All posts by Olivia

Even More Romance Novels For the Modern Woman, Whoever She May Be

{Disclaimer: I have not read nearly all of the books I list here, but the author of the original post hasn’t either, so what the hell, let’s do this.}

Short version: someone who’s never read a romance novel showed up today to tell us what she’d like to see in modern romance novels (DoNotLinkified for your pleasure). It’s the usual nonsense — ignorance of the genre worn like a badge of honor, obligatory Fabio namedrop — but since it takes as premise the idea that these are romance novels the author would enjoy reading, I’m going to pretend to take her at her word and provide this list of actual books she can read right damn now that fit her wishlist. In a way that isn’t just me shouting: “New Adult! New Adult! That genre you wish were invented, it’s called New Adult and there’s tons of it!”

Comments with further recommendations will be happily entertained.

1. “This is a great playlist,” she told the barista, her hand reaching out for her freshly-made soy latte.

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s mine.”

Breakfast at Giovanni’s by Kate Hardy. Ex-musician barista hero.

Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. Possibly cheating because it’s YA and co-authored by a man (MISANDRY), but super-adorable and funny as hell. Urban indie music-obsessed kids.

2. They’d tweeted back and forth for quite some time and it was always thoughtful commentary. But now here he was — at this happy hour, just across the room and right next to the bar snacks.

Goodnight Tweetheart by Teresa Medeiros. Twitter-epistolary romance written when Twitter didn’t inspire hand-wringing thinkpieces. Or maybe just not quite so many hand-wringing thinkpieces.

3. She and the beekeeper would have led separate lives had it not been for their chance run-in at the CSA box pickup.

The Beekeeper’s Ball by Susan Wiggs.

Truly by Ruthie Knox. One of these days I’m going to write a beekeeping romance, I swear — I just need to do more reading and research first. I fucking love bees.

4. After 10 minutes of reading the same book across from each other on the L train, she finally managed to catch her eye. She smiled.

I’m sure there are literally hundreds of romance novels that start like this. So rather than listing just one, here is an anthology: Strangers on a Train. Stories by Donna Cummings, Samantha Hunter, Meg Maguire, Serena Bell, and Ruthie Knox.

Also About Last Night by Ruthie Knox. Again! I’m starting to think our author just needs to buy everything on Ms. Knox’s backlist.

5. By now she should have known that plans for a Netflix marathon aren’t as innocent as “Gilmore Girls”. Part of her did know. But all of her secretly wanted it to happen.

What even is this? Nobody wants to read romance novels about people sitting around watching television until they get up the courage to tenderly make out. OH WAIT, NO, THINGS LIKE THIS TOTALLY EXIST TOO BECAUSE ROMANCE IS AN OMNIVOROUS BEASTIE: Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell. Fanfic writer heroine, a sweetly realistic college story and setting.

6. Of all the brunch joints in all the retrofitted warehouses in all the world, she walks into mine.

Chef heroes/heroines are less common than billionaires, but more common than beekeepers I don’t have to list just one, because there is an entire Goodreads thread with copious suggestions. Chef heroes, baking heroines, chef heroines, food-as-sex metaphors, the whole shebang.

7. After a showing of the newest critically acclaimed indie film, she stepped outside for a cigarette where he was smoking too. Long, sighing drags.

“That really sucked, didn’t it?” he said suddenly, turning towards her.

I’m sure this scene exists in countless romance novels — but they’re hard to search for, because I can tell you this is not going to be what readers talk about when they talk about the book. They’re going to talk about the major issues between the protagonists, a great voice, a unique setting. We’re not going to be sitting here going, “Oh, and parts of it are recognizable from my experience as a human being who occasionally sees movies in public places and chats with strangers when I step outside for a smoke.” That’s kind of assumed.

But for the sake of things, here is a small selection of movie-set romances.

The Unidentified Redhead by Alice Clayton. Actress heroine, hero’s an up-and-comer in the film industry.

Hiding from Hollywood by Ellie Darkins.

Suleikha Snyder’s Bollywood Confidential series, of which I’ve read one and it was awesome.

8. Your stomach is in knots after you send that first Tumblr message. But you know from his reblogs that there’s too much in common not to reach out. And those GIF sets. Unf.

You know why you don’t see Tumblr used as a major plot point in romance novels? Because trademarks exist. Romance novelists and novelists more generally know better than to use trademarks they don’t have licenses for, because that shit is EXPENSIVE. I’m guessing that Teresa Medeiros could do a Twitter novel because it was super-new, she’s super-established, and the legal team at her publisher got all their legal ducks in a row. (Someone please draw me a legal ducks in a row, please, I bet they’re adorable.)

That said, I’m surprised that a Tumblr quoting romance novels that briefly mention Tumblr doesn’t already exist.

But if you want social-media-based romance, you’ll get it: Love, Rosie by Cecilia Ahern. Skews a bit chick-lit, probably, but hey, they’re a close cousin of romance and get spattered with the same mud. So come on over, chick lit!

9. She went up to pay her tab, but the bartender said it was already taken care of.

“This man left his name and Instagram handle for you. He said you should get in touch if you want, but feel free not to because no one owes anyone anything and he just wanted to make a kind gesture.”

Again, I have read this scene or ones very like it in romances more than a few times, but don’t remember which because what sticks are the specifics. This is not terribly specific. It reminds me a bit of one of the early bar scenes in Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie, which everyone romance-inclined should try at some point. Hero Cal nice-guys at our heroine, who totally calls him on it. Fun stuff!

Also: Trade Me by Courtney Milan, because it’s amazing and I can totally see billionaire techie hero Blake doing something like this for someone he liked.

10. “Hey, I’m DMing because I think I found your moleskine? Your name is written inside the cover. I also write to-do lists and haikus about the weather.”

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. HAHAHAHA NOPE, just messing with you, that is not at all a romance.

Instead, may I suggest Romancing Mr. Bridgerton by Julia Quinn. Yes, it’s a historical, so supposedly un-modern. But it also features two characters who write — who write about the weather, even! — and a misplaced diary that leads to conflict and angst. A lot of Quinn’s characters are list-and-diary-inclined, now that you mention it. Let’s see some of them in list form!

11. Whenever she went to the library she strolled through the stacks, knowing it wasn’t necessary. He always left a book of poetry he thought she’d like at the reference desk. On the 10th week there was a note tucked inside the cover.

So many librarian heroes and heroines. So, so many. Here is a long, long list from Wendy the Super Librarian (apropos!).

12. A cute boy walks into a deli.

Get out of here with that weak sauce: I present Sandwich, with a Side of Romance by Krista Phillips. Not just deli-set, but deli-themed.

On a more serious note, there’s something in this piece I feel is worth addressing. Supposedly this is ‘satire’ meant to poke at the boundaries of the genre and expand them past their current domain. The fact that the author was wrong about where those boundaries are and what’s actually contained in them is irksome, but predictable, and by this point in time kind of boring (for a rage-inducing value of boring, anyway).

But I think there’s another significant error being made here, and it’s one I haven’t seen talked about before when articles like this crop up. I want to poke at that a while, for the novelty.

Look at the list of activities, jobs, hobbies, and interests: it’s a constellation that spells the word GENTRIFICATION in all-caps. Delis, coffeeshops, indie movies, slim volumes of poetry, mass transit, Twitter and Tumblr and Instagram. Fucking Moleskine (she said, looking at her shelf of like six Moleskines from college and beyond). The ‘modern woman’ these images conjure is unavoidably young, straight, cis, and white. Kind of a loner — no parents or friends are mentioned — but connected on social media. A reader, of course, though of intelligent, critically approved fare (I bet she has read Jonathan Franzen, or at least Dave Eggers). After all, she uses her reading as a way of forming bonds with men she might like to date (the book on the L train, the poetry in the library).

And this is a person who is supposedly unimaginable as the heroine of a romance novel.

All the writer had to do, if she really wanted these books like the piece said, is ask literally anyone on the internet. Nobody likes giving recs like a romance reader or author. Twitter and Tumblr would be all over this. But that wasn’t really the point — it was about the piece’s author establishing her cred as Not Like Those Other Girls. It’s that old misogynist trick the patriarchy helps women play on themselves: the one where they can prove their worth by disassociating with everything coded feminine. Choosing whiskey over fruity cocktails, or eating a hamburger rather than a salad. Reading Hemingway and Franzen and laughing at romance. I suspect that’s where the editors at Femsplain (ugh ugh ugh) come from when they talk about this as “satire.” The idea being that a romance novel with a young urban heroine is so unusual as to be laughable. Or so I guess — the satire part remains inexplicable to me.

Meanwhile, for several months now and with admirable determination, many people in romance and publishing more broadly have been talking about the vital need for diverse representation in books — in romance and YA and sff specifically, but also as authors and editors and publishers. Our author feels erased from romance as a so-called Millennial (if she can so be called)? Imagine what it feels like to be a woman of color, or an older woman, a fatter woman, a disabled woman, or a trans woman looking around at this same landscape. But it turns out that the more you go looking for that kind of representation, the easier it is to find. As soon as I started actively reaching out to read authors of color, they were everywhere; as soon as we started talking about the need for trans heroines and heroes, recommendation lists come out. Black romance (authored by black women!) has a long history of its own (overview timeline here) that parallels but doesn’t perfectly overlap with the history of — and I guess I’ll coin the term — White Romance.

Racism (like other isms) doesn’t mean this history doesn’t exist: it only means it’s harder for those of us with privilege to really see it, until we try.

It’s easy to get discouraged on the social media front, especially in the current climate where a certain movie release means romance is a more appealing target than usual. But the lesson I’d like to take away from the Femsplain piece (ugh) is not that romance is letting us down: it’s that maybe we haven’t personally seen everything romance has in it. That diversity we all want more of? It’s already here.

We just need to ask.

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Batman and Bootleggers: For the Love of Lit Crit

{For the Love of Lit Crit is a post series that takes a feminist look at romance texts — not so much to prove that romance is feminist or anti-feminist, but because sometimes analysis can be as fun and escapist as a love story. Spoilers abound! Also, a content note for discussion of guns and violence, though I don’t think things get really graphic or specific.

Meanwhile, during the month of January I’m catching up on a bunch of books from the TBR list, most of which have been out for some time because I am perpetually behind the curve. I’m also tweeting about what I find as I read; follow #Readening on Twitter for comments, thoughts, Titanic design corrections, and critiques of bee metaphors.}

That last long post must really be sticking with me, because here I was reading a lusty paranormal romance set in Jazz Age San Francisco and all I could think about was the violence. Not the sensual wardrobes, not the issues with race — nope, the violence and how actions are morally coded based on the actor rather than the deed itself.
Cover for Bitter Spirits by Jenn Bennett.

Capsule review: I’m torn about whether to recommend this. I loved the detail of the built world and I’m definitely going to read the next in the series because I already ship Bo and Astrid and I need to at least stay caught up until their story in book 3. And I’m revising a Prohibition paranormal of my own now (with monsters instead of ghosts and magic) so this series is totally Necessary Author Research and probably even tax-deductible. But I had a lot of issues with the way the book dealt with race: those concerns are pretty much covered in this Dear Author review (click the spoiler tag), and they’re just problematic enough that I hesitate to give this book an enthusiastic two thumbs up. Not because I am easily offended, but because lot of the issues here are recognizable stereotypes with a long horrible history, and seeing them repeated in modern texts can make a reader so damn tired. It’s less How outrageous! and more Ugh, not this again.

I’m glad Dear Author’s review tackled the issues with depiction of Chinese-American characters, because that leaves me free to talk about the contradictory way this book presents violence — specifically gun violence and domestic violence — in regard to our hero.

A Good Man Who Does Bad Things

I knew going in that a bootlegging hero was probably going to have to kill someone. Not every rumrunner forbade guns like Seattle’s Roy Olmstead, though I suspect that’s partly who Bitter Spirits hero Winter Magnusson was based on. And there’s definitely room in romantic heroism for killing: Han shot first, after all. So I wasn’t surprised when the book revealed that Winter has a few deaths on his conscience.

I was a little surprised that one of them was his wife, though. Again, spoilers everywhere in this analysis.

It’s negligence rather than murder, but Winter still holds himself responsible for the car accident that killed his mother, his father, his wife, and left Winter himself visibly scarred. The fallout of this trauma is one of the major emotional arcs of the romance. And you know what? All I could think was: That sounds about right. You killed your family, buddy. That feels like one of those events that maybe one shouldn’t be able to entirely get over? It’s like Batman, only instead of a thief in the alley it’s like little Brucie was playing with a pistol and shot Mr. and Mrs. Wayne himself.

(I just giggled for five fully minutes imagining how self-flagellating and angsty Batman could get in that scenario. Batman really is the funniest superhero.)

Winter reserves the greatest measure of guilt not for his parents, but for his wife Paulina — because, he explains, she’d asked him for a divorce and he’d refused: “I should have just let her go. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I think maybe I saw it as a failure, and that was unacceptable … I told her divorce was impossible, that I’d never let it happen … So that’s why I feel guilty — because even though I didn’t love her, I refused to let her go. If I had, everyone would still be alive” (Kindle location 2335).

Heroine Aida replies: “Paulina made the decision to marry you. You didn’t hold a gun to her head.”

This metaphor struck me as being in extremely poor taste.

For one thing, while I haven’t specifically researched divorce laws in 1927 California (anyone with a quick link is free to add it in comments), my understanding is that divorce at this time in this place has to be agreed to by both parties. So that if Winter refuses to grant a divorce, Paulina has to stay married to him, no matter how she personally feels about it. This may not be violence, per se, but it’s definitely an unpleasant level of control for him to exert for very little reason. It feels mean. It feels petty. It feels, in a word, unheroic.

For another thing, he’s literally just told Aida he caused his wife’s death. A woman is dead — two women, and a man, if you count his mother and father, but he doesn’t seem to agonize over that as much. And the best our heroine can muster is: “But the important thing is you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

I for one am perfectly okay with the hero feeling bad about this. Forever. Maybe not to Batman levels of self-flagellation, but surely this tragedy is more than just an opportunity for him to grow emotionally as a person. There should be consequences for a mistake of this magnitude. Our hero is not in prison, he is not making restitution to his wife’s family, he is not working to make automobiles safer or donating to charity or doing anything else to atone for his actions. He is merely berating himself emotionally. I find it unpleasant that those are the only consequences for such a colossal waste of life, but I am equally loth to see any consequence of that event erased because the heroine feels one should “live in the moment.” (Yep, actual quote, Kindle location 2335 like the others.)

Taken on its own, bereft of genre context, this exchange makes Aida look cold and amoral. She’s not, of course. She’s simply being a Good Heroine: her job in the narrative is to reassure the hero about his past mistakes to prove he is a Good Person Deserving Of Love. And Good People don’t do Bad Things. The hero is by definition a Good Person — ergo his actions are Good, and must be construed in the best possible light. The cause of Paulina’s death was not really the hero’s inattention while driving; the cause of Paulina’s death was her own “character defects” — specifically, not being ‘strong’ enough to leave on her own when her husband refused to divorce her. Her rich, powerful, musclebound, lawbreaking husband with a ton of underworld connections and corrupt cops on his payroll, who’d just said he’d never let her go. Gosh, why wouldn’t she be scared to leave? Again, “character defects” is a direct quote from our heroine. About the dead wife, not about the hero.

I was a little stunned. We’re blaming the dead wife for her own death at this point and I’m supposed to be rooting for these two as a couple.

And it’s not as though the violence of Winter’s career as a bootlegger can be separated from his family life. His job was the reason why Paulina wanted a divorce in the first place. Later, when Aida gets nervous before she and Winter have sex for the first time, our hero reflects: “he was reminded of Paulina, timid and guarded — worse, he was reminded of how he used to feel around her. Like a monster and a bully. Like the bad guy” (2412).

Two points:

  1. Winter clearly prioritizes his own feelings in this moment over his sexual partner’s. He thinks his feeling that he might be ‘the bad guy’ is worse than Aida’s feeling of being unsafe or unsure about the sex they are about to have.
  2. Winter wants Aida because he likes that she believes he’s a Good Guy — not because she has a solid moral compass, not because he can trust her judgment, but simply because it makes him feel better about himself. It’s an ego-stroke, pure and simple. There’s no sense that Aida expects him to do better. In fact, it’s the opposite: Aida is presented as a better match for Winter because she can accept his violent actions.

We are a long way here from the world of Filthy Lucre, where the heroine wants a good man to stop doing bad things, and tells him so. Winter’s tendency toward violence is by definition Good, because he is a hero, and the text gives him leave to be as vicious as he wants, consequence-free.

My concern about this moral framework is not only for Paulina: it’s for our villain, too. Our evil Chinese necromancer villain whose big evil plan is to bring Pauline’s corpse back from the dead as a weapon against our hero. Reader, I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t a really fun plot point. I was hoping Pauline would get some of her own back; there’s an earlier scene where Aida, a spirit medium, calls forth a dead husband who exposes his much younger widow’s adultery and callousness. I was hoping either Paulina would get to yell at Winter, or that she’d get to say she understood it was an accident; either one would be fine with me.

Instead, Paulina is a wordless, mindless zombie monster, controlled by black magic. A really lushly described, viscerally gross zombie corpse. Who never talks. Who maybe needs to be exorcised by the heroine and/or shot re-dead by the hero because that’s how we deal with first wives in romance, amirite?

Ugh, not this again.

A Bad Man Who Does Bad Things

The weirdness of the division between Good People and Bad People is illustrated most vividly in a scene between Aida and Doctor Yip, our villain.

Here is the first part.

Doctor Yip’s motivation, as Dear Author pointed out, is a historical truth and major act of bigotry: “After the Great Fire, the city tried to move Chinatown and seize our land, and when we resisted, you kept us in cages on Angel Island, separating our families for years” (4126).

Aida’s response: “didn’t.”

(#NotAllWhiteHeroines)

The text continues: “Aida could empathize with grief for a lost sibling, but she didn’t lash out and kill people for revenge when [her brother] Sam died.” Note what happened here: the villain laid out a sustained, horrible, systemic, racist injustice he personally suffered from, and the heroine rejected his moral claim because she personally had not participated in said injustice.

Here is the second part.

Doctor Yip makes another moral claim: despite the many killings he’s orchestrated, he has not shed a single drop of blood: “‘I have no blood debt on my hands. I am clean.'”

Aida’s response: “‘Just because you didn’t pull the trigger doesn’t mean you’re not guilty.'” She refuses to allow him to salve his conscience with technicalities when the greater point is that he’s responsible for several murders.

These two parts? They happen on the same damn page.

What this tells me as a reader is that the underlying moral structure of this text is tied to something other than action. Or facts, really. Aida resists any moral statement made by the villain, even if doing so means she contradicts herself within three paragraphs. The villain is Bad: he must be opposed. Winter is Good: he must be supported. Even if his actions in this same scene are comprised of several brutal murders (one done with Aida’s complete knowledge and approval). But he’s defending the heroine and himself, so it’s okay, right? He’s Good, isn’t he?

I’m coming down hard on this text not because it makes a uniquely irritating choice, but because it’s a vivid example of something I find all over the romance genre. I don’t mind having Good People and Bad People in fiction; I am not criticizing the lack of moral subtlety. But I do object to moral categories being applied as fixed traits, regardless of what we see a character actually do. Like many readers I bring my own moral compass with me when I read, and it is a rare book that can convince me to abandon it. I can sympathize with a hero who wants to not seem monstrous on page 10: but when we get to 100 and he’s murdered, tortured, threatened, and intimidated his way through the book, I begin to think that all those frightened secondary characters have a point.

If you’ve noticed a lot of gun metaphors — pulling the trigger, put a gun to her head — you’re picking up on one of the very strong motifs of this book. Guns both as props and as symbols are everywhere. Even at the climax of the sex scenes!

… he shuddered in her arms like a great, divine beast taken down by a single bullet.

She didn’t know if she was the gun that fired the bullet or the hunter who’d pulled the trigger … she knew she had made a terrible miscalculation.

She was the one who’d been shot. (2910)

There’s also a lot of guns-as-power imagery, but I won’t tire you with all that. Suffice to say that in the world right now — what with Ferguson, and Ottawa, and Paris, and now Boko Haram — I am increasingly wary of those who idealize guns as the proper tools of Good Men, whose violence shouldn’t be questioned.

At least Batman tries not to kill people.

___

Chinese-Canadian romance author Vicki Essex points out that new CBC show Strange Empire is an awesome diverse take on Western tropes, including violence and vengeance.

Speaking of Batman and the pitfalls of vigilante justice, here is a marvelous article from Cracked that lists Batman’s 6 most brutal murders. Some of these veer hilariously into self-parody, and others are just plain awful, so click at your peril.

Leigh Kolb at Bitch Flicks has a grounded and thoughtful feminist reading of Sons of Anarchy’s inescapably violent masculinity.

___

Bennett, Jenn. Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties Book 1). New York: Berkeley Sensation, January 2014. Kindle edition.

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Filthy Lucre: For the Love of Lit Crit

{Disclaimer: a copy of this book was provided me by the author for review. Ms. Cullars reached out after I discussed an earlier work of hers in my Feminism A-Z series on intersectionality in romance. It’s a brave author who looks at those posts and asks to run the gauntlet again. Especially since this review turned out to be extremely long. Spoilers will naturally abound, so be ye warned.

Also, this review series really does need a better title, so any suggestions will be most welcome.}

There’s an old joke that runs though literature departments: everything in fiction is a metaphor for sex — except sex, which is a metaphor for death.

Cover for Filthy Lucre by Sharon Cullars.

With money, it seems to go the other way. Money in fiction — literary, mystery, romance, sff, whatever — is always a stand-in for something else. Usually power, of course, but that begs the question: what kind of power precisely? In the case of Filthy Lucre by Sharon Cullars, money stands in for agency, for freedom, and for trust. Sometimes all at once, which makes my analytical brain rejoice.

Let’s get one thing out of the way first thing: this is a thoughtful and unusual romance — bank-robbing hero and black heroine in Missouri in 1933? AMBITIOUS — and it was really enjoyable. Definitely read it before continuing this post. There are mouth-watering food descriptions and richly drawn characters and real human conflict keeping the hero and heroine apart. Things like: he’s a bank robber who’s brought his fellow bank robbers into her home and they’ve taken her hostage and are probably going to kill her so they can make a clean getaway after the robbery. Also, those other bank robbers are Bonnie and Clyde. Yes, that Bonnie and Clyde.

I told you it was unusual. Continue reading Filthy Lucre: For the Love of Lit Crit

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