Review of Puzzle Me This: Singleness as Pathology

First Edition Cover

I am a fan of Eli Easton. Shattered is a profoundly well-written book. The Howl at the Moon books are delightful. And Second Harvest is one of my all-time favorites.

Unfortunately, I found Puzzle Me This rather troubling--in terms of plot.

I gave the book a pass on the amount of "tell, no show"--it is clearly an early manuscript. I was quite pleased that Easton reissued it, and I don't regret reading it. As always, her characters are clearly delineated and the underlying problem is (mostly) honestly tackled.

My problem has to do with an underlying assumption that I notice in some romances, one that Easton usually avoids.

*Plot Summary & Spoilers*

Luke and Alex are dating. Alex is wheelchair-bound due to a congenital issue. He has made an independent life for himself despite some family pressure to live at home. Luke is unsure how he feels about committing to someone with obvious physical disadvantages and needs. Mostly, however, Luke is unsure about commitment due to his overly dramatic and constantly battling parents.

So far so good. Easton is quite skilled at not settling for the maudlin "but love conquers all!" approach.

Second Edition Cover

Luke begins to withdraw from Alex, fearing that if they date, Luke will be stuck (after all, only a horrible person would leave a disabled person). His therapist points out that Luke's fears are less a reflection of Alex's obvious personal strength and independence and more a reflection of Luke's own attitudes about relationships.

Except then Alex breaks up with Luke through a letter. Alex has no desire to be a kind of on-again-off-again boyfriend who has no choice but to stay in the relationship (because his disability supposedly gives him no other choices).

Again: so far so good. Both Luke and Alex are reacting consistently from within their personalities and backgrounds.

Only, Alex ends the letter by informing Luke that he is now moving back home with his parents.

So Luke was right.

Basically, the argument here is that without a relationship--specifically, a relationship that works out--Alex will be so devastated, he will have no choice but to leave the apartment complex that he worked hard to find and turn into a home (and where both he and Luke live) and return to his family fold. That's how bad it is to be single!

Far too many romances revolve on this idea. The good ones, of course, do not (and most of the time, Eli Easton's books fall into the latter category). The not-so-good-ones continually return to the idea that without the relationship, the devastated single will have no choice but to collapse into a pit of despair (see Violence & Romance: Problematic Trope). Only the romance saved the single. Only the romance can save the single.

Considering the number of married people I know who complain about the difficulties of marriage, this argument is tenuous (at best). It is far more likely that a complementary relationship between reasonably sane and stable people (who find their stability within themselves) is the best recipe for happiness.

Unfortunately, this idea that singleness is a kind of pathology reaches beyond romance. As a single woman, I have to a huge extent gotten on with my life despite belonging to an American culture and a religious culture (especially) that promotes marriage as an end goal. But hey, I'd rather focus on my work and my writing and person-hood than spend my time obsessing about a certain status. I read romances because I like reading about relationships--specifically, how people make relationships work--and people in love. But I don't run around throwing my hands in the air and angstifying about my single status. Because, ya know, life is short, and I got plenty of stuff to do.

What I find bizarre is how often people in my cultures will encourage me to do exactly what I do, then turn around and get upset that I am not treating my singleness like an inherent and devastating deep-seated flaw. I should work to make myself happy but not too happy. Obviously I should get on with my life. But I should be angst-ridden while I do it. And apologetic. And bitter. And incapable of living a life of my own.

Give me KJ Charles's Dom and Silas

I doubt very much that Easton intended to send this message: none of her other books do. Since the end of the letter in no way matches up to the actual character of Alex, I mostly ignored it as a poor writing choice.

I do believe, however, that romance writers should think though their romantic beliefs. Do they actually believe that the end of a romance denotes the end of a person's independence?

As a romance reader, I can attest: I have no desire to read romances based on that premise. Give me romances where characters find joy in each other--joy in differences, joy in similarities--even romances where characters help and look out for each other.

Not romances where the characters cease to function unless the other person satisfies their needs.