How Scarecrow & Mrs King Resembles Bones

Here is a re-post from Votaries. I also reference the show below.

* * * 

I'm a Scarecrow & Mrs. King fan. I was a fan when young, and I still find the show completely viewable.

Rewatching Season 1 recently, I formed the opinion that my attraction to the show is that it is incipient Bones. That is probably why I loved it as a youngster except Bones hadn't shown up yet. Now that Bones has shown up, I see the similarities.

1. It's all about the couple.

I've commented elsewhere that I like romances where the hero and heroine are trapped together--literally or, like Mulder and Scully, through a job/shared information. Both Bones and Scarecrow are all about the main couple--nobody else, really. Consummated or not, the show IS the relationship.

2. Both parties bring something to the relationship.

Both the hero and heroine contribute to the relationship as individuals. Amanda King is quirky, talkative, funny with a strong practical streak and a strong moral code. Rather surprising for an 80's show, her responses as an individual take precedent over her responses as an INDEPENDENT WOMAN and even as a MOTHER. Good writers, in my view, ask, "How would this character react?" rather than "What particular cause am I supposed to be defending?" It is easy to take the former approach for granted with Temperance Brennan. It is commendable that it happened with Mrs. King.

3. The guys get to rescue the gals. 

What's a good romance without a rescue?

The classic done-correctly rescue scene is Cary Grant rescuing Ingrid Bergman in Notorious: the scene where Cary Grant enters the house of the bad spy guy and carries out Ingrid Bergman in front of the bad spy guy's compatriots. Every director over the age of forty copies it at least once, including in Scarecrow & Mrs King.

It is perfect because the heroine needs to be rescued for perfectly legitimate reasons. She isn't stuck in the bad-spy house by accident or because she is a fool or because she got into a pique or because she's trying to manipulate the hero or because she swooned or because she's too ladylike/dainty/frightened/clueless/triggered to get herself out. She's in the house as a spy following the directives of her handler in order to help the United States. She is being drugged against her will, and she has held out for as long as she can.

The hero rescues her against logic but not against reason. He loves her. He also owes her. And he is very clever and logical and ruthless about what he does to get her out.

Dorothy Sayers wrote several mysteries where she tackles the problem of a heroine feeling such an overwhelming sense of obligation to the hero that the relationship can't return to balance. The heroine becomes infantilized, a little girl who is endlessly being protected by her daddy-figure.

Good rescues avoid this. Notorious avoids this.

Bones and Scarecrow avoid this.

Bones has a great rescue scene in the first season ("Two Bodies in the Lab") where the wounded Booth finds Bones who is about to be killed by a bad FBI guy masquerading as a serial killer. Bones is in this terrible situation because she is about to produce forensic evidence that will put the bad guy away. She fights back. Booth rescues her because it is his job and, (typical for Booth), he feels responsible for the people who work for him. And it is romantically done.

Yet nobody becomes a child as a result. Bones is grateful as is Amanda King, and they both express their gratitude non-defensively. But the relationship is easily restored to balance because the risks and rewards of the relationship are taken for granted.

4. I believe in the domestic side of the relationship.

This is actually something that separates Bones and Scarecrow from X-Files. In X-Files, the context is so overwhelmingly important, it's hard to imagine Mulder and Scully apart from it. Which is good--because how on earth would that relationship function absent a conspiracy? (The second movie doesn't really answer that question.)

But I can completely see Bones and Booth making things work in ANY situation: on a vacation, with a baby, buying a home, figuring out schools, planning date nights, managing money... Likewise, Bruce B. does a fairly good job in Scarecrow playing a man who thinks he wants to be a secret agent but really would rather have a semi-normal relationship with a down-to-earth housewife from Arlington. (See link above.)

Because in the end, the personal relationship isn't just about champagne and chocolates. It involves things like getting the vacuum cleaner to work. And wondering what the heck to do about the SRS light on the Honda dashboard. And fighting over the remote. And the number of television couples who I think can actually deal with this stuff is rather short.

Having extolled the importance of small, domestic duties...in terms of individual episodes... 

5. The relationship is about the job. 

Shows which focus exclusively on the relationship sans all else inevitably end up using "revolving door" plots: now-he-is-dating-someone-else, now-she-is-dating-someone-else, now-he-is-dating-someone-else.

Oh, who cares.

Shows where the relationship remains intact but the focus is on how much the characters love each other aren't much better. Dharma & Greg managed precisely because every episode was about other stuff (and it couldn't have lasted much beyond five seasons). Lois & Clark suffered in the second half of the third season into the fourth season when the relationship became the focus, rather than the job.

Shows like Bones and Scarecrow & Mrs. King keep the focus on the job. Even in the Bones episode, "The End in the Beginning," both Bones and Booth (now a couple) own a business together. They go about their lives exactly in the same way--only with sex. But the workability of their relationship hasn't altered. The relationship can be taken for granted, can be successfully explored, precisely because it ISN'T the focus.

The most romantic romances aren't about the romance.

Go figure.

Why Romances Are Worth Reading

Re-post from Votaries 2007 (with edits):

1. Romances allow for happy endings.

Literary analysis [and these days, depressing collectives] like to argue that only negative art with hopeless, nihilistic endings is valid because reality is saaad. The argument often goes something like this: "Reality is not the simplistic good versus evil narrative that shows up in those books I don't like where everybody gets what they want!" 

Romances end happily; therefore, they are unrealistic. 

At the back of the argument is an exceptionally odd assumption that happy events and endings are somehow not as true-to-life as unhappy events and endings.

C.S. Lewis tackles this weird human assumption in one of his apologetics. He compares the birth of a child to war. He points out that when one is talking about the happiness surrounding birth, literal-minded we-like-relativity-because-we-can-use-it-to-make-everybody-else's-lives-miserable types (bullies) will say, "But that's just subjective" or "That's just your emotions" or "That's just what our patriarchal, pro-child society has taught you to think."

But if one mentions the trauma and horror of war, the miserable ones will instantly agree that yes, absolutely, "That is what war is REALLY like."

Anything good is relative. Anything bad is "reality."

Balderdash! Emotion is emotion, good or bad or otherwise. Granted the sappy sweetness of Hallmark cards can grate after awhile. But the angst-ridden chest-beating of the miserables isn't much better and a lot harder to ignore. Unhappy endings are no more likely than happy ones and although everybody eventually dies, not everybody invests death [or illness] with terror, foreboding and glum faces. The tendency to do so is as much an emotional construct as smiling glibly, quoting bad poetry, and making everybody watch the end of Ghost (good movie, by the way). Dead is dead. Life is life.

I'm not saying that death and murder and war and a thousand other tragedies are supposed to be met with a shrug, any more than I am implying that birth, weddings, new jobs, great movies, good books, a new dress, a nice walk are supposed to be met with a grumpy "whatever." To move this from relativity into the territory of eighteenth-nineteenth century classicism, I'm enough of a Jane Austen fan to believe in appropriate responses to appropriate events. And I believe those appropriate responses are, to a degree, taught. The body reacts. But the how of that reaction depends on our nature, our nurture and our choices within the confines of a civilized society. (And I happen to believe in civilization.)

If emotions are just emotions, and the "how" of emotions is taught, then writing books where people get married and are happy is no more or less "real" than writing books where people get divorced and hate each other and fight over the kids. In fact, I've read plenty of the latter that struck me as ridiculous beyond belief--everything was so conveniently assembled.

My computer screen wallpaper.

2. Romances are constructive. 

I've written elsewhere about how much of a cop-out I consider death (and instant breakups) in a story. I've killed off characters myself, but in general, I prefer to keep them alive because in general, I prefer to work out how my characters are going to solve a story's particular problem. To a degree, that's the fascination of all fiction for me. I've always wanted to know what will happen next: after the prince kills the dragon, after the Beast turns into the prince, after Cinderella fits the shoe on her foot, after Rahab helps the spies. Getting there can be fun but how everything is going to work out later is part of the fun too. So it isn't that death and divorce aren't likely; it's that they are so dull. 

3. Romances provide story. 

We live in a post-Victorian world where all literature/art must apparently have a MESSAGE that teaches people proper values and the purpose of life while it enlarges their minds and helps them feel better (or worse--it rather depends on whom one is talking to).

Most perfect movie ever made.

Art for its own sake is an old argument, and in all honesty, I'll often argue against it--except for these days when I feel sometimes that I'm the only one arguing for it. The satisfaction of story, of a good pay-off with well-developed characters that achieve organically, naturally, through the constructed narrative, a decent climax--all these things have value unto themselves. Artists who take themselves too seriously on this score can be tiresome, but the lack of these artists--those who prostrate themselves instead on the altars of politics or MESSAGE--are infinitely worse. 

Romances tell a story. Art still exists.  

Romances: The Travelogue

Re-post from Votaries (2014). 

Romance novels have basically three plot structures:

1. The character-based plot structure.
2. The comedy-of-errors plot structure.
3. The travelogue plot structure.

The character-based plot structure is all about the characters--naturally! Of Georgette Heyer's books, Devil's Cub and Venetia come the closest. Other characters are incidental to the growing relationship between the hero and heroine. This is my favorite type of plot structure. Richardson's Pamela--despite its polemics--falls into this category. Amongst the sensual writers, Kleypas uses a character-based approach.

The comedy-of-errors plot structure usually entails what I also call world-based romance. The story is less about the growing relationship and more about the complex relationships and confusions of multiple characters. A lot of romance manga will start out as character-based and evolve into comedy-of-errors, simply out of necessity (as do many television shows). Comedy-of-errors plots can be extremely amusing when well done. At their best, they look easy, like making meringues (light, frothy, hilarious). Writers be warned: they aren't easy!

Of Georgette Heyer's books, The Grand Sophy is a good example of a comedy-of-errors that doesn't skimp on character. The Quiet Gentleman is another good example (and actually doubles as a mystery!) as is Arabella. Amongst the sensual writers, Eloisa James and Loretta Chase are masters at this type of plot structure.

Comedy-of-errors plot structures are hard to pull off (another reason I think romance writers are some of the most skilled writers on the planet!). Unfortunately, far too many writers (including romance writers but also a massive number of literary writers), overwhelmed by the comedy-of-errors' demands, will fall back on the travelogue.

The travelogue plot structure works as follows: the hero and heroine are going somewhere for some reason, and all kinds of crazy events occur to them in the meantime. Hey, it's a novel! 

Don't get me wrong: the travelogue can be well-done, even amusing. Think: The Muppet Movie. Heyers' The Foundling is a good example. One of my favorites from the sensual writers is Mr. Impossible by Loretta Chase, which is made even better by taking place in Egypt! (Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody-in-Egypt books fall into this category, a series that highlights both the strengths and weaknesses of this type of plot structure.) I tackle a M/M travelogue example here.

Far too often, the travelogue is used as an easy solution, a way to avoid character growth and tightly plotted resolutions. The loose travelogue is not that different from the kind of mystery novel where every chapter is simply another interview with a suspect; the chapters don't build on each other.

A classic plot involves a problem/conflict followed by rising action, then a denouement/climax/epiphany that confronts the problem/conflict, and finally, a resolution. But if the storyline doesn't rise--if it is just one set of circumstances after another--the story becomes, well, rather like a home movie.  (The literary version of this is the Journey-Across-Some-Continent tale; supposedly, the main character learns about life during the trek. In literary novels, most of the time, the main character is simply suffering for the sake of angst in general.)

The travelogue can work! But only if the "next incident" proves or shows the reader something about the characters or about the plot problem.  "And then this happened" does not a novel make.

Hence my love for genre literature in general: a problem that must be dealt with/solved in some way--often happily--is a requirement! The blessings of paperback readers on all genre writers!!

The Incomparable Travelogue:

Passive Heroines in Romances

I loved this book when I was younger

because of the double identity. I mostly ignored

the heroine. Now, I find her a tad irritating.

Re-post from Votaries, 2010 with some additions.

* * *

The passive heroine has made a come-back! This is good and bad.

Fiction is filled with passive heroines. Arguably, there is reason for this; until the last 200 years or so, women in history had relatively few rights. But then, for most of history, most men had relatively few rights. This didn't stop authors from creating powerful female and male characters who took charge of their lives. Legalities aside, women throughout history have lived to the fullness of their personalities and situations, not to the fullness of their lives compared to our lives.

Still, I think it is safe to say that just as the nineteenth century saw a preponderance of "good child" fiction where sweet, well-behaved kiddies overcame their faults and got a pat on the head, much of history has seen a preponderance of passive fictional heroines.

Until contemporary feminism made this a big no-no. All heroines were supposed to be tough and heroic and outspoken, etc. etc. Romances of the pre-70s and 80s got criticized for making their heroines too quick to fall at the feet of domineering men. Romance literature rushed to correct this flaw.

And I have to admit some pre-70s/80s romances can be rather grating, partly for the female passivity and partly because the characters are so darn humorless. (I am naturally not including Austen or Heyer in this assessment.)

Jane Austen heroines are not this demure.

On the other hand, the "fix" wasn't always better. Unrelentingly aggressive and "I must be assertive in all circumstances" heroines can be just as grating and humorless. as their counterparts. I've read romances where my main response was to yell, "Run! Run for your life!" at the hero. Nobody, man or woman, wants to spend an entire relationship being called on his or her damning remarks for the sake of one-upmanship.

And the passive heroine made a come-back anyway. A great many fictional heroines these days are not interested in jobs or education or self-knowledge (for its own sake); like good eighteenth and nineteenth-century heroines, they focus on marriage. (To justify this, modern writers often trap their heroines in situations beyond their control: historical time frames, relationships with vampires, situations where they are unable to change their circumstances. The plot is about survival, not social progress.) 

Passivity also rears its head because women, to an extent, still feel somewhat trapped by biology. (And possibly men do to0, but this post is about women.) When Camille Paglia points to modern medicine as the ultimate instrument of equality, she has a point. There's a reason my grandmother told my mother that "birth control is a gift from God." However, Phyllis Schlafly also had a point that telling women to cut out aspects of their biology (such as child-bearing) is a fairly unrealistic solution to the problems of patriarchy and paternalism. Pretending not to inhabit a female mammal body when one does is silly and even self-destructive.

Anne Bradstreet to me is a great example of a woman

who made her own way without screaming at the world

Between these two perspectives (don't be held back by biology; embrace your biology), women have to cleverly maneuver. I'm all in favor of this. And if it means adopting passive roles now and again, I'm okay with that too.

The downside, from my perspective, is that passive heroines can be very boring. Good fiction is about people acting on the world--or at least taking action with their lives (not much of a narrative arc otherwise). Passivity for the sake of passivity, not as a form of clever maneuvering creates heroines like, well, the heroine of  Twilight where the heroine is more passive than toast and consequently, more boring than spam.

Where is the line lies between the interesting passive heroine and the boring-as-dirt passive heroine? The first I admire; the second I detest.

To be continued...

Individuals are Lovers and Lovers are Individuals

I recently wrote about Taming of the Shrew on Votaries--or, rather, I reposted a post from 2005.

My point: how pointless and sad it is to get so bothered about Shakespeare's sexism that the power and magnificence of what he wrote/crafted is lost.

People who focus on the -isms of art not only lose the fun and energy and magnificence and poetry and wit and beauty of art, they actually further the -isms. Art gives way to a petty mindset--tiny really--that can only see the world in terms of political power. The mindset is small and cramped and mean-spirited. It cannot see beauty and transcendence; therefore, it thinks no one else can ever find anything transcendent in what it has determined others should despise.

I saw the Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton version when I was in my teens. I did not go home, thinking, "My parents were wrong! I shouldn't go to college! I should stay home and find a man and place my hands under his feet!"

I never saw the play as a LESSON with a MODERN APPLICATION for two reasons:

(1) I'm not stupid (and I was not stupid as a teen). The play was by a guy from the (mostly) late 1500s who was both a reflection of his time and an artist who managed to transcend his time, which all the great critics from C.S. Lewis to Camille Paglia confirmed to me is possible.

But I got that confirmation later. At 15 or 16, I already knew it. I wasn't aghast or appalled that a person from a different time period and mindset and way of thinking than me once existed. ("Oh, does this mean I'm not the center of the universe?! Oh, shock, shock!") I was capable of appreciating what I was faced with.

Really gung-ho appalled types would argue that I was covertly brainwashed by inherently sexist ideas. I should have stopped that from happening by spending my childhood and teens in a sterile room faced with properly vetted images. (Who is properly vetting these images?)

The world of After School Specials. Yup, that's what the gung-ho offended types have to offer! A sterile world of After School Specials.

I just vomited into a bucket.

Okay, I'm back.

The other reason that I wasn't scarred for life by Burton and Taylor (granted, they scarred other people) is (2) I saw Katerina and Petruchio as individuals.

I realize that "individualism" has become a dirty word. It happens to also be reality. We are born into individual bodies. We mature in individual bodies. We have individual brains. We die in individual bodies. Theories that insist that we don't truly exist as individuals are pure sophistry.

However, I will grant that my perception was a little unusual even within the context of my teen years/culture. I found that many people around me, including other teens, were willing to see everything as APPLICATION. Everything was about something bigger. Everything was about the LESSON. Everything was about everybody.

I honestly didn't see life that way (I guess my libertarianism was showing). To me, Petruchio and Katerina were...Petruchio and Katerina. They weren't stand-ins for all men and all women. They were two separate people, just as Katerina's sister Bianca--far more wily and manipulative than Katerina--wasn't a stand-in for women either. She was Bianca.

I still think this way--it is the only honest way, I believe, to truly appreciate the past, to give credit to the sacrifices of people of the past even when we no longer agree with everything (or anything) they believed. It is the only way to appreciate art without having to start all over from scratch with every new generation (watch out for After School Specials!). It is the only way to move forward with science or any other field--by appreciating the work and discoveries of individuals, because no matter how many groups a person belongs to, each person did something.

Romance is no different. Romance is about one person meeting another person (and another person, if you are into polyamorous relationships). Each person matters. Each person has something to offer.

Good Romances: They are About the Romance

Lots of stuff happens BEFORE they meet.

One of my criteria for good romance is the plot "needs to focus on the relationship's growth, not on the final declaration of love."

That remains the same between traditional and M/M-Romance.

On Votaries I provide the following analysis (from 2012, referencing posts from 2007): 

* * *

Romances fall into two categories: character-driven and "world romance."

I use the term "world romance" to correspond to "world fantasy," novels which are more about the world of the characters than about the characters themselves.

In "world romance," the story centers on the hero and heroine overcoming obstacles in their personal lives before they can meet. In chick-lit specifically, the story centers on the heroine's friends, how often she goes shopping, what she does in her church/work/volunteer group, etc. etc. etc. It's Sleepless in Seattle (don't meet until the end) versus You've Got Mail, While You Were Sleeping, and Lakehouse (ongoing relationship, no matter how strange).

Same actors--more satisfying.

I prefer the character-driven romance (You've Got Mail) to "world romance" (Sleepless in Seattle). I have very little interest in world fiction generally (Tolkien being the huge exception), and so can't comment much on it. Hence, all my comments are directed at the character-driven romance.

* * *

I feel the same about M/M-Yaoi romance. I don't read exclusively "slow-burn" romances (those where the sexual relationship only begins at the end of the book) since they can be as filled with irrelevances as a "world romance." I do search for books where I learn more about the couple as a couple--as opposed to reading several hundred pages of one person complaining to friends about not being a member of a couple.

Here are some "character-driven romances" from a variety of genres that take place in fully developed worlds yet remained focused on the lovers:

Actor and the Earl series by Rebecca Cohen (Elizabethan England)
Blood & Chocolate (THE BOOK!) by Annette Curtis Klause (contemporary clan of werewolves)
Fifteen by Beverly Cleary (the 1950s)
Glass Mountain by Cynthia Voigt (upperclass NYC society)
Hemingway's Notebook by Jackie North (Great Depression)
Howl's Moving Castle (the movie) by Diana Wynne Jones (fantasy world)
The Lion and the Crow by Eli Easton (early medieval England)
Jane Eyre by Bronte (mostly focuses on the couple--lots and lots of stuff!) 
Queen of Attolia by Megan Turner (fantasy world)
Samantha and the Cowboy by Lorraine Heath (West)
Serpent of Time by Eugene Woodbury (time travel: Japan)

Dating Tropes: Dating Discussion in Pride & Prejudice

Re-post from Votaries, 2005

* * *

The popularity of Pride & Prejudice doesn't seem to be based on any particular yen for literary fiction or for Harlequin Romances. In Pride & Prejudice, Jane Austen caught something that is so basic to the human experience (and in particular, the female human experience) that the book almost couldn't help but be popular, even more popular now than when it was published.

I came to this conclusion while listening to Pride & Prejudice on CD. It is an incredibly funny book, although it helps to hear it read rather than to read it. (Some people hear language when they read; I do not--I scan multiple words at a time--so the experience of reading something to myself and of hearing it read can often result in two different experiences.)

Close to the beginning of the book, Eliza and Charlotte Lucas have a discussion, and knock me over with a bonnet, it's a discussion that you could overhear with any group of women. How well do you have to know someone in order to form a long-term opinion of their character? At what point in the relationship should you express interest? Who is responsible for carrying the relationship forward to the "next stage"? Can you be "just friends"?

Charlotte argues that getting to know someone is pointless; it's all so superficial anyway. One might as well simply express a ton of interest. Eliza argues that one can't express a ton of interest unless one feels a ton of interest. Charlotte points out that expressing a ton of interest is the best way to retain the man's attention. Eliza rolls her eyes over that. If the man has any hutzpah, he'll wait around to see if a ton of interest might be heading his way, won't he? Charlotte contests that men may have hutzpah but they are also kind of stupid. If one wants a boyfriend, Charlotte maintains, one has to go out and get one [pick one up at Walmart after waiting in line for 45 minutes]. But, returns Eliza, one doesn't want to end up with the WRONG boyfriend [or, she might have added, with a Mr. Collins who is hard to shake]. At which point, Charlotte gives up. If you're going to get all idealistic . . .

Charlotte ends up with a good living, a house and a pompous (but mentally absent) husband. Austen rewards Eliza with true love. After all, Austen had Charlotte's opportunity and forsook it for the sake of her integrity. That is, even when she ended up with nobody, Austen still opted for Eliza's point of view.

And despite Charlotte being somewhat right, we still root for Darcy and Elizabeth because their relationship is founded not on flirting techniques, "twenty ways to amuse one's boyfriend" and "what women really want" fluff, but on themselves. Although they undergo personal revelations about their own characters and each other, neither of them has to jump through dating hoops for the attraction to work. Darcy is attracted to Elizabeth from the beginning because of her personality. Elizabeth realizes she is attracted to Darcy when she visits his estate and learns what a great manager he is. It is what Darcy & Elizabeth already are that eventually brings them together.

Connections to M/M Romances will follow...

Romance & History: Historical Mindsets in Romance Fiction

I mention in my most recent Votaries re-post that I like my historical romances to be reasonably historically plausible.

Not totally accurate--because let's face it, not many books are. And I don't mind some anachronisms. However, I dislike historical romances where the setting is merely that: setting. Like little kids playing dress-up, the characters could be anywhere--the rules and problems and expectations of THIS society don't matter.

One of the hardest aspects of historical plausibility for M/M authors isn't the difficulty of acknowledging that gay men had a difficult time in the past. The difficulty is in acknowledging the historical viewpoint that even the gay men likely held.

Consequently, I greatly admire those authors that tackle the actual viewpoints of the time period without (1) translating those viewpoints into acceptable twenty-first versions; (2) apologizing for them.

I will be reviewing Jackie North's books later but right now I have to mention how impressed I was by her Wild West time travel books. When several modern characters attempt to "correct" the politically incorrect speech of others in the past, the response isn't laughter or scorn or, even, bigotry. The response is that the historical characters think the MODERN characters are being rude: using terms that confuse and upset people rather than addressing them respectfully.

Regarding more embedded viewpoints, I've written about Beecroft's Reluctant Berserker.

I must also mention Katherine Marlowe's books. Katherine Marlowe takes a very different approach than the ones listed above. Although the books are Regency era and the male characters must be careful and highly discrete in their relationships, her end-of-the-novel notes challenge many modern-day assumptions about the past. Nobody in the Regency Era thought much of men sleeping in the same bed. And some of the fiercest moral arguments against homosexuality--though extant and ongoing--were not so fevered as they are today (they got especially fevered post-World War II).

Sometimes, we moderns get so convinced that history works as an arrow (all in one direction), we forget that issues rise and fall. Abortion, for example, was criminal in the nineteenth century but the argument that abortion was killing the equivalent of a sentient being didn't have the emotional impact then that it does 100 years later.

Contrary to the modern (and very Victorian) attitude that WE are the determiners of ALL standards from the beginning of time; therefore, everything that has ever happened, happens in relationship to US...

The fact is, other ages ....

Well, other ages believed exactly the same about THEIR time periods.

Good writers recognize this. 

Romance & History: Setting in M/M Romances

In my Votaries re-post, I state that one of my criteria for romances is...

It can't take place in Scotland, the Wild Wild West, or the Middle Ages.

Interestingly enough, this is where M/M romances have made a difference.

With traditional (M/F) romances, I can never shake the idea of how freakin' cold everything is in those settings. Although I grew up reading--and being read--The Little House on the Prairie books and have a high opinion of these books, I was never once in all my childhood attracted to the lifestyle.

I've met people who are--I've even read a very honest and humorous book about being obsessed with the Wilder milieu.

I never felt that way. Perhaps, I was too close to it. I have pioneer ancestors on both sides of my family. Their stories never inspired me to pull a handcart or wear dresses full-time or camp out on the plains. Mostly, they made me grateful that I would never have to do any of those things.

So traditional romances where women in skirts freeze to death never drew my interest (nope, not even Outlander: I read the first book; that was enough).

Yet I have read a number of M/M romances based in Scotland, the Wild, Wild West, and the Middle Ages.

I think the reason is two-fold. As I mention elsewhere, part of the attraction of yaoi is the objective distance it affords. I get to read about romance without feeling any kind of "this is me" identification--from me or from condescending "bet you wish you were Elizabeth" outsiders. I write, in length, elsewhere about why I don't think that kind of identification is wrong or unusual. I also make the point that not all women read romances with identification in mind.

The second reason that I happily indulge in M/M romances set in Scotland, the Wild West, and the Middle Ages is a reason I address several times on this blog: the men in these books have jobs, specifically jobs that allow them to move around.

Don't get me wrong: my female pioneer ancestors worked REALLY REALLY hard (harder than I work, however exasperated I get with online courses these days). And a large number of women within my heritage were able, due to polygamy, to move beyond hearth and home.

It remains a fact, however, that men could move further and do more--which doesn't mean they also didn't die from the cold. But generally speaking, I find it easier--and quite enchanting--to focus on Murdoch trying to put his estate in order and David trying to figure out a law case--Robby trying to outwit the gangsters by running West--Anthony and Sebastian maneuvering to survive Queen Elizabeth's court--

Traditional romance must by necessity--and historical accuracy--entail necessary (vital) jobs performed by women, which are important but not that interesting, even when thrown up on a pedestal. And they always seem to involve people being very, very cold.

Modern heating is a wonderful thing. 

Every Genre Has Its Fans: Romances

From Pamela, the first English romance!

Re-Post from Votaries, 2014

* * *

I'm a big believer that any genre, topic, hobby, however monolithic it may look to an outsider, appears riddled with differences to the insider.

Granted, I'm preaching a given here. But fans are more likely to defend this principle when it comes to their beloved "whatevers" than when discussing someone else's beloved "whatevers."

Case in point: in my master's program, I argued that country music is just as wide-ranging as classical music. The professor grinned at me. He had proposed that country music all sounds the same; I pointed out that many country music lovers think classical music all sounds the same.

"Oh," he said, "you like country music!"

"No," I said, which is true. I like Reba as a singer, but actually, country music all sounds the same to me. And so does classical music. I just know that fans see extreme differences within their genre of choice.

Romances are another case in point. Here are my entirely personal criteria regarding romances, which I do not perceive as being all the same:

1. The romance has to be well-written. 

This is actually not as big an eliminator as critics sometimes imagine. Your average romance writer has a decent grasp of language and style. In general, genre writers have more skill (and get more practice at writing) than supposed literary writers.

2. It can't take place in Scotland, the Wild, Wild West, or the Middle Ages.

I also read few contemporary romances. But that's not an established criteria (yet).

Any historical romances I read must start around the 1700s (at least); everything else is too cold (Scotland), too scratchy (Wild, Wild West), or both (Middle Ages).

Subsequently, I read a lot of Regency romances.

3. It has to be historically plausible.

Some of these Jane Eyres are more accurate than others.

Not totally accurate--because let's face it, not many books are. And I don't mind some anachronisms. However, I dislike historical romances where the setting is merely that: setting. Like little kids playing dress-up, the characters could be anywhere--the rules and problems and expectations of THIS society don't matter.

Considering my own aversion to setting, I may sound kind of hypocritical here--but hey, a need for historical plausibility is why I generally avoid writing historical fiction! And when I do, I research the time period and place to the nth degree. And I try to remember that my characters are bound by certain limitations. 

An indifference to the potential conflicts of an accurate Regency setting is a recurrent problem with chick-lit historical romances; the female characters are way, way too flippant and modern.

For a good example of romance, not ridiculous soap opera,

check out Finch and Grace--played by Emerson's real life wife

Carrie Preston--in Person of Interest

4. The plot needs to focus on the relationship's growth, not on the final declaration of love.

Again, too many chick-lit novels focus on the latter, not the formal. Even if the characters sleep together, the end of the novel feels like the first date. Oh, now, we love each other; I guess we should go out. 

What is the rest of a chick-lit novel about?

Mix-ups. Misunderstandings. Mis-appraisals. Misery. "He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not."

Bleah.

A sub-set of this type of novel is the heroine versus the other woman, both vying for the hero's attention. It's downright tiresome.

A Heyer "rake" novel: it is very funny,

but I prefer Heyer's Venetia since I

I don't really believe in this rake's reformation

(to be fair, I don't think Heyer expects me to).

If I'm going to read a romance, I'm doing it because I want romance--to watch the couple figure each other out, learn to enjoy each other's company, forgive each other if necessary, etc. Sure, there has to be conflict, but this is Scully-Mulder conflict, stuff that draws people closer together, not "I thought he went out with my cousin, so I decided to pay him back by dating his best friend" pointlessness.

Consequently, I'm actually quite fond of the "reformed rake" motif because it forces some kind of personal growth.

Of course, it helps if . . .

5. The romance exhibits some understanding of human nature. 

Instant reformation doesn't work anymore than instant forgiveness or instant understanding.

The most common problem with romances (though an understandable one) is the same problem faced by mystery writers: a series of things MUST happen in order for the plot to unfold; how does the writer get those things to happen without completely distorting the characters' fundamental personalities?

When I first started out with romances--the read-and-discard part of whittling down preferences--I encountered a number of these scenes:

"Ooooh, I hate the domineering hero with his sultry looks and pushy ways. Oh, wait, in this one scene, I guess I totally understand him. No, he actually makes me SOOOO mad. Oh, look, he helped a puppy. I guess I love him."

Insert rolling-of-eyes.

As Jane Austen shows, the move from (imagined) aversion to (true) affection is possible and delightful. But Austen does it carefully (far more carefully and cleverly than the light tone of Pride & Prejudice suggests). Darcy and Elizabeth always behave within the probabilities of their personalities. (So do Pamela and Mr. B; unfortunately, Mr. B's initial crime of kidnapping kind of overshadows all other hints that Samuel Richardson gives about his personality.)

Archetypal Couple: The Power of the Rule Follower and the Free-Spirit

M/M-Yaoi has its bad boys. It also has its rule followers and free spirits.

The tension between the good, upstanding, rule-following, structured partner and the off-the-cuff, rule-breaking partner is so classic--and so strong in terms of writing possibilities--that it flows beyond romance. In both Death in Paradise (first two seasons) and in Monk, a rule-keeper par excellence is paired with a free spirit. In Psych, Gus is more likely to pay bills, save money, and keep the rules of the road than free-spirit Shawn. In Person of Interest, neither Reese nor Finch are particularly rule-oriented but their lack of rules complement each other: John is more rule-oriented about some things while Finch is more rule-oriented about others.

Romance enters the picture with Miss Fisher's Mysteries, the television series, in which Phryne Fisher, the ultimate free-spirit, enchants and dismays Jack Robinson. Bones (Seeley as free-spirit). The Mentalist (haunted Jane as free-spirit). Mysterious Ways (Adrian Pasdar--who can play a rule-follower--as maverick free-spirit). And I have to mention The X-Files!

Interestingly enough, the fans of a number of these and other shows will "ship" the male leads, even when the show isn't M/M-Yaoi. It just feels right that Spock would have his Kirk and vice versa. The natural tension that arises between two disparate personalities focused on the same goal lends itself to all kinds of uses.

In M/M-Yaoi, the combination of rule-follower and free-spirit shows up in the following:

Blue Morning--this fantastic manga series, which recently ended, is particularly interesting because the rule-follower is bound as much by internalized cultural expectations, which he finds hard to shake, as by a personal respect for rules. Even his "rebellion" lies within static cultural ideals. It takes his quiet but far more ideologically flexible lover to break the patterns entirely.

What Did You Eat Yesterday?--imagine Darcy and Bingley were gay and moved in together.

Interestingly enough--a great deal of M/M-Yaoi plays games with the rule-follower/free spirit designations:

Love is Heartless--Detective Ng is a rule-follower in the sense that he is a police officer and doesn't stray outside the lines. But his willingness to tell people exactly what he thinks without pulling punches makes him a free-spirit. Walt Disney-loving Colin appears to be a product of his class, not an outside-the-box thinker. However, Fielding shows that Colin is no more a "type" than Ng.

Likewise, when Nathaniel is kidnapped by a pirate--in Keira Andrews's Kidnapped by a Pirate--he is all kinds of relieved (after the initial shock) since he hated the cramped order of his wealthy, gentleman's life.

In the end, however altered, the original, classic archetypes always pull their weight: literal-minded and serious Jason is a perfect match for sweet-natured, free spirit Milo in How to Wish Upon a Star by Eli Easton. And more.

Solving the Hero's Problems in M/M Romance

Like in traditional romances, the hero's problems in yaoi and M/M romance are (1) settling down in a stable relationship; (2) repairing an emotional/mental issue.

Regarding (1), the tension between an open-relationship and monogamy is a real issue; scholarly articles discuss how the lack of a "given" here is still a difficult discussion in male gay culture.

My favorite solution to this "problem" (it kind of depends on the couple--and the genre) is from Fumi Yoshinaga's What Did Your Eat Yesterday? in which Shiro confesses to his friend Keiko that he stays with Kenji, to a degree, because the idea of going back on the dating market horrifies him. He is willing to invest in his partner, even though Kenji, on the surface, isn't the kind of guy he imagined himself ending up with.

Shiro isn't totally self-absorbed. He later admits to himself that before Kenji, he tended to date narcissistic creeps. Falling in with Kenji, almost by accident, was a lucky twist of fate.

The issue of "hero with mental issues" also haunts the literature. I have written here and here about why I find it so problematic in both yaoi and in M/M Romance.

Yaoi and M/M Romance have one advantage. Men, historically and now, are expected to have jobs, which makes their search for a job with meaning--or at least a purpose in life--a stronger part of the literature. A strong contemporary example is Kim Fielding's Love is Heartless in which outspoken, profane Detective Ng has a job and purpose, but his boyfriend--well-off Colin Westwood, who works for his father--has employment but no purpose. Colin finds it when he becomes fascinated by the older houses in the area and makes a case to his father to refurbish them, rather than buy them up and demolish them. This is not son versus father, by the way. The dad is a good guy who simply needs to be presented with a valid argument.

Kim Fielding continues her careful delineations of character in Love Has No Direction in which the one character's seeming lack of career is not a flaw to be fixed but a talent to be adapted.

In any case, the question, "What is this person going to do with his life?" gives the literature gravitas--which of course, brings us to all those Regency fops who supposedly don't have to work for a living.

They will be addressed in another post...

Traditional Romance Post: Solving the Hero's Problems

These are re-posts from Votaries. I will be posting, then responding to them on Romance & Manga. This first post is from 2009.

***

Rake's Progress by William Hogarth

In traditional romances, the hero usually has two problems:

1. He hasn't been able to commit to one woman. In Regency parlance, he is a rake. He has slept around; he is an expert in love-making; he has seen it all, done it all. He just hasn't found the right woman. When the right woman comes along, he will change his rake-making ways and become monogamous.

2. An external or internal distress. Modern romance writers have expanded this distress to the psychological. The hero's problem isn't just boredom or a war wound or a displeased father. His problem is depression, mood swings, etc.

Both problems have to be solved and/or confronted in the course of the novel. Usually, the heroine's appearance is the catalyst that solves both problems.

I consider the first problem somewhat more solvable than the second. Granted, it is hard to credit that a promiscuous man will automatically stop being promiscuous just because a wonderful woman shows up in his life. On the other hand, a great many people find the dating game so inherently distasteful, the possibility of a one and other is a relief as opposed to a strait-jacket.

The only snag here, romance-novel-wise, is that so many of the heroes are described as insatiable sex-machines who enjoy displaying their great sexual prowess (they are almost always Alpha males). A good insatiable man might be monogamous; he also might come up with a few excellent reasons he should be allowed to marry several wives (and yes, I am writing that as the product of polygamous ancestors).

However, committing the hero to monogamy still seems a more solvable problem--especially since romance heroines, no matter how virginal, become instant experts in this department--than fixing the hero's distress, particularly if the distress is psychological. I particularly balk at the romance-novel solution of the "good woman." Anyone who has been in a psychologically traumatic relationship, or has read about Charles & Diana, knows that trying to solve other people's psychological problems is a bad idea; trying to solve other people's psychological problems by being "good" for them is a lesson in masochism.

I'm not talking about showing love and support and putting up with the other person's bad side. I'm talking about trying to fix things that now-a-days get a person medicated. Specifically, I'm talking about trying to make another person happy; this, I maintain, is a complete impossibility. A positive relationship can be a source of strength and happiness, but it is the relationship that supplies the strength, not one person taking on the emotional baggage of the other person (i.e., fixing the other person).

That being said, I understand the fantasy: in the romance novel, the heroine who "makes" her hero happy (cures his distress) becomes indispensable. He needs her. It's the sort of thing that makes (some) feminists, me included, nervous: here is this woman subordinating herself all over the place in order to make a man happy. But our nervousness kind of misses the point--an indispensable woman will keep her man and therefore, her security.

And I can understand the impulse to chase after such security even if I don't believe it is possible. It is, frankly, terrifying to enter a relationship knowing that the other person is not under one's control--and yes, I know that sounds vaguely psychopathic. But this lack of control is the risk of relationships: love is not a guarantee, only a hope. In a way, guaranteed love is what makes genre romances not only satisfying to read but also rather fascinating--can the writers solve the hero's problems in such a way that the heroine will still remain indispensable? Contrawise, can the problems be solved without leaving the reader with the impression, "Boy, that marriage is doomed!"?

Or is there a third option?

In one novel (Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas), the hero agrees to marry the heroine for money. He then, of course, discovers that she is beautiful and charming and witty and great in bed (not necessarily in that order) although his distress--cash shortage and unhappiness/boredom--is still a factor. However, part of his new wife's dowry is her father's club, which has fallen on hard times. Our hero becomes fascinated by the club. To protect his assets, he becomes directly involved in running the club and subsequently discovers he has a knack for business. 150+ years later, the guy would get an MBA and buy up a bunch of resorts: same principle.

I found it rather satisfyingly believable on a psychological level. Running a club is a bit low-class (within the context of the novel), but the guy has nothing to lose and everything to gain by taking charge. His motivation is also believable: his lovely wife doesn't inspire him to take an interest; he takes an interest because he (initially) wants to sell the club at a good price. The impulse comes from him, not her endearing example. In other words, he works to find a purpose for himself in life; he doesn't wait around for his wife to nudge him into finding a purpose--I suppose the latter works for some couples, but generally,  being someone's personal standby pep rally sounds enormously tiring.

Review: Writing Silly Romances, Part I

This is a repost from Votaries. However, this time, I am going to split the post into 2 parts.

I mention in a prior post that yes, there are bad romances out there. A number of years ago, I read a book about how to write romances which was entirely unintentionally one of funniest things I have ever read.

* * *

I am reading a book called How to Write Romances on the principle that romances sell, so they must be doing something right.

Unfortunately, I haven't learned anything so far except not to switch viewpoints in the middle of a sentence, and I already knew that. The book is aimed at almost entirely inexperienced writers and is the sort of book that recommends new writers keep a file of newspaper clippings for ideas. There's nothing wrong with this suggestion, but I can't really wrap my head around someone wanting to do something (write, paint, sing, program computers) which they have never ever tried before, all on the off-chance that it will be EASY! and FUN! [Hello, American Idol.]

However, despite the lack of useful tips, I am still reading the book because it is entirely unintentionally, completely hilarious. I ran across this quote:

He didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to taking Petey away from Ashley. Not unless he could prove she was an unfit mother. After seeing her with Petey today, he knew that was out of the question. She was a perfect mother, and he was an out-of-state politician who hadn't known the boy existed until a day ago. That's why he had to get her to Texas.

"Study the preceding paragraph," the author writes, "to understand the wealth of information fed so discreetly to the reader."

I had to read the above sentence twice to make sure it actually said what I thought it said ("discreetly"?) and to check that the author was serious. And that's when I realized I was going to have a lot of fun reading this book.

This is my favorite bit of advice so far: Concerning figurative language--

You should not use Arctic comparisons if your novel takes place in the tropics.

Such as . . . Tarzan lurched along the jungle floor, beating his handsome, muscular chest and yodeling like an Arctic seal calling for its mate!

[Unfortunately, I have found the above advice does need to be given to my composition students. At the time I wrote this email, I thought not mixing metaphors a rather obvious tip, but apparently, mixing metaphors is a national pastime for beginning writers.]

Back to the book:

For most romance lines, a coal-mining town . . . is too difficult to imagine as a romantic setting. A small-town setting with a fashionable resort, an Olympic-trial ski run, or other point of interest could easily be considered exotic.

And whilst you are describing the exotic ski run, do NOT write, "Daphne, taking a break from her hard life as a secretary to a billionaire lawyer who secretly loves her but can't show it due to some silly misunderstanding, which will be cleared up in Chapter 12, watched the snow fall on the ski lift like coal dust from a town very far away and completely unrelated to her." Because ski lifts and coal dust DO NOT mix.

[My lack of romantic imagination occurs when I'm reading about Scotland pre-1900 and the Wild West. I keep thinking, "Cold!" and "Cold! Scratchy!" Yet both of those are common settings in romances.]

Let's take a look at character development:

There is an advantage to keeping a character chart. When you first begin writing, it is very easy to remember names and descriptions. However, as you progress from chapter to chapter and book to book, you will soon discover how easy it is to forget names as well as color of hair or eyes. By charting or listing the physical as well as psychological makeup of your characters, you will save time and effort.

I can just see Shakespeare: "Darn it all--is it Lear with the daughters in the rainstorms or is that MacBeth? Which is the Dane? Fudge! I keep confusing Juliet's boyfriend with Ophelia's!"

And what color are Romeo's eyes anyway?

[Actually, I've read some romances where I wish the writer had kept a chart. If I didn't keep glancing back at the first-person chapter titles, I would have no idea which protagonist was speaking.]

Even the most villainous people should have at least one good point to make them believable.

Because we all know villainous people who steal, murder, and mug little old ladies but have a soft spot for cutesy bunny rabbits.

If you want to show strong feelings but prefer not to spell out the swear words, easy solutions exist:

'He swore competently.'

He swore COMPETENTLY? Is that like getting a prize at a spelling bee? "Jimmy, please stand up and swear competently. Are you ready, Jimmy? Begin with the s's."

How about some plot advice?

Mark, a newspaper columnist, finds himself attracted to Coryn. But after a few dates, he abruptly stops seeing her without explanation. Coryn's father is about to run for political office. Interwoven subplots involve Coryn's mother, who is in the initial stage of Alzheimer's Disease, and the death of Coryn's dog, all neatly tied together to make an inspiring and informative read.

I could write a novel like that: "The subplots of Pamela in Portland combine the ongoing search for Mr. Right (Now), the loss of the heroine's job, a sudden discovery of a cure for cancer, and the death of the heroine's cat by a passing car."

To be continued . . .