I’ve been neglecting my blog rounds something shocking, lately, so I didn’t get to read this most excellent week-old Romancing the Blog entry about character identification and HEA requirements by Rosario until last night.
Like Rosario, I keep a certain distance from the characters I read about, although most of the time, I can dentify with certain aspects of their personalities or the struggles they go through, especially if they’re portrayed sympathetically. However, my enjoyment of a book isn’t predicated on sympathetic characters, because I’ve read and enjoyed books that immersed me in the points of view of characters who were quite repulsive, such as Marabou Stork Nightmares and Perfume.
And, again like Rosario, I can certainly accept certain elements of a Happily-Ever-After in a fictional world even if they’d be anathema to me in a real-life situation. I mean, if nothing else, romance novel heroines tend to be ridiculously fecund (and happy to be so), even though personally, the thought of having children makes me want to clutch protectively at my ovaries—or at least, the part of my abdomen underneath which my ovaries presumably lie.
In short, I want whatever makes the characters happy to be in the HEA. If having kids is important to the character, then by all means they should be surrounded by boatloads. To Love a Dark Lord by Anne Stuart features a rather over-the-top romance novel epilogue that depicts of My Greatest Nightmare Ever: the hero and heroine living on a farm, surrounded by constant chaos and a swarm of children. Far from making me retch, however, I went “Awwww, the two of them seem so happy!” and sighed happily.
There are instances in which I just can’t buy into the HEA for a particular novel, but it’s usually because the author hasn’t done a good job of portraying the love relationship. Most books with characters who fight and spar constantly only to be struck with the Sudden Realization of Luuuuurve, for example, fall into this category. However, this is different and distinct from specific elements that are HEA dealbreakers, which transcend the author’s ability to make me root for the HEA, so to speak.
These dealbreakers exist, but they’d have to be pretty over-the-top. If, for example, there existed some romance novel out there in which white supremacist protagonists happily spewed racist epithets together in their HEA, I’m pretty sure I’d be deeply, deeply uncomfortable. And by “deeply uncomfortable,” I mean “wishing a stampeding herd of buffalo would crush these assclowns already.”
And that’s an important difference, perhaps: I could perhaps BELIEVE that people who are completely offensive to my sensibilities (e.g. racists, homophobes, Ann Coulter) could live happily-ever-after, but the question is, would I want them to?
So, what do you others think? How closely do you need to identify with your characters to enjoy your fiction? What are some of your HEA dealbreakers?
I don’t have to identify with them, but if it’s a romance then I do have to like them. I find it hard to root for 2 characters throughout the book if one makes me want to puke.
Mostly, I read for the joy of a good yarn. I like a book best when the characters get the happy ending that’s right for them.
Sometimes, the Hallmark card HEA with the country and the kids works, but often it doesn’t – especially when dark & brooding heroes and the fiesty women who love them settle in. I find myself thinking – “Damn, aren’t all those kids&dogs&adoring neighbors/townspeople/servants annoying?”
I particularly hate stories where ambitious single big-city female executives inherit kids and learn the joys of the simple life in some small country town. Blech!
I’m not biased against them out of hand, but authors often seem to start out from the assumption that
country > city & kids > no kids
And then, many authors just force their characters into that mold without ever explaining _why_ the happy-go-lucky shoe-obsessed heroine is so happy to dump her apartment, shoes and social life for kids, hubby, and small-town.
Why can’t the big city female executive become the bestest executive ever? Why can’t her dream house be a penthouse?
I don’t begrudge any character his or her happy ending (except the previously-mentioned Coulterites and their ilk) but as a reader who enjoys variety and diversity, I would appreciate a little more variety and diversity in the forms of the HEA.
Yeah, I agree that the HEA has to suit the character. Like I loved in Bet Me, by Jennifer Crusie, that even in the epilogue (though she’ll protest vehemently that it’s actually an epilogue) she makes it very clear that Cal and Min have no desire to have children, and they don’t “oops there it is” later in life, but instead enjoy their nieces and nephews, who can take ther crappy diapers and crappy attitudes home to their parents. I also get bugged by the small town = true happiness, or when one character (usually the heroine) has to give up everything to be with the hero, whether it’s career, lifestyle, etc. I would love it if in a book the heroine could say, as she marries the wealthy hero, “I never wanted to have kids, but now that we can afford to hire a full time nanny, I’m willing to reconsider.” Because, seriously, that’s somebody’s (not mine of course!) HEA.
One of my authors said it well describing one of her books. Something like, ‘Everyone dies in the end, but for these folks, that IS HEA.’
My personal opinion (yes, personal, not the opinion of my company, bla de bla, legal BS)is that if you have to sacrifice plot or story validity to achieve HEA, then don’t do it.
People criticized the ending of Thelma and Louise for the lack of HEA. But it was realistic. Same with Untamed Heart. I won’t do Spoilers in case people haven’t seen them. Recommend Untamed Heart, BTW. Great chick flick.
I see it all the time. It’s one of the things those who criticize the talent of romance writers harp on—plot holes to get the HEA. Being an erotica AND romance pub, we have some leeway.
Keep it real. If people have to die, end up with the wrong man, or get on the plane at the end of the movie (Casablanca…classic non HEA ending) then do it. Some of our best sellers are non HEA.
In a way, forcing the HEA at the cost of the story is insulting the intelligence of the romance reading community, and most likely results in those ‘Bitch, Please’ moments.
Un-HEA for me is one where the heroine or hero seems to “settle”. Romance is about big dreams – shooting-for-the-moon kind of dreams – so if the protagonist doesn’t have a compelling dream or at least a compelling dissatisfaction making her want to go out and find that kick-ass dream, I’m bored. Plus the characters have to be coherent and believable and fall in love and all that.
I don’t think seeing characters in the way you describe, as separate from oneself with their own motivations and quirks and beliefs, means you’re keeping your distance from them. You’re just recogizing them as separate people whom you judge on their own merits. Books or films that purposefully make the main character as bland and universally identifiable as possible, so that every reader or watcher feels that she could *be* that character, are called “pornography”.
I don’t have a need per se to identify with the heroine, I do want to connect to the hero (no shit). I don’t believe about 99% of the HEA endings out there already so, it doesn’t matter to me with the exceptions you mentioned obviously that would be a problem. Just to throw this out there: I know that I hate sappy endings. Ew. Yuck. Hate it. Can skip it altogether. Just keep it short, wrap it up and move it along.
I don’t have to identify with characters. If they feel real and sympathetic to me, that’s probably enough.
But, I suppose I do have difficulty identifying with the fifty-kids-and-a-farm. But my believability problems probably come from the fact that for most of the book the hero and the heroine are portrayed as young people falling in love, prime of their youth, often doing crazy reckless (read: stupid) things. They’re emotionally disturbed, high-strung, unbalanced. Tell the truth, I like reading about slightly functioning but deeply unhealthy relationships, it’s probably the darkness to it. (Abelard and Heloise, for example.)
If the Happily Ever After doesn’t tie back into that, I’d be slightly irritated. I don’t like kids being tacked on the end just because. Especially when the hero and heroine have shown no explicit interest in children. I don’t naturally make the mental transition between “love” to “marriage” to “motherhood”.
However, I do admit it probably takes a bit of effort to convince me of the transition of the hero and heroine in my mind from “lover” to “parent”. To me they’re quite separate “archetypes” if you will, in my mind. Having never felt the urge to have children I don’t associate the two immediately. Random I-want-a-baby urges from the heroine result in bafflement unless well-portrayed. Romance-novel characters aren’t always the most… erm… deep and multi-faceted in the world. Sometimes the author has difficulty convincing me that there are other aspects to the characters’ personality (as opposed to the fact that they have someone else’s personality grafted on.)
I’d also prefer it without the epilogue of five years later, they’re surrounded by kids, she’ pregant and everyone’s happy…etc…etc…
I’d rather be left at the moment of reuinion. It’s a much more climactic moment to end on. Leaves a better aftertaste.
Actually, I don’t particularily like over-the-top endings, the ones where the hero and heroine’s every wish come true. It stretches believablity, especially if the author has been striving for some semblance of realism throughout. The one I remember is where the apparently infertile heroine was told she can have children. Many, many children. It seems a little forced, especially as she spent so much o the book getting over the fact she can’t have children. I was rooting her on, seeing it as character growth and maturity and coming to terms with the world. But in the end, she’s taken back to square one. Her happiness again hinges on her ability to sprog.
My enjoyment in romances is dependent almost entirely on my connection with the hero. I couldn’t care less about the heroine, except in very few cases (Phoebe of SEP’s It Had to Be You springs easily to mind, because she has some of the same body issues I have, without the rape, thank God). I want to know how and why the hero is feeling. I want him to spill his guts. I want him to repress then confess his love all over the place, and if he does that, I couldn’t care if the heroine gives more than a “I love you, too, babe,” and leaves it at that.
But maybe I’m weird.
For me, characters are more interesting when they grow through a book. I don’t usually identify with any particular character, but I really like to identify with their struggle, male or female. Not in the literal sense. I have yet to find myself battling my desire for an oddly muscular ex-Navy Seal CEO who is planning a hostile takeover of my family’s small cactus fibre pillow-making company. But a shared emotional journey will often pull me through a book against all odds.
I was rooting her on, seeing it as character growth and maturity and coming to terms with the world. But in the end, she’s taken back to square one. Her happiness again hinges on her ability to sprog.
An ending like this can feel like a slap in the face. Not only does it invalidate the heroine’s struggle, but because of the way I’ve linked them with my own emotional growing pains, it also invalidates mine.
This sort of thing is quite insulting to readers on many levels. Tacking this kind of ending onto a story in order to fall into line with romantic convention implies that readers aren’t capable of the same emotional growth and maturity as the heroine. If we’re assumed to require this sort of epilogue for a HEA, at the very least it implies we’re unable to appreciate this growth and a lack of conviction on the part of the writer.
It’s been mentioned that this is an affront to women who don’t see kids+farm as an automatic HEA. It also has the potential to really wound women who have struggled with childlessness. The corollary of a HEA is that it’s one which is deserved. So the implication is that women who desperately want children but cannot have them can never be truly happy and that they deserve this.
To say nothing of how angry it makes me when couples who have adopted children magically have “real” children in such an epilogue. Yes, this does happen, but popping it into the epilogue implies that any ending which doesn’t involve biological children isn’t really a HEA, and isn’t good enough for the hero/heroine.
I would like to think I have an open mind about HEA: whatever’s good for the h/h, I’m down with it. However, I have observed that there is one particular HEA that makes me Run Away Screaming: h/h settling down next door to parents/in-laws (My Big Fat Greek Wedding, a Blaze I read last year). I love my folks but come on. In what universe is this a HEA???
‘I love my folks but come on. In what universe is this a HEA???’
While I get along with my inlaws quite well, there definately needs to be space, for both our sakes. I think it would be a rare family that didn’t need that.
‘Yes, this does happen, but popping it into the epilogue implies that any ending which doesn’t involve biological children isn’t really a HEA, and isn’t good enough for the hero/heroine.’
Excellent point. And for people who WERE adopted, it could really chafe.
That’s interesting, the whole ‘must procreate to be truly happy’ thing. There are people who just aren’t wanting to go there. They like kids just fine, just don’t want any of their own, and prefer to play Auntie and Uncle.
Could certain aspects of romance writing, such as that particular bit, be still based on the fifties ideal, which is farm and brood?
Addendum question to that…it was posted here earlier about erotica being able to break the rules more than traditional romance. Could one of the reasons be because erotica was born fairly recently as compared to the origin of romances, and are based on a more recent ideal?
Thelma and Louise tangent re: HEA and a dissatisfying ending. I remember reading somewhere (or maybe talking about it in a textual analysis class in college?) that the ending of Thelma & Louise was different originally, and had them getting away, with Harvey Keitel’s character “letting” them go. But test audiences didn’t like that they got away with what they did, so it was changed. The ending that was used was a compromise between that and the director’s opinion that they should not be caught at the end. Urban legend? Maybe. But clearly the people screening the original ending were not the same people who criticized the lack of HEA.
I have very mixed feelings about epilogues. In many ways, after the main story has occurred, I don’t really want to see the h&h again. There are a few occasions when I do what to know how things turned out, but for the most part, I’d rather live in happy ignorance…because often the things that appear in the epilogue are not congruent with the characters who inhabited the first 350 pages of the book.
Having said that, I’m in agreement with most of the posters—if the heroine’s personal HEA is a passel of children being raised on a farm, that’s okay [it would cause nightmares for me, but it’s not my HEA], as long as that is consistent, and doesn’t include miracle babies fathered by the stupendous sperm which overcame the heroine’s fake fertility issues.
Word verification: include69. Are they truly random? 😉
‘Yes, this does happen, but popping it into the epilogue implies that any ending which doesn’t involve biological children isn’t really a HEA, and isn’t good enough for the hero/heroine.’
Interesting point and I completely agree if it’s something that seems tacked-on.
Most (though not all) of my romances have ended with children in the picture. But it’s never a calculated decision. It just reflects my own reality—happily married with kids who are interesting little people and fun to be around (most of the time).
My husband and I have also spend a lot of time making this happen. We understand and respect that not everyone wants to do that. People who have kids just because they think it’s the thing to do will most likely have rotten brats on their hands. NOT the stuff of HEA.
It’s never been my intent to imply that my personal HEA (and by association many of my characters’ HEA) is the only way to be happy.
Is it any author’s?
I like all kinds of heroes and heroines and happily ever afters. I don’t even have to find the characters totally likable or sympathetic in order to enjoy their story. What matters to me is that the characters have been developed in a fairly interesting and logical way, and that their actions and what the reader is shown is consistent with what the author tells us. If I don’t buy the characters, I won’t buy the love story or HEA. I just want to come out of the story feeling that no matter what their HEA entails, it will last in spite of kids, bills, evil villains or whatever. I also love me some hot hero, but am turned off when the hero is so developed and larger than life, and the heroine is merely a cipher in his shadow. I may love said hero, but it leaves me with the feeling of what? why her? She doesn’t have to be as developed, but if I have no idea why this person has inspired his love, passion and devotion then it brings me out of the story. Unless, of course, it is a paranormal, in which case she is his predestined soul mate, chosen by forces beyond his control, and he must love her no matter how annoying or boring she is.
I gotta say, my favorite part of Bet Me was that they didn’t want kids. Finally a book that I actually identify with. A romance for the childfree.
It’s not that I can’t snuggle into a HEA that involves kids, but I am put off by the sheer volume of plots where kids = HEA. But then I also loathe and skim or skip the lovey-dovey scenes at the end of so many books where the H/H pour out their deepest feelings in a giant fest of “I love you.†“No, I love you.†(AKA the scenes many of my friends weep over and reread endlessly for a quick pick-me-up).
To each their own.
‘Thelma and Louise tangent re: HEA and a dissatisfying ending. I remember reading somewhere (or maybe talking about it in a textual analysis class in college?) that the ending of Thelma & Louise was different originally, and had them getting away, with Harvey Keitel’s character “letting†them go.’
It is an urban legend. No alternate ending was ever filmed or showcased for Thelma and Louise. The only difference between the two alternate endings shown was the one rejected was longer, showed more detail, and used a sadder BB King song as background music. It was rejected because it focused more on Harvey’s character than the girls. This is on the DVD.
Ironically, it’s reading those epilogues that involve a passle of little ones that change a perfect HEA into a not-as-HEA ending for me simply because I DO have kids. Don’t get me wrong. I adore my kids. But if there is anything more in opposition to romance it’s children. Babies are not sexy or romantic, they’re work. And the exhaustion of keeping up with kids is a real mood dampener for those all-night sex-capades. Hard for me to imagine Studly Hero-Man thinking his Used To Be Firm and Hot Heroine is looking tasty when she’s got baby spit up in her hair, the toddler is flushing his watch down the toilet, Heroine Jr. is whining for her own cell phone, and the payment on the minivan was due yesterday. Nor can I imagine Hot Heroine doing more than smacking him upside the head that night when he wakes her up for a little midnight delight.
So when a couple finally gets together at the end of a well-told story, I sigh in envy over the idea of their endless days and nights to spend together, wrapped in each other without any distractions. I can vaguely remember those days.
Once the kids come along, those days are over, at least for the next couple decades. So when I read those epilogues with a couple mooning over their latest bundle of pure perfection, I’m likely to shake my head sadly and think they are now parents and so much for the hard core romance.
Even so, if kids or no-kids is the hero and heroine’s idea of what will make a perfect life for them, I’m cool with it. I don’t need to have the same dreams to be satisfied with the way one couple or another finds their bliss. Whatever floats their boat.
Read an ebook by Shelley Laurenston wherein the heroine, whilst talking to her best friend, squeals that “we did the deed!” Neither the hero or heroine wanted kids. Ever. Granted they are werewolves and alpha male and female besides, which made them damn-near obligated to procreate, but still, the deed was done. The deed? You ask. Sterilization. Totally hilarious. Even knowing from the beginning of the book that h/h didn’t want kids, I expected the deed to be something along the lines of a very traditional HEA; engagement, marriage, something like that. When I read “sterilization,” I did that snort/laugh that makes whatever lives in your nose come flying out.
Here’s my somewhat circuitous point: I don’t need a traditional HEA at all. In fact I love something that really challenges me, and with good writing/characters/story makes me buy the HEA hook, line and sinker. However, my expectation is always for something traditional—the marriage/babies snooze fest (married folks with children please understand I’m not talking about the real world, I’m talking about romancelandia and the almighty HEA).
So I guess I simply must have an HEA that takes its cues from the hearts and minds of the h/h, their journey, and the context of the preceding story. I’m thinking of Tom Hanks in “Castaway†here. That ending went exactly were it should’ve, though was perhaps not as happily ever after as most would want. Those romances where the alpha male is so alpha you want to beat him with a shovel and the heroine just twitters at all that “hauling†around and “forceful kissing†that doesn’t actually feel good, but somehow makes her want him even more, should end with a police escort and domestic abuse charges. Yet they don’t.
This is interesting since I’ve been thinking a lot about hooking your reader emotionally into a story, so I think I’ll keep all your comments to review. 😉
That said, yes, I like to identify with a heroine. Yes, I am ok with being a little distant and accepting the people as interesting strangers. And yes, I’m RESIGNED to not being as connected with the characters I read as an author because part of my brain is analyzing technique, motivation, payoffs…
That said, a woman who is sterile at the beginning of the book should remain sterile at the end and the HEA should definitely fit the character’s growth. For me children don’t need to be in the picture, but if the couple is sterile and wants children then adoption it is.
Robin
Re: Kids and HEAs:
I have two kids, love being a mom, but I agree that small chidren are pretty much the opposite of Romance, which is why I prefer my romances to be child-free. But I find that I don’t mind secret babies, annoying stepchildren and baby-laden epilogues as much in historical romance. I think it’s because I figure they’ve got nannies, maids and cooks and they just hang out with the kids for some fun and quality time, then pass them off to Nurse when it’s time for diaper-changing and bedtime. That way when the Earl starts initiating some nookie, the Countess doesn’t want to murder him b/c she was up all night with a teething baby and will be up again later.
I don’t know if I have to identify with the characters. I generally have to like/root for them. Like ladies that get to be strong in eras where they were usually chattel. Linda Howards “Kiss my While I Sleep” had that one deal breaker. I just couldn’t like an assassin. She didn’t deserve a HEA.
The story wasn’t bad, but I would have been o.k. with her waking up knowing she’d be alone…which of course would have made it something other than romance.
I accept the passel of kids much better in historicals…when if you were having sex, chances are you were having kids…
But some of those epilogues seem to have 10 years later and they STILL haven’t found a fault w/their partner. Don’t you think those stars may have faded a little? They can still be in love, but just not the throes of first love.
Sam…
Now, as for Linda Howard’s Kiss Me While I Sleep—I bought the motivation. I bought why she did it, how alienated she was in her life. This is a book I love best on audio (husband/wife team and when he makes those car noises I usually fall out of my seat laughing).
AND this is a book I analyzed plotwise—what did she know and when did she know it and what did she believe and why did she believe it.
So, yes, a heroine can be an assassin if you set it up right for me.
Robin
Ooops, logged off before I quite finished my thoughts…or had tardy thoughts after I logged off. I wanted the heroine in Kiss Me While I Sleep to have a Happily Ever After, more importantly, I wanted the hero (who was pretty much on the same moral ground as the heroine, killing for the good of the world) to have a HEA and thought he’d only love the heroine.
So I bought that, too.
The Linda Howard where I DIDN’T buy the heroine was All The King’s Men. Sorry, but I just couldn’t identify with her in the least, TOO kick-butt for me, too I-love-being-a-spy-and-I’m-really-really-good -at-it.
So, I suppose I’m modifying my answer and saying, yeah, I like to identify with the heroine…but don’t often because I’m usually editing/dissecting the book as I go along.
Robin
People hold up “Bet Me” as a win in the no-kids category. But am I the only one with a niggling discomfort that the two people certain not to have kids were “imperfect” specimens—she terminally overweight and he dyslexic?
Sadly, I find many—though not all—of the heroines in Romance novels forgettable enough so that, within a month of finishing them, I can’t remember their names without looking up reviews of specific books. Their character & conduct is so severely circumscribed by convention, compared with mainstream & literary fiction, that I spend a lot of time thinking, while reading about them, “Oh, if only the author of this book had dared to let (or make) the heroine ____ ” (Fill in the blank with a character flaw, unscrupulous choice, physical imperfection, even an actual neurosis—all the things that you love & forgive in your own self, friends, family.) I remember the heroes much better, afterward. As for the fecundity issue, I just shrug there & sort of turn away. “Ah yes, here’s the author, alleviating some of that tremendous anxiety about fertility & childraising that permeates our culture.” But then, I keep grading the whole genre on a curve & I am always absurdly grateful when I find a particular book that doesn’t require me to be making the usual excuses for it, on the order of: “Yes, but … the genre wouldn’t **let** this author get away with THAT.” If I don’t have to say that silently to myself even once while reading a Romance, it’s an exceptional book & a keeper for me.
Dyslexic people are prefect.
Thelma and Louise tangent re: HEA and a dissatisfying ending. I remember reading somewhere (or maybe talking about it in a textual analysis class in college?) that the ending of Thelma & Louise was different originally, and had them getting away, with Harvey Keitel’s character “letting†them go.
Not true. T&L is actually one of a very few 1990s films [probably the worst decade, creativity-control-wise] that have endings as the way they were in original scripts.
Well, Bet Me was about two people accepting each other for their imperfections. Min doesn’t HAVE to be thinner than thin in order to get love. Cal doesn’t have to be the perfect intellectual. I didn’t take it as “they’re too imperfect to breed,” especially since tons of people insist on having kids even if they’ve got fatal diseases these days.
I definitely find the Miracle Pregnancies HEA to be infuriating. (“Ain’t She Sweet” is the big offender I can think of.) I also get infuriated with one character not wanting kids, but then Twue Wuv changes their minds, even if they still don’t want kids. It’s just to keep the man. ARGH.
Like most other childfree people on here, I don’t much care about the HEA-with-kids as long as it’s something the characters would want. But I do think that it brings down the HEA with reality to show them with a bunch of screaming kids and the romance is gone. That’s just not fun.