I am a fan of all types of romance, from grocery store paperbacks to classics, from shojo manga to yaoi manga and light novels, from lush anime to screwball comedies. I am fascinated by the characters, the plots, the writing, and the themes. This blog focuses on yaoi manga with forays into other mediums and genres. Romance or writing is usually the focus.
Showing posts with label Romance Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romance Stories. Show all posts
Some of the truths/lessons embedded in the tales crop up more than once; overall, the truths tackle many facets of the human condition--they apply to romance but don't tackle it specifically.
The one tale that uses romance provides a lesson that applies to the general human condition.
That one tale is "The Rose & the Butterfly." The Butterfly falls in love with the Rose. However, then the Butterfly flits off to do its stuff. When the Butterfly returns, the Rose complains. The Butterfly replies:
I had no sooner left you than I saw Zephyr kissing you. You carried on
scandalously with Mr. Bumble Bee and you made eyes at every single Bug
you could see. You can't expect any constancy from me!
The larger truth is that one cannot expect constancy if one doesn't practice it.
The reality of Aesop is that Aesop used observations of the non-human world to craft the fables. Animals and plants behave in accordance with pre-determined natures. Butterflies don't stay in one place. Sheep are often eaten. Wolves are wholly dangerous. Foxes are sneaky and clever. As for amphibians and reptiles: watch out!
The one creature that behaves contrary to a pattern is Man, as in the Man & the Satyr, in which the Man blows on his hands to warm them and on his soup to cool it. The attached moral is rather belabored (I think the story is supposed to be a joke, not a lesson). The point is: the man (unlike the animals) behaves unpredictably.
It is out of unpredictability that romance arises.
Isis and Osiris are one of the oldest and most classic of the romantic couples.
They don't, however, have quite the narrative staying power of Cupid & Psyche, and the reason likely comes down to all their devotion occurring in absence, rather like Monk and Queen Victoria forever mourning their spouses.
Set kills Osiris and eventually cuts him into pieces (the first serial killer!). Isis goes looking for him (the first female detective!) with the help of her sister, Nephthys.
She finds him and preserves him, creating the first mummy. At this point, in some versions, Set finds the mummy and dissembles it. Isis reassembles almost all the parts! Despite some, ah, missing parts, she is able to conceive Horus.
Even when reanimated, Osiris doesn't entirely cross over into mortality. Instead, he presides over the underworld, where he becomes judge.
Historically, pharaohs eventually became associated with Osiris and actually took on the persona of Osiris when they died.
Isis continued on as an earth-bound goddess with her own temples and worship--though she could descend into the underworld.
(It helps to keep in mind that the myth is extremely old and has multiple renditions.)
In any case, as one of the earliest seminal romantic myths, it falls more into Sleepless in Seattle territory than You've Got Mail--more about what the lovers do away from each other than what they do when they are hanging out together.
Romances seems to generally fall into one of these two categories: how the lovers prove their affection and undying loyalty despite separation versus how the couple gets along as the relationship evolves.
I prefer the latter but find it fascinating how old the first trope proves to be!
The problem is that Xander's vision, which leads him to call off the wedding, is not based on Xander and Anya's actual personalities.
It is, rather, a twenty-something generic vision of "marriage-bad!" Someone as intelligent and commonsensical as Xander should have been able to see through it. But he doesn't.
It's bad writing. The sheer immaturity sends the show back into high school territory (which it never comfortably left).
Good Example: Al and Ilene in Home Improvement
Al and Ilene start dating in Season 2. In Season 5, they get engaged. In Season 6, the day of the wedding, they break-up.
It's entirely believable for several reasons: one, both parties have had doubts for a while; two, the overall impression, throughout Seasons 2-6, is that the relationship was mostly based on two reasonably decent people enjoying a relationship based on being reasonably decent people. They aren't compatible. They just aren't jerks. They could arguably have gotten married and the marriage could have arguably worked, but the moment when they both wanted marriage for its own sake has passed.
The fact that Ilene gets engaged almost immediately after the break-up is a give-away.
From a writing perspective, I think the Home Improvement writers realized that they wanted to save Al's marriage for the final season. The time for the wedding, from a writing perspective, had also passed.
Note: This is scriptural exegesis. For more about belief, go here.
The best way to understand the letters of Paul in the New Testament is to understand that Paul's Road to Damascus moment entails an entire shift away from the idea of a shaming or vengeful or punishing God.
The God and gods of the ancient world were calmed through propitiation--that is, in order to not be blasted, one had to perform certain sacrifices. Paul distinguishes (understandably, considering his background) between the fair-minded God of his upbringing and the capricious gods of paganism. However, in the end, he denounces the entire concept as no longer relevant.
Instead, Paul presents a fairly basic theology: God loves us. We should love Him. We know He loves us because of Jesus Christ, who performed the ultimate act of propitiation, making it no longer necessary for us to do so.
Unfortunately, the desire to propitiate or appease for the sake of reward is very strong in the human soul--and it doesn't start or end with religion. Take a look at various political parties, organizations, and groups who insist on absolute obedience to forms, rituals, and language, all for the sake of insider status. (High school cliques run amuck.)
Paul is upending this--and it is a total shock (people still fight very hard to defend you-break-my-rules-you-are-punished ideologies).
Take 1 Corinthians 6. Many Christians interpret Paul's passage about the body being a temple as an act of propitiation by humans towards a God who may, at any hint of a mistake, remove his grace. Do good and pure things, good and pure things will happen to you since your body will remain a temple. Do bad and impure things, bad and awful things will happen to you since your body will not remain a temple.
But that's not what Paul is arguing. (Note: I use the King James Version because I like how lovely it sounds--I have compared the KJV to other translations and to the original meaning of several words.)
Paul starts by discussing lawsuits between members of the Christian community. He is understandably ticked.
His initial argument: Don't do this in front of other people! It makes us looks bad!
Then, as is typical with Paul, the argument veers. Not only are all these lawsuits making the Christian community look bad, suing each other is bad behavior itself.
He has a point. People who purport to be loving and forgiving are yelling at each other in front of Judge Judy? I mean,
come on. (Keep in mind, neighbors are more likely to sue neighbors.
Still...)
Paul asks, Why not take the hit? (Seriously--that's what he says, "Why do ye not rather take wrong? Why do ye not rather suffer yourselves to be defrauded?")
Then--following the thread of the argument--he begins to discuss types of behavior that disqualify a person's character not only in a worldly court but in the kingdom (court) of Heaven: "fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, effeminate, abusers of themselves with mankind, thieves, covetous, drunkards, revilers, extortioners."
People who like to create groups to blame stuff on (and ignore the tenth verse mention of "revilers") point to this passage as being against homosexuals. It isn't. In the context of ancient societies, "effeminate" would have referred to men (and women) who preen and flaunt themselves to attract members of the opposite sex (all those teens shopping at the mall!). "Abusers of themselves with mankind" most likely referred to quid pro quo associations between men: money and political favors for sex (Paul created a new term to describe what he was referring to; the closest translation I've found that captures both denotation and connotation is "dirty old men" but the truth is, nobody really knows what Paul meant although ancient writers after him, who did apparently know what he meant, use the term in the "dirty old men" sense; in any case, the KJV translation is quite accurate).
What the angry, blaming people (and often, the defensive, antagonized people) usually ignore is that Paul is grouping all these behaviors together. The common factor? Instant gratification for the sake of personal convenience at the expense of the social contract: I need that, I take it; I want that, naturally someone should give it to me; I'm in a mood, yeah, whatever, let's scratch that itch. I must be noticed and admired--where's my social media? I want to get ahead? By whatever means! Then I'll call people names because I feel like it. By the way, I want to get back at my neighbor; how soon can I sue him?
Paul then begins a debate on ownership. In other words, what should stop us from simply taking what we want when we want it because, hey, whatever, we feel like that today? What belongs to whom? Does something belong to me due to the time I spent to get it? The money I have? My need? Inherent right? Emotional upheaval? If I feel strongly enough about something in a particular moment, does that justify my behavior?
The problem, Paul determines, isn't the outcome--the problem is focus. So to the argument "all things are lawful unto me," he adds "but all things are not expedient." (You CAN sue your neighbor because you covet your neighbor's view or because you despise your neighbor's taste in politics--doesn't mean it's not a total waste of time plus kind of tacky.)
His conclusion is stunning. He does not conclude that pursuing/focusing on instant gratification will ban people from God's sight or shame them into submission. Instead, he completely switches gears and begins to ponder, What does God buy or go to court for? Not instant
gratification obviously. Instead, He bought us through Jesus Christ (apparently, He thought we were worth it).
What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God's. (my emphasis)
In other words, in the realm of price and cost--money and time--wasting one's means on lawsuits is frankly embarrassing and petty. But, hey, Paul adds, so are a lot of other things. Buying those shoes (or, in my case, those DVDs) when I'm already in debt in order to get my instant entertainment fix (especially when I have plenty of stuff to watch at home) is a tad short-sighted.
Paul points out, It's not like God wastes His buying power on such temporary stuff. If God bought us, then why not be less of a jerk about what we buy (focus on)? It's not like all these mortal problems aren't temporary anyway (that's Paul's fatalism showing). God wants us to love him, so why not try loving Him rather than, you know, suing people, getting drunk, and making other people's lives miserable with our reviling? For that matter, why not try loving others in the same way that God loves us?
A great marriage is the Carlsons from WKRP in Cincinnati.
Gordon Jump plays the sweet-tempered, often waffling manager of the radio station (ostensibly--the station's finances are controlled by his mother). He is not quite a canny dope since he knows what is going on almost all the time; he just doesn't want to be involved (most of the time). He has a strong moral sense, however, and will make tie-breaking decisions on occasion.
His wife, Carmen Carlson, played by Allyn Ann McLerie, is sweet, gentle, and practical. She exhibits a thorough understanding of her husband and an utter lack of jealousy regarding receptionist Jennifer (played expertly and smartly by Loni Anderson).
What makes them such a great couple is that they are so totally compatible. Many great television couples get along but have different interests. Vanessa Baxter, for example, loves her outspoken, down-to-earth husband Mike--but still wishes he was more neighbor-friendly.
Not the Carlsons. The episode "A Simple Little Wedding" highlights their compatibility regarding people and interests. Back in the day, they eloped. To make up for that elopement, they've decided to remarry. However, just like the first time, they find themselves contending with people who insist on throwing them bachelor and bachelorette parties plus a controlling mother (mother-in-law) who wants to force them into a huge wedding with thousands of high society guests.
They decide to elope again. Neither of them value high society, forced gaiety, or uninvited attention. They are quiet, unassuming, kindly people who want to live out their quiet, unassuming, kindly lives together.
I've reached Season 2 of Love Boat. Somewhere around the end of Season 1, I asked myself, "Do none of these onboard romances fail? Wouldn't some failure not only be realistic but illustrate the sad side of love?"
Agatha Christie tackled the sad, even tragic side of love in her Harley Quinn tales in which she argued that people are capable of killing and obsessing and mourning for love. Can't have Pride & Prejudice without Romeo & Juliet.
Generally speaking, I find the sad, tragic side of love uninspiring. It's not that difficult to kill characters off and make the audience feel bad about it. Why bother?
Still, if I'm a writer on The Love Boat, I'm going to be looking for whatever material I can, including some failed romances. Does anyone leave the boat not as a repaired/fixed/meant-to-be pair?
Here it is: Season 2, "The 'Now' Marriage".
And it's clever. Which is doubly impressive.
A husband and wife come on board. The husband, Todd, is clearly going through a mid-life crisis. He wrote a book about open marriage: how having affairs will strengthen a marriage, draw the couple closer together. He has persuaded himself to believe in this idea and has persuaded his wife, Eleanor, to give him tacit permission to stray. She objects but his intellectual arguments override hers.
Keep in mind: this is not a polyamorous relationship. This is a guy who wants to get something-something on the side and will use a theory to make it happen. He's no Professor Marston.
For one, he doesn't want his wife to "experiment." And he doesn't intend to stay with the young grad student he picks up on board. He wants to live in the "now." Then go back to his regular life (until he wants to live in the "now" again, of course).
As long as all parties agree, it sounds perfectly acceptable. What Todd's approach doesn't take into account is the law of unintended consequences. The grad student falls for him. When he condescendingly explains to her that their relationship was all about experiencing life in the present and she should let herself experience the pain as well, she responds, "You really believe all that junk you write. Well, I'll tell you something: in theory it's great. But when you're personally involved--it hurts."
She then pours her drink in his lap. It's one thing to theorize; it's another to actually play with a person's emotions.
In the meantime, Eleanor, the wife, becomes good friends with Captain Stubbins, who squires her about in a gentlemanly fashion. She starts out the voyage desperate and sad. She ends with a strong sense of her own worth, except her worth is tied to herself, not to waiting desperately for her husband to get over his experiments.
In many episodes, this sequence would involve the interfering crew "fixing" the relationship. Captain Stubbins and Todd's wife would conspire to force Todd to face up to what he is losing. In fact, up until the very end, I thought the grad student might be a "plant."
But no--the law of unintended consequences applies.
"I knew once you overcame your fears, this experiment would work," Todd tells his wife at the end. "The point [of my affair] is it was a freeing experience, personal growth, something I can bring to enrich our marriage."
"Todd," Eleanor responds. "There's no marriage to enrich."
And she walks out. For good. No last minute reconciliation when the boat reaches home. She's gone.
Unintended consequences. And a good point about why people need some underlying moral compass about relationships in the first place. Because people don't react according to a playbook or theory.
Romances can be grouped into two very general categories: discovery and new beginnings.
Discovery is finding the love of one's life. It can entail actual discovery, an exploration, or revelation. In "Sleeping Beauty," the prince has to make his way through dangers, dragons (movie version) and thorns to reach the woman of his (sometimes literal) dreams. In "Beauty & the Beast," the great love is discovered hidden within the beast.
New beginnings is about starting over, recovering from a broken relationship, the thought "I'll never love again," the death of a mate, the cessation of hope. Sometimes it involves a change of locations as well as a change of relationships. Often it involves resolutions.
The two themes often go together--with an emphasis on one. Moonstruck, for instance, is about Cher's character Loretta discovering her fiance's brother but it is more about Loretta reclaiming her life and future. Bread & Tulips likewise is about two people, who meet almost accidentally, beginning new lives for themselves and with each other.
Eddie & Jamie, Season 8 finale
Recognition is a key component in both categories. It operates in the second as a way to change the direction of a relationship--as with Jamie and Eddie's relationship on Blue Bloods. Okay, yes, we all knew it was going to happen eventually! But the characters had to undergo a moment of catharsis in order to jump-start their new beginning.
Granted, Jamie and Eddie's relationship comes with greater optimism than the possibly renewed relationship between Erin and Jack. The audience has been able to watch how well Jamie and Eddie work together for several seasons now. Frankly, going right to the marriage proposal was one of the smartest things the writers could have done.
"Baggage" is the problem that haunts the New Beginning romance for couples trying to re-new their relationship. Jamie and Eddie are exceptions. Generally speaking, the New Beginning romance works best when the focus is on one character's personal catharsis or new understanding. Life is renewed because that character sees it anew. Scrooge with romance.
Martin on Frasier is a great example of a character who sees life anew as he recovers from the death of his wife, the damage to his hip, and his estranged relationships with his sons. In one excellent Frasier episode, Martin remembers life as a cop before he was forced to retire. Before he leaves for his current part-time job as a security guard, he kisses his surprised sons goodbye.
Ronnie completes the life Martin is reclaiming; she doesn't make it happen.
As I wrote in a previous post, "But then I believe that history does NOT repeat itself: each event in history is a
fully complex occurrence with its own background and issues. The
event's complexity--the historical personages, their
interactions, their choices--deserves attention and understanding. Consequently, when I read historical fiction, I expect the characters to
be historical characters, not modern characters plunked into a
historical milieu. "
I want to clarify how difficult this is: Often non-writers think that "good" writers would be able to fix all these pesky writing problems if they just tried hard enough. Hey, I've accused writers of being lazy myself.
The fact is, some things are simply hard to do. This is one reason I get annoyed when non-writers think that a movie would have been better if the studio simply paid everyone more--or that Hollywood's approach to religion is always bad because Hollywood itself is amoral and secular. That is, the writing problem is not attributed to the writing but to an inherent "original sin" flaw.
The truth is, transferring an idea to the page has never been easy.
One of those non-easy writing things is capturing the historical thinking of a moment. This isn't simply hard to do between, say, the twentieth century and the nineteenth century; according to Daniel Gilbert, it is difficult for people to do between their adult years and their teens years--or between this week and last Friday.
--from The Reluctant Berserker
After all, it isn't as if the characters can say, "Hey,
let's use the language of submissive-dominant sex
theory to discuss stuff." They have to use the
language and analogies they have to hand.
Humans have a hard time capturing the exact experience of the past, which is why shows like 1900s House looked awfully like Turn of the Century (2000) House with 1900s Trimmings.
There are writers who accomplish this history-in-present thinking. *Slight Spoilers* In Beecroft's The Reluctant Berserker, which takes place in Saxon England, the men's love is not defined in modern terms. That would be incomprehensible to them. Instead, it is defined using the terms of their culture: master and slave. They manage to transcend it, but not by adopting modern terminology. They transcend "master and slave" by finding the chivalric silver lining, a mindset that they can comprehend. Their lingual passwords are not rooted in the nineteenth century concept of "love" (slowly being worked out in Austen's fiction) but in far older concepts of "disgrace" and "honor."
Many of Christie's mysteries depend on
class indifference to servants. She was aware
of them; she knew others of her class and
time period weren't.
In KJ Charles's A Gentleman's Position, the
lovers--a gentleman and his valet--have a built in excuse to be in each
other's company. Problems arise from the gentleman's trained belief
that (1) a gentleman never takes advantage of his servant; (2) a servant
is a different class of person from a gentleman.
The
issues are partly resolved by the valet's enthusiastic consent, but the
ingrained historical beliefs interestingly (and correctly) take longer to shake. The valet
is offended by the implication that he couldn't possible want to be valet; he ought
to want to be a secretary, which is a more "respectable" position. He
points out that as a valet (and a kind of general factotum), he is the
gentleman's right-hand-man with an impressively retentive memory, the
ability to handle and problem-solve any crisis, and a wily instinct for
improbable solutions.
Since he can't read and write
well, he'd make a terrible secretary. Why should he give up a job he is
good at to be more "acceptable" as a lover? Meanwhile, his aristocratic lover has to struggle against the deep-grained belief that he is automatically taking advantage simply due to the other man's birth.
These kinds of problems/solutions get to the heart of issues that concerned Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen. And they indicate an ability on the part of the author to anticipate more than merely costume and outward historical issues, to tackle inner mental historical mindsets.
