Great Sci-Fi Couple: Sarek and Amanda

On Votaries, I am writing about characters: good characters, bad characters...

I have reached "D" and must mention that Diane Duane does a fantastic job with Sarek and Amanda in her Star Trek novels, especially Spock's World.

For all Sarek's gruffness, he belongs in the ranks of notable romantic males because he is drawn to strong, outspoken, direct women. His second wife, Perrin, who appears in Star Trek: The Next Generation, carries herself with the same impressive confidence as Amanda.

His wives are also quite unapologetically friendly and human, precluding the idea that like must fall in love with like. They don't attempt to turn themselves into Vulcans, simply because their husband is rather quintessentially Vulcan.

The actresses are Jane Wyatt and Joanna Miles. Sarek, of course, is played by Mark Lenard, whom I consider the definitive version.  (I am aware that James Frain plays the younger Sarek, which casting choice I considered a vast improvement on Ben Cross. However, I haven't seen any James Frain episodes.)

In Spock's World, Diane Duane goes back before the series to give us readers Sarek and Amanda's courtship. Amanda is a translator and comes in contact with Sarek over the translation of the word that could mean "no emotion" or "restrained emotion." She can get him to laugh! She later becomes head of his House--a large extended family--on Vulcan.

In the Star Trek mystery novel The Vulcan Academy Murders by Jean Lorrah, a woman tries to kill off Amanda because she is smitten with Sarek and thinks she will only have a chance if Amanda is out of the way. 

I so admired Duane and Lorrah's expansion of Sarek and Amanda's relationship, in my own fan fiction (about a different couple) I evoke Sarek and Amanda: a crazy human woman moves to Vulcan, thinking that moving to Vulcan is all she has to do to become another Amanda. Since the crazy woman is otherwise culturally "deaf," she keeps offending people as she tries to snag herself a high-powered Vulcan man.

Hey, Sarek is hot and only has eyes for Amanda. And Amanda is something of a powerhouse!

Instant plot fodder.

Great Sci-Fi Couple: Mulder and Scully, Great Romantic Friends

I'm a huge fan of Mulder and Scully. I think they fall into the "Friendship" category of romantic partners rather than the "Knight and Damsel in Distress" or "Instant Attraction" categories. (There are more categories, but the last two are the ones that popped to mind.)

For example, although Mulder does sacrifice himself for Scully, he also plays Mulder as rather remote. Mulder cannot live without Scully, and his enemies know that. But at the same time, he will never fully commit, never get too close, never (really) admit any consuming need for Scully (I'm referring specifically to Seasons 1-6). Duchovny often plays his feelings for Scully "off" or sideways. I don't know if this is Chris Carter. I suspect not. I suspect it is Duchovny.

And I think this is fairly clever. The point, for me, of the Mulder-Scully relationship is that the final "I love you! I love you!" confrontation is unnecessary because they have already been living a "marriage" for most of the seasons. Their relationship is the relationship of people who are so far gone in terms of intimacy with another human being, Mulder's "Back off!" signs are completely pointless. Which will not, of course, stop Mulder from putting them up. And Scully is willing to put up with Mulder putting them up. Which consequently gives the relationship more edge, more reality, than most romantic TV relationships.

*My favorite indication of this "offness" coupled with reality is in "Memento Mori" when Scully tells Mulder that she has cancer and instead of getting maudlin, he says, "I refuse to accept that." I LOVE that line: "I refuse to accept that." Somehow, it makes Mulder so much more real and more passionate than the usual romantic hero and yet, at the same time, gives you a sense of Mulder's remoteness. (Mind you, that sort of inaccessibility is great to watch on the screen but not so great to fall for in real life.)

Sci-Fi Couple: Charlie and Amita

Technically, Charlie and Amita from Numb3rs are not science-fiction. They belong to a contemporary police procedural type mystery. 

But they fall into the category of great friends and lovers who delve, together, into unique scientific disciplines. Their specialties overlap yet are quite distinct as are their interests. Charlie is more prone to figuring out a problem in his head--and writing a book--while Amita sees a potential for emergence, "a game taking on a life of its own."

The most telling aspect of Charlie and Amita's relationship--the thing that makes them a sci-fi geeky couple--is Larry's quote after Charlie and Amita try to go on dates and talk about "normal" things (movies and such). 

Dr. Larry Fleinhardt: That there's something else you have to talk about [strikes me as odd]. See, where you see two people unable to talk about politics or movies--

Charlie Eppes: Hey, movies, I - I can - I can talk about - I just saw the penguin movie.

Dr. Larry Fleinhardt: --I see two extraordinary minds that can communicate on the purest level a man and woman can interface on. [Pauses to think.] Okay, second purest.

Charlie Eppes: Geek love.

Dr. Larry Fleinhardt: Hey, no better kind.

Larry's point, which later proves correct, is that rather than the mundane, domestic events proceeding the extraordinary and sublime, the relationship can work the other way round. Charlie and Amita do become a functional couple (they can discuss house-hunting as well as the cosmos). 

The potential for both is indicated early on before Charlie and Amita are "steady"--but they have been working together for awhile.

Amita wants to help a young Indian woman and doesn't know how. Charlie says, "Why not ask your grandmother? She seemed to have good ideas." Charlie is talking out loud--he isn't trying to tell Amita what to do--but his suggestion gives her an epiphany, and she kisses him.  

Geek love-to-real life: it's possible!

Can Someone Love a Clone (the Same)?

Not a duplicate.

A few years ago, I read an article about people getting their dog's DNA frozen, so when the dog died, they could have their best friend back. 

The context of the article was to point out that cloning pets was possible--but cloning cats would actually produce varied fur color. Whatever in the DNA produces fur color isn't something that works A = A. 

At the time, the article was mostly positive: you'll get your pet back! Nowadays, the attitude of such articles and websites is far more tempered, and companies that offer the storage of DNA include the caveat "the cloned pet will share traits" rather than "it's a copy!"  

What's strange to me is that anybody actually ever believed the clone would be a copy. 

I never thought cloning would produce the same person or pet. Not then. Not now. Who ever believed that? (Of course, I read Cherryh's unparalleled Cyteen, which covers the reality of cloning, in my early twenties. See below.) Identical twins aren't the same. Why would a pet be? Even if the primary difference between the two cats or dogs is environment, if the prior version of the pet was trained and the second isn't, what a person gets, ultimately, is an untrained pet. 

I never bought the idea in sci-fi either--or in magic. 

*Spoilers*

In 609 Bedtime Story, Mum falls in love with Dew from a parallel universe. Dew is shot. The shooting is due to a sequence of events that started in college and rests ultimately upon Dew not taking full responsibility for his choices. He isn't evil and arguably some of the fall-out is unforeseen. But he is the catalyst. 

So Dew takes responsibility--and dies anyway but dies without causing another person's death. 

Mum then realizes that Dew is alive in his own universe and acts as if he is the same person. As do the writers.

The story is a good one. But I can't call the series one of my favorites. The reason is partly the soap opera element (a lot of things go wrong in people's lives!). The other reason is, I did not consider the second Dew the same guy. 

There are similarities, and I could buy into the idea that Mum and Dew would start over...which they kind of do until ANOTHER Mum shows up from another parallel universe and acts as if Dew is the exact same guy. 

What is with these people? 

The more I read regarding nature/nurture/personality, the more I believe that "memories" are a huge part of identity as well as continuity. In No Two Alike Judith Rich Harris argues that reliable studies show the following: genetics account for about 45-50% of potential traits. (That is, two twins might both have a scientific bent--doesn't mean they will both go into the sciences.) Other than evil serial-killer-producing parents, guardians account for little more than 10-12% of where a person ends up.

The rest is a big fat question mark. Harris thinks the answer is the influence of peer groups. I think it is...a big fat question mark! 

My point here is that between environment, culture, and genetics plus lots of questions, memories create our sense of self, how we came about--the crooked path, as appears in Joe versus the Volcano. That is, the stories we string together in our minds about ourselves or about others are held together by a traceable continuity. Harari points out in Sapiens that humans are the only animals who can create bonds based entirely on an imagined entity. 

Without that imagination and those memories, however confabulated, it is hard to know if a person is still that person. Entirely. 

A clone will not have those same memories. Even an adult clone arrives in a narrative from a sideways position--halfway through--with its own continuity. When the alternate universe Dew version is gone, any other Dew-looking guy is going to conjure up not a sense of connection but, I suggest, a sense of loss.

C.J. Cherryh in her seminal work Cyteen makes the same point. Two brothers (Denis and Giraud Nys) attempt to recreate their institution's "genius" Ariane Emory. They can "clone" her intelligence and drive--but not the particular events that drove her in a particular direction. The clone is far less messed up despite sharing a similar personality, genius, and awareness. For one, her "mother" isn't killed (the brothers don't go that far) but, rather, sent away. A missing mother is not the same as a dead mother. The change creates a different understanding and awareness within the young girl who becomes the adult. 

Her genetics are the same. She is not. And Cherryh, the author, doesn't treat her as the same as her predecessor. For one--and most importantly--her interactions with the main male protagonists, Justin and Grant, are entirely new. She has her own memories based on her own experiences.

C.J. Cherryh wrote Cyteen in 1988.

Rules Help: 609 Bedtime Story

I mention elsewhere that Thai dramas are generally far longer than they need to be--so much so in some cases, that the original premise gets lost. 

609 Bedtime Story at 11 episodes is an exception, and I postulate that one reason for the exception is that it utilizes fantasy rules.

The rules are ostensibly scientific, but the overall premise is more magic than science. Two young men share the same apartment in different universes. The universes only connect for an hour a night. And they operate in reverse order, so Mum visits Dew's universe at the end of their relationship--and sees him shot to death. He then visits Dew over a month until Dew meets him for the first time.

In the meantime, the time in each universe proceeds forward. 

It is less confusing than it sounds--unless one tries to make sense of the time factor, which I don't recommend. I would have to watch the series many more times to check if the writers were consistent. 

In any case, they make no glaring errors, and the attempt to stick to the rules--so (1) Mum and Dew know each other to a differing degree in each episode and (2) even though the end is in the beginning, Mum doesn't figure out the end--the murderer--until his time catches up to Dew's time--forced discipline onto the story. 

The episodes do not suddenly throw in crazy parents and an excess of minor rivals to keep the series going an extra four to five episodes. The episodes have to link up.

Truth is, 609 Bedtime Story isn't my favorite Thai paranormal series. That would be Dear Doctor. But 609 Bedtime Story has fewer story writing flaws than many other series. It also showcases some fairly impressive acting with strong character payoffs.

In regards to the writing, the rules helped.  

(I will address the problem of "cloning"--falling in love with a character who is not the character--at a later date.)

Writing Problem: Modern Jargon

I was recently quite disappointed with a new M/M romance by an author that I generally trust. She has written a number of books I enjoy and even admire. 

The book was ostensibly historical--but was, actually, an alternate world, which used modern jargon. 

However approved, terms like "gender" and "they," as a reference to an individual who ducks biological designations, are jargon. 

The result: the book felt incredibly dated. I gave up.

It was a curious experience since I've read other books that use both terms and didn't come away from my reading with the same reaction. I've determined that the difference comes down to something that Jane Austen--to use a worthy example--manages in her books: she uses references, vocabulary, and very occasionally slang in her novels. Yet, they don't feel dated.

The references and vocabulary and slang are appropriate to her characters. Similar to Stephen King's cussing blue-collar Mainers, the dialog doesn't feel forced. It is how people talk (in comparison, I've read literary pieces full of swear words that felt completely hammed-up). 

In one book, where critical thinking jargon such as "gender" and "they" appear, the alternate world is actually our world--post-COVID (which event is cleverly used)--in the omegaverse (a world where men bear children). The terms are used by characters who would in fact use them. In context, they point to a complex political and media reaction to an unexpected bonding outcome. 

In another book, the terms are actually not used though the concepts are addressed. Since the concepts are addressed from within the character's historical perspectives, they come across as natural reflections rather than belabored, pushy preaching. 

The same differences occur in Star Trek: TOS. The episodes that take place within the Star Trek universe, even though they reflect modern concerns, come across as natural extensions of that milieu and those characters. 

But the episodes that deliberately try to comment on the modern world come across as dated--even when amusing.

"Charlie X" works. "The Way to Eden" is painful.

"Turnabout Intruder" raises questions while remaining truthful to its premise. "Wolf in the Fold" (which I personally like) fails. 

"Space Seed" is excellent. "Return to Yesterday" is fun and less painful to watch than "Assignment: Earth" but still dated.  

"The City On the Edge of Forever" is fantastic, despite referencing peace movements in America--contemporary to the writing of the episode. 

When story takes precedence, story adequately carries theme and perspective. When it doesn't, the entire edifice falls apart.

Sci-Fi Heroine: Lieutenant Chloe & Katherine Beckett

In a hilarious and fairly meta Castle episode "The Final Frontier," Nebula Nine, the sci-fi show invented for the episode, is a pastiche and tribute and spoof of the tacky side of sci-fi, similar to Wormhole X-Treme on Stargate SG-1. 

The heroine is Lieutenant Chloe. She is played by the episode's villainess, Stephanie Frye, but Lieutenant Chloe herself is someone that Beckett continues to admire. 

In fact, Beckett delivers one of the greatest speeches in favor of sci-fi heroines (and why so-called critics and so-called feminists should lay off criticizing past/historical sci-fi that doesn't appear to live up to their standards):

BECKETT: You're right, okay? It was a stupid show. It was cheesy and melodramatic. I mean, a handful of academy cadets on a training mission, and suddenly, the earth is destroyed and they're all that's left of humanity? I completely understand why you hated it. But I also understand why people loved it, why Anabelle loved it. It was about leaving home for the first time, about searching for your identity and making a difference. I loved dressing up like Lieutenant Chloe. She didn't care what anybody thought about her, and I kinda did at that time. I mean, she was a scientist and a warrior, and that was all in spite of the way that she looked. It was like I could be anything, and I didn't have to choose. So don't make fun, okay?

Beckett having fun!

Frakes having fun--he directed!

Sci-Fi Heroine: Gwen DeMarco

Naturally, Sigourney Weaver is way up on the list of fantastic sci-fi actors! She especially excels as Gwen DeMarco.

The great scene, of course, is when she keeps repeating the computer's instructions as she did as Tawny Madison on the show Galaxy Quest (which has now become "real" due to the adorable aliens led by the adorable Enrico Colantoni). 

Perceptive feminist analysts have pointed out that this is a quintessential feminist moment, and they are right. And it captures an important point that neo-Victorians (who are convinced that ours is the only worthwhile time and must reflect our theories) utterly miss. 

Women of the past didn't compare themselves against us--or even against a version of us. Even when they were pushing for more rights and more recognition, they were still, always, comparing themselves against what they were in the now. 

The idea that people function as abstract labels or qualities is something only people who live in a world where biological realities have been translated into lockdowns and "I'm whatever I claim about myself--right up until I go to the doctor" can believe. In real reality--which good fiction honors--people take the options in front of them and make them work (work well or work badly--they still make them work).

 

 

Great Sci-Fi Heroines: Altaira

One of the things that bugs me about noisy, contemporary so-called feminists is how susceptible they are to superficialities.

What's also sad is how far these superficialities creep into the culture until people revert to them without thinking. 

A few years ago, I showed a class a clip of Forbidden Planet. In the clip, Anne Francis as Altaira walks across the floor to speak to Leslie Nielsen's Captain Adams.  "What do you see?" I said.

All they could come up with was her short skirt--oh, it is so sexist--and her supposed demureness, based, I suppose, on her blondness and high voice. Or the fact that the man is taller than she (Leslie Nielsen at 6'1"). Or that they hug. I really have no idea.

They entirely missed her direct gaze; her level, clear voice; her willingness to argue; her nearly proprietary caress.

Anne Francis, like other great sci-fi heroines, took the role and made it her own. To miss these obvious clues for the sake of cliches is to ignore her contributions: how she helped create a great film, her steady career as a working actress.

Not all of the heroines on this list will be involved in romantic relationships; I'm using romance here in the older meaning of the term: romance as a tale involving great deeds, possibly outlandish settings, and high emotions.

Romance & Sci-Fi: Was Captain Kirk Truly a Ladies' Man?

I've been watching Star Trek: The Original Series lately. Captain Kirk is often described as a "ladies' man," the implication being that he chases after the ladies.

In Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country, Bones hisses at Jim, "What is it with you?" when yet another female creeps into his bed.

But the contemporary interpretation--and the constant use of "misogynistic" and "leering" in even friendly reviews of TOS--miss the point. Kirk actually doesn't do that much chasing. They chase him.

The idea--which is reflected in other shows of the time period, such as Jake & the Fatman--is that Kirk is so tough and virile and handsome (William Shatner does have possibly the sexiest eyes in existence), beautiful women who know their own minds will flock to him naturally.

It is, granted, a somewhat eye-rolling concept at this distance--although it does credit the women of that time period with more moxie than their supposed defenders now appreciate--hence Bones's sarcastic comment.

But it honestly isn't all that different from the supposed allure of the main characters in Outlander.

Or the entirely unanticipated fascination by female viewers with Spock.

Or the charisma of Gibbs. The difference between Gibbs/Spock and Kirk: Gibbs/Spock doesn't brag about it--or even appear to notice. That appears to be the key to creating a character of this type without the character being anathematized:

Be sexy BUT QUIET. 

The Non-Romantic Consequences of Reading Someone's Mind

Fantasy/sci-fi romance often includes the trope of lovers reading each other minds. This event is often presented in glowing, positive terms, mostly because people in literature (and movies) never seem to think things like, "I've got to pee" or "I itch in weird places" or "My cat wants to eat my face."

They always have such...streamlined thoughts.

The idea that someone could read my mind has always bordered on horror for me--so when I read these types of romances, I always feel the faint edge of disgust and terror that one feels when reading about chainsaws and dead bodies.

Consequently, I have to give Sarah Madison, author of Unspeakable Words, Walk a Mile, and Truth & Consequences major kudos!

In the books, FBI Agent Flynn gains the ability to read people's minds. Jerry or Jerome, his FBI partner--later, his lover--helps him handle the cataclysmic event. Flynn is totally overwhelmed, then demoralized and disgusted by what he can constantly hear from others. In all truth, it's fairly standard fare (think Buffy's "Earshot") though well-written and well-handled.

Although Jon can't read minds, Sherwood does a good job

describing the ire people feel to have their "auras" read.

Here's where Madison truly excels: Jerry is a fairly snarky guy but he is also somewhat self-conscience (and doesn't realize how funny his snarky thoughts are). Flynn can hear all this. Some of Jerry's snarky thoughts amuse him. Some upset him. However, Jerry's tendency to "soundbooth" his thoughts, the one technique that provides privacy, upsets Flynn the most. Jerry's sudden "soundboothing" is as disturbing in its own way--and as confusing--as someone suddenly walking away in the middle of a conversation.

Also, Jerry is a random thinker--I think most people are (in my 11:00 class, before everything went online, most of my students were thinking, "Should I have pizza? Did I remember my ATM card? Is it time for break yet?"). However, Jerry's randomness is increased by him having eidetic memory. Everything reminds him of something else, and all the something elses are things he remembers very well.

A better than usual TV-psychic episode

This detailed randomness fascinates and exasperates Flynn, who can't help but react to them. And then Jerry feels more self-conscience--and exhausted at having to constantly monitor his thoughts. Which Flynn doesn't want him to do--except what else is Jerry supposed to do? Explain everything he is thinking constantly?

It is extremely smart writing; Madison is considering the actual consequences of a talent, rather than falling back on the cutesy version of it. 

Good Star Trek Couple: B'Elanna and Tom

From Star Trek: Voyager, B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris are an excellent couple.

It is possible that the writers originally intended to pair up B'Elanna Torres and Chakotay. Of course, Star Trek rarely pairs up couples on purpose--it is not the intent of the show. (Phil Farrand has some snarky things to say about how many Trek characters are lacking in even basic social structures: X-Files Mulder and Scully run amuck.)

Whatever the motivation, pairing up B'Elanna and Tom Paris totally works: the bad girl of Starfleet Academy and the bad boy of Voyager--but of course, like all good television couples, their badness is less reflective and more complementary.

B'Elanna is ambitious and gifted. She left Starfleet because she felt like an outsider. While there, she argued constantly with her instructors (she learns later that many of them respected her and hoped she would return). She is afraid of her own temper, her Klingon half, and has to learn to perceive it not as a barrier to her goals but a source of strength.

Paris is laid-back but not a pushover. He can take B'Elanna's temper without being bull-dozed by it. He is ambitious but in a different way from B'Elanna. He appears to have entered the Academy to impress his father--and of course, he immediately blotted his copy-book. His ambition is centered on individual projects: converting a space shuttle; breaking the space-speed barrier.

While B'Elanna is ultimately a leader (and prefers a team), Paris is ultimately an iconoclast: pilot, astronaut, racer. They work well together because their personal competitiveness doesn't run up against each other--they aren't competitive about the same things.  


Even their senses of humor match up. While Tom Paris is a popular culture buff, enjoying spoofs and satires and prat falls, B'Elanna is dryly ironic. She watches silly television with him because it makes him happy. And he doesn't expect anything from her but what she can and will give.

Well-written and well-scripted! And the actors enjoyed themselves too.

Sentient Pets

In the epilogue to Out of the Silent Planet, Ransom writes the following:

Why is it that Malacandrians don't keep pets and, in general, don't feel about their "lower animals" as we do about ours? Naturally it is the sort of thing they themselves could never have told me. One just sees why when one sees the three species together. Each of them is to the others both what a man is to us and what an animal is to us. They can talk to each other, they can cooperate, they have the same ethics . . . But then each finds the other different, funny, attractive as an animal is attractive. Some instinct starved in us, which we try to sooth by treating irrational creatures almost as if they were rational, is really satisfied in Malacandra. They don't need pets.

Like many of C.S. Lewis's statement, I agree and disagree with this statement. The species on Malacandria don't cuddle, and cuddling is part of the fun of having pets.

However, I do think he makes an interesting point--that secretly, in our heart of hearts, we want our animals to talk yet remain animal-like.

A classic example is the manga Part-Time Pets where the animals-turned-human-like are still animal enough to be treated like pets yet can have rational discussions. (Let me pet you; then tell me how much you like it.) I have to admit, it fulfills my requirements. I want my fictional pets/humans to act like the animals they come from; that's the fun!

My cat Charlie does this all the time!

The Fantasy of No Control

Lately, I've been reading a large percentage of M/M romances. However, my personal advertisements (suggestions from Amazon that come up in my Cart)--which usually include manga, mysteries, and history books--began to suggest traditional romances (M/F).

I do read traditional romances, but I couldn't figure out what was triggering the suggestions. 

Until I realized--it was the MPreg books I'd read.

If one wants to pinpoint M/M romances where the characters might as well be M/F, MPreg would be it.

It isn't, as far I can tell, the pregnancy itself that makes the books so utterly traditional. Rather, the MPreg books I sampled reflect a particular type of traditional romance, a type that frankly I don't usually read.

The omega--pregnant male or, let's face it, female character--raises interesting issues about the biological reality of pregnancy. What irks me personally, however, is the thread of passivity that runs through the narratives.

These are old-fashioned Harlequins in which the female character is swept away by any of the following:

(1) A domineering male.
(2) A wealthy domineering male.
(3) A wealthy domineering male who brings out her wild side.
(4) A wealthy domineering male who brings out her wild side and doesn't leave when she gets pregnant.

It's the kind of thing that makes me want to read a book about a woman who was abandoned by the father of her child and had to go on welfare--and I don't even like those kinds of books.

I am a huge fan of people being able to indulge their fantasies in constructive, non-hedonistic ways; hey, I'm a big fan of not undermining civilization or the moral coding that helps it along so yay for conservative values plus tolerance and respect for mutual rights. But I admit to being more bemused by this fantasy than not (despite being a woman who loves romances).

I also must admit that this fantasy is incredibly seductive.

It is not so much about submission. The female companions who get overwhelmed by these wealthy, rich, powerful, utterly committed men (who don't bat an eye at an unexpected pregnancy) are often quite outspoken. Their arguments and claims of independence are rather tokenish, rarely seeming to end in the women actually walking away from the situation. But the men will often listen. And change. Sort of.

So submission isn't the name of the game. The name of the game, I suggest, is not having to take control in the first place.

That may seem like an odd fantasy for women since supposedly they have less control than men, but the type of control I'm talking about is the type of control a person has to take when they have fewer options, not many. As a person who lives mostly from paycheck to paycheck (with a little extra for savings), I have to control my spending. In my current situation, I can relax to a degree but in past years, I had to be far more careful, counting dollars to decide whether or not I could afford meat for dinner and which bills I would pay first. 

Taking control in these ways is part of adulthood. But the kind of constant control practiced by women--"I better watch my habits/behavior/surroundings because I don't want to get pregnant or end up in a dangerous situation late at night in a bar"--can be a relief to shed.

In fiction, of course. In reality, it would be really stupid. And not all women go for it, even in fiction.

I, for instance, prefer romances which are about bargaining with control: what's the compromise? But I can't deny that the fantasy of someone swooping in to pay off my student loan is appealing.

The Traditionalism of MPreg

One of the stranger romance sub-genres out there is MPreg, which refers to Male Pregnancy.

What makes it strange is not the world-building or the sci-fi nature of the pregnancy. What makes it strange is how entirely traditional, even 1950s traditional, it can be.

The entire sub-genre backs up my contention from an earlier Why Yaoi post:

The lack of pushy gender roles is one reason I can never be entirely snippy about those readers who like yaoi series with androgynous boys. For all I know, they turned to yaoi because they got tired of being told that they shouldn't be reading romance novels where girly girls get looked after by manly men. Yaoi is an escape not only from confining conservative roles but from pressuring progressive ones.

MPreg essentially puts babies and family first, to the point where "barefoot and pregnant" is not an unlikely scenario.

In one MPreg universe, the men who can become pregnant (omegas) also have to deal with prejudice, some of which I discuss here. They fight for the right to get degrees and have jobs and marry whomever they wish.

Ultimately, however, it's all about that baby. If this emphasis on child-rearing showed up in traditional romance, it would be subject to "holding women back/confining them to feminine roles" criticism.

I am an advocate of people being able to make of fiction what they will. That is, I think it is entirely acceptable for women and men to read MPreg romances for the sake of the classic, traditional motifs that put babies and family at the forefront of the human experience.

Having said that, after reading about eight of these novels, I have to admit the tropes are a little ham-handed.

So here is my suggestion for a MPreg novel. Has it been done before? Probably. But at least it doesn't include some of the tiresome tropes of the eight prior novels:

Simon is the alpha, the male who can impregnate. And he doesn't know it. Unlike nearly every other alpha in the books that I've read, he is not well-off, his family is not well-off, and nobody in his vicinity is a power-broker. He is a small-town guy who knows about alphas and omegas from the news but has very little experience with that world directly. "Coming out" was a huge deal for him and frankly traumatizing enough.

Rafe is the omega and unlike in every book I've read, he comes from a loving, supportive wealthy family. His fathers have a semi-arranged marriage (they had to sign off on it). It proved to be very happy (unlike in every book that I've read). Rafe has alpha and omega siblings and everybody gets along.

The parents settled money on each of their children at birth, so Rafe has his own income. He uses it to fund various educational programs, including an archaeological dig. He is not a dilettante; running charities may sound easy, but if a person actually takes a hands-on approach, it can be extremely time-consuming.

Rafe's parents suggest an arranged marriage for him, and he claims he isn't adverse (unlike every omega in every book I've read who feels personally attacked by the idea). In truth, in his heart of hearts, Rafe would love to have an ordinary gay relationship with someone--like Buffy wants to be an ordinary girl--but he knows how unlikely that is, so, eh, whatever.

The parents interview the prospective groom, Todd. Todd comes across as a decent human being (unlike every arranged-marriage groom in every book I've read). However, Rafe has to sign off on the agreement, so the prospective groom goes out to the archaeological dig that Rafe is funding and where Simon is working. Rafe is unaware, until Todd shows up, that his dads already put the arranged marriage into motion.

Simon and Rafe have started dating, which thrills Rafe since Simon doesn't realize that the extra pull he feels to Rafe is due to him, Simon, being an alpha. Rafe knows what is going on but doesn't tell Simon because he loves being in an "ordinary" relationship.

Seeing Simon and Rafe together does not send Todd into a jealous tailspin (unlike in every book I've read). But it does concern him. Todd's arranged marriage with Rafe is his last chance to live the jet-setting lifestyle that he has gotten used to. His family is tired of his dilettante ways. Either someone else takes care of Todd, or he gets a job.

It isn't that Todd is an alcoholic or a druggie or even promiscuous, all of which the fathers would have found out in their background check. It is that he adores being a sophisticated man of the world who jets around to different "events": skiing in the Alps in the winter; summering in the Hamptons, etc.

He doesn't understand that Rafe actually works; he thinks Rafe is like him life-style-wise. He mistakenly assumes that "philanthropy" is this cute thing that Rafe does between jet-setting, not something that actually involves Rafe reviewing proposals, checking budgets, and cutting off funds when necessary.

Consequently, Todd convinces himself NOT that he has "rights" to Rafe (like every other alpha in every book I've read) but, rather more problematically, that Simon isn't good enough for Rafe. At the core of this belief is a deep fear on Todd's part that without a wealthy marriage, he'll have to get a "job," and he has absolutely no idea what he would do--he probably would be able to find a decent enjoyable job on the board of something or other, but the whole idea is new and unknown, so it terrifies him.

Todd's sense that Simon is no good for Rafe increases when Rafe gets pregnant (which does happen, despite protection, in every book I've read--apparently, birth control in these alternate universes is sue-ably ineffective). Simon has no idea, and Rafe doesn't tell him. Todd understandably sees all this as irresponsible.

Eventually, Todd takes Simon out to the island or the dig or the desert or somewhere away from camp and confronts Simon with Rafe's pregnancy. Flummoxed Simon denies it, which justifies Todd in his own mind to be anti-Simon; he lashes out. During their fight, Simon falls. Todd leaves him, driving the jeep back to camp. Todd is a villain but he is the type of villain who convinces himself that not doing anything is not the same as actually doing something. "I didn't hurt Simon. It's his fault he fell. What can I do about it? Nobody will be able to get him out of that ravine anyway."

Todd is bad but not wholly evil. He feels terrible guilt and takes himself off to town for the day. So Rafe can't ask Todd anything when he realizes Simon is missing.

Instead Rafe realizes that to find Simon he will have to rely on his omega senses, enhanced due to the baby (this is in many of the books). He will have to tap into the part of him that is physically drawn to "his" alpha, not just his boyfriend. It's his internal climax, a block that he has to overcome. And he does it, and he finds Simon.

And Simon finally accepts the reality of a pregnant boyfriend (which happens in every
book) and Rafe and Simon get married (which happens in every book). And the baby is healthy (which happens in every book). And everybody is thrilled (which sometimes happens in every book).

Katherine Woodbury