Pamela Regis, in one of the keynote speeches at the 2010 conference of the International Association for the Study of Popular Romance, while "not proposing that we owe the romance novel our approval, or that our reaction to it requires a positive view of any kind," seemed to set out a manifesto for romance scholars:
- We owe it to the romance novel to make overt and to defend our conclusion that the romance is simple, if this is, in fact, our assessment.
- We owe the romance novel a good-faith effort to uncover the complexity that our discipline values so highly.
- We owe the romance novel great care in choosing our study texts—more care, not less, than we take in choosing study texts from literary fiction.
- We owe it to the romance novel to recognize that the values of its fans are not identical with the values of our discourse community.
- We owe it to the romance novel to recognize that our study texts are probably not representative of “the romance” and to stop committing the logical fallacy known as hasty generalization.
- We owe it to the romance to stay within our evidence when we state conclusions.
- We owe the romance a just consideration of its happily-ever-after or happy-for-now ending.
- We owe the popular romance a recognition of the archaeology carried in its name
Some of these points seem uncontroversial; few, I imagine, would argue in favour of hasty generalisations. Others are less so.
What really made Regis's romance manifesto inflammatory, though, was the fact that she referred to Ann Barr Snitow, Tania Modleski, Kay Mussell and Janice A. Radway as "the Four Horsewomen of the Romance Apocalypse." So what had they written which prompted this response from Regis?The short answer is that they apparently rode into romance scholarship on horses named "porn," "addiction," "fantasy," and "patriarchy's dupes":
Ann Barr Snitow’s “Mass Market Romance: Pornography for Women is Different” has branded romance with the dismissive label of porn. Tania Modleski’s Loving with a Vengeance: Mass-Produced Fantasies for Women asserted that reading romance is an addiction. Kay Mussell’s Fantasy and Reconciliation: Contemporary Fantasies of Women’s Romance Fiction attached the term “fantasy” to romance—“fantasy,” in her view, is a bad alternative to “reality.” Finally, Janice A. Radway in Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy, and Popular Literature has cemented in the public mind, apparently for all time, the notion that romance is patriarchy’s tool, and its readers patriarchy’s dupes.In addition, they characterised romance novels as lacking in complexity (an attribute which is valued highly by literary critics:
Literary critics—we—all believe “that literature is complex and that to understand it requires patient unraveling, translating, decoding, interpretation, analyzing” ([Wilder] 105). [...] Snitow calls romances “easy to read pablum” (309), Modleski calls them “rigid” (32), Mussell labels them “adolescent” (184), and Radway, “superficial” (133). Our most influential early critics, the ones who have proven to have staying power, each viewed the romance novel as simple.Regis therefore urges current scholars to make
a good-faith effort to uncover the complexity that our discipline values so highly. A skilled literary critic can see the complexity in any apparently simple text. [...] We owe the romance novel great care in choosing our study texts—more care, not less, than we take in choosing study texts from literary fiction. In writing our criticism, we are creating not only the critical context for the study of the romance novel, we are also creating the romance novel’s canon. Surely identifying and studying the strongest romance novels will benefit the entire critical enterprise and help us avoid making claims about simplicity and other qualities that critics assign to the romance novel based on an unrepresentative set of study texts.If it's really the case that "A skilled literary critic can see the complexity in any apparently simple text," why (if we are skilled literary critics) do we need to choose our study texts carefully? Can't we just select them at random and then use our critical talents to see their complexity?
This passage also makes me wonder whether any objective criteria exist (or could exist) which one could use to select "the strongest romance novels." One recent incident which demonstrates the difficulties inherent in making such selections arose when some romance readers tried to change Rohan Maitzen's negative opinion of romances. They presented her with some of the titles which might well be considered part of "the romance novel's canon." Her assessment of them did not, however, match those of the romance-readers:
I took the bait and borrowed Loretta Chase’s Lord of Scoundrels, apparently known to some as one of the best romance novels of all time, from the library. Well, that was a setback. I thought the novel was ridiculous! In fact, it was so much like what I had always snidely imagined romance novels to be that I wondered if it was a parody! Egad. Then I tried Georgette Heyer’s Sylvester–not a genre “romance,” exactly, but in the romance tradition. That wasn’t much more successful.Maitzen's response to these novels caused Liz McC, one of the romance readers, to ponder the nature of the writing in many romances:
Literary fiction today, I think, still tends to the minimalist, and sometimes loses something as a result [...]. Romance readers are sensitive about purple prose, because our genre is often attacked as a leading perpetrator of it [...]. Purple prose is usually defined as too something (too flowery, too descriptive, too melodramatic). But where’s the line between enough and too much? It varies from reader to reader, and from era to era.Regis's response to the problem of selecting the "strongest" texts is that
We owe it to the romance novel to recognize that the values of its fans are not identical with the values of our discourse community. If we decide to read and study favorites suggested by romance fans then we may find ourselves confronting prose like this passage: “Somewhere in the world, time no doubt whistled by on taut and widespread wings, but here in the English countryside it plodded slowly, painfully, as if it trod the rutted road that stretched across the moors on blistered feet.” That is the first sentence of Kathleen Woodiwiss’s The Flame and the Flower, published in 1972. The possible representativeness of this miserable sentence to the rest of Woodiwiss’s work, I leave to students of Woodiwiss. We, however, should not assume that this miserable sentence is representative of popular romance novels. It is not. Confronted with bad writing in a study text, we have two good choices—we can choose another book to work on, or we can acknowledge the bad writing and figure out a way to say something interesting—which is to say, figure out a way to invoke the complexity topos—despite the lamentable prose. Fans love books for many reasons, but their values and ours will often be at odds.This seems to suggest that literary critics are different from "fans" and it therefore reminds me, somewhat uncomfortably, of Janice Radway's statement about how the academics' "segregation by class, occupation, and race [...] works against us" (18) in providing support for, or learning from, romance readers. There are, though, a fair number of "acafans" in the romance-reading community.
Regis's response to Woodiwiss's metaphor brings us back to Liz McC's discussion of "purple prose." Would the following qualify as purple and "miserable":
Fame, a monster surpassed in speed by none; her nimbleness lends her life, and she gains strength as she goes. At first fear keeps her low; soon she rears herself skyward, and treads on the ground, while her head is hidden among the clouds. Earth, her parent, provoked to anger against the gods, brought her forth, they say, the youngest of the family of Coeus and Enceladus-- swift of foot and untiring of wing, a portent terrible and vast--who, for every feather on her body has an ever-wakeful eye beneath, marvelous to tell, for every eye a loud tongue and mouth, and a pricked-up ear. At night she flies midway between heaven and earth, hissing through the darkness, nor ever yields her eyes to the sweets of sleep. In the daylight she sits sentinel on a high house-top, or on a lofty turret, and makes great cities afraid; as apt to cling to falsehood and wrong as to proclaim the truth.Trying to translate it from the original Latin may have made me miserable at school but the extended metaphor itself generally wouldn't be described that way; it's a quotation from John Conington's translation of Virgil's Aeneid. Woodiwiss isn't Virgil, but is her Time, with its wings and blistered feet, really much more miserable than his Fame, with its profusion of feathers, eyes, tongues, mouths and preference for nocturnal flight?
Finally, the suggestion that we need to identify "the strongest romance novels" in order to avoid working with an "unrepresentative set of study texts" seems to me to presuppose that "the strongest romance novels" are the most representative. What if they aren't? Theodore Sturgeon's
Sturgeon’s Revelation, which was wrung out of me after twenty years of wearying defense of science fiction against attacks of people who used the worst examples of the field for ammunition, [...] was that ninety percent of SF is crud. Using the same standards that categorize 90% of science fiction as trash, crud, or crap, it can be argued that 90% of film, literature, consumer goods, etc. are crap. In other words, the claim (or fact) that 90% of science fiction is crap is ultimately uninformative, because science fiction conforms to the same trends of quality as all other artforms. (Wikipedia)If the same is true of romances, should we ensure that our sample texts are representative by only including 10% which are "strong"?
Regis's response is that:
We owe it to the romance novel to recognize that our study texts are probably not representative of “the romance” and to stop committing the logical fallacy known as hasty generalization. This is not to say that all claims of representativeness are wrong—but they must be proven, they must be substantiated and argued for. It is a failure of critical imagination to assume we have seen it all. A corollary: We owe it to the romance to stay within our evidence when we state conclusions. So, if we have not demonstrated that our study texts are representative, we must qualify our conclusions, and avoid talk about what “the romance novel” writ large is or does.
Also in JPRS, An Goris praises Regis's "strong and much-welcome contribution to the development of a meta-perspective on the practice of popular romance criticism" but nonetheless argues that it could be considered one of a number of instances in romance scholarship ofritual matricide in which scholars like Radway, Modleski, and Mussel function as the figurative mothers of the field who, in order to create the possibility for the field to grow up, develop, and mature, have to be figuratively “killed”—taken away, put aside, moved beyond. This process is a natural mechanism of evolution and growth and one which on the whole has positive effects.She seems to suggest that before committing "matricide," Regis should have stopped to recognise that not all romance scholars are literary critics. While
Regis’ approach to the study of popular romance is one which she herself characterises in A Natural History as “a traditional literary historical approach” (112) in which the primary site of interest is the text and the secondary site of interest the broader historical and socio-cultural context in which the text figures [...] Radway, who carries out an ethnographic study of romance readers, is, unlike Regis, not primarily focussed on the romance novel’s textual properties, but in the reader’s use and interpretation of this text.Goris also criticises Regis's account for "being too ahistorical and undertheorised" before adding that "In this context I must acknowledge that, much as Pamela Regis’ theoretical position influences her meta-critical discussion, my own critique of her paper is shaped by my position as a scholar inspired by post-structuralism."
I'll finish with a link to a post by Jessica at RRR, who is not a literary critic. Did Jessica take "great care in choosing [...] study texts"? Probably not, by Regis's standards: "it took about .0008 seconds to find several Harlequin Presents that fit the bill. I chose The Italian’s Mistress, a 2005 Harlequin Presents by Melanie Milburn[e]." And what were those purposes?: " to Use a Harlequin Presents to Teach Sexual Ethics."
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- Goris, An. "Matricide in Romance Scholarship? Response to Pamela Regis’ Keynote Address at the Second Annual Conference of the International Association for the Study of Popular Romance.” Journal of Popular Romance Studies 2.1 (2011).
- Radway, Janice A. Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy, and Popular Literature. 1984. Chapel Hill, NC: U of North Carolina P, 1991.
- Regis, Pamela. "What Do Critics Owe the Romance? Keynote Address at the Second Annual Conference of the International Association for the Study of Popular Romance." Journal of Popular Romance Studies 2.1 (2011).
Great post! As for myself, I was not doing romance scholarship when I did that search. I was seeking a more detailed example of a certain kind of sexual coercion than was provided in the text for my ethics course.
ReplyDeleteI loved the Regis paper but I am wondering why she did not select the Romance Revolution, by Carol Thurston. I've just discovered it a few days ago, and it seems very comprehensive, well-organized, and very romance-positive, despite being published in 1987. I have only skimmed it though, and realize there may be huge flaws I cannot detect.
Wonderful post, Laura! You get at a number of the issues raised--provocatively, and deliberately so--by Pam in her keynote last summer.
ReplyDeleteIn terms of the Woodiwiss quote, I think what Pam was lamenting in the prose wasn't the extended metaphor about Time, but the misplaced modifier:
"Somewhere in the world, time no doubt whistled by on taut and widespread wings, but here in the English countryside it plodded slowly, painfully, as if it trod the rutted road that stretched across the moors on blistered feet."
Arguably, those "blistered feet" don't belong to Time, but to the road, which must have enough feet that it can stretch across the moors on them. That's a lot of blisters. Ouch!
@RRRJessica: I agree with you about the value of Thurston's study, but it hasn't been as broadly influential as the four that Pam singled out. I found it extremely useful at the start of my own forays into reading and teaching romance, but when I mention my work to colleagues, it's Radway and Modleski who come first to mind, with Snitow and Mussell to follow.
Pam Rosenthal made the point at the conference that Snitow does NOT mean to be critical when she uses the term "pornography." In fact, she's quite explicit about that in the essay, noting that she uses the term "as neutrally as possible here, not as an automatic pejorative." In this case--and arguably in the others as well--Pam's talk critiques the subsequent appropriation and condensation of the four women's arguments, even to the point of caricature, rather than the more nuanced substance of the arguments themselves.
Just a quick comment. I think Pam's talk (and now the article) was a challenging (and inspiring) one, for instance,
ReplyDeleteWe owe the romance novel great care in choosing our study texts—more care, not less, than we take in choosing study texts from literary fiction. In writing our criticism, we are creating not only the critical context for the study of the romance novel, we are also creating the romance novel’s canon.
This is a bold claim and it is an important one, but there is a part of me that wants to rebel against it. There seems to be a tug-and-pull between canon and not-canon. Are we creating a canon of non-canonical texts? What is the purpose of the canon we are creating? What if I want to be a romance critic but don't want to participate in the construction of its canon? And yet, even if I were to rebel, I know that I am just as quickly reminded that we -- popular romance critics, scholars, theorists -- need a canon. We need it for ourselves, we need it to establish the field, we need it for students, etc. We need a critical canon and we need a canon of literary texts.
I am wondering why she did not select the Romance Revolution, by Carol Thurston. I've just discovered it a few days ago, and it seems very comprehensive, well-organized, and very romance-positive, despite being published in 1987.
ReplyDeleteIn her address, Pam Regis says that "From a list of thirty-nine important critical works on this body of romance novels, most of them one-author monographs, I have chosen eight study texts" and if you look at that list it does include Thurston. Regis chose to focus on Modleski, Snitow, Mussell and Radway, however, because
the conclusions these critics reached about the romance novel have, indeed, entered the public consciousness as descriptors of not just the romance novels that they studied—the ones written in English in the late 1970s and early 1980s—but as characteristics of the romance novel, period.
Their negative judgements were highly influential in affecting academic opinions of romances.
Thurston obviously wouldn't qualify as a horsewoman of the apocalypse since, as you say, she was rather positive about the direction romances seemed to be taking. Others on Pam's list are Peter Mann, who carried out research on romance readers for Mills & Boon (and made it clear that they were a varied group and not all the poorly educated working-class women that some might have thought they were) and John G. Cawelti (who admittedly didn't write much about romance novels, but did defend popular fiction quite vigorously). Cawelti's been very influential, in fact, but not as a commentator on romance, so he didn't ride out on his Adventure, Mystery, and Romance: Formula Stories as Art and Popular Culture to engage in an academic joust with the Four Horsewomen.
Incidentally, I suspect that the type of romance Thurston praises is the kind that Jayne Ann Krentz criticises in Dangerous Men and Adventurous Women. Krentz was unimpressed with the efforts of the "wave of young editors fresh out of East Coast colleges" who tried to reform romances by targetting "the alpha male. These males are the tough, hard-edged, tormented heroes that are at the heart of the vast majority of bestselling romance novels" (107). According to Krentz,
ReplyDeletethe flat truth is that you don't get much of a challenge for a heroine from a sensitive, understanding, right-thinking 'modern' man who is part therapist, part best friend, and thoroughly tamed from the start. You don't get much of a challenge for her from a neurotic wimp or a good-natured gentleman-saint who never reveals a core of steel. (109)
Thurston, having described one of Krentz's novels (53), had gone on to praise the very different Ballantine "Love and Life" novels, in which the heroine
consciously emerges as an individual true to herself, despite the demands of society, of marriage or children or career. In the process, she sheds the man who is unwilling to allow her to grow and change and encounters the New Man, sometimes younger and sometimes older, who does not need to dominate and control her in order to elevate himself. With an ego and masculinity secure enough to seek a relationship based on equality and sharing, the New Man is sensitive and vulnerable - and he always plays fair.
Love and Life was an inspired editorial concept. (56)
Arguably, those "blistered feet" don't belong to Time, but to the road, which must have enough feet that it can stretch across the moors on them. That's a lot of blisters. Ouch!
ReplyDeleteEric, I was taking to heart Pam's point about how "We owe the romance novel a good-faith effort to uncover the complexity that our discipline values so highly." So I'll suggest that what Woodiwiss wrote is not that dissimilar to "He clasps the crag with crooked hands." Arguably, that could mean that the crag has crooked hands. But Tennyson gets away with it.
Hmm. I don't think it's a coincidence that I've resorted to examples from poetry. It occurs to me that purple prose is sometimes purple because it's trying to imitate poetry.
Jonathan, when I read Pam's manifesto, I thought of it as urging the creation of a romance canon which would constitute a body of romances on which there is some literary criticism demonstrating their complexity. If Pam's right that "A skilled literary critic can see the complexity in any apparently simple text," this shouldn't be very difficult to achieve assuming (a) we are "skilled literary critics" and (b) we are all taking "a traditional literary historical approach." An, of course, has already pointed out that (b) is not the case.
ReplyDeleteOne big problem I see with canon formation is that many of the romances I've been working on are simply not available other than second-hand and/or in research libraries. I'm thinking of the older Mills & Boons/Harlequins which are not likely to be digitized because (I assume) they're too old for HM&B to have retained rights to them, too new to be falling out of copyright soon, and their authors are dead or retired and therefore aren't going to reissue them digitally.
Since we're highly unlikely to be seeing the publication of scholarly editions of romances any time soon, it seems inevitable that if these texts are to be taught to students (as opposed to written about by someone who happens to have come across a single copy), the canon may end up skewed towards texts which are readily available.
This post and the whole discussion it is part of have been really educational and fascinating to me. The issue of complexity and its (vexed) relationship to canonicity as well as to academic literary criticism is one I am particularly interested in thinking more about. It's not just re. romance that the values of fans (or just 'common readers') are not necessarily the same as the values of those whose work is analytical or theoretical. I read a very interesting book a couple of years ago, for instance, called 'Addison and Steele are Dead,' that explored the way various 18th-century texts had fallen out of the critical canon because (the author proposes) they didn't have the kind of complexity that lends itself well to criticism or, for that matter, to teaching. (That's a thumbnail account of a more complicated argument about the effect of professionalization on literary studies.) I teach a class on mystery fiction where issues of literary merit and the presumed value of difficulty are a frequent topic of discussion--especially when we place Agatha Christie up against her immediate contemporaries, the 'High Modernists.'
ReplyDeleteI have really appreciated the thoughtful and thought-provoking responses to my blog post, which was frank but not, I hope, ultimately dismissive. Despite my negative reaction to the particular romance novels mentioned in the bit you quote here, I ended up not only discovering some books in the genre that I liked much better, but also realizing just how diverse the genre is. So the post reflects my own learning curve.
"explored the way various 18th-century texts had fallen out of the critical canon because (the author proposes) they didn't have the kind of complexity that lends itself well to criticism or, for that matter, to teaching. "
ReplyDeleteOne of the points I thought was particularly challenging in Regis's manifesto was the statement that "A skilled literary critic can see the complexity in any apparently simple text." I'm not sure if she means that we're unskilled if we can't find complexity in every text, but if she does, the implication would be that any failure to identify complexity in texts is the fault of the critics.
The idea of canon-formation troubles me somewhat because it seems to me that it will inevitably create a hierarchy and it seems paradoxical to try to break down one hierarchy (the one which undervalues works of popular culture) by creating a new one.
Or, to put it another way, given how many critics have spent years trying to challenge a canon which favours "dead white men," perhaps we should conclude that there's something inherently wrong with a canon per se not just with what is in the current canon.
"issues of literary merit and the presumed value of difficulty are a frequent topic of discussion"
One of the challenges of studying works of popular culture, I think, is that they tend to be successful when they seem simple; they succeed when they're "page-turners," when the reader can't put them down and is gripped by the stories. That means that if they have complexity, it may well not be apparent during that first rush through the text. Having rushed through it, though, the critic may not have noticed enough indications of complexity to feel willing to invest time in re-reading it to look for more.
On the other hand, if the critic didn't have an enjoyable time rushing through the text (because they had an initial negative reaction to it, for example) they're unlikely to want to expend effort on re-reading it in what may be a fruitless search for complexity. I may just be extrapolating from my own laziness and preferences, of course; I'm generally disinclined to submit myself to reading experiences I feel in advance will be unpleasant/boring. On the basis of my preferences, though, I was very impressed by your willingness to repeatedly subject yourself to reading experiences you suspected might be less than enjoyable and I'm glad you eventually found some which you did find more pleasing.
Laura, I love the comparison to Tennyson! And I think you're quite right that the impulse to tsk at Woodiwiss's prose is not based on some neutral criteria (all good writing looks like X), but is rather part of a lingering, modernist rejection of certain older stylistic features that have been preserved in the genre, including various sorts of "poetic" writing that endure in "purple prose." Purple prose doesn't just imitate poetry, that is to say; it imitates poetry from before Pound and Eliot and Williams, etc.
ReplyDeleteTo be honest, I quite like that opening sentence, as well as The Flame and The Flower as a whole. To me, the sentence sends an immediate signal to the reader that this novel has its own criteria of "good writing," and that these will include grand, sweeping gestures: of prose, of mood, and of character. Which is, indeed, what we find.
Will comment more on canon formation later today!
I've been thinking a lot lately about lock-and-key specificity, a concept I learned 40 years ago in biology class. Applied to romance novels, particularly the relationship between the reader and the book itself, lock-and-key specificity suggests that some books "work" better for some readers. With the right match up, there will be a fit between the mindset, cultural identity, and personal psychology of the reader and the plot, characterization, and writing style of the novel.
ReplyDeleteThus, if Ms. Maitzen didn't like Lord of Scoundrels and Sylvester, she might enjoy LaVyrle Spencer's Morning Glory, or Mary Balogh's Slightly Dangerous (both of which work better for me, personally, than Lord of Scoundrels did). Many readers I respect adore the books of Judith Ivory, but those books drive me crazy. I enjoy the rather detached and dry tone of Mira Stables' Regency romances, but I can see how they don't "feel right" to other readers.
My point is this: an academic who doesn't like romance as a genre can study it, but risks missing the whole point of romance, which is that it makes the reader feel. If the academic doesn't feel anything as he or she is reading a romance novel, it could be the novel or it could be the reader. It would be impossible to read all the romances to be sure none is able to provoke emotion in that reader, but a representative sample is probably sufficient to tell a reader that romance, as a genre, doesn't "work" for him/her.
A reader for whom romance doesn't work to provoke emotion (other than impatience or annoyance) is never going to "get" why other people enjoy them. Literary criticism of a romance novel must surely be more difficult when the critic is immune to the very phenomenon that readers enjoy most. And suggesting books for a non-romance reader to try is challenging, given that the recommender has a personal relationship already with the proffered books.
I can usually identify why a book didn't work for me because its flaws are easier to isolate. Once a book does provoke a desirable emotion, its literary flaws pale to insignificance. And the books that really work for me personally can't be successfully dissected because of the lock-and-key specificity. I'm reduced to saying, "I don't know, it just works."
an academic who doesn't like romance as a genre can study it, but risks missing the whole point of romance, which is that it makes the reader feel.
ReplyDeleteI think that's true, but I disagree that
Literary criticism of a romance novel must surely be more difficult when the critic is immune to the very phenomenon that readers enjoy most.
Once one starts analysing an individual romance, I'm not sure it matters so much whether or not it made one "feel." That's why in my comment above I suggested that a critic who enjoys and rushes through a romance, getting those feelings from it, will probably need to go back and re-read it, with a different mindset, in order to analyse it.
Certainly I've analysed plenty of romances which didn't work particularly well for me on an emotional level and I don't think that lack of emotional enjoyment impaired my ability to analyse them. Conversely, there are romances I've enjoyed on an emotional level which it took much more effort to read analytically, probably because each time I re-read them, I had a tendency to get sucked in by the story. I wonder if you've had a similar experience, because you write that
I can usually identify why a book didn't work for me because its flaws are easier to isolate. Once a book does provoke a desirable emotion, its literary flaws pale to insignificance. And the books that really work for me personally can't be successfully dissected because of the lock-and-key specificity. I'm reduced to saying, "I don't know, it just works."
Having said all that, I do think one can toggle between intellectual and emotional responses to a text, even on a first read-through. I think I've got better at doing that over the years, as I've had more experience of reading and analysing romances. All the same, if I'm really caught up in a story, the intellectual mode is much, much less likely to be activated.
Laura -- I was thinking more of the academic critic who simply doesn't get the emotional appeal of romances generally, than of the analyst who might not feel anything reading a specific romance.
ReplyDeleteAll genre fiction (or popular fiction) is meant to grab the reader in some way, inciting fear (horror), anxiety (thrillers), surprise (mysteries), awe (epic fantasy or possibly science fiction), and emotional satisfaction in the case of romances.
Most of the people I know aren't looking for that emotional hit that I get from romances, so when they graciously agree to read something I've written, their comments are invariably prefaced by "Well, I don't read romances..." I take the subsequent comments with a grain of salt. It's nice to know if they enjoyed my writing but they're not my target audience.
I went back to read my husband's review of Spencer's Morning Glory. (He's British and his favorite authors are Charles Dickens, Evelyn Waugh & P.G. Wodehouse.) His review comments on the sense of time and place, the characters, the plot -- but says nothing of the relationship arc for the protagonists. He just glosses over all of the emotion; it's as if it's invisible to him. Which is odd because I know he feels deeply about the emotions presented in, say, Dickins' Little Dorrit.
I don't have an answer to all this. It seems almost like a linguistic issue: if you are fluent in the subtext of romance novels, then you "get" them in a different way. But I hasten to acknowledge I'm no academic, and my approach to romance is, while occasionally cerebral, always predicated on decades of reading in the genre.
I write romantic novels* (see end) and I'm usually amused when academics analyse the genre to death and lose sight of the pleasure element.
ReplyDeleteQuite simply, I don't consider my 55 novels are part of the narrow field of literature at all, but part of the wider entertainment industry. That has surprised some interviewers but I stand by it.
I'm proud to have given people pleasure and that's not a light thing in world that can be harsh and cruel at times. I regularly receive emails from bereaved people who have turned to my books for comfort during the first difficult year. The one that I'm about and which reduced me to tears was a message from a dying woman who said my novels took her out of herself in the hospice and gave her hours of pleasure.
I read many romantic novels (among other genres and heavy research tomes) for the security of knowing there will be a happy ending that won't leave me ravaged.
I don't need the genre I love analysing academically. I can analyse for myself what's needed as a novelist and as an avid reader. But have fun if you must.
(NB * I define 'romantic' as having a plot with a romance an integral part but not the main plot line, while I see a 'romance' as having the romance relationship itself as the story. Both types of story are integral to the genre.)
Oh, dear! I should have proofread my comment better. Sorry about that. It should have read 'that's not a light thing in a world' 'The one that I'm most proud of'.
ReplyDeleteThat'll teach me to try to post a quick comment!
"I'm usually amused when academics analyse the genre to death and lose sight of the pleasure element. [...] I don't need the genre I love analysing academically. I can analyse for myself what's needed as a novelist and as an avid reader. But have fun if you must."
ReplyDeleteIt seems to me that the "four horsewomen" were actually very aware of the "pleasure element," which was precisely why they used words like "porn," "addiction," "fantasy," and "escape" to describe romances.
In any case I hope you got some enjoyment out of this post and ensuing comments although I don't think any of us had lost sight of "the pleasure element" any more than romance authors do when they go to workshops about the craft of writing. And, of course, some of us find a "pleasure element" in reading romances and do indeed find "fun"/another "pleasure element" in analysing them.
Quite simply, I don't consider my 55 novels are part of the narrow field of literature at all, but part of the wider entertainment industry. That has surprised some interviewers but I stand by it.
You're entitled to your view, obviously, but equally, I think many people would argue that there isn't a clear division between "literature" and works which are written to be enjoyable and entertaining. I know the examples of Shakespeare and Dickens are often brought up, but I'll bring them up again; they were writing works which were hugely entertaining, but which are now considered "literature."
In any case, even if one does want to wall off "literature" from "popular culture" there are many reasons why it can be very interesting to analyse works of popular culture.
Still on the topic of "the narrow field of literature" and "the wider entertainment industry," I came across a post by Anne Gracie, who's been giving workshops on writing popular fiction, in which she writes that two of her "favorite quotes about popular fiction" are:
ReplyDelete"Readers of "serious" fiction expect to be challenged and like to be entertained; readers of popular fiction expect to be entertained and like to be challenged. They're often the same readers in a different mood." Daphne de Jong.
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"One of the problems, it seems to me, is that we have got it into our heads that books should be hard work, and that unless they're hard work, they're not doing us any good." Nick Hornby
Hello, there.
ReplyDeleteI'll be honest, I did not read the entire post as it was, for me, a bit dense.
That said, I did take away a couple of things I consider quite the precious stones from my jaunt through your park:
'We owe the romance a just consideration of its happily-ever-after or happy-for-now ending.
We owe the popular romance a recognition of the archaeology carried in its name.'
Any commentary I might add to what you have already stated would seem only to add more verbiage, so I won't.
Suffice it to say, that I am terribly grateful I stumbled upon this, today.
Thank you.