Category Archives: Text Adventures

High Stakes Visibility

Two things in particular happened this week.

1. Authors of color shared their experiences at the national RWA conference in New York. Suleikha Snyder’s ‘A Tale of Two Conferences’ and Rebekah Weatherspoon’s ‘#RWA15 – A WOC Perspective’ are both required reading, especially if you’re newly awakened to the obstacles that authors of color overcome in addition to more openly acknowledged difficulties (revisions, synopses, caffeine dependency). Subsequent Twitter discussion brought up microaggressions and pushback from both fellow conference-goers and, most egregiously, the aggressive indifference of Pocket Books, which admitted in a spotlight chat that they refer non-white submissions to other imprints.

2. NPR posted a list of ‘100 Swoon-Worthy Romances’, a list compiled from both popular suggestion and curation. They are open about the fact that they corrected to showcase not only breadth of subgenre, but also more diversity of character and author than appeared in the popular vote. Some of the books on the list feature racist or misogynist content (I love you for being my first, Johanna Lindsey’s Warrior’s Woman, but come the fuck on.) The comments on the list are about what you’d expect in terms of romance reader versus non-romance reader, with bonus hat-tip to the misguided gentleman who stiffly informs Victoria Motherfucking Dahl she doesn’t need to be embarrassed.

There was a brief feel-good reaction to the list on romance Twitter — it’s always pleasant when people take as a given that romance reading has merit, or at least as much merit as other kinds of reading. But in light of Moment No. 1 it felt stifling, as though we’d only just opened Romance’s Box O’Problems and now the lid was slamming back shut out of defensiveness. H/t Mikki Kendall: #SolidarityIsForWhiteWomen.

My assertion in this post is that these two moments are connected by more than just the romance genre. Both arise out of a profound and profoundly human need for visibility in stories — but then this need is filtered through the detritus of racism, classism, economic gain, and internalized misogyny. And things get shitty fast.

Romance has been the Designated Women’s Genre for a couple centuries now in Anglophone literature: written by women, featuring women, focusing on women’s lives and experience. This is often held up as proof of its empowering nature: I’ve done this more than once myself. It would be more accurate to say, though, that the vast majority of romance has focused on the lives and experiences of thin middle-to-upper-class white cis able-bodied women, with more than average levels of education. Bluestockings and heiresses a-plenty, housemaids and washerwomen not so much.

There’s a straight line you can draw from Jane Austen’s concern with the commodity model of marriage down to Betty Freidan’s Feminine Mystique. Because taking out the Canonical White Male capstone from the pyramid of kyriarchal literature still leaves all the other levels of the hierarchy in place. Women who have privilege will take up more narrative space than women without. This is not to say subversive things do not happen in books written by privileged white women; it is only to say that this is a limited conversation, and a less than universal empowerment.

Treating visibility as a zero-sum game is a failure of empathy we have seen over and over again: in publishing, in movies, in games. In the women’s suffrage movement, which as bell hooks shows explicitly rejected black women’s participation, even as black women were being rejected from participating in the abolition of slavery: white women counted, and black men counted, but black women didn’t. Black women, of course, kept participating anyways — they just aren’t historically celebrated for their labor. (See: Ida B. Wells.)

Now we’re seeing this same dynamic in romance, right out in the open at conferences and on social media. White women — because yeah, romance authors and publishers are mostly white, and anyone who gets defensive about this fact is not helping — push back against the call to diversify the genre because they’re used to defending it from the attacks of more privileged men. They have a readymade set of romance-defense rhetorical tools at the ready, whether it’s “laughing all the way to the bank” or “written by women, for women.”

They also push back against diversity because white privilege makes it easy to believe that women of color don’t count. It is impossible to untangle these two motivations from each other, since they come from a single system.

Racism is not just about police violence and starred-out slurs: racism is equally manifest in that knee-jerk, quiet little voice that whispers outsider when a woman of color asks for more heroines of color in romance. And if she writes heroines of color in her own stories, with happy endings? If she courts publishers or agents and markets her work? She’s taking our readers. Because white privilege tells us over and over that a woman of color cannot possibly be an insider herself. She doesn’t count. Not as a writer, and not as a woman. Not really. Not like us.

That voice is all the harder to uproot for being quiet.

 

It is impossible to overstate how much of this is tied up with money. Romance is big money for white women — one of the few genres where a woman’s name on the cover is not an automatic liability to sales. Meanwhile more and more books are appearing every year, while we all feel we have to write faster and faster, and prices and royalties fall lower and lower. Meanwhile women of color have a much larger wage gap than white women, and as a result can less easily spare time for activities without an immediate financial benefit — such as writing romances. Or self-publishing romances. They have to fight to enter the market, and fight to stay in it. This can be damn exhausting, and no wonder.

All because white women fucking forget that women of color count as women. As readers and insiders. As authors. As heroines.

We all have a need to be visible in the stories we tell. We as an industry need to be better at including all voices — not least because we are an industry, not a group of friends who get together over red wine and shirtless Hiddleston pics. An industry means money, and money means that when we shut out women of color, we do so in a way that actively privileges our lives and livelihoods over theirs. It is disingenuous to pretend that this is only about what types of stories we like to read: you cannot rail against ebook piracy and then claim it’s a total coincidence you only choose to read white authors.

You don’t have to apologize for your privilege, if you have it — but you can’t use it as a weapon against those who don’t. You can’t hide behind it, either, and claim you’re only being civil or professional.

Either you’re in this business for everyone, or you’re only out for yourself.

 

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That Pesky Empathy Thing

{Content note: the following post talks about forced seduction and sexual assault in romance and in real life. Nothing graphic, but the subject is pervasive. It’s also heteronormative as fuck, since the reference piece deals exclusively with heroes and heroines in m/f romance. My apologies that I couldn’t find a coherent way around that.}

We need to talk about empathy in romance. Specifically: who receives it, both in the novels and in the reader/author/reviewer conversations. And that’s a big, big project — so many books, so very many books we could discuss — so I’m going to start with the latest opinion piece, and confine my analysis to just the one bit of text.

The recent Dear Author rape-in-romance post spends a lot of time — like a third of the wordcount — talking about Jon Ronson’s failure of empathy. For those who missed the conversation the first time around (lucky you), Ronson wrote an infamously facile book on shaming in social media. The galleys of this book contained a line later edited from the final product, where Ronson tried to imagine what being raped would be like for a woman, and could only get there (kind of) by thinking about how it feels for a man to be fired.

It’s as gross as it sounds, and good on the editor for cutting it.

Continue reading That Pesky Empathy Thing

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Our Dear Author

Here’s a fun set of facts:

  • I am an Ellora’s Cave author who donated to Jane Litte’s defense fund.
  • I am an author who writes reviews (more like critiques/analysis really) and sometimes those reviews are negative. Like: really, really negative. Sometimes they’re ecstatic! But: you know.
  • A lot of my (long and thinky) analysis posts have cited Dear Author, because they’re a known and important voice in the romance industry.
  • I use the same pen name and website for both my books and my reviews.
  • Before I was published, and had no pen name, I wrote a few sharp reviews under my dayname, on Goodreads. They’re still out there: I stand by them. One of the authors I know for a fact has gone on to write a series that won a Rita, so clearly I’ve sunk nobody’s career.

So. Now you know where I’m coming from at the start. This is important. Nothing we write comes without baggage: the best you can do is be clear what baggage you carry, so people can take the necessary grains of salt. <– Probably a hint about where we’re going to go, so buckle up.

Here is the baldest, boldest fact I keep coming back to: Dear Author used to be a reader space, and now it’s not.

Continue reading Our Dear Author

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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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