I had dinner the other night with a friend of mine who, as we were all discussing books we’d read and liked, intoned in as snide a voice as possible, “Aren’t you embarrassed to admit you read romance novels?”
“Nope.”
And honestly, one of the reasons I am over my embarrassment, which I fully admit I did have for a long time, is due to this website. I have always known that romance novel readers were a savvy lot, and that having the ability to appreciate explorations of female sexuality, emotional health and recovery from trauma, feminist rhetoric in traditional fairy tales, and the difficulty in crafting fine writing based on an established formula is nothing to be ashamed about. Especially considering the glut of romance that pours out every month – finding a well-crafted novel is a hard thing to do sometimes.
And my other friend present at that conversation, herself not a reader of romance, said that it’s just like mystery as a genre – it’s so popular there’s a lot of dreck out there.
So of course the first person made a comment about “housewives from Omaha” being hard core into their romance, making it sound as if puffy-paint women in middle-US states were the only ones who read romance.
I decided it wasn’t worth my time trying to establish any argument about why she was wrong wrong wrong, because really, I know that being smart and liking romance are not mutually exclusive, and if she thinks my choice of reading isn’t savvy and intelligent, why do I care?
But I was bothered by her derision because I spend WAY too much time on this site where everyone has such erudite, clever discussions about romance and the process of writing and reading it, so I figure everyone on the earth can appreciate romance the way we do. So to hear that old prejudice rearing it’s head? Ugh.
Then, last night, I was on the subway with an absolute crowd of romance readers. Of course the rule on the subway is, “Thou shalt not talk to the strangers,” so I couldn’t say a word, but holy hell – one chick was reading Medeiros, two people were reading Linda Howard, a third was reading Meg Cabot/Jenny Carroll, and I totally think I saw someone reading a Gabaldon, which is a big shock because those things, they are heavy. It was hard as all get out not to break the silence of the subway car and ask them how they liked their book.
So I’m still not the only one – phew! – who reads romance in public without shame. I love it when the not-so-secret society of romance readers show themselves in public – especially in a town like New York City, which at all times tries desperately to live up to its own hype. It almost makes me want to start a photo-blog of hidden candids of people reading romance. But that is waaaay too stalkish for me.
Sarah, I was on a bus once reading a SEP with rainbows and unicorns and shit on the cover (which one is that?) and this man totally violated my personal bubble, actually touched the book, and said, “It cracks me up that broads read that shit. It’s so unrealistic” and I said, “Sir, have you ever read one?” and he said, “Hell no, that shit is gay!” and that was the end of that. Thankfully, he got off at the next stop.
Oh. Mah. Gah. That’s just so many things wrong with the attitude of one person, I don’t know where to start.
Jay-sus! I’d comment, but frankly I’m in a bad mood and if I let myself be bothered by their stupidity then I’ll be even more pissed. Nope. Not gonna do it. Wouldn’t be prudent.
Housewives from Omaha? WTF??? Freakin literary snobs. God forbid we aren’t reading something that’s classic literature, esoteric, or some such bullshit. Spare me. Besides, good things come from reading romance and/or erotica – I laugh my ass off a lot, I get new ideas that benefit my bf (wink wink), and I actually learn about different cultures, religions, etc.
*Sigh*. So much for not commenting.
Gari
P.S. And Sarah? Nice friend you’ve got there. Hope you won’t let her get away with implying that you’re stupid.
“Literary snob” is the right term, indeed. And so much of that behavior is rooted, I think, in some feelings of insecurity about one’s own intellect.
GrumpyOldBookman blogged today about John Carey’s [book ‘The Intellectuals and the Masses’ [I don’t know if I’m allowed to do links in comments?].
GOB says Carey – who was Merton Professor of English at Oxford until he retired in 2001 – argues that “in the face of this much enlarged reading public, the response of the intellectuals was to create new forms of work which were deliberately exclusive. The whole point (conscious or unconscious) of modernist literature was to exclude the ordinary people. It was to create a class of writers and readers who could feel comfortably superior to the masses, because only they – the new intelligentsia – were clever enough to understand the new literature. And how reassuring it was, how comforting, to be aware that there were still people like themselves – people who were so infinitely superior, in every way, to the great unwashed masses who revelled in sordid crime stories and slushy romances.”
Sorry for the long quote, but I really enjoyed the piece. Panders to my hope that I might not be infinitely inferior in every way just because I do read sordid crime stories and slushy romances. [Do wash occasionally.]
I cannot tell you how much it annoys me to have people say “I’d like to read your novel but I never read fluff/shit/crap/bodice rippers”. First of all, it’s extremely insulting to me as an author. Second, they don’t know shit about the genre they’re trashing. Third, some of them might have more interesting sex lives if they read romance novels. At the very least, it might get that stick out of their butts.
I live in a university town and I’m proud to be a feminist. When one of my acquaintances in the Women’s Studies Dept. wrinkled her nose at the idea of reading one of _those_ novels, I said, “You’d like my book. It’s about marital law inequities and self-empowerment for women in 19th century Florida. Oh, and it has pirates, too.”
Sometimes, it’s all in how you market it.
PS—let me just add that one of the reasons I love this site is because it proclaims “We’re romance readers. We’re loud, we’re proud, and we’re not going to stay in the closet any more.”
(humming a chorus of “We Shall Overcome”)
Third, some of them might have more interesting sex lives if they read romance novels. At the very least, it might get that stick out of their butts.
To make room for something more interesting than a stick?
Chika-chika bow-owwww
I’m out here in San Francisco, supposedly a gaping black hole for romance reader, and let me tell you, every night on BART I see tons of women reading romances. Little Ph.D. me is lugging around “Night of Sin.” My best friend (who went to ultra-feminist Mills College) is carting around “Outlander” for the umpteenth time. And all around us are a sea of professional San Franciscans sporting romance novels (last night in my end of one car there was a Julia Quinn, two Nora Roberts, a Susan Brockman, and a category book whose title I couldn’t see). Most of the guys all have their noses buried in a Tom Clancey or Stephen King novel (or something else in the mystery/horror/action genre) and you can’t convince me for even a millisecond that those books are better in any way, shape, or form than what I’m reading (I’m actually willing to bet hard cash they’re not as good).
Candy, you surely have read too many of these. 😉
I read the post at the Grumpy Old Bookman (which is a funny title, imho). It’s very interesting.
I read both Grass and Gabaldon, I enjoyed Dubliners and If Angels Burn. Horrible, isn’t it? Nothing worse than a woman whom you can’t put in the women drawer – or in any other drawer, for that matter. *grin*
For me, it was never difficult to say I read romances—I read them in public, don’t try to hid the covers (unless it’s a Fabio one, then all bets are off), and I’ve hooked several friends on them. I suppose it’s because my grandmother started me reading them, and if Ma’amMaw could pull out a Harlequin while waiting for Mass to begin, I guess it’s okay for me to do it in the waiting room.
What was difficult for me was getting used to saying, “I write erotic romance.” Funny as it sounds, I can write stories about people gettin’ busy at the office, or up against the elevator wall, or in any other number of places, but SAYING I wrote it makes me blush.
Know what’s helped me get over it? I haven’t yet had someone snub me or give me The Look Of Derision when I say what I write. A few have asked where they can get it and that’s an awesome feeling. Now if they’d actually get their butts online and buy the thing…
While I expect the snobbery from lit crit snobs, where it always blindsides me is from people who don’t read AT ALL and people who read Romance and who feel that readers like me are “reading too much into” all these books. And interestingly, I think statistically I’ve heard more degredation of Romance from non-readers and from Romance readers who are making an often tacit argument that entertainment should not include analysis than I have from literary snobs. I have all sorts of theories, of course, to account for these forms of disparagment, but it always strikes me as kind of strange.
As for Carey’s anti-Modernist position, although Modernist literature is among my least favorite (a lot of it, at least), I disagree with what I think is his reverse snobbery. Sherryfair can talk mroe articulately about this, since she kind of led the Modernist discussion on one of the AAR boards, so I won’t get into it. But one of the things I’ve gotten a little defensive about in hanging around the Romance boards is a trend toward labeling all literary fiction as pretentious, unremittingly depressing, and irrelevant. I won’t beat on the irony about how one group of marginalized readers marginalizes another one, but every so often I’m tempted to make a list of all the literary fiction I’ve read that I can a) locate in Romance, and b) honestly say has entertained and inspired me. But then I get a grip and realize that all those wonderful books have already served their purpose, as far as I’m concerned. And as a literary snob who loves quite a few Romances, I figure it’s the same way with those books, too. Every book, IMO, gets better when you can discuss it, so as long as I have that outlet, I figure other people are just losing out in a way I don’t have to feel guilty about or responsible for.
Crap, it takes way more than a snide comment about my reading material to make me blush.
I recently dropped out of an online reading group that stuck to high-snobbery literary novels. Dudes, I swear I could not read one more novel full of boy’s school memories. I mean, gee whiz, I don’t want my homoeroticism veiled. I take it straight up, thanks. One title, the name has thankfully escaped me, asked me to believe that on the same hot summer night on a pre-WWII English estate two people actually had sex. Easier to believe in a vampire.
The “literary” people have their formulae and conventions to follow, too. Don’t let em try to tell ya different.
Wow. That was quite a rant for me.
Joyce
I mean, gee whiz, I don’t want my homoeroticism veiled. I take it straight up, thanks.
Ok, that absolutely cracked me up. I so agree! No subtlety for me, either, bring it on!
And Darlene- Totally true. And don’t forget gay swishbuckling (â„¢Candy) pirates!
Once I was in the bookstore and a guy about my age comes up and is talking about looking for fantasy or sci-fi or something and then he sees romance and says, “Romance. Now that’s fantasy.” I laughed at the time, because well, I don’t know, really. I should have said something like, “So, I bet your girlfriend is really happy.” And if he said, “I don’t have a girlfriend” I could have just nodded and said “Ahh” like “Of course” and then walked away.
Anyway, I’m still a bit insecure about it, I suppose. Which is probably all me. But I’m better than when I first started reading romance a couple years ago. Then I was basically ashamed of it. Now I’m not really ashamed, but at the same time I don’t go out of my way to talk about it unless I think the person I am talking to won’t make fun of me. Sad, I know. But I’m a college student, and college students can be notoriously snobby-especially English majors (which I more or less am). Heck, college professors can be too.
Anyone who throws around derisive comments about housewives in Omaha reading romance novels not only knows nothing about romance novels, she obviously knows nothing about midwestern women (what are they, a homogeneous alien breed?) either, if her little label is supposed to imply a unified level of lower intelligence.
SB Sarah said:
“Literary snob†is the right term, indeed. And so much of that behavior is rooted, I think, in some feelings of insecurity about one’s own intellect.”
Bingo. 90% of people’s assholeness has more to do with their insecurities than it does with you. I learned that a while back, and my life has been much easier since.
Here’s the nuts and bolts. Not all romance is dreck. But some is. Not all literary fiction is pretentious, elitest crap. But some is. So, if either of these is your opinion, you can find stuff to back it up, and go on with your life feeling quite justified.
And you know what? This is all about marketing, anyway. Barbara Kingsolver writes chick lit; if she started writing now, her covers would be pink, I swear. Same for Elinor Lipman. Jennifer Crusie has a PhD. So does Megan Crane. And Beth Kendrick.
So the whole argument is a good one, but not one worth getting worked up about. Romance novels, the really good ones, deserve deep analysis. Jennifer Crusie has themes and layering in her books, they’re always *about* something. I try to do that, too. But in the end, who cares what anyone else thinks? I like my happy endings, and my romantic stories, and I don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone else has to say about it, really. I’m proud of what I write, and what I read.
Lynda wrote the following and the comment security was being a meanie, so she asked me to post on her behalf:
I am totally convinced that 95% of the derision about romance novels is pure sexism. Pardon me, but a novel which is told from the point of view of a serial rapist, torturer, murderer is literature, but a novel about the power of love to redeem is trash? Of course, it is “just coincidence†that men are the ones who read the former, but women the latter, isn’t it?
Also, why is it that liberal feminist women feel absolutely no guilt at their contempt toward the “uneducated housewives†they assume are reading “this trash?†I thought sisterhood was powerful. (I can throw this dart because I AM a feminist, liberal woman).
And these same people (the new Puritans) sniff that these books are “just porn.†Of course, in another conversation, they defend porn—first
amendment, sexual freedom, blah, blah,blah.
One of my best friends—a great woman—for the LAST time made some snide remark about romances. I had had it, so I snapped, “So, how many romances have you read?†She bragged, “None.†I: “Oh, and you feel as if you can pass judgement on books you have never read? Since when?†She then apologized. (I told you she was a great woman).
The funny thing is, I’ve rarely, if ever, encountered that sort of snobbery. It’s annoying, really, since I have my arsenal of good responses all ready.
Everyone at work knows I write romance, and mostly I get supportive comments and bemused looks. The one person (who, surprise surprise, was a class A bitch) who said anything derrogatory, said:
“Oh, lust in the dust books.”
I gave her a shocked and amused look and said, “Oh Lord, no-one calls them that anymore.” She shut up.
I’m not embarassed to read or write romance. If someone really piled in on the issue, I think I’d just say, “how incredibly rude.”
On The Lipstick Chronicles, Elaine Viets guestblogged a great post about male romance novels. Here’s a blurb:
“Let’s talk about male romance novels.
You’ve read them. You just didn’t realize it. That’s because the critics call these books “gritty realism,†“hard-boiled,†or “scathing social satire.â€
In these highly acclaimed mysteries, the hero is a broken-down forty-five-year-old man with no job and a drinking problem. A gorgeous twenty-five-year-old woman falls madly in love with him – and he doesn’t even have money.”
The rest is at The Lipstick Chronicles.
Unfortunately, it’s not just romance, the literary snobs shun SF, fantasy, and pretty much every genre. The debate seems to be more between literary or “arty” fiction versus commercial fiction, which is kind of funny. Sales speak for themselves, in most cases.
I have a theory that some of these elitists have tried to write something commercial, flopped, and instead of improving on it, called it art and expected everyone to lap it up. Then they band together with fellow whiners and make noise.
Okay, I just moved to Omaha and I’m not working so I think that officially makes me one of those Omaha housewives. Shit, I’m also a republican…I’m fucked…
Lord, I just hate these literary fiction vs. romantic fiction dustups. It’s like having two very good friends who somehow can’t stand each other, shouting across the dinner table and growing more and more irate, while you are just wishing they’d both shut up and listen to what the other has to say. Candy and Sarah have quite aly made the point many, many times here that the two shouldn’t be put in opposition, that the success of one in no way threatens the success or existence of the other. Ian McEwan’s “Atonement” isn’t losing any market share because at this very moment, someone, somewhere is reading a Kinsale or a McNaught or a Cassie Edwards.
And Robin, thanks for praising here what I’ve said about modernism … but I just think out loud, like anyone else who’s sat through too damned many English classes. My argument would come down to this: I personally would refuse to bash what Modernism did to fiction and art, because the Romance genre as we know it today wouldn’t be the same without some Modernist precursors. The Modernists gave fictional characters interior lives, thought processes, reflections, stream of consciousness. What fun would reading any books at all be without peeking inside characters’ heads? Also, the Modernists were among the pioneers of integrating sexuality into fiction. Without Molly Bloom’s soliloquey at the end of “Ulysses” (which I like very much) and the novels of D.H. Lawrence (which I like somewhat less), where would a lot of Romance fiction be?
I’ve given up trying to alter people’s perceptions. Either they get it, or they don’t.
When I sold my first book, my husband was so proud, he told every man, woman, child and housepet in our acquaintance. The Number One Response?
“So is Fabio gonna be on your cover?” This is ALWAYS said with a smirk. Sort of a *nudge, nudge, wink wink*.
My responses vary, depending on my mood, but generally, I say, “Fabio doesn’t do cover modeling any longer, but I hope that won’t deter you from buying the book.” I understand from those who’ve met him, Fabio is a genuinely nice guy, but honestly, sometimes I wish he hadn’t made such a name for himself with the stupid butter commercials. It’s like he’s the one and only person/icon that non-romance readers identify with. WTF?
I have had a few people say to me, after they read one of my books, “I thought it was supposed to be a romance.” This is said in a voice of relief, like, Oh, thank God I didn’t have to read a romance to be a good, supportive friend to you.
Like I said, if people don’t get it, they’ll never get it. I refuse to let it piss me off any longer. If I hear a rude comment that bashes romance, I respond with, well, nothing. Why waste my breath?
Stef
I have found one comment that will shut people up.
“I know, I know. But my husband sure likes the results.” *wink, wink*
I go away with a smile and they usually look jealous.
Reading all of these comments has made me think how fun it would be to put together and teach a college course on the romance novel genre. For those who already read in the genre it would be a kind of relief, I imagine, to get to read something besides “important” books. For those who look down on the genre, it might make for a fun lesson in realizing the idiocy of certain prejudices. The description of the class would have to include something along the lines of “do you have the balls to take this class?”
Okay, I just moved to Omaha and I’m not working so I think that officially makes me one of those Omaha housewives. Shit, I’m also a republican…
Sad to say, Lisa #2, this means you cannot possibly have a brain, a life, a valid opinion or a means of entertainment other than A Simple Life re-runs.
Right?
*snerk*
Lord, I just hate these literary fiction vs. romantic fiction dustups.
Holy fucking hell, me too, since I love me some literary fiction. It especially peeves me when some types of romance fans condemn lit fic for having unhappy endings or for being depressing. This is no better than lit snobs bitching about the HEA in genre romances. I say, if the ending fits the story, then it fits the story, and I think it’s important to separate personal preference (“I always hate it when a main character dies!”) from a genuine literary offense (“There was no reason to kill that character off other than to make a tiresome and obvious point, and to manipulate our emotions in a shamelessly blatant manner”).
Ian McEwan’s “Atonement†isn’t losing any market share because at this very moment, someone, somewhere is reading a Kinsale or a McNaught or a Cassie Edwards.
OK, going wildly OT: Hot damn, I loved Atonement. What a beautifully-written piece of fiction. Couldn’t stop thinking about it for a long time. I still think about it (especially the way the narrator handled the ending) to this day. The other McEwan book I picked up I couldn’t finish though—the one about the composer and his best buddy signing some kind of euthanasia agreement.
PK, thanks for the link to Elaine Viets’ article on the Male Romance Novel. Great stuff.
On your totally OT post, Candy: Yes, “Atonement” was so good, so clearly and simply written, and it pulled me so deeply, I was practically holding my breath while reading it, afraid that if I exhaled, the book would slip up somewhere. That the author would do something dumb. But he didn’t. What a rush, after finishing it!
And then I stupidly sold my copy to a big used bookstore in the city, during one of those purges when you’re vainly trying to make room for other books. So now I find myself having to pay for it all over again. But it will be worth it, because, like you, I am still ruminating over things in this book, months later. I like a book that I can live with for a while afterward.
I am totally dedicated to the proposition that a good book is a good book is a good book, no matter where they shelve it in the bookstores. Whether it’s got a genre label nailed to the book case where it usually resides shouldn’t mean anything. I am just so thrilled when I come across a writer doing something well, or taking an unusual turn. Sometimes I think that is one of the purest forms of goodness in the world (next to human kindness and love, of course).
The Smart Bitches strike again—- by adding another book to my TBR pile. Now that I’ve seen the comments on Atonement, I’m going to have to read it. I’ve been walking by it for weeks now, wondering about it, so now I’m going to take the plunge and seek it out.
Okay, I’m a proud reader of romance novels, but if I read another alpha male/doormat heroine scenario, I’m going to scream! Every man in every romance book is alpha you’d think the world was filled with them! I regularly campaign against the damsel-in-distress heroine (sick of her) and now, I’m taking up another campaign: the beta hero! Love my dorky guy. My hero ain’t gotta know how to operate an UZI. Give him a calculator and an iPod and he can outthink and outmaneuver your alpha anytime. Long live the betas! Too bad there aren’t any in any books. Or are there? Tell me!
Karmela—There are definitely books with beta heroes. Here’s a list, just off the top of my head: Vicki Lewis Thompson’s “Nerd” books (they all have “nerd” in the title); The Foundling, by Georgette Heyer; The Wedding Journey, Libby’s London Merchant, Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind and a few others by Carla Kelly; A Precious Jewel by Mary Balogh…and my oven just beeped so I have to run and rescue the chicken, otherwise I’d offer more.
This week my soon-to-be sister in law (visiting our house for the first time) said “oh, you read slutty books?” in a laughing tone. I said “yep” and moved on in the conversation. I have a grad degree, a full-time professional position, a great husband, a sweet baby… I have nothing to prove to anyone. And if they can’t figure out, through knowing me, that romance is an awesome genre full of great authors and stories—well, they’re not worth giving recommendations to anyway. So hah!
“I am just so thrilled when I come across a writer doing something well, or taking an unusual turn. Sometimes I think that is one of the purest forms of goodness in the world (next to human kindness and love, of course).”
I know exactly what you mean, sherryfair. I’m not particularly religious in any doctrinal way, but when I connect with a truly incredible book, I do feel a sense of communion to something both ephemeral and visceral, something human and something that seems to surpass the imagination of just one person. It’s just so cool.
As an undergrad, I actually took a class based on the romantic novel. It was called Ideology of Romance. We read: Tristan and Isolde, The Lover, Pamela, Lolita, and a contemporary Harlequin novel. It was one of my favortie classes in college. Each novel, including the Harlequin was discussed based on plot, characterization, etc. The Harlequin was treated with the same amount of respect as the rest of the titles.
And Eloisa James is a Shakespeare professor somewhere. She has links to her articles about her double life and I even heard her speak on it.
But, as it was said bfore, once people have a specific mindset, it is very hard to remove it. I have no shame reading romance in public. What I am reading at that moment, that’s what goes with me. Whether is be a children’s book, a young adult book, or the other genres, I take it.
I think that reading romance and chicklit (and watching Friends and Buffy) is the only reason I didn’t lose my mind during grad school.
Whenever my mind had turned completely to mush from too much Heidegger, Foucault, and a bazillion other philophers/rhetoricians/communication theorists, I read romance.
And dear god did it feel good.
I was one of the happier students: I never had a mental breakdown, I never really wanted to stop going to school, and I felt like I had a balance between trashy books and seriously philosophy books. Nobody seemed to believe that it helped. 🙂
Since I’ve actually earned my Masters I’ve read nothing but dreck and it’s lovely. Even so, now I start actually wanting to read some of that other harder stuff again. Don’t think I ever would have felt that way without a year between Masters and PhD, I’m telling yah. This stuff saved my scholarly ways, that’s for sure.
Foucault :ahhh: Don’t tell me you had to read Kristeva, too. I’m so going to have a nightmare tonight. 😉
Annie, you know what the scary thing is? You could even use some of those discourse theories of Foucault, Derrida and those other cuties to anaylse the RWA mess and the whole friggin’ Whassa Romance, preciousss, can it have juicy fissh – eh sex? discussion.