't perfect--I mean, the first time she spilt coffee or dropped cigarette ash on the carpet--he'd start feeling all disillusioned and thinking she'd betrayed his ideals. And after that, making him believe she was having it off with some other chap would be absolute child's play.

The meat of what Cantrip states is in Shakespeare's script.

In Cymbeline, there's little character development and little thematic development. Posthumous gets jealous on cue. Feels bad on cue. Iachimo behaves badly on cue. Repents on cue. Things happen because the script says so. 

I can't help but wonder if Shakespeare was badgered by his shareholders into writing a play and said, "Fine! You want a play?! Here's all my ideas in a single script--I'll trot them out one after another."

Or, since Shakespeare wasn't adverse to making money, he said, "Sure! Let's trot out all my best ideas and make a bundle!"

 Or maybe Shakespeare was getting meta:

Merpeople as Romantic Partners: The Ultimate Unknowables

I mention in my latest taboo post that although bestiality is generally mocked in stories, sex with shapeshifters is entirely accepted--as is sex with mercreatures. 

The story of Kopakonan, which I summarize in my book about medieval saints and lore, like many tales about mermaids and seals, has an underlying pathos. My first published short story, "The Birthright," which uses a similar backstory, is more drama than romance.

That is, mermaids have a long history of romance and amorality. Without getting too philosophical, they are fairly perfect representations of the sea: placid on the surface until a storm arises; dark and unknowable beyond the surface. As someone has pointed out somewhere, more people have been to the moon than to the bottom of the Marina Trench.

An instant corollary exists here since romantic entanglements are also unknowable and sometimes risky and often involve a "plunge." My novella Nerites Amid the Stars is possibly the most romantic of my sci-fi novels, and it involves merpeople or Siphons. 

All my couples tend to be "working" couples--that is, they are people who care about researching doctrines or handling parishioners or tracking down antiques or trying to stay employed or helping farmers or managing a restaurant or ensuring fair trade or figuring out sainthoods or investigating crimes. 

Meke and Rill from Nerites Amid the Stars are a diplomat (who discovers he actually likes being a diplomat) and an enumerator (a specialist in demographics). They are also star-crossed lovers, a kind of Romeo & Romeo (without the pointless deaths) who connect after falling out many years earlier. 

The title is based on one of the lesser known Greek myths. As Meke reflects:

Siphons spoke of Nerites and Helios. Some Siphons paired Nerites with Poseidon, as did human mythology. But the oldest Siphon tales presented Nerites as a Siphon charioteer in his bipedal state, commended for his quick eye and expert skills as he raced along the shore and into the waves. He fell in love with the sun and drove his chariot into space. In art, Nerites was pictured chasing light rays against a background of stars. Always in pursuit. Like the human Icarus, he would never reach his goal, not without perishing. Yet his love never abated. 

Did Helios love him in turn?

How could he not? 

The passage is a good example of how characters live beyond their authors. My reaction to that story is "Oh, please." 

But Meke is a romantic. He chases Rill across a nine-month voyage by ship to Mars. 

He is also something of an outlier within his own culture. My merpeople or Siphons are a tad like Vulcans: logical CEOs of large corporations who prefer to make marriages based on business dealings. Not given to warm fuzzies. 

But because they are tied to the sea, romance and a sense of the incalculable lurks. 

The Other Taboo: Humans and Animals and the Line

On Votaries, I have written about untamed horses and their connection to a human. 

Here, I am writing about the taboo: falling in love with an animal. 

Catherine the Great supposedly had sex with horses. According to Virginia Rounding and other historians, the event never happened, but "Catherine's sex life was...a common subject for ribaldry" in Petersburg and countries of Europe (Rounding). 

Ribaldry is the common response. According to my cursory research on the subject, falling in love with animals is apparently not the same as bestiality. People who actually get emotionally and romantically attached to an animal rarely have sex with them. Bestiality is more about, ah, convenience, and it is treated with amusement. 

As a character relates in A Prairie Dog's Love Song by Eli Easton--after the main male character informs the townspeople that he intends to bring a young male citizen of the town home and marry him--

"Then Old Jenks stood up. You know how crazy he is about Old West history. He said cowboys humped each other all the time, back in the day...and some of 'em even paired up for keeps...And about then Ike said 'better a good-looking boy like Ben than sheep.' And I swear that was aimed at someone in particular." 

The story of Catherine the Great was always told as a salacious "ha ha" story when I heard it growing up. And when Boston Legal had a subplot where a man wanted to marry a cow, the casting director chose Michael McKean to play the man--could (would) anyone else have taken the part? And of course, there's Bottom from Midsummer Night's Dream.

What fascinates me here is that generally speaking, having sex with an animal is considered taboo and funny. But having sex with a shapeshifter is entirely okay.  

Granted, I'm talking about romance/fantasy here. But the idea appears in mythology as well. Belle's Beast is humanoid enough to be non-taboo, even before he turns into a human prince. Sex with sirens and enchantresses, even those with cloven hoofs, also okay (if dangerous). Mer-people in general: okay. 

It's almost the opposite response to incest. With incest, the appearance of a sibling connection calls the relationship into doubt. With bestiality, everything is okay until the beast actually turns into a non-speaking, non-sentient animal. 

Humans are mammals after all.

A-Z Romance! Harrington & Heyer Fan Fiction

The Lords of the Armory books by Anna Harrington brought home three truths (for me) about romances: (1) A problem or plot is always better than a bunch of "meet-cutes"--Harrington supplies the former; (2) a conspiracy or Big Bad makes my brain go numb; (3) yaoi/M-M romance is attractive for a reason. 

In truth, I so admire stories that have actual problems/conflicts that must be solved, I might have kept reading Harrington's novel if the main romantic couple had been male. 

But conspiracies don't interest me--and romantic heroes who badger romantic heroines for information while the romantic heroines stalwartly refuse...interest me almost as little. 

I much prefer to watch the hero and heroine work together. There are traditional romances that accomplish this end. In Total Surrender by Anne Mallory presents a dour hero and a cheerful heroine who nevertheless work together to salvage her father's business. Imagine if Eliot from Leverage got together with a female version of Hardison...

And therein lies the attraction of yaoi/M-M because both would simply use Eliot and Hardison. 

The Anne Harrington book A Relentless Rake starts with a brother and half-brother (father's bastard) receiving instructions on their assignment. And I immediately found the brothers' relationship more interesting than the possible romance. Granted, they are brothers, but that biological tie is easily kept or tweaked; the "working" partnership could be explored in terms of friendship and/or romance. 

I've discovered the same with my Georgette Heyer fan fiction. In some cases, keeping the original pairings is more effective. But in some cases, a male/male pairing become infinitely more interesting.

So, for instance, with The Unknown Ajax, I kept the original pairing--Hugo and Althea--but concentrated on Richmond and Vincent in my fanfiction. In the book, Richmond is a wild young man who wants to go into the army. His doting grandfather refuses. Richmond appears to become quiescent but in fact is busy running a smuggling ring. Vincent is a sardonic man who doesn't appear to care about anything. Even though Richmond looks up to him, Vincent keeps his distance until matters reach a crisis. Then all the cousins have to pull together. 

Richmond and Vincent coming to terms struck me as far more interesting than the warring supposed opposites, Hugo and Althea. Hugo and Althea are a decent couple but so much "oh, no, I'm not REALLY attracted to you" bantering does get a tad tiring after awhile.

That is, I prefer Nick and Nora--already boon companions who banter--working on a separate problem than what my mother (in a different context) once referred to as "revolving door" relationships. Richmond and Vincent are already friends. The issue isn't one of "yes, but do I really like you?" The issues are Richmond's tendency to hero-worship and Vincent's tendency to cynicism while, on the action side, the issues are Richmond's desire to get a commission and Vincent's willingness to drop his pose for at least one other person.