H is for Harmony

{For the full alphabet of intersectional feminism in romance, click here.}

Sienna Mynx’s 1920s-set interracial romance Harmony was a mixed bag for me. The book was self-published and it shows, especially in the comma confusion and some occasional editing errors that jerked me right out of the story (“romp” for “rump” and such). Hero Vinnie is an alpha male mob boss, neither of which tropes are really my jam, and I had some minor quibbles with the pacing and the plot. But by far my biggest disappointment is — spoilers! — the fact that our two villains (well, one-and-a-half villains: thanks, redemption arc) are both gay. People, I am so damn tired of gay villains in romance: it was cliché and reductive in the 80’s, and it’s cliché and reductive now.

Cover image for Harmony by Sienna Mynx. A brown-skinned, black-haired woman with a white flower behind one ear stares challengingly at the camera. She wears a spaghetti-strapped black dress. Behind her, a pale-skinned man with slicked-back blondish hair dangles a cigarette between his lips and stares at the camera with a shotgun raised to one side.It’s especially disappointing in an interracial romance that is explicitly concerned with how societal norms punish our black heroine and Italian-immigrant hero for the taboo nature of their relationship. Harmony and Vinnie lament the hardships they will face as a mixed-race couple, to the point where they end the book starting over in a new town out West where they won’t be so blatantly discriminated against. There are only a few states where their relationship is even legal, and our hero and heroine suffer from the stigma and prejudiced disdain of others at several key points in the plot.

None of this gives Vinnie and Harmony any immediate empathy for their gay siblings: Harmony’s brother Willie’s homosexuality is described as a “sickness” (Kindle location 3185) and Vinnie’s brother Antonio’s as a “madness” (3289) and “sins” (4256). (Side note: I have a hard time using the word “queer” in relation to this text, as it appears several times as a slur.)

Any excuse to post this exchange between Jeff Winger and Troy Barnes.In fact, it is Antonio, our villain, who most strongly makes the argument that it’s hypocritical to defend your straight mixed-race relationship while disapproving of his mixed-race relationship with another man: “You can fuck Annie, playhouse with her, but you would never accept me and Teek” (3208). Teek is the gay brother of Vinnie’s ex-girlfriend Annie — so for those of you playing along at home, we now have three gay brothers. Two of the three are black. One of the three, Teek, is dead when the book begins, and the other two conspire for revenge — though the main impetus is Antonio’s, since Teek was “the only person who ever loved me unconditionally” (3206). Antonio is killed pretty much immediately after this reveal, and Willie gravely injured.

With the various bootlegging gangs poised for war thanks to Antonio’s big gay treachery, Harmony gives her brother a wad of cash and sends him to Chicago, saying he should “go wherever you want and be who you are … You of all people should know we can’t help who we love, only the choices we make” (4053). This has the phraseology of acceptance, but it’s really a Pilate-like washing of the hands: an earlier exchange between Harmony and Vinnie about her brother’s future sees Vinnie encourage her to “Let him go. Let him be his own man, make his own mistakes” (3487). It’s an unfortunate turn of phrase that equates gay relationships with shady criminal activity (the context in which we mostly see men’s choices characterized as “mistakes” in this text). Harmony expresses love for her brother, but it has the regretful love-the-sinner-hate-the-sin flavor we’ve seen so often in ‘not officially bigoted’ homophobic parlance.The happy ending requires Harmony and her brother to be separated, possibly forever. The text’s inability to distinguish between Willie’s criminal actions and his sexual desires is one of the many points where a thoughtful editor could have improved the book immensely. Instead we’re left with a three-pack of the Bury Your Gays trope, with a hefty sprinkling of the myth that black people are especially prone to homophobia.

Fortunately, this disappointing dynamic is only a small part of the text. The part that resonated most strongly with me is the way this text deploys the human voice as a tool and a motif — in particular, the voice of our heroine Harmony.

Harmony’s voice is an instrument of unassailable power. It soothes her when she feels anxious, and it undermines her opponents. In a narrative where she is often vulnerable, trapped and surrounded by violent, untrustworthy men — our hero included — the power of her voice consistently levels the playing field: “Nothing could touch her when she sang” (532). Even as Harmony’s song keeps her protected, it utterly destabilizes our aggressive alpha hero:

Words he hadn’t spoken since he parted the shores of Sicily escaped him. He whispered them forgetting she didn’t understand his language. He wanted to stop time. Never in his life had a woman’s voice had such an affect on him. Silently he had craved her for months after the first time he heard her sing. He bought all the jazz records he could, trying to capture the calm soothing feeling of her voice that chipped at the iceberg in his chest most would call a heart. (543)

Harmony yells “No!” more often than any heroine in my recent memory. Shouts it, more than once, to the hero and others, often after eavesdropping and overhearing something vital she wasn’t supposed to hear. In keeping with this vocal self-assertion, she consistently refuses to be sidelined, deceived, discounted, ignored, or dismissed. At one point she is given solid cause to distrust the hero, and — praise be! — she distrusts him, as any reasonable person would when choosing between a long-loved brother in peril and a three-days’ Mafioso hookup who has kidnapped you and is keeping you in the dark about his plans. When Vinnie’s racist henchman beats her and tries to prevent her escaping from the isolated farm where she’s being kept, Harmony takes a pickax to his face. Then she steals a gun and a car, finds her brother, and threatens to shoot our hero for being a jackass. The fact that she happens to be wrong about who’s really behind the conspiracy does not become an emotional plot point: she is not made to atone for her mistake the way romance heroines are so often punished by the narrative for distrusting the hero. In fact, Vinnie seems rather impressed (as well he should be).

Words are the heroine’s best weapons. Antagonists more than once refer to her as “mouthy.” This in a text that emphasizes different modes of speech — singing, promises, lies, and confessions most prominently — makes Harmony something of a superhero. She argues back against those who would shame her for loving a white man. She unravels lies and compels the fulfillment of promises. At the book’s climax, she persuades two rival gang leaders to help her rescue Vinnie from assassination — a welcome reversal of the usual suspense dynamic.

Hero Vinnie, unfortunately for him in such a world as this, is more a man of concrete physical action:

He should just hold her and talk out their goodbye. Find the comforting words to give her so she would remember him fondly, and not like this, broken and needy. But he craved the physical more. (3901)

In the course of the plot, Vinnie tries to fight violence with violence and gang warfare with gang warfare. The fight scenes tend to feature him grabbing someone by the throat, choking them, or stepping on someone’s throat — silencing moves, reflecting his discomfort with language and speech. He is simultaneously paranoid about and vulnerable to his brother’s lies, and his inability to discern the truth of someone’s words often leads him to retort with his fists rather than with argument. Many romance heroes are described as dangerous, but few truly are: Vinnie kills multiple people in truly brutal ways over the course of the plot, and experiences little if any remorse for it. Yet time and time again, Vinnie fails at what he sets out to do — to reform his brother, to get back his stolen booze shipment, to convince Harmony to trust him implicitly, to be different than his abusive, larger-than-life father.

Often in romance the violence of a dangerous hero is justified and made palatable by the narrative: he defends the heroine, he kills the villain, he defeats enemies who are equally or more brutally vicious. The hero’s violence is within his control, or at least within the scope of sympathy and heroic morality. But Vinnie’s violent nature is almost fatal to himself, to Harmony, and to their shared future. It’s a part of himself that he hates, and for once the narrative supports the hero’s self-loathing: Vinnie is absolutely right to hate the part of himself that is hateful. Harmony gives him several earfuls about it, and his stubborn refusal to listen to her is presented as a mistake (unlike her earlier distrust and threats against him). His brother, his booze-running, his loyal gangster friends — all of these are taken from him, one by one, as the consequences of violence compound and increase. Just stop, I was mentally pleading by the time of the final showdown. Just leave while you’re still alive. There’s nothing left for you here. Vinnie nearly dies in a blaze of glory, haloed by bullets, hung from his arms in the barn where he failed to get former captured enemies to confess (that language weakness again). His farm, a longtime refuge, burns to the ground in the turmoil, while Harmony throws an unconscious Vinnie in the back of her car and they take refuge with the unspeaking Amish (no, seriously, it was kind of weird).

Normally, especially in romantic suspense (which I’d argue is the proper subgenre for this book), we see the heroine’s life destroyed to push her closer to the hero. In Vivid, for instance, Viveca’s cottage was set on fire by a disgruntled local douchebag, after which she moved in to the house where Nate and his family lived. In Harmony, for once, it’s the hero’s world that burns: Harmony gets everything she dreamed of since the start of the book. Vinnie puts aside his violent urges, for the sake of Harmony and their child. It’s like the end of Jane Eyre, if Rochester used more Italian words and was only emotionally rather than physically wounded at the end. I am left feeling that it really shouldn’t be so rare for an alpha hero in the romance genre to renounce a life of violence. To have a black heroine’s voice be the most powerful in the book, to have the white alpha hero ultimately yield to her authority, is kind of a radical move.

I think I’ve talked myself into liking this book.

I guess there’s something to be said for overthinking things.

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For actual period takes on black-authored romance in the 1920s, check out this gem from the Popular Romance Project about romance stories in black newspapers of the early 20th century. 

And for a wider historical perspective, here is a piece from The Root on black LGBTQ authors during the Harlem Renaissance.

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Mynx, Sienna. Harmony. The Divas Pen: 2012. Ebook.

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2 thoughts on “H is for Harmony

  1. I admit, I’m a bit of a comma abuser myself. I find myself going back all the time and editing out my poor, overworked punctuation crutch. I’m sure I’ve done it some more in these last three sentences too.

    As for the actual review. I can’t stand the gay villain thing either. It’s right up there with the albino villain and the vegan villain.

    It doesn’t sound like this book would really be my thing either but once again, great review!

  2. Harmony’s voice is an instrument of unassailable power.

    By coincidence, I saw an article this morning about Marian Anderson who,

    After high school, […] applied to study at the Philadelphia Music Academy, an all-white institution. She was turned away not because she lacked talent or potential as a singer but because of her colour. […]

    Anderson instead studied privately, supported financially by the local community. From the mid-1920s her reputation grew: the purity of her tone was much admired.

    But to build a top-level career she needed to go abroad. Anderson made her London debut in 1930 and found further acclaim in Salzburg and Moscow. She was also a favourite of the Finnish composer Sibelius. […]

    The incident that gave her a place in American social history came in 1939.

    She and her agent Sol Hurok decided she was ready to sing in Constitution Hall, then regarded as Washington’s main venue for classical music (a position since ceded to the Kennedy Center). The hall belonged to the Daughters of the American Revolution.

    The DAR is a long-established body for women who “can prove lineal descent from a patriot of the American revolution”. In 1939 that definition was held to exclude anyone who was black. […]

    But then something happened that shook the DAR to its core. America’s first lady Eleanor Roosevelt resigned her membership in protest at how the singer had been treated.

    I’m not absolutely sure, but I think the first photo is of Marian Anderson in the 1920s.

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