Tags
books, Christian sexual ethics, historical romance novels, Katharine Ashe, literature, romance, romance fiction, romance genre, sex
This past July, for the first time, I read romance fiction. I liked it, and I’m out to convince you that you should too. And no, it wasn’t Fifty Shades of Grey. Definitely not.
It all began when I read Camille Jackson’s Duke Today article “outing” historian Dr. Katharine Brophy Dubois as Katharine Ashe, Duke’s own award-winning author of historical romance novels. As I read the article I mused, “Ah, Duke has a little bit of ‘anything you can do I can do better‘ here: ‘Fifty Shades may be creating a sensation, but our romance writer actually can write, and she knows her stuff.'” I remain uninterested in Fifty Shades, but the article persuaded me to try Ashe’s books. As I read them one after another, I realized I was reluctant to let anyone know. Why not? What’s wrong with reading romance fiction and liking it?
The most obvious answer derives from the general denigration of the romance genre, which Jackson identifies:
“The success of current bestseller “Fifty Shades of Grey” notwithstanding, romance fiction is generally viewed with contempt as lowbrow, poorly written, cheap, tawdry, worthy of mockery — especially among academic literary types.”
I understand that in the case of Fifty Shades Jackson’s list of usual criticisms may well hit the mark. But I wasn’t reading Fifty Shades of Grey, and the above modifiers do not describe the entire romance genre. So why the discomfort with reading good romance fiction?
The basic genre convention requires a love story with a happy ending. Take that away and it’s not romance. Perhaps to some readers, love stories with happy endings seem sentimental, naïve, or unrealistic. While such failings can occur, they’re not inevitable. Moreover, happiness and love do belong to the realm of possibility in the real world. It actually requires no more imagination or suspension of disbelief to dwell upon how love develops and flourishes than to wallow in cynicism. Plenty of classical literature likewise ends happily, so that cannot be romance fiction’s fatal flaw.
But something more insidious may have caused my discomfort. Dubois notes that romance fiction, “. . . is an industry run by women and consumed by women. What does it mean that it is stigmatized? I’d suggest it is latent misogyny in American culture.” Does romance fiction suffer social denigration because women like it? Here’s a novel idea: a thing is not automatically ridiculous because women like it, or because men do not, or because women like it more than men do. Because—and for this original thought I owe Dorothy Sayers—women are just as much human beings as men are. Women’s preferences and interests, therefore, belong equally to the definition of “human being” as those of men. To denigrate romance fiction because women like it… well, I’m speechless. I’d be hard pressed to think of a worse reason.
But there’s that other, additional uncomfortable element. Sex.
Sex! The books describe sex!
Well, yes. And?
Good girls are innocent! They aren’t supposed to think about sex, or talk about it.
. . . or so I’ve heard metaphorically stage-whispered to me over the years, which probably goes furthest to explain why it took me awhile to screw up my courage to write this post. (And I still wouldn’t say, “Go read romance novels!” full stop.) Three factors tipped the balance: First, if Katharine Dubois can admit she’s also Katharine Ashe, I can admit I enjoy what she writes. She writes emotionally satisfying love stories including candid descriptions of lovemaking without apology or embarrassment. Second, Ashe’s books are good. She writes well-plotted and paced stories with delightful total content and beautiful language; they actually sound like they arise from the linguistic imagination of the early 19th C. These books deserve a wider audience—yes, including Christian adults, which brings me to the third factor. I’ve lately become convinced that all Christians including single people who aren’t sexually active—even “good girls”—should learn to talk about sex well, which will take practice. Loving romance, accepting and enjoying one’s existence as a sexual creature, and comfort with talking about sex all belong quite compatibly to a chaste sexual ethic. Open enjoyment of Ashe’s romance books (and perhaps select others) could help create space for productive and wholesome talk about sex.
So, the books: Ashe has published six novels (in order of publication): Swept Away by a Kiss, Captured by a Rogue Lord, and In the Arms of a Marquess in the “Rogues of the Sea” trilogy, and three books of a coming five in “The Falcon Club” series: When a Scot Loves a Lady, How to be a Proper Lady, and How a Lady Weds a Rogue. All take place in Britain’s Regency period (1811-1820) with main characters from the gentry and nobility, and each of her main characters also appears in at least one other book. I did not read the books in the order of publication, and one really could begin anywhere. So far my favorite has been How to be a Proper Lady, but for the sake of understanding more of the characters better I was glad I had read Captured by a Rogue Lord first. Had I also first read When a Scot Loves a Lady, I might have enjoyed it even more. But each of the books stands alone as well as belonging to a larger narrative world. Although I think her more recent books are stronger writing and I’ve enjoyed them more, none of her books has disappointed me.
What about the characters? Commitment to verisimilitude prohibits writing a modern feminist heroine set in the Regency period. Despite this limitation, however, Ashe writes heroines as smart and courageous as her heroes, as independent as social constraints allow (sometimes bending them!), and suited with talents and interests that team up well with the noble occupation of the hero. These young women combine fundamental goodness with unusual passion, which begins to explain why they match well with Ashe’s heroes, several of whom operate as clandestine advocates of tangible justice. And of course the characters’ goodness and generosity spill into their lovemaking. The novels do not raise any individual as the one character worth emulating in every detail; all have flaws. But like a good “faerie story,” the overall effect nudges the reader toward celebrating the true, the good, and the beautiful—with a lot of wit, humor, and passionate love along the way.
This feature epitomizes the good of romance fiction: At its best, it inspires readers to love the true, the good, and the beautiful. But reading good romance—especially openly and with others—can do something more. It can create space for good talk about sex, which brings me back to the third factor above that tipped the balance toward my writing this post at all: Good talk about sex is legitimate Christian business. Christians need to re-imagine not just how to talk about sex, but who can and should talk about sex. In a word, everyone—men and women, single and married. As a good friend of mine, who happens to be married, observed recently, “Sex is a part of life whether or not you’re having it.” And all of life belongs properly to the scope of Christian theological-ethical reflection. So here’s to removing the stigma of talking about sex, and learning to do so gracefully and joyfully.
N. B. – Folks in the Durham area can meet Katharine Ashe at the Regulator Bookshop on October 10 at 7:00 PM, where she’ll be promoting the just released, How a Lady Weds a Rogue.
lettertodiognetus said:
you made me blush, c. 🙂 all kidding aside, thanks for this delightful post. I am wondering, though, if there is a distinction between novels that have good romance (I think of _Possession_, one of my favorite novels), and romance novels. Is there something essentialist about romance novels; construction of gender that makes me wary of reading them (or admitting to reading them)?
And do you have any thoughts as to how single people who want to be faithful to God as well as their sexuality can actually start to fruitfully talk about sex?
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Celia Wolff said:
Those are some great questions and, I think, exactly the right ones to ask. On “romance novels” vs. “novels with good romance”: There are a couple distinctions, of course. First, who publishes the books? There are romance industry publishers, and some authors who self-consciously and unabashedly write books for those imprints. While many books in the romance genre have cast women as “damsels in distress” (or so I have always assumed), that characterization is far from essential to the genre. A bit of exploring beyond Ashe’s books has shown me otherwise. And that’s not actually too surprising given that romance is a huge industry (much bigger than I’d ever considered) and it’s mostly run and consumed by women. While there are probably many women who do like the “damsel-in-distress” heroine, I’d guess there are an increasing number who prefer a more independent one. It’s a bit more complicated in historical fiction if one cares at all about any level of historical realism (as Ashe certainly does!); a 19th C. lady with a career just isn’t believable. But that doesn’t have to be the end of the story; in fact, I find it quite interesting to imagine how women who weren’t content with their societal lot managed to make space for themselves and keep their spirits alive amid the cultural boundaries on their lives. That’s part of the fun of Ashe’s books. I might write more sometime about other romance books/authors that I think are worth reading… because I still wouldn’t give the romance genre (or any other genre!) a blanket endorsement. For example, I like LOTR, but I don’t like all fantasy.
How can Christians talk about sex faithfully? That’s obviously more than I could fit into the above post, and I’m still thinking about it. It’s probably a lot of books. But I think a good place to begin is to find safe friends with whom to talk—both single and married. And there are so many different ways to approach the topic within such conversations, but I might want to begin by wondering and musing together about the kind of question I think Sam Wells would ask if he were discussing this topic: What role should sex play in the Christian’s journey toward a life that belongs wholly to the God revealed in Jesus? Well, that’s a start. But it should be playful and funny too. 🙂
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Travis said:
Michael Chabon has a pretty compelling essay somewhere about how genre distinctions, while occasionally useful, are mostly an artifact of publishing business models and the Dewey Decimal system. Romance novels have a cover with some shirtless guy and a woman in a hoop skirt. Scifi has a spaceship and a dumb font and is printed on crappy newsprint. I think romance novels have their reputation not (just) because women like them and men don’t but because they are perceived as the equivalent of pornography, which I think you name in the concern about sex. Or they are like scifi or fantasy: a niche genre for weirdos, and certainly not respectable, realistic Literature like Philip Roth (alt-history), Gabriel Garcia Marquez (ghosts) and Audrey Niffenegger (time travel). I wonder how/if digital publishing, with less of a need to categorize books on a physical shelf and with relative anonymity in what you are reading, will affect all this?
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Celia Wolff said:
Thanks for the Chabon tip and the thoughtful reflection, Travis. Of course I cannot predict how digital publishing will shape genre distinctions… but I have reflected on the matter of anonymity and how it affects what one reads especially in reference to the romance genre. I’ve read in more than one opinion piece that the popularity of Fifty Shades owed quite a bit to its original eBook format and its benign cover design. Once it climbed to the top of the NY Times bestseller list “respectable” became something of a moot point (but I’m still not going to read it). But part of my point is that I think books that talk about sex should start a conversation—a critical conversation. It’s hard to start a conversation if you’re reading alone/anonymously and afraid that others will find the topic embarrassing or shameful. So I’d say that eBooks don’t necessarily help the situation in that regard, but I can’t see that they make the problem much worse either. What do you think?
The point about genre fiction generally is important too. True, there’s a lot of low-quality genre fiction out there, but that doesn’t mean that no genre fiction can be respectable literature, or at least edifying. That’s a classic logical fallacy. (I don’t feel like I’m arguing against you on this point; just expanding a bit.) Thanks for your comment!
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