Dysfunctional Relationships: Can Happy Couples Bicker?

Based on multiple long-range studies, the Gottman Institute states that disdain/contempt is a strong indication that a relationship is doomed. 

And generally speaking, I've never bought into the sitcom relationships based on constant put-downs between spouses. When Tim Allen moved from (the successful) Home Improvement to (the successful) Last Man Standing, the wife became less critical. She also became both more independent and more likely to admire her husband.  

Of course, there is Howard and Bernadette on Big Bang Theory, who snipe at each other on a regular basis. For good or ill, I believe in the relationship. One possibility is that Bernadette, despite her small size, is such a replica of Howard's mother--at least in tone--I can accept that Howard has married what he knows. 

To an extent, what is considered contemptuous may depend entirely on the couple: what appears unworkable to outsiders could be entirely workable to insiders.  

 

Assumptions as Disguise; Revelation as True Knowledge

In romance, a lovely version of disguise based on assumptions is when assumptions are set aside and the couple make a connection. Darcy and Elizabeth, of course, are a classic example. Elizabeth especially--since so much of the novel is told from her perspective--sets aside her assumptions about Darcy (based on her own ideas and Wickham's insidious suggestions) to figure out the guy as he is, from his housekeeper, no less! 

In yaoi/MM romance, Winterbourne and Wataya are two great examples. In Joanna Chambers' Introducing Winterbourne, the secondary hero, Adam, realizes that his host for the day, Lysander Winterbourne, is not like his father. His blond good looks and careful tact are not the looks and actions of a self-entitled brainless profligate yuppie (the 19th century equivalent) but those of an insightful and kindly man who would rather be looking after an estate than meeting people in parlors. 

In Cherry Magic, Tsuge originally sees Wataya as a "punk." His magic allows him to see that Wataya is actually a pretty responsible and straightforward guy--who likes cats! 

The "reveal"--the disguise tossed off--happens mentally. It is just as satisfying as a cloak being removed.  

Disguising the Murder in Appointment with Death

The current A-Z List on Votaries deals with character who transform, either internally or externally. 

One type of transformation occurs when a character throws off a disguise. Disguises themselves fall into various categories: disguises assumed by need, disguises assumed by personal desire. 

One disguise is a type that Agatha Christie used in her writing: the disguise that occurs because of what people don't see, based entirely on their assumptions. (Ignoring "staff," for instance.) 

Research backs up Christie, including research about eyewitnesses and whether or not people notice gorillas during basketball games. The disguise is not as fool-proof as Christie often claims. In the aforementioned research, what people don't see is a percentage, not an absolute. 

But her point is still valid. When I was about ten and playing a softball game in the gym with other ten-year-olds, I walked, rather than ran, between two bases. Only the amused teacher noticed what I was doing. If I had run, I would have instantly attracted everyone's attention, which was currently focused on the batter. So I walked and made the base.

Disguises that blend in because nobody expects what is there are fairly brilliant. 

*Spoilers* 

From the book version of Appointment with Death, Lady Westholme doesn't dress herself up as someone else but she does use her companion's assumptions to disguise the truth. When Lady Westholme calls out to the dead woman and then mutters, "So rude, the way she grunted," her companion assumes that an entire dialog took place. Consequently, the companion reports later that the dead woman was actually alive at a certain time. 

People who see half a stop-sign draw the whole thing. True story--and a remarkable indicator of how our brains fill in gaps.

And how Agatha Christie was able to devise murders that others might miss.   

Disguises: Boy to Girl

Earlier, I discuss the archetypal disguise of the girl dressed as a boy. 

The archetypal disguise of the boy dressed as a girl has an equally long tradition. Achilles is hidden among young women by his mother, who doesn't want him to go to war. Odysseus unmasks Achilles when he places a spear among a variety of goods and Achilles picks it up. In my critique/tribute to Herland--which involves a boy dressed as a girl--my primary male narrator and one of the mentors have this exchange:

Moadine said, “In the tunnel, an argument ensued. Astyanax was male, a potential warrior. He would bring danger to the sanctuary the woman hoped to find or build. They knew the story of Achilles, how Odysseus uncovered him, disguised, in a court of women, spotted him because he alone picked up a sword.”

I nodded. I knew the story. I also knew plenty of women, including a niece, who would also have gone for the sword. Just as I knew plenty of women in Troas who yearned for competitive opportunities as much as did Alim. 

Boy-to-girl narratives often involve disclosure due to "male" action--hence, my narrator's ruminations. The same narrator will later point out that Alim is steadily getting taller and stronger than his compatriots--despite his youth. 

The question, What constitutes differences between genders? arises again and again in these types of tales. 

After all, identifying differences is more interesting and narratively satisfying than pretending that biological and physical differences don't exist at all.

In Eli Easton's Robby Riverton, Eli Gregory's Eleventh Hour, and, for that matter, Quantum Leap's "What Price Gloria?" male protagonists adopt female personas as part of a larger adventure. The sacrifices and choices of the female personas are stressed and admired. Both Robby and Miles use their female personas to showcase another side of their personalities. Since Sam is being female for the first time, the episode stresses his need to adapt. In later episodes, he wears his dresses (and flats, which he prefers) with grace and style. None of the characters show embarrassment. They use their female personas to make connections, discover international secrets, and--in Sam's case--stand up to a sexist boss. 

At the same time, the reality of being female is stressed. The temporary use of a female name or pronoun doesn't magically override issues like body shape, hormones, or menstruation. The biological female body is applauded in these stories, not treated as an optional extra or a mass of cliches. It is about living, not about performing, and the body/persona is never assumed out of shame.       

Learning from Fan Fiction: Some Relationships May Not Work

On Votaries, I discuss Thumbelina, which brings me--on Romance & Manga--to relationships between average-size people and little people. 

A perfectly respectable romance archetype! Think Tauriel and Kili or Mizuki and Caius. In both cases, the archetypes work in part because the issue is less about size or height and more about culture. 

But a romantic relationship between a miniature person and a human is  always, ultimately, about the difference in height. 

In my fan fiction, I had one of the Littles, Tom, meet a human. Much like Arrietty who continually seeks out humans, Tom wants to make contact beyond his somewhat limited family circle. And he becomes attached. He takes himself off to the same college as the human, where he makes a home for himself in the area behind the brick facade above a dormitory window, and--

I then realized that for the relationship to move forward, I would have to resort to "science" (a la Honey, I Shrunk the Kids) or magic or dreams (a la Alice in Wonderland). 

That is, I was not trying to establish a platonic friendship or even a platonic chivalrous admiration but, rather, a romantic relationship with the attendant physical relationship. And unless it descended into salaciousness (see Gulliver's Travels), it needed to be on an equal footing in both the literal and metaphorical meaning of that term. 

"Equal footing" can cover a lot of territory. Note Tauriel & Kili, Mizuki & Caius above. "Short" or technically little (LP) and "tall" or technically average-sized. Or someone in a wheelchair and someone who is not. All these relationships can work! 

Miniature and fully human, however, gets into the metaphysical.   

Aquariums in Manga and Live Action BL

It is becoming standard to send characters in manga and live action to aquariums.

It happens with such regulatory in Thai BL, I suspect that a particular aquarium is rather like a house in my grandmother's neighborhood in Pasadena. Though it may have burnt down since, the house was one of the places our family would walk past when we visited in my childhood. Someone was nearly always filming there, usually scenes that were supposed to take place in New England (the house has/had that look) complete with fake snow on the ground.

Interestingly, this use has passed from "hey, the aquarium lets us film on their premises!" to a standard date for BL characters, even in manga. That is, the aquarium date has become a trope, much like amusement rides and haunted houses! In the Japanese BL series, Stay by My Side After the Rain, the characters visit an aquarium for their first date after they meet again (since high school).

There is something quite inviting about fish. And the set-up is perfect for action-while-talking. Sitting in a theater is too static. Dancing is too noisy. The aquarium is perfect!

The below is from one of my favorite short manga stories: "Lover's Pledge" by Kae Maurya. The nervous main character and alpha Darcy-like character get to know each other on "innocent" dates.

Type of Romances: Romances with Royalty

Americans as royalty--popular trope.

On Votaries, I discuss royals who transform. 

 

Below is a repost of why romances should avoid "the royal who falls in love with an ordinary person" trope. 

 

* * *

 

A great many romances tackle the royal personage in love. Several exceedingly popular books have tackled this trope--and succeeded in terms of reader interest.

I generally avoid them. To me, royal life is rather like pioneer life: I fail to see the appeal. Being a member of the royal family or the aristocracy stinks--as a large number of Americans have discovered. It's a Hollywood-level loss of privacy plus social and political expectations mixed into one.

And sure, Kate Middletons exist--the significant other who manages to combine exuberance and natural ability into one strong package. That woman has political and social intelligence coming out her ears.

The problem in fiction is that the non-royal protagonist is so often portrayed as an ordinary mortal--the person who doesn't have super-duper extroverted social and political moxie coming out the ears. There's an understandable fascination with the idea of just any-old-person suddenly entering the fantastical world of royalty. It's so glamorous and high-powered...

And dull...

Oh, wait, my bias is showing.

(Truly, as a lifestyle, I think being royal sounds utterly horrific: horror-movie terrifying and claustrophobic.) 

Some writers will have the ordinary mortal lover rise to the challenge--this is actually more believable than the writers who determine that the ordinary mortal lover shouldn't have to rise to an acceptable level of social and political obligations. Yeah, we've all seen how well the latter comes across in real life. No matter how many people want to back Edward or Harry or Fergie--the fact is, Kate Middleton makes a better impression with the populace.

Because in the end, the willingness of a royal family member to sacrifice all for love doesn't really pay off since the royal family member comes off as kind of a jerk or mired in wishful thinking. 

Like with the Hollywood romance, I generally leave the genre alone. 

Elsewhere I tackle why the JOB of being royal is generally best left alone as well.  

The Omniscient Lover: Bad Writing However Desirable

On Votaries, I comment on the problems caused by omniscient detectives.

Omniscient lovers cause equal problems. The best romances, though they may involve rescues, provide lovers who improve. Darcy learns to communicate outside of his man-cave. Elizabeth learns that she may--despite her quickness of thought--misjudge situations. They come to an understanding.

The omniscient lover overrides all that. This lover may sometimes express doubt, may occasionally--after knowing exactly what the significant other wants, borderline stalking the significant other, arranging the significant other's life--say, "But if you don't want to--"

But such token "I guess you have free will" statements don't suggest a personality in need of transformation or adaptation. Such lovers are rather dull.

However, I do understand the creation of the omniscient lover better than the creation of the omniscient detective--why it is such an attractive proposition. I believe that at the back of original sin or the natural man--the stuff that leads people to behave stupidly and meanly--is a desire for ease, for guarantees, for absolute and all-encompassing answers.

Life is just so hard! And people often wish it could be simpler. Label the bad guys. Force the perfect utopia on people. Go with the latest peer pressure/trend.

Dorothy Sayers called this behavior "snatch." And it's understandable--even if wrong (and explains the number of people who have convinced themselves that Chat GPT "borrowing" other people's work for their benefit isn't lazy, short-sighted, and unethical: what will humans do when the work becomes one mass of circular reasoning?)

In romance, searching and dating and breaking up and searching and dating and trying to make a relationship work is hard. It's exhausting. It's understandable that people sometimes fall back on a trope where the desired partner simply makes it happen.

Of course, few people truly want that "simple" solution when it does appear.

Detectives and Love: Some Transform, Some Don't

My version of Harriet and Wimsey

Mystery-Romance is one of my favorite sub-genres. It not only provides a mystery, it gives a couple something to do (or, it not only provides a romance, it gives a couple something to solve). 

On Votaries, I am examining characters who transform--or don't. A great many detectives are entirely static characters, such as Nero Wolfe. They don't transform, and that's okay! 

They also, often, don't fall in love. Falling in love suggests change. 

It doesn't, however, suggest transformation. Ngaio Marsh has Alleyn fall in love, but it doesn't transform him. He simply becomes more Alleyn-ish, which is likely true of relationships in general. In many of her mysteries, she supplies the token young-couple-in-love, but they are usually rather throw-away characters (the one delightful exception is Peregrine and Emily, a director and actress). 

The most remarkable detective who transforms through love, of course, is Sayers' Wimsey. Harriet realizes that over time, Wimsey has shed many of his self-protective layers and mannerisms. She came into his life--specifically, her case came into his life--at a point when he was either going to continue his self-transformation or retreat back into a self-protective position and role. 

She had the power to force him outside his defenses. Perhaps, seeing her struggling in a trap of circumstances, he had walked out deliberately to her assistance. Or perhaps the sight of of her struggles had warned him what might happen to him, if he remained in a trap of his own making. --Sayers, Gaudy Night 

Orlando from Charlie Cochrane's Cambridge Fellows Series falls into a similar category: he chooses to dive into a relationship with Jonty despite the outside-one's-comfort-zone requirement. 

The transformations are good for the romance AND good for the mysteries! 

 

Monsters with Lovers--Okay, Vampires Too

On Votaries, I discuss the time-honored tradition of providing the Monster's point of view, a tradition that goes back to the beginning of literature. 

In terms of romance, Monsters sometimes have romantic partners or, rather, romantic interests. In Dracula Tape, Saberhagen uses original Dracula's obsessive interest in Mina to create a real relationship of mutual interest; they worked together in more than one book. Jekyll in Stevenson's book expresses little interest in a romantic partner but just about every adaptation, including movies, gives him that interest. And Grendel's mom--even in the original text--cares for him! (The parent-child relationship with monsters, including Frankenstein's monster, also has a strong tradition.) 

Vampires, of course, have more romantic partners than...veins in a body (seriously: veins are to an extent uncountable). 

I generally find vampire literature, even vampire manga, rather dull. Years ago, when I was still submitting short stories to magazines, I read a "what we are looking for" blurb that stated, "Please don't send us vampire stories!" 

And that was nearly 20 years ago! 

I partly dislike vampire literature because unlike Dracula and Nosferatu, current vampires always seem to belong to cliques/gangs/extended families, and the ensuing politics bore me. The one-on-one stuff is better, but even there, how many angst-y passages about lack of sunlight can one read, sit through? 

That is, I feel about vampire literature the same way I feel about dystopia fiction: I read one or two; isn't that enough? (With dystopia fiction, I read Lord of the Flies; seriously, isn't that enough?) 

However, Demon Under the Waxing Moon by Fumi Tsuyuhisa is worth mentioning because although the demon drinks blood (and sex becomes the substitute, as it does in much vampire erotica), the manga actually has a plot! In addition, the main human character, Minoru, has a distinct personality--and he is generally unafraid of his demon lover. The demon lover also has a rather delightful desire to please his human.  

I will still go for (yet another) office romance first.  

Dumb Trope: Good Guys Are Always Right

One of the dumber tropes is, Good guys are right because they are good. 

NCIS used this trope to an extent with Gibbs, but it wasn't entirely aggravating because Gibbs's "gut" is established early-on as a "given"--and also because Gibbs is capable of doubt. (In the same way, Saitama's incredible power--a "given"--is a source of angst.) 

The trope gets more aggravating when the reader is supposed to accept that a couple is broad-minded and tolerant yet...isn't it amazing how many characters who simply disagree with the couple end up suffering terrible ends? Rather like Victorian "bad" children who choke to death or fall down wells. 

A series that I otherwise liked up to the last book became so vindictive in this way, I become increasingly uncomfortable. When the 2 male characters decided to get married and selected a pizza place for the reception, I thought, "Well, that pizza place better not make the mildest objection--not even being closed that day. Otherwise, it's going to burn down!" 

I've encountered this "God or fate delivered just punishment to the people we despise" idea in religious fiction (which supports growing proof that the fundamentalist right and progressive left are staffed by the same types of people). 

In either case, what is happening is not tolerance or compassion. For that matter, it's not good versus evil. It's not as magnanimous as the former or as big-picture, difficult, and objective as the latter. 

It is rather a run amuck version of high-schoolers-clawing-up-the-social-ladder.  

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder: Really?

A common trope I rather dislike is the trope of the disappearing significant other. 

The idea is that a couple is dating. They are still figuring out their feelings. Then, one member disappears on a business trip or into a work project or to another country or to visit parents. Sometimes, the significant other announces the event beforehand but quite often, the vanishing act is unexpected. The first member, the one who was less sure, realizes, "Oh my gosh, I really do love this person!" 

The trope isn't entirely useless. It shows up in Cherry Magic between Tsuge and Minato. However, in that case, it is truly more of a plot point than a crisis. The crisis in the relationship comes later when Tsuge confesses that he can read minds (and Minato reacts far more normally than Kurosawa did to the same revelation from Adachi--though Kurosawa's reaction is hilarious). 

Likewise, Kurosawa and Adachi's separation just when they've started dating creates some tension, which is beautifully resolved (that letter!) but everyone knows about the separation going in. 

What is less believable or bearable is when the vanishing act is used to force feelings I'm not entirely sure a character feels. In Real-Time Fever, Shizuka goes home to tend to his father. Kurosaki, who is something of a playboy, is forced to confront that he wants a full-time relationship with Shizuka--.

Sure, when people don't get what they want, they can get quite possessive. It's one reason that auctions and eBay are so effective for sellers. It's one reason that car dealers say things like, "Oh, it will be gone tomorrow." Desperation, a feeling that one is going to lose out, a sudden flooding of "I want" emotion can swamped the rational part of the brain. 

What happens when the significant other does comes home? For that matter, what happens when the relationship moves from high emotion to everyday life? 

In truth, in reality, absence can break or almost break a relationship--as Only the Ring Finger Knows demonstrates. The heart doesn't get fonder. It gets more self-protective.   

Disabilities in Romance

I recently wrote about Izzy from Voigt's Izzy-Willy-Nilly. A young woman who loses her leg, she worries that she will never have a boyfriend and marry. The fear is not the author's imposition. It is the natural fear of a young woman from a particular social background. 

The book got me thinking about physical disabilities in fiction. Generally speaking, I don't always find them terribly realistic. Far too often, they seem to involve the protagonist feeling as Izzy does followed by the secondary protagonist, the lover, reassuring the first protagonist, "No, no, it was never a concern!" 

Really? Never a concern? Seriously? Yeah, that makes absolutely no sense. It's rather like books where one protagonist purports to love the soul of another. The love is so abstract, it seems kind of valueless. After all, the difficulty and wonder of love is the reality of the physical, everyday experience.  

The manga Love in the Palm of His Hand is far more realistic (so far--Volume 3 comes out in April). Keito, who is deaf, worries that his disability will make life difficult for his boyfriend. Fujinaga worries that he can't learn sign and that his presence will keep Keito from being comfortable in a group of signing friends. They have various mishaps with communication. Keito's brother is less than supportive of their relationship. Both young men worry about Keito being able to enjoy Fujinaga's stage acting. 

What is impressive is that signing (referenced by the title) is not a solve-it-once-because-the-relationship-is-so-perfect event. It is part of the entire relationship. Fujinaga's over-the-top stage acting style has lost him film roles. Yet that same physical expression fits with what he wants to do in the long run. And it enables him to quickly comprehend and enjoy communicating with his boyfriend. 

Disability is used NOT as "see, the lovers overcame something--hurrah" but, rather, as a way to explore how a relationship functions between two distinct people.   

Love After the Passage of Years: Is it Possible?

I mention on Votaries that the Holmes's tale "The Adventure of the Crooked Man" is deeply romantic. Arthur Conan Doyle was a man with a deeply romantic nature--one possible reason his Holmes comes across as somewhat more layered and complex than the man pretends to be. 

The story is a good one, and the Granada production is excellent. 

Interestingly enough, both tale and episode do not try to explain what will happen to Henry Wood next. Will he stay away from Nancy? Will she try to seek him out? Their positions in Edwardian society would make a marriage unlikely. But the question here is more universal. 

With the passage of time, are romantic feelings from the past enough to restart a relationship? 

Stargate SG-1 has a great episode, "The Torment of Tantalus," where Catherine goes through the gate to track down her fiance Dr. Ernest Littlefield who went through the gate 52 years earlier. 

A later passing reference suggests that Catherine and Ernest got back together. 

And I kind of don't buy it. 

In the nurture/nature debate, I tend to come down (partly) on the side of nature, as in genetics. But in the nature/agency debate, I come down on the side of choice. 

A person's character can stay much the same. But that person isn't un-impacted by experience. People make decisions that lead to other decisions that lead to other decisions. C.S. Lewis comments in one of his books that the choices look haphazard at the time but entirely organic and "meant" or fated in retrospect.

As Joe in Joe versus the Volcano remarks, "It's a long crooked road that brought me here to you." 

Is Catherine the same person she was in 1945? In essence, sure. But in lifestyle? Living arrangements? Wants? Needs? 

For instance, the woman is a powerhouse and was when she was younger (excellently played in the episode by Nancy McClure). In 1945, marriage was more of a given. She's managed without marriage for years. And now she's going to change her mind? 

Maybe she just hauls Ernest around with her like an extra retainer. 

As for Nancy and Henry Wood, she might leave her life and go with him. But the time period and their backgrounds could likely preclude them overlooking the social stigmas. 

Maybe the memory of romance in that case is enough. 

The Bratty Lover

Allec is my "bratty lover." Like Rory, 

he saves his older, more stable lover.

One rather adorable archetype in romance is the bratty lover. The character is often younger than the lover, full of piss & vinegar with a sharp tongue and lots of attitude. 

When the archetype works, it is--as noted--adorable and fun. 

Unfortunately, when it doesn't work, it is simply irritating. The character comes off as entitled and self-centered and rather incapable (almost deliberately incapable). 

In Therin's Magic in Manhattan series, Rory is a bratty lover. And he works for several reasons:

1. He isn't entitled. 

His adorableness is built-in, not deliberately cultivated (a character who deliberately cultivates a persona can be interesting but if the purpose is grifting--using others--the deliberate cultivation ultimately fails. Rory, in contrast, is behaving like himself; he has no idea how much he delights his lover, Arthur.

2.  He thinks about others. 

In fact, one of Therin's insightful points is that Rory thinks about all kinds of things, even his complicated relationship with religion. He is aware of people, their variation, their complications. When he starts to figure out Arthur, he goes out of his way to track him down and bring him a meal. 

3. He is fully capable. 

A delightful aspect of the book is that Arthur, the lover, isn't only protective of Rory; he is protective of everyone. 

"You're right, I'm being monstrously overprotective. I'm afraid it's a bad habit of mine. If it makes you feel better, Jade is a telekinetic ex-spy who can kill a man with her mind, and sometimes I can't sleep because I'm afraid she's lost control and accidentally stabbed herself."

"He calls," said Jade.

"I do," Arthur admitted. 

Arthur is protective of Rory, but Rory isn't helpless, and he doesn't practice learned helplessness.

Rory as a bratty lover allows him to be tough as nails, despite several bad events in his past, and to meet Arthur head-on, despite the disparity in class. 

From Yugi Yamada's oeuvre, Naoki plays a similar role with the people around him.  

The Non-Platonic Marriage in Ellis Peters

A sub-sub-sub genre of romance is the platonic marriage. It also shows up in the occasional movie--the straight and gay best friends who raise a baby together, for instance. (Hey, Boston Legal did a variation!)

Generally speaking, I'm not a fan. Brennan in Bones has a point when she refutes that she and Booth are "friends." I don't entirely agree since I think friendship--the ability to talk to someone about anything--is one of the most positive aspects of a relationship. 

But I do agree with her in the sense that I think that an intimate relationship does, in fact, imply a physical relationship. 

One of the best platonic yet physical relationships occurs in The Excellent Mystery by Ellis Peters.  

*Spoilers.* 

A young woman who was engaged to a crusader from a young age learns that he has chivalrously acquitted himself in battle. But he was mortally wounded, to the point where he can no longer father children. He releases her from the betrothal and enters a Benedictine order as Brother Humilis. She dresses as a young man and enters as Brother Fidelis. (Interestingly enough, as educated monks, they are both put to work in the scriptorium.) She becomes his closest confidant and cares for him. In the end, he figures out who she is and expresses his love and gratitude. 

It is incredibly touching--and an entirely physical union. Peters makes clear that some more dogmatic members of society considered an engagement the equivalent of marriage. Julian, the young woman, was instructed as much. She considers them wed and claims her rights to his physical body. She baths him, dresses his wound. He is young-ish, in his forties, but his wound is the type that in that time period will eventually result in weakness and death. In a final act of chivalry before he dies, he does what he can to preserve her reputation. 

The book is beautifully written. Although disguises are not always believable, Peters establishes the "rules" that allow us, the readers, to accept Julian's disguise. The same rules prepare us for her husband to glean the truth. In a final act, while they are seated together, he acknowledges the blessing of her companionship. Her grief at his death is awesome (in the old-fashioned sense of the word: heartfelt and entirely physical). 

An excellent marriage indeed! 

Trips to Shrines in Romance Manga

Trips to local shrines on New Year's are more common events in manga than couples spending Christmas together. Many times, couples do both. 

The shrine trip is less romantically charged than Christmas. Like with Hallmark movies, the Christmas moment carries a strong expectation of something outside of everyday life. In comparison, the shrine trips are more likely to evoke complaints about the weather, the crowds, the time of day as well as, with certain manga, worries about school. They are more likely, too, to supply jokes. The romance slides in unexpectedly as part of everyday life. 

While I enjoy some sentimentality, a little goes a long way. Ultimately, I find the everyday life romance somewhat more enchanting. I will grant that part of that enchantment could be the cultural uniqueness (for me). 

But even there, I rather like how cultural uniqueness is treated as "Hey, this is life!"