This is really just a very quick note which I'm posting (a) because I thought it might be helpful to mention the older (and very different) genre of romance at some point, albeit I'm doing so very briefly here and (b) because it tied in with a discussion taking place elsewhere.
Hackett devotes the second chapter of her book to exploring whether or not there are any similarities between the modern romance genre and the romances of the English Renaissance. She begins, however, by describing the older romance genre, which
can require some acclimatisation from the modern reader, since it operates not by the familiar principles of the novel, but in the fantastical, non-naturalistic mode [...]. It tends to be concerned, for instance, with the adventures of elaborately named knights and ladies in exotic lands and/or in periods of distant mythologised history. [...] These fictions usually also involve supernatural interventions, amazing coincidences and twists of fate, amidst a general ambience of the marvellous and wondrous; and their style is highly rhetorical [...]. Renaissance romances can be long and highly digressive, often consisting of many strands of narrative; Philip Sidney's New Arcadia and Edmund Spenser's Faerie Queene are obvious examples. These two romances underwent ongoing processes of revision and expansion by their authors and were left unfinished at their deaths, features which suggest open-endedness and the potentially infinite self-generation of the narrative. (1-2)Given this description, it is not surprising that in the second chapter Hackett concludes that there are few similarities with modern romances: "analogies between Renaissance romance and modern romantic fiction depend upon a characterisation of Renaissance romance as a popular genre of courtship narratives offering escapist pleasures to women readers; yet each one of the terms of this equation is debatable" (32).
While I was reading Hackett's book, Jessica posted about rape in the romance genre and looked at it from a variety of perspectives, including that of sexual fantasy. One issue that Hackett's book raised, and which struck me as potentially interesting to explore in this context, is that it suggested yet another perspective:
What we often find in Renaissance romances is both the repression of female agency and, beyond this, the infliction of extreme torments upon female victims. [...] In all these episodes the infliction of pain or humiliation on a female body is dwelt upon in detail, with fascination, or even with relish. Violence and degradation serve either as a punishment of female characters who are transgressively dominant and sexual, [...] or as a test of heroines who prove their virtue through passive stoicism and noble self-denial. (28)and
Rather than imposing stereotypical modern feminist definitions of heroism we need to reconstruct iconographies of martyrdom and sanctity which have become relatively alien to us [...]. In mediaeval literature, female saints and courtly-love mistresses were frequently addressed in virtually indistinguishable terms, while female saints’ lives recorded the bodily ordeals of virgin martyrs in ways which strikingly deployed potentially erotic material in the cause of holiness. [...] In Renaissance romances [...] heroines often adopt the behaviour of saints in the cause of love. An idea of ‘erotic sainthood’ might be a useful way of understanding the forms of female heroism found in these fictions, and the nature of their appeal to women. (32)I suspect that although the "iconographies of martyrdom and sanctity" may have become "relatively alien to us," the eroticised martyr-heroine may still be with us, in a modified form. According to Rachel Anderson, writing about the beginning of the modern romance genre, "The ideals of most of the early romantic novelists were based loosely on Christianity. [...] But the majority of today's romantic novelists are far less specific about the motivating ideals behind their work" (275). Anderson was writing in 1974, so her study is hardly up-to-date, but nonetheless, as I've discussed before, there remains a very strong spiritual element in the genre. Looked at from this perspective, perhaps it's only to be expected that the genre might contain some martyr-like heroines who, though they lose their virginity to the sinner-heroes and/or are raped by them, can be thought of as ultimately triumphing over their seducers or rapists by redeeming them.
Jessica also wrote a review of one romance with a rapist hero in which she stated that "Great writers can make us believe in unbelievable things." I'd suggest that hagiographies can also make many people believe in miracles which they would dismiss as unbelievable were they to occur in other contexts.
Janine's response encapsulates why such romances may be felt by some readers to be positive narratives: "That Gaffney was able to begin the reader’s journey in such a dark place and then bring us out into the light is a lot of what makes the books so uplifting to me as well as so incredibly romantic." Are there any parallels to be found with the "uplifting" emotions that may be experienced by readers of narratives about female martyr saints as the focus shifts away from the torments inflicted upon their bodies by abusive, powerful men and towards a conclusion in which the souls of the martyrs are taken up into the light of Heaven?
- Anderson, Rachel. The Purple Heart Throbs: The Sub-literature of Love. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1974.
- Hackett, Helen. Women and Romance Fiction in the English Renaissance. Cambridge: UP, 2000. A description, and a pdf of the first ten pages of Hackett's Women and Romance Fiction in the English Renaissance are available from the University of Cambridge Press's website.
Violence and degradation serve [...] as a test of heroines who prove their virtue through passive stoicism and noble self-denial.
ReplyDeleteAlthough that was not what I meant in that comment of mine that you quote (I was thinking of both the hero and heroine's profound yet utterly convincing transformations), I do think that the virtue-proving is a factor in the popularity of the hero/heroine rape trope in some historical romances, particularly in many of those from the late seventies and early eighties. (I almost mentioned this on Jessica's blog yesterday, but then I decided my post had become long enough.) In many of those books (Woodiwiss's The Flame and the Flower being one example), the hero raped the heroine because he mistook her for a prostitute, implying that women of "easy virtue" deserved such treatment. Moreover, the heroine was frequently contrasted with a villainess who was also after the hero, and this villainess was usually a woman who had had consensual sex with one or more of the male characters. There was definitely an implication that the heroine was a "good girl" and that "good girls don't." I think the heroine's resistance to sex with the hero was there partly to characterize her as "good" in some of those books. Since readers often judge heroines more harshly than heroes, I wonder if some authors feared that readers would not relate to their heroines if those heroines consented to sex out of wedlock.
I don't know if this was as much the case in later books, though. Interestingly, in two of my favorite romances, martyrdom is specifically referred to within the text. One is Patricia Gaffney's To Have and to Hold, which we have been discussing on Jessica's blog. In the first (forced) sex scene, Sebastian thinks of Rachel as a stoic martyr and even refers to her as a martyr in the dialogue.
Mary Jo Putney's Uncommon Vows, a medieval romance, doesn't contain actual rape but [BIG SPOILERS]does include a scene in which the hero tries to rape the heroine only to stop and realize the horrible thing he is about to do when she calls on the Virgin Mary to help her endure. He then feels a lot of remorse, and offers to marry her or to let her go (he has been holding her captive), whichever she chooses, but she doesn't believe him and, in thinking about some of the martyred female saints who killed themselves rather than yield their virtue, she makes the decision to attempt suicide.
It seems to me that in both cases, the authors were aware of the martyrdom aspect of rape in romance, and I really liked that they referred to it and used it consciously. I find that kind of reference sophisticated and interesting, and I like the way it gives my brain something to chew on while I read.
in two of my favorite romances, martyrdom is specifically referred to within the text
ReplyDeleteThat's fascinating, Janine. Not having read either novel, I didn't know that, but it's really interesting that the authors so explicitly referred to female martyrs.
I do think that the virtue-proving is a factor in the popularity of the hero/heroine rape trope in some historical romances
I think the virginity = virtue equation might also underpin some romances in which the hero doesn't rape the heroine. There are a lot of virgin heroines in the genre and I've come across a fair number of romances in the Mills & Boon Moderns/Harlequin Presents line in which the hero thinks of the heroine as scheming and amoral until he has proof of her virginity, at which point he is suddenly convinced of her virtue (and his faith in women may be restored).
There might also be parallels to be drawn between the plots of some modern romances and the testing of Patient Griselda. I'm thinking of romances in which the hero makes the heroine suffer a lot and she puts up with it relatively meekly and never stops loving him, until finally he's convinced of her virtue. Or in some of the secret baby plots, for example, although the heroine hasn't been separated from her child as Griselda was, she may have been separated from the hero for a decade, and yet despite this she still loves him and remains faithful to him.
From a feminist standpoint, Patient Griselda doesn't sound too appealing. But as I was reading the summary of it on wikipedia, I was reminded of the Biblical story of Abraham being tested by God with the sacrifice of Isaac. Except in this case Griselda's husband is in the one playing the role of God. I can see why unquestioning faith in their husbands and servility to them might have been taught to women in centuries past, but it doesn't appeal to me as a reader today (and often, the virginity=virtue equation doesn't either). I do wonder if that kind of virginity=virtue thinking doesn't, even today, serve to keep some women in figurative chastity belts.
ReplyDeleteI have to admit though, that I get emotional satisfaction out of some books like the Harlequins you're describing, where the hero thinks badly of the heroine only to realize he was wrong (though I prefer that he be proven wrong by something other than a hymen!). Some of Diana Palmer's Silhouette romances followed that pattern too, and so did some of Elizabeth Lowell's books from the 1990s.
I think for me, my enjoyment of that type of plot comes from an anticipation of the moment the hero will be proven wrong, and will realize how mistaken he was, and will apologize to the heroine. The more wrong he is, the more satisfying that moment of realization is. And I think that the source of my emotional satisfaction from that painful epiphany is that in being floored by the heroine's virtue, the hero is taken down several notches, not just in that he has to humble himself before her, but in that his feelings about her and for her are humbling to himself, and he is left reeling and powerless before them. It's a "how the mighty are fallen" moment that puts him, seemingly, in the heroine's power. Which is why I do think these fantasies are popular because they give women the feeling that even when they are at their most vulnerable, they have power over men.
Now that I've brought up the issue of secret babies, I can't help quoting this, from Hackett:
ReplyDeleteThe privacy of the spaces occupied by the heroines is intensified by the emphasis on secrecy as a marker of female perfection; and this privacy and secrecy are key elements in the definition of female heroism in these romances [in this chapter Hackett is discussing the chivalric romances of the Amadís de Gaula, Palmerín and Mirror of Knighthood (Espejo de Principes y Cavalleros) cycles]. [...] It is true that bodily continence in the form of virginal intactness seems to be set aside as the primary marker of female virtue, but it is replaced as a defining virtue by related qualities of continence of emotional display and of information. (71)
and
In The Mirror of Knighthood when Briana realises that she is pregnant she confides only in her servant Clandestria, who tries to persuade her to tell her parents - the father of the child is after all her lawful husband, and the child will be heir to Great Britain [...]. Briana, however, insists on secrecy, seemingly for its own sake [...]. Olivia too practices a seemingly excessive secrecy about her feelings of love which serves to denote her 'honesty' and 'modestie'.
The supreme test of female secrecy is the concealment of pregnancy and childbirth. (72)
And on the suffering heroines have to endure:
within the Renaissance code of feminine silence, chastity and obedience, the relatively emancipated, and therefore morally dubious, sexual behaviour of romance heroines has to be offset and mitigated by their suffering. Indeed, the ability to suffer could be said to be the chief determining characteristic of a heroine. [...] Elisena, Oriana and Briana all suffer for their submission to true love by the enforced concealment of their unions and by separation from their lovers and infants.
Love serves as a lofty cause which justifies the otherwise potentially morally dubious behaviour of sexually compliant heroines. A notion of chastity is not discarded as the paramount female virtue; rather, it is redefined as constancy in love. [...] love is elevated to the level of a religion of which suffering heroines are the saints and martyrs. (73)
The way that virginity, chastity, secrecy/secret babies and suffering all seem to be linked, with one or more maybe taking priority in some stories, but all serving as markers of female virtue is really interesting to me, (a) because of the similarities that perhaps exist between the chivalric romances and some modern romances and (b) because it seems to point to an underlying view of female virtue which may explain the number of virgin heroines in the genre and suggests a common worldview underpinning a range of different plots, including ones where heroines are raped by the hero, plots where the heroine has a secret baby, and ones where heroes seek revenge on the heroine and/or the heroine's suffering proves her love.
Laura, are you familiar with this story from the Arabian Nights? Somewhat similar to Patient Griselda in some respects, but much more subversive and feminist in others.
ReplyDeletein being floored by the heroine's virtue, the hero is taken down several notches [...]. It's a "how the mighty are fallen" moment that puts him, seemingly, in the heroine's power. Which is why I do think these fantasies are popular because they give women the feeling that even when they are at their most vulnerable, they have power over men.
ReplyDeleteI can see how that might appeal, but it still seems problematic to me that it's the heroine who has to thoroughly prove her virtue, whereas the hero often just has to demonstrate some contrition. And yes, she and the reader get the satisfaction of her virtue being affirmed and the hero being shown to be wrong, but often her suffering goes on for much longer than the hero's, so it begins to seem that a heroine has to be tested at great length before her virtue can be made manifest (like the virgin martyrs') but a man just has to truly repent and humble himself, asking the saint to forgive him, and she will, and he will be saved.
So women are getting power through being virtuous, whereas men get power directly.
The way the heroine's virtue is demonstrated often seems to reinforce a double standard - she is virginal/faithful whereas he is a rake, she cares for children/puppies/deserving causes while he seeks revenge. Of course, one could argue that this just reflects the reality of a patriarchal, sexist society, and that the man is shown to be wrong, but at the same time, the end result may be to suggest that women can only get access to power via a man, and women only get that access by conforming to some very traditional ideas about female virtue.
I am taking a somewhat devil's advocate position here, because when I was doing research on feminism and the Modern/Presents line I read quite a lot of romances which had plots involving female suffering and/or the heroine proving her chastity but which did seem to me to use these elements in clearly feminist contexts. That said, I think an author might need to be quite careful with these elements because it would be very easy for them to read as female virginity/chastity/suffering = virtue, and only saintly women will be rewarded.
are you familiar with this story from the Arabian Nights? Somewhat similar to Patient Griselda in some respects, but much more subversive and feminist in others.
No, I haven't read that story before. I started it, but it looks quite long and it's rather late here, so I think I'd better leave it till the morning.
What's always bothered me about those "I thought you were a slut but now that I find you're a virgin, please accept my apologies and marry me" plots is that, after all, a woman can only be deflowered once (barring the trade in hymen restoration that's still going on in several Mediterranean countries but never seems to cross the minds of the Italian/Spanish/Greek tycoons at the crucial moment).
ReplyDeleteSo the next time he sees her talking to the golf pro and yells "You slut," what's she supposed to do? It just doesn't add up to a HEA for anyone.
On the other half of the equation, Renaissance "romances" tend to resemble modern "high fantasy" novels more than they do modern romance novels.
The way that virginity, chastity, secrecy/secret babies and suffering all seem to be linked, with one or more maybe taking priority in some stories, but all serving as markers of female virtue is really interesting to me, (a) because of the similarities that perhaps exist between the chivalric romances and some modern romances and (b) because it seems to point to an underlying view of female virtue which may explain the number of virgin heroines in the genre and suggests a common worldview underpinning a range of different plots, including ones where heroines are raped by the hero, plots where the heroine has a secret baby, and ones where heroes seek revenge on the heroine and/or the heroine's suffering proves her love.
ReplyDeleteThat's fascinating.
I can see how that might appeal, but it still seems problematic to me that it's the heroine who has to thoroughly prove her virtue, whereas the hero often just has to demonstrate some contrition. And yes, she and the reader get the satisfaction of her virtue being affirmed and the hero being shown to be wrong, but often her suffering goes on for much longer than the hero's, so it begins to seem that a heroine has to be tested at great length before her virtue can be made manifest (like the virgin martyrs') but a man just has to truly repent and humble himself, asking the saint to forgive him, and she will, and he will be saved.
So women are getting power through being virtuous, whereas men get power directly.
The way the heroine's virtue is demonstrated often seems to reinforce a double standard - she is virginal/faithful whereas he is a rake, she cares for children/puppies/deserving causes while he seeks revenge.
Oh, yeah, absolutely it's problematic in all these ways. And all things being equal, I would much rather read about a heroine seeking revenge than a hero seeking revenge. Some of those books we are discussing are satisfying to me in some ways yet frustrating in others. I had started to call them "guilty pleasures" in my earlier post, but then I changed my wording, because that term seems a bit disrespectful to me of the craftsmanship and thought that goes into some of the books that fit this description.
I read quite a lot of romances which had plots involving female suffering and/or the heroine proving her chastity but which did seem to me to use these elements in clearly feminist contexts.
Yes, I think it really depends on the individual book.
That said, I think an author might need to be quite careful with these elements because it would be very easy for them to read as female virginity/chastity/suffering = virtue, and only saintly women will be rewarded.
I agree.
No, I haven't read that story before. I started it, but it looks quite long and it's rather late here, so I think I'd better leave it till the morning.
It has a lot of the elements you describe -- the long-suffering virtuous queen, the secret babies, the emperor who has been wrong about his wife for years but finally comes to realize her virtue. (As well as jealous, scheming sisters -- an element that strikes me as anti-feminist). But it also has the princess who dresses up as a man, rides out on a quest, rescues her brothers, and (indirectly) brings about the righting of all the wrongs. It was one of my favorite stories when I was a child, because it was the girl who was the hero-figure.
That story illustrates in miniature why I could never get through the Arabian Nights: one story evolves into another into another into another and you never get to the end of the first one! At least this version only has two : Patient Griselda meets The King of the Golden River, with a guest appearance by the wicked sisters from Cupid and Psyche.
ReplyDeleteWhich reminds me that Patient Griselda is one of the three tales I started blogging about on FluffyCatBabylon that can't possibly have an HEA. Must get back to that.
Virginia mentioned the trade in hymen restoration that's still going on in several Mediterranean countries. Whaddaya mean, Mediterranean countries? How about right here in Phoenix?
http://aussiemakeover.com/
Also, in Northrop Frye's theories, high fantasy is a direct descendant of medieval romance and Renaissance heroic epic, via William Morris. And even romance novels have a trace of Frye's romance mode, as quoted by Eric in this very blog:
33: [Fictions may be classified by the hero’s power of action, which may be greater than ours, less than ours, or roughly the same. If “superior in kind” to nature and to us, then “the hero is a divine being, and the story about him will be a myth”; “if superior in degree to other men and to his environment, the hero is the typical hero of romance, whose actions are marvelous but who is himself identified as a human being.”
33: In a romance, “the ordinary laws of nature are slightly suspended: prodigies of courage and endurance, unnatural to us, are natural to him, and enchanted weapons, talking animals, terrifying ogres and witches, and talismans of miraculous power violate no rule of probability once the postulates of romance have been established. Here we have moved from myth, properly so called, into legend, folk tale, marchen,” etc.
The heroes are impossibly handsome, powerful men (sheikhs, billionaires, etc.) and the heroines are incredibly beautiful and pure. There may be a shortage of enchanted weapons and talking animals (except cats); but there are instead amazing coincidences and perfectly timed revelations.
I remember one of the very few Mary Burchell books I didn't like. The heroine's wicked "best friend" wanted to divorce her husband, a novelist, and persuaded the heroine to turn up at his remote cottage where he was working; she would arrange to have a photographer take compromising pics (this part of course the heroine wasn't told). All went as intended, except that the husband and the heroine fell in love and got married after the divorce, living happily ever after until Ex-Wife told him that the heroine was part of the plot. From then on he made her life miserable, even writing a novel based on the events which portrayed her as a selfish, scheming hussy. She kept on trying to prove her innocence, eventually rushing back into to the cottage while it was burning down IN ORDER TO RESCUE THE MANUSCRIPT!!!!
She was horrified, in the hospital, to see that he'd gone ahead and published it; but of course he'd changed it to depict the pure and innocent creature she really was.
Like Janine, I like the stories in which the princess is the heroine. There's one lovely modern one in which she sets out on a quest for a prince and learns that an enchanter is holding one prisoner. She goes to the enchanter's house and performs three dangerous tasks for him, each one earning her a magical object, while the prince sits around whining and working on his tan. When she finally drags him off, the enchanter pursues, each of the objects gets turned into a magical barrier to stop him, but he keeps on till he catches them. When the princess asks why he wants the prince back, he replies that he doesn't; the prince came to visit and he's been trying to get rid of him ever since. He's chasing them because he's fallen in love with the princess, who's proved herself brave and kind and clever.
So she takes him home to papa, leaving the prince to make his way as best he can.
I'm glad girls now have books like the various series by Tamora Pierce, which have brave and clever girls becoming knights and mages and warriors.
Virginia: the next time he sees her talking to the golf pro and yells "You slut," what's she supposed to do?
ReplyDeleteI've wondered the same thing. He's the one who stole her virtue--but she's no longer virtuous, so how can he trust her? It reminds me of Benedick's line early in Much Ado, while he's still bitter toward women:
"Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her"
Much Ado is my favorite of Shakespeare's comedies, in part because of the way Benedick effects a complete turnaround in his attitudes and loyalties. He starts the play distrustful toward women, but by Act IV expresses more faith in Hero and Beatrice than do any of his soldier cronies or Hero's father. And he's rewarded for it, in a sense; in the final act he emerges as the hero and, ironically, the group's new moral authority.
So the next time he sees her talking to the golf pro and yells "You slut," what's she supposed to do? It just doesn't add up to a HEA for anyone.
ReplyDeleteI think you're just supposed to have faith that there's not going to be a "next time" because the heroine, having given proof of her intact hymen/her enduring chastity/her undeserved suffering, has been declared a secular saint, and the hero has recognised this and shown true contrition.
On the other half of the equation, Renaissance "romances" tend to resemble modern "high fantasy" novels more than they do modern romance novels.
Yes, that's true. Hackett writes of the romances of chivalry that
It is true that these romances appear alien to a modern sensibility if judged by the novelistic criteria of naturalism and of a narrative structure which has a clear beginning, middle and end. However, if we compare them with some popular modern genres they may begin to look a little less unfamiliar. For instance, post-Tolkien sword-and-sorcery sagas are very successful today, and share with the sixteenth-century romances fantastic and/or archaic settings, a central concern with deeds of combat, supernatural interventions and an extended narrative structure of successive sequels. (55)
She also adds that
In terms of narrative structure there are further distinct parallels with another popular modern narrative medium, television soap opera. Amadís, which ran to twelve volumes in Spanish and twenty-one in the French version, is described by O'Connor as 'a story so fluid that it promised to go on forever' [...]. Similarly, it is often remarked that soap operas 'have a certain open-ended quality and could, potentially at least, run for ever'. [...] Both soap opera and the Iberian romances use the family as a structure which offers both continuity and variety, as children grow to adulthood and lost relatives are rediscovered. Both genres also exhibit responsiveness to their audience. The recycling of popular elements can take precedence over narrative consistency: when Amadis was killed off in Book VIII there was widespread public distress and he was brought back again in the next volume, a striking prefiguration of the death of Bobby Ewing in Dallas and his notorious resurrection in the shower after viewing figures dropped.
Of course I am not suggesting any direct connection between modern soap operas and sixteenth-century Iberian chivalric romances, but merely that some of the narrative principles of soap opera as a long-running, audience-responsive and open-ended medium may be more helpful in understanding these romances than are ideas about the literary novel. (56)
As I mentioned in my original post, Hackett doesn't think there are many similarities between the Renaissance romances and the modern romance genre. It seems she really only explored the possibility of similarities because
(a) the two genres are both known as "romances"
(b) they both involve some romantic situations and feature prominent female characters
(c) at times both have been described as popular and "low," even "trashy" genres. She observes, however, that although some Renaissance romances were "cut down chap-book versions [...] aimed at readers of limited income and education" (22) some Renaissance romances, such as Sidney's "Arcadia and [Spencer's] The Faerie Queene clearly had high literary ambition" (22) and were aimed at a courtly audience, so were not particularly "popular" in the sense of appealing to a mass audience, at least not originally, though the Arcadia's status seemed to decline over time
(d) there may be escapist elements in both, and because of
(e) the possibility that both genres had female audiences, but then she goes on to observe that most Renaissance romances had male authors, and it's not clear that the audience for them really was primarily female, although sometimes there are dedications to lady readers.
Hackett's descriptions of the modern romance genre come from secondary sources: Ann Bar Snitow, Ann Rosalind Jones, Germaine Greer, Tania Modleski, Janice Radway and a few others. I can understand why she'd do that: it would have been extremely time-consuming and almost wholly outwith the scope of her book to compare the two genres in any detail.
The similarities that I've highlighted between the two genres regarding female martyrs and the way in which female suffering, chastity and secrecy may be used as proof of a heroine's virtue are not ones that Hackett mentions. She only describes the way they function in the context of the Renaissance romances, but I thought they might be of relevance to thinking about modern romance. As she said (albeit about modern soap operas), I don't necessarily think there's a direct connection between modern romances' use of these themes and the way they appear in the Renaissance romances, but the parallels are certainly very interesting. I wonder if there may be underlying reasons for the similarity, such as a remarkable consistency through the centuries in what is thought to demonstrate feminine virtue.
It has a lot of the elements you describe -- the long-suffering virtuous queen, the secret babies, the emperor who has been wrong about his wife for years but finally comes to realize her virtue. (As well as jealous, scheming sisters -- an element that strikes me as anti-feminist). But it also has the princess who dresses up as a man, rides out on a quest, rescues her brothers, and (indirectly) brings about the righting of all the wrongs. It was one of my favorite stories when I was a child, because it was the girl who was the hero-figure.
ReplyDeleteI've just finished it, and I didn't remember having read it before, though a long time ago I vaguely recall reading the Arabian Nights. Mind you, I can say the same about the Decameron and the Canterbury Tales, so I think it's probably the case that I find it hard to remember stories which have lots of inset stories. I sympathise with Tal's point that when reading the whole of the it can be annoying that "one story evolves into another into another into another and you never get to the end of the first one!" but this one seems fairly well finished. However, I want to know what happened to the bird! Was it a person under an enchantment? And did the princess reward the bird in some way for all its help?
in Northrop Frye's theories, high fantasy is a direct descendant of medieval romance and Renaissance heroic epic, via William Morris. And even romance novels have a trace of Frye's romance mode, as quoted by Eric in this very blog
I don't think Hackett mentions Frye. I might have missed a reference to him, but he certainly isn't in her bibliography. I agree that generally modern romance only has "a trace" of this mode, though paranormal romances and fantasy romances can no doubt sometimes have rather more than just "a trace."
RfP, I like Much Ado too, though I'm not sure how much of my liking is due to the particular version I saw ( the Branagh/Thompson version). It's difficult to separate out a play from the version(s) one's seen of it, and the differing interpretations brought to each role by different actors.
I have the impression that because the (almost literally) martyred woman whose virtue is doubted in this case is the secondary heroine, it makes the relationship between Beatrice and Benedick more complex, as they negotiate their way through the stereotypes and fears that underlie the battle of the sexes.
Laura Vivanco wrote:
ReplyDeleteSo the next time he sees her talking to the golf pro and yells "You slut," what's she supposed to do? It just doesn't add up to a HEA for anyone.
I think you're just supposed to have faith that there's not going to be a "next time" because the heroine, having given proof of her intact hymen/her enduring chastity/her undeserved suffering, has been declared a secular saint, and the hero has recognised this and shown true contrition.
= = = =
My suspension of disbelief just doesn't go that far. This may be associated with the fact that my oldest son is an associate circuit judge who does domestic relations court.
My suspension of disbelief just doesn't go that far. This may be associated with the fact that my oldest son is an associate circuit judge who does domestic relations court.
ReplyDeleteYes, in real life, a lot of the ways that heroines in this type of romance behave would be very dangerous because it would be extremely unwise for any woman to try to redeem a man displaying the levels of aggression, suspicion, jealousy and possessiveness displayed by some romance heroes. In real life these behaviours could be warning signs that domestic violence either was, or would soon be, present in the relationship.
I do find it intriguing that romances first seemed to become more sexually explicit mostly in the contexts of plots involving heroines being raped/"forcibly seduced" by heroes. There's no way that, in real life, rape would be anything other than criminal and traumatising. But it does seem as though simultaneously ensuring heroines could be sexually active, while maintaining their virtue, was considered difficult at that time. The extreme rapist heroes are very unusual in the genre now, but the sexual double standard still hasn't disappeared yet, and I wonder if that's in part a reason for the continuing emphasis on female virginity and/or suffering in a significant number of modern romances.
There seems to have been a similar process of negotiation going on in the Iberian chivalric romances, and similar concerns about the unadvisability of real women copying the behaviours of these chivalric romance heroines:
Female heroism in the Iberian romances can thus be seen to consist in sexual willingness combined with fidelity, immobility, secrecy and the ability to suffer. This combination of qualities can be understood as originally generated by the patriarchal concerns of male writers and their imagined male readers. However, what they produce is a compromise between relative female sexual freedom and conventional iconographies of female virtue, which exonerated the sexual woman from blame. This may have been precisely what came to make these fictions appealing for female readers. At the same time the recognition that this was potentially subversive may lie behind the mockery of female readers: the importation of the female mores of Iberian romance into real life held manifest dangers and was therefore ridiculed and diminished as mere gullible over-literality.(Hackett 74-75)
What a great discussion!
ReplyDeleteIt's funny... I just review Karen Marie Moning's Beyond the Highland Mist, and in it, the hero mistrusts the heroine until he sleeps with her and discovers her virtue via her virginity.
There's a lot lot lot to be said here. There has been so much feminist work on the female body as a marker for so many things, but especially truth, purity, wholeness. I would just mention Page duBois's "Torture and Truth", which, focuses on the ancient Greek origins of the idea that truth extracted (via torture if possible) is somehow truer or better. She argues "The truth is thus always elsewhere, always outside the realm of ordinary human experience...secreted in the earth, in the gods, in the woman, in the slave". We joke about the "magic hoo ha" but the idea that women contain a kind of primitive truth and goodness is old and hard to dislodge.
For instance, post-Tolkien sword-and-sorcery sagas are very successful today, and share with the sixteenth-century romances fantastic and/or archaic settings, a central concern with deeds of combat, supernatural interventions and an extended narrative structure of successive sequels.
ReplyDeleteAnd let's not forget the dragons! ;-)
Also, in Northrop Frye's theories, high fantasy is a direct descendant of medieval romance and Renaissance heroic epic, via William Morris.
I hope he didn't forget to mention the (German) Romantic fairy tale, which is the direct forerunner of modern fantasy.
I am taking a somewhat devil's advocate position here, because when I was doing research on feminism and the Modern/Presents line I read quite a lot of romances which had plots involving female suffering and/or the heroine proving her chastity but which did seem to me to use these elements in clearly feminist contexts.
Laura, have you read Penny Jordan's "They're Wed Again" (it's part of the M&B 100th Birthday Collection)? The way gender roles and stereotypes are treated and discussed in this novel is quite interesting. For one thing, this is one of the rare second-chance-at-love romances in which both protagonists haven't taken any other lovers during their separation. For another, the heroine is the main breadwinner at the beginning of the relationship, which eventually results in the breakdown of the marriage. Yet if the hero as a young man hated being financially dependant upon his wife, he eventually comes to realize "that his own inflexible old-fashioned male attitude to money had been the maggot which had eaten away at the foundations of their marriage" (55). And, "'[i]f I was proud then it was a false pride. My pride should have been in you, in what you were doing for both of us, in what we were achieving by working together'" (71). -- When I read the book, I was so reminded of the paper you gave in Newcastle last year.
It's hard to reply to so many comments, but I agree with everyone who said that those heroes who think the heroine is a slut and that makes it okay to treat her like crap, and then change their minds when they discover her virginity (whether through rape or through consensual sex) seem very untrustworthy. They're far from my romantic ideal.
ReplyDeleteYes, in real life, a lot of the ways that heroines in this type of romance behave would be very dangerous because it would be extremely unwise for any woman to try to redeem a man displaying the levels of aggression, suspicion, jealousy and possessiveness displayed by some romance heroes. In real life these behaviours could be warning signs that domestic violence either was, or would soon be, present in the relationship.
That's true too, and a lot of romances with such heroes don't have convincing happy endings because it's hard to believe the hero won't treat the heroine badly again.
Many of these books don't work for me, and of the ones that do, most only entertain me once but don't stand up to multiple readings precisely because of these issues.
The two books I mentioned above, To Have and to Hold and Uncommon Vows work as well as they do for me partly because even when the hero is at his worst, he doesn't excuse his own behavior or see the heroine as deserving it.
What I keep coming back to in my own head though, is that books need conflict. In the recent discussion of Linda Howard's Death Angel on Dear Author, Kathleen O'Reilly made the comment that "I like reading books about twisted people because they are not boring." I think that statement is true for me as well, and I think it's also the case that books about perfectly healthy, happy people in a healthy, happy relationship with no conflict whatsoever are boring.
One of the questions for a romance writer is how to create conflict in an even-handed enough way (so that both hero and heroine share in the responsiblity for the problems their relationship faces) and how to resolve it believably. I think the fact that the double standard exists in society and in some reader's minds makes that a challenge.
Re. the Arabian Nights story, I think it's interesting that it contains some of the same elements as Patient Griselda and the romances we are discussing, even though it comes from a different culture. Do you think that's because these stories traveled around the world, or because their psychological underpinnings are universal?
Laura, the medieval troubadours and trouvères (what's the Spanish? Trobador?) may have been male, but their audiences were female. For one thing, especially before Eleanor of Aquitaine invented civilized behavior, most noblemen were illiterate and damn proud of it: reading and writing were for women and the clergy. For another, can you imagine types like Robert the Devil and Philip the Fair as sitting around listening to the medieval equivalent of chick flicks? No, the wanted chansons de geste; it was the ladies in the solar who wanted the tales of love and chivalry.
ReplyDeleteAnd I too thought the bird should at least be let out of its cage!
Incidentally, Michelle Martin, author of PEMBROKE PARK, wrote a traditional Regency, THE HAMPSHIRE HOYDEN, which also uses the MUCH ADO plot, with the hero and heroine as Benedick and Beatrice. Their dialogue is very funny, and the romance is quite believable. Spenser uses the same plot in an episode of THE FAERIE QUEENE; like everyone else, he swiped it from Ariosto.
Female heroism in the Iberian romances can thus be seen to consist in sexual willingness combined with fidelity, immobility, secrecy and the ability to suffer.
Immobility??? "Lie back and think of Aragon"? I'd rather think of Aragorn!
Sandra Schwab wrote: I hope he didn't forget to mention the (German) Romantic fairy tale, which is the direct forerunner of modern fantasy.
Sandra, are you thinking of Novalis? I keep hearing about him as a forerunner of and influence on George Macdonald, but I've never been able to find out anything about what his books were actually like. From what I have found, he doesn't sound very accessible.
Janine, there are collections of Chaucer's and Shakespeare's sources and analogues that indicate that there is a basic universal folktale corpus that spread around the world. Many of the tales and plays have distant sources in Hindu and Buddhist tales. Francis Child's ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS also has extensive notes on the sources and analogues of the tales that found their way into song.
Sandra, are you thinking of Novalis? I keep hearing about him as a forerunner of and influence on George Macdonald, but I've never been able to find out anything about what his books were actually like. From what I have found, he doesn't sound very accessible.
ReplyDeleteI've only ever read Novalis's "Die blaue Blume" ("The Blue Flower"), one of the seminal texts of German romanticism, and I quite liked it. On the whole, though, I prefer E.T.A. Hoffmann's and Ludwig Tieck's works. Tieck's "Der blonde Eckbert" (translated as "Eckbert the Fair" or "Blond Eckbert") was the first Romantic fairy tale, and it is clearly influenced by the folk tale -- and no wonder: at the end of the 18th century there was a new interest in folk literature in Germany, which had been sparked by Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry and Macpherson's Ossian books. Herder was the first to collect folk ballads (in Stimmen der Völker in Liedern) and to come up with a theory of folk literature (which he called "Volkspoesie"). His collection of international ballads was followed by Achim von Arnim and Clemens Brentano's anthology of national folk songs and ballads, Des Knaben Wunderhorn. They happened to be friends with two brothers called Grimm *g*, and as you know, the Grimms eventually published their own collection of folk tales, the Kinder- und Hausmärchen.
In the 1820s Edward Taylor translated a selection of the Grimms' tales into English, around the same time as an English translation of Hans Christan Andersen's tales was published. Both collections proved to be immensely successful and sparked a new fashion for fairy tales in Britain, which led to collections of British fairy tales in the second half of the 19th century (think Joseph Jacobs, Andrew Lang, etc.). Together with the gothic revival, another by-product of romanticism in a manner of speaking, this interest in fairy tales eventually resulted in the emergence of modern fantasy fiction towards the end of the century.
Here's a new and rather interesting way for a woman to suffer martyrdom:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.roca.org/OA/162/162f.htm
the idea that women contain a kind of primitive truth and goodness is old and hard to dislodge.
ReplyDeleteJessica, that does seem to be behind the "martyrdom" of a lot of heroines, because often there only seem to be two options: either the heroine is a Good Woman (sexually pure/ suffering unjust punishment/unselfish) or she's a Bad Woman (gold-digger, slut). Unlike men, who can be reformed rakes etc, it often seems as though women can either be on a pedestal of virtue or they're fallen women with no chance of getting back up onto it again. The Bad Woman was often represented in romances by an evil but tempting other woman (and again, I think she's less common nowadays, and the heroines are less often the sexually innocent, pure etc Good Women).
let's not forget the dragons! ;-)
Sandra, indeed, we should not forget the dragons. They're almost as useful as unicorns in determining that a woman is a maiden, and they have the added benefit of ensuring that she's a maiden in distress.
Laura, have you read Penny Jordan's "They're Wed Again" [...] I was so reminded of the paper you gave in Newcastle last year
I'm very impressed (not sure if I'm more impressed with myself or with you) that my paper made such a long-lasting impression! ;-)
Today I went charity-shopping and saw this story for sale, so of course I had to buy it to find out what happens in it. I'd read the first chapter of it last night and discovered that the heroine spends a lot of time thinking about buying home furnishings. She's also "working for [a] high-powered city firm of financial analysts" and so she keeps saying and thinking that she can afford to buy the furnishings. Towards the end of the chapter the word "headboard" is mentioned almost as often as the word "hummus" was mentioned in the parody Tumperkin organised. Actually, Tumperkin's parody collaboration, titled The Unfeasibly Tall Greek Billionaire’s Blackmailed Martyr-Complex Secretary Mistress Bride [Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6] includes a martyr-complex heroine, which brings us right back to the original topic of the post.
What I keep coming back to in my own head though, is that books need conflict. [...] I think it's also the case that books about perfectly healthy, happy people in a healthy, happy relationship with no conflict whatsoever are boring.
Obviously an author can't write a romance about characters who are already in a happy romantic relationship with each other, but I don't see why one couldn't have healthy, relatively well-adjusted people who are made temporarily unhappy by what they think is unrequited love, until they achieve their HEA. I suppose one does need some conflict, but I don't see why it can't be external to the couple e.g. they grow closer together as they solve a mystery/fight crime etc. And just being in love and unsure of the other person can create quite a lot of minor misunderstandings and complications.
Heyer's The Nonesuch is about two healthy, nice, polite people who fall in love, they take a while to get to know each other and it's mainly minor misunderstandings that keep them apart. Maybe you'd find that boring, but I rather enjoyed it. Austen's Northanger Abbey is about two people who are basically happy and healthy, and the obstacle is an external one. Again, I didn't find it at all boring.
I suspect it comes down to personal tastes. Some people seem to like a lot more conflict that others and/or they prefer romances with much more conflict between the main characters.
Laura, the medieval troubadours and trouvères (what's the Spanish? Trobador?)
I had to go off and double-check the spelling, because medieval spellings were variable. The modern spelling is trovador.
Here's a new and rather interesting way for a woman to suffer martyrdom
Virginia, I don't think I'd classify her death as martyrdom, although she was certainly made to suffer very unfairly before she died. The death itself, though, was a peaceful one and not inflicted on her by anyone other than "the Lord [who] desired to console her in her sorrows and give her repose from her many labors and settle her in the mansions of paradise."
Sandra, have you read any George MacDonald? He was a major influence on C.S. Lewis, and two of his fairy tales, At the Back of the North Wind and The Princess and Curdie, are still quite famous, though the first is not one of my favorites. I would particularly recommend, for similarities to what you're talking about, his Collected Fairy Tales, especially the novella-length "The Golden Key"; and his adult fantasies Phantastes and Lilith.
ReplyDeleteI have a fine recording of Mahler's setting of Des Knaben Wunderhorn. I also recommend the mystery novel House of Green Turf by Ellis Peters, which uses the song cycle both thematically and as a plot device. It's one of my favorite of hers. I wish she hadn't given up writing about the Felse family when she started writing about Brother Cadfael!
Laura, as to the Good Woman/Bad Woman dichotomy, we've talked about it here before, most recently when I brought up the Angel Gabriel greeting Mary with Ave as a reversal of Eva, which you then proceeded to expand upon.
In the fantasies I've been reading lately, the dragons are as likely as not to be the heroes. In Patricia C. Wrede's Enchanted Forest Chronicles, Princess Cimorene runs away from her boring life and even more boring suitors to become a dragon's princess (or rather, a dragon's Chief Cook and Librarian). She winds up rescuing the dragon from several plots by evil wizards. She also winds up with the King of the Enchanted Forest, an enlightened young man who appreciates her. I've read several in which the dragon was a shapeshifter and able to become the hero (or even heroine); and one in which a dragon and a female knight switched bodies so that the former dragon could marry the princess and the former knight could marry another dragon. (In case that's unclear, both dragons were male.)
Tumperkin's title is fabulous. But wait! There's more:
http://facstaff.unca.edu/pbahls/TitleGenerator.html
I got these:
The Highland Outlaw's Willing Queen
The Pacific Islander CEO's Tasty Captive
The Arabian Rogue's Bluestockinged Lady
The Viking Paper Company Sales Representative's Insatiable Feminist
Laura, I've always fancied the blond, gentle, protective type hero over the dark, dangerous, and paranoid type. The kind of guy that everyone turns to when they are in trouble, and who rescues the heroine even when she refuses to admit she's in trouble. Two of my favorites are in Edith Layton Regencies: Marcus Snow in A TRUE LADY (in which the heroine has been raised by pirates) and Warwick Jones in LOVE IN DISGUISE (in which the heroine is the daughter of a wealthy fishmonger who is trying to enter society mainly to please her father).
the Good Woman/Bad Woman dichotomy, we've talked about it here before, most recently when I brought up the Angel Gabriel greeting Mary with Ave as a reversal of Eva, which you then proceeded to expand upon.
ReplyDeleteIn the particular context of martyrdom/female suffering, it's probably worth noting that Mary suffered a lot too, and there's a recognised list of the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin. She also had what might, in the context of the romance genre, be thought of as a secret baby, and the pregnancy led to suspicions about her virtue:
When [...] Mary was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child [...]. Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her a public example, was minded to put her away privily.
But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him [...] saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife (Matthew 1: 18-20)
And so Mary's name was cleared. Romance heroines don't tend to get angelic character references, but there's not infrequently a revelation from someone which makes the previously angry hero, who's sure of the heroine's lack of chastity, change his mind.
In the fantasies I've been reading lately, the dragons are as likely as not to be the heroes.
In fiction there's recently been a lot of reclaiming of traditionally evil/dangerous beings. Vampires, werewolves and even demons are now often depicted as sexy creatures who can be heroes (and sometimes heroines). Dragons started getting a better deal earlier, I think. Sandra knows vastly more about that than I do.
I'm rather fond of Kenneth Grahame's 1898 The Reluctant Dragon.
one in which a dragon and a female knight switched bodies so that the former dragon could marry the princess and the former knight could marry another dragon. (In case that's unclear, both dragons were male.)
That would be [anyone who doesn't want to be "spoiled" should avert their eyes at this point, and I'll just give the title but not the full name of the author] One Good Knight. I liked that one too.
Laura, there's also a ballad called "The Seven Joys of Mary": I have a wonderful version from Kentucky sung by Salli Terri. This is the closest to that version I could find online:
ReplyDeletehttp://sniff.numachi.com/pages/tiSEVNJOY2;ttSEVNJOY2.html
Romance heroines don't tend to get angelic character references, but there's not infrequently a revelation from someone which makes the previously angry hero, who's sure of the heroine's lack of chastity, change his mind.
That's the sort of thing I was thinking of when I mentioned that modern romances sometimes partake of the element of the marvelous found in medieval romance--unlikely revelations. The hero just happens to overhear something, or someone repents of his/her lies, or a lost letter is discovered. In one romance, the hero is angry at his pregnant wife because he's found a draft of a letter announcing her pregnancy that isn't addressed to HIM. In fact, it isn't addressed to anybody, because she couldn't figure out how to start it; but he immediately leaps to the conclusion that someone else is the father. (Incidentally, she never sent it because it wasn't true, but a trick she decided not to use.)
Eventually he remembers that when he married her out of hand, she had wanted eight months to prepare for the wedding properly. He figures even she wasn't naive enough to think that if she was really pregnant, she'd wouldn't be showing at that point.
The link doesn't work properly. Try this one:
ReplyDeletehttp://tinyurl.com/4sc5ow
Obviously an author can't write a romance about characters who are already in a happy romantic relationship with each other, but I don't see why one couldn't have healthy, relatively well-adjusted people who are made temporarily unhappy by what they think is unrequited love, until they achieve their HEA. I suppose one does need some conflict, but I don't see why it can't be external to the couple e.g. they grow closer together as they solve a mystery/fight crime etc. And just being in love and unsure of the other person can create quite a lot of minor misunderstandings and complications.
ReplyDeleteHeyer's The Nonesuch is about two healthy, nice, polite people who fall in love, they take a while to get to know each other and it's mainly minor misunderstandings that keep them apart. Maybe you'd find that boring, but I rather enjoyed it.
Actually I enjoyed The Nonesuch very much, but I think Heyer is a master. There is some bite and even cynicism to Heyer's sense of humor, which goes a long way toward keeping her books from getting too sappy or sugary for my taste.
Still, though, as much as I enjoyed The Nonesuch, I liked Frederica even better, partly because the hero of that book had a deeper character arc and some real growing to do over the course of the story.
I don't think I am alone in feeling that a character's an emotional journey, in which he or she comes to greater maturity or insight than they had in the beginning, adds richness to a narrative.
For me, books that are based purely on external conflicts (and I don't think The Nonesuch is one -- there is some internal conflict there in the characters' fears and insecurities IIRC) are a lot less engaging, because when a conflict is purely external it (A) doesn't feel very realistic to me, since real people invariably face conflicts and obstacles that are situations in their minds and hearts as well as conflicts and obstacles that are purely exterior, (B) the conflict that is purely exterior often seems contrived, since in real life interfering villains just don't crop up that often, and (C) that type of conflict by itself often seems so easy to resolve that I wonder why I should keep turning the pages.
I am hard put to think of a single good book in which the characters didn't have an internal conflict -- that is, didn't feel pulled in at least two different directions at some point in the story. IMO it is a human characteristic, something every single human being experiences, and characters who don't experience it seem flat and one-dimensional to me.
Austen's Northanger Abbey is about two people who are basically happy and healthy, and the obstacle is an external one. Again, I didn't find it at all boring.
I haven't read Northanger Abbey, so I'm really not qualified to comment. But just from taking a quick look at the entry on it in Wikipedia, I see both "The conflicts of marriage for love and marriage for property" and "The maturation of the young into skeptical adulthood, the loss of imagination, innocence and good faith" listed as major themes, and that makes me suspect I would find some internal conflict in the novel if I were to read it. A conflict between one's perception of the world and the reality of what the world actually is is also internal to the character, IMO, and implies a flawed worldview that could lead to relationship problems and other problems as well.
I suspect it comes down to personal tastes. Some people seem to like a lot more conflict that others and/or they prefer romances with much more conflict between the main characters.
I'm sure there's some truth to that but I also feel strongly that the un-conflicted human being has yet to be born, and therefore there is no such thing as a relationship (whether romantic or otherwise) in which human flaws don't play a role.
Well, yes, it would be odd if the characters didn't respond to an external challenge by thinking about it and changing in some way. I can't imagine many people remain entirely unchanged by their experiences. I just think that some romances involve far more conflict between the hero and heroine, whereas other romances are much more about the hero and heroine coming together (and possibly having some minor conflict) as they try to solve an external problem/overcome external obstacles.
ReplyDeleteI don't think I am alone in feeling that a character's an emotional journey, in which he or she comes to greater maturity or insight than they had in the beginning, adds richness to a narrative.
I suspect I'm at the "less can be more" end of the spectrum with regards to character arcs because although I know some people can have conversion experiences which radically change their personalities, my general experience is that in general people change gradually. That means that a character arc which goes from "L" to "M" in the course of a few weeks or months is likely to be a lot more pleasing (because more convincing) to me than one which has the character arc going from "A" to "M" in the space of a few days.
That's not to say that I can't intellectually appreciate big conflicts between heroes and heroines, or huge character arcs which take place in very short spaces of time, but they're probably never going to be the ones I respond to most emotionally.
I think that two of the best developing love stories in fiction are in series, which allows for both the movement from A to M (and beyond) over the arc of the series and for the movement from M to N within one volume.
ReplyDeleteThe first is that between Eve Dallas and Roarke in the IN DEATH series by Nora Roberts writing as J.D. Robb. There are about two dozen volumes and counting so far, and I know you haven't read them, Laura, so I won't discuss them here.
The other is that between Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, over the course of six books. In STRONG POISON, they meet when Wimsey sees her in court about to be convicted of the murder of her lover, and falls in love with her. He gets her off, of course; but she's so burned out by her experience with the late Philip Boyes that she dismisses his proposal. "I'll live with you, but I won't marry you"--a statement she later characterizes as "throwing myself to you like a bone." Here, she is the helpless victim and he is the rescuing hero, and they both hate it.
In HAVE HIS CARCASE (a British wordplay on habeas corpus), Harriet's career has become quite profitable, thanks to her notoriety, and she is taking a walking-tour vacation. She finds a dead body near a seaside resort; but the evidence and her observations make it seem impossible. Wimsey shows up when it gets into the papers; and they "detect in tandem," as equal partners in crime-solving but still quarreling on a personal basis because of Harriet's tetchiness, though she comes to appreciate Wimsey not just as a brilliant detective but as a man who respects her right to be her own woman.
Most of GAUDY NIGHT is taken up by Harriet's return to her Oxford college, mainly because she's been asked by the Dean to find the nasty poison pen who's been harassing students and faculty alike. Although she's developed strong feelings for Wimsey, she finds the celibate scholary life of an Oxford don very appealing. Of course Peter shows up, and for once she gets a glimpse of HIS dark side, much of which stems from his horrific experiences in the Great War. Here she is a bit more on her home ground than he is, but "Wimsey of Balliol" can hold his own here as well. He has made a hobby of proposing to her semi-seriously; but one cannot jest about such things at Oxford. At the end he proposes to her in a punt--in Latin--and she accepts in the same language.
In BUSMAN'S HONEYMOON, which Sayers subtitled "A Love Story with Detective Interruptions," they find the corpse of the previous owner in the cellar of their newly-purchased honeymoon home, a Tudor farmhouse. There is a tension between their working together to solve the crime, enjoying it thoroughly, and the rift that develops when the clues appear to point to someone that Harriet sympathizes with and wants to protect. At the end, Wimsey is very much distressed (as he always is) at the hanging of the murderer, even though he's guilty as sin and killed for totally venal motives); it is Harriet who rescues him emotionally.
I do wish there was more. There are two further short stories, in one of which Harriet doesn't appear because she's just given birth to their first son; but in "Talboys" we see the Wimseys at home with their three sons and a very unwelcome houseguest.
There are a couple more novels, set right before and during the war. The first one is completed by Jill Paton Walsh from an unfinished MS by Sayers; Walsh wrote the second one pretty much on her own. Not much relationship development, though in the first one there's some fun stuff about Harriet adjusting to being a member of a noble family. Peter barely pops in in the second book, as he's off on some military intelligence mission and Harriet is at Talboys with the children in order to avoid the Blitz.
Probably more about the books than you really wanted to know, but it shows what can be done.
talpianna, that was a great description of the Peter/Harriet books! That series is the ideal of slow, psychologically layered and gorgeously done romance to which I compare Romance with a capital R, perhaps unfairly. I don't know if you're aware but, in addition to the published sequels, there's some fanfic online that's quite good, very in character and smoothly written. It's sated my need for more written in their storyverse; if you're curious, I'd love to send you the links.
ReplyDeleteI'd love to see the links. If you post them on my blog, I'll copy them. I've seen a bit of stuff online, but I don't think it was fanfic, it was annotations of some of the references.
ReplyDeleteThere's some awfully good Laurie R. King fanfic around, too. I even wrote some myself!
Ooops! The Wimsey-Vane love affair actually runs through FOUR books! There are a few other books in that span, but they don't involve Harriet.
ReplyDeleteI suspect I'm at the "less can be more" end of the spectrum with regards to character arcs because although I know some people can have conversion experiences which radically change their personalities, my general experience is that in general people change gradually. That means that a character arc which goes from "L" to "M" in the course of a few weeks or months is likely to be a lot more pleasing (because more convincing) to me than one which has the character arc going from "A" to "M" in the space of a few days.
ReplyDeleteI agree that big changes that happen fast are unconvincing. Sometimes I get quite frustrated when I feel the hero and heroine are rushing to get married. I felt that way about Crusie's Anyone But You, actually. Though the book was charming in many ways, I couldn't believe the recently divorced heroine would feel ready to marry again after knowing the hero what seemed like a very short time. Since they didn't want children, it seemed inexplicable to me that they wouldn't move in together first and try living together for a while before marrying.
IMO in order to be convincing, big changes can't happen overnight, and I also think that it helps a lot if the character is already at a crossroads when the book begins. An author really has to lay a lot of groundwork to make a big arc convincing, and it takes a lot of skill to pull it off. I don't mean to imply otherwise.
When I read Claiming the Courtesan, for example, I was not convinced by the hero's reformation or by the heroine's forgiveness. And I can think of many other such examples of books that didn't work for me.
But in the rare event that an author is skilled enough to make a big transformation convincing to me, there is almost nothing that makes me happier as a reader.
Probably more about the books than you really wanted to know, but it shows what can be done.
ReplyDeleteNo, it was very helpful. I've got Gaudy Night in my TBR pile and although I'm sure I've read a Wimsey novel a long time ago (one in which the pair of them were married, so maybe one of the Walsh ones) I didn't know the details about which books contained the Harriet-Peter love story.
Laura, you really should read them in sequence. There is a two-volume omnibus (two books in each volume); I got it from the Mystery Guild and I don't know if it's a club special edition or if it's published in a regular commercial edition.
ReplyDeleteCan someone point me to a good review of CLAIMING THE COURTESAN? I keep running across mentions of it.
Out of place comment: In the earlier discussion on marriage vows, I compared the relationship between Alan Shore and Denny Crane on BOSTON LEGAL to a romantic relationship, except that there's no sexual element.
ReplyDeleteWell, last night they actually took vows!
Tal, Claiming the Courtesan seemed to provoke very strong reactions one way or another, so what constitutes a "good review" will depend on your opinion of the book, but here are some:
ReplyDeleteJanet at Dear Author gave it a B-
AztecLady at Karen Knows Best gave it 7 out of 10
Rosario gave it a C+
Janine at Dear Author gave it a C
Sarah at SBTB gave it a C-
Sandy Coleman at AAR gave it a D
Sandra, indeed, we should not forget the dragons. They're almost as useful as unicorns in determining that a woman is a maiden, and they have the added benefit of ensuring that she's a maiden in distress.
ReplyDeleteEven more importantly, dragons are perfect for proving that a man is a real hero. That's why so many dragons are slain in medieval romances.
Dragons started getting a better deal earlier, I think. Sandra knows vastly more about that than I do.
Teehee.
I'm rather fond of Kenneth Grahame's 1898 The Reluctant Dragon.
Grahame's reluctant dragon is generally taken to have been the first "tamed" dragon in (fantasy) literature. And of course, I've included an analysis of Grahame's story in my dissertation.
Sandra, have you read any George MacDonald?
Tal, I read Lilith ages ago. But it was a German translation and I didn't like it all that much. I'm currently catching up with English fairy and folk tales and MacDonald is on my list of TBR authors.
Thanks for the list, Laura. I read the one at SBTB. Definitely not my cup of tea!
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