Note: References to Australian women romance authors and their books are given in footnotes.
Kate Cuthbert writes:
This is in response to both Kat Mayo’s
excellent thought-piece and a twitter discussion that came up after I posted a
review of Robyn Carr’s Redwood Bend
over at the New York
Journal of Books.
In the review, I mentioned a level of
frustration that the heroine – a widowed, unemployed, new-to-town mother of
five-year-old twins – falls unexpectedly pregnant to a man she never expects to
see again. I’d like to say that the heroine decides
to keep and raise the baby, but in reality, there is no evidence of a
decision-making process at all. No exploration of the heroine’s choices, her
faith, her experience, her situation, her own belief system. There is nothing
but an automatic assumption that she will increase her family by one.
Of course this review was written of a
piece of fiction. And, being a piece of romance
fiction, there is never any doubt in the reader’s mind that the hero will come
riding back (on a motorcycle – contemporary heroes very rarely have gallant
steeds), he and the heroine will declare their mutual love, and the baby will
be born into a loving, solid family with few economic hardships, societal
judgments, awkward questions re: parentage, or any of the other trappings of
being in a single-parent family in today’s society.
But life is not romance fiction. And
perhaps more importantly, romance readers do not live in romance fiction. There
is no guaranteed happy-ever-after ending, no twist waiting around the bend to
make everything turn out okay. This becomes more important when it’s reiterated
that the vast majority of romance readers are women – as are the authors,
publishers, editors, and agents. Romance may be the last great feminine space
where men may sometimes enter, but rarely have the influence to alter.
So, how are we using it?
While reading Robyn Carr, I was incensed
that she – as a contemporary author writing about contemporary people – should
ignore the many options available to women in the circumstances that Katie
finds herself. The issue is not in the final decision that Katie makes –
feminism is, after all, about the right to choose – but the fact that Katie doesn’t make a decision. However, Carr
is hardly the only one. It is only in the past two decades that contraception
has become common place in romance novels – and even now it isn’t pervasive.
Unexpected pregnancies are as common as, well, sex in romance novels [1],
but informed discussions on a woman’s options in this situation are decidedly
not. I’m aware I’m speaking in generalities here, and there are examples [2],
of course, but those examples are not the norm [3].
Romance has long positioned itself as a
feminist literature: in the 50s women had jobs, in the 60s careers. The 70s saw
them have sex, and then the 80s saw them in charge. But the 90s heralded the
arrival of the alpha male and the millennium a surge of inspirational (ie.
Christian-faith) romances. Instead of continuing to forge a path, is it
possible that romances have taken a step backwards, hidden behind immortal men
on the one hand and traditionalist relationships on the other? I’d argue no –
certainly for every alpha male, there’s a counterpoint kick-ass female [4].
And feminism and Christianity are not dichotomous states of being [5].
And, again, feminism is the inherent power to choose the way you live – and
knowing that your choice will be respected.
But when it comes to women’s options and
control over her sexuality and her body, I’m just not seeing the light. Women
in romance novels can have sex now, but what is that freedom if they are not
doing so in a responsible, controlled manner that protects themselves,
emotionally and physically? Does the hero really respect her if he’s not
protecting them both? Is the heroine intelligent and self-respecting if she doesn’t protect them both? If
contraception isn’t mentioned, can a reader assume that it’s being used? Should a reader assume? Or is this
another lesson in what assuming means?
Romance occupies a unique position within
the literary world. It has already proven itself a subversive genre in many
ways, and as the world watches in horror as members of power in the US wage a
war on women’s rights over their own bodies, maybe it’s time to step up again.
It’s not fair to hold one genre of literature to a standard that is not
inflicted on others. But life isn’t fair. Certainly the war of the sexes has
never been fair. Maybe this is an argument that goes beyond fairness.
Should romance be a feminist genre? I think the answer is too murky to
define, and I’m certainly in no position to dictate. But the bottom line is
this: if a genre by women, produced by women, edited by women, published by
women with an express purpose of being read by women doesn’t deliver frank,
honest, and open debate about women’s health, their bodies, their sexuality, and their choices…in short, if romance doesn’t step up into
the vacuum that currently exists, who will?
Notes
[1] A good recent example of this situation is in Rachel Johns’ One Perfect Night where the heroine finds herself unexpectedly pregnant from a casual relationship, but a solid, developing back story creates a believable framework for her decision.
[1] A good recent example of this situation is in Rachel Johns’ One Perfect Night where the heroine finds herself unexpectedly pregnant from a casual relationship, but a solid, developing back story creates a believable framework for her decision.
[2] Marion Lennox, in
particular, is careful about contraception. In a workshop in 2007, she shared a
story wherein she was writing a love scene in a novel and happened to look up
and see her two young children. It was with their future in mind that she had
her hero quietly leave the room to put on contraception.
[3] Paranormal and
historical romances often get a by here: in historical romance, contraception
is a novelty at best (much as we’d like to have all those rakes scanned for
disease!), whereas paranormals often have an inbuilt barrier: vampires can
hardly produce children, werewolves are immune to disease, etc. Keri Arthur
handled this in an interesting manner in her Riley Jenson novels, where vampires can reproduce, but only within
the first 24 hours after being ‘turned’. In Nicole Murphy’s Gadda trilogy, the magic-using
characters were able to say a post-coital spell to prevent pregnancy.
[5] Furthermore, sexuality
within inspirational romances is muted, something to be explored after
marriage, thus negating some (but not all) of the concerns. For an Australian
inspirational author, try Mary Hawkins.
Kate Cuthbert describes herself on Twitter as "reader, writer, reviewer, Canadian-Australian and opinionated". She tweets as @katydidinoz.
Kate Cuthbert describes herself on Twitter as "reader, writer, reviewer, Canadian-Australian and opinionated". She tweets as @katydidinoz.
bloody brilliant. I like to think of romance as feminist, but you've highlighted how ambiguous it still is, and how complex. Heroines are becoming more and more kick-ass - but often still within traditional gender roles. (Cecilia Grant's A Lady Awakened was reviewed on a Fem Dom site, because her heroine has the subtle balance of power, and that stands out.)
ReplyDeleteI found your call to action inspiring. In my recent post on female body hair in romance fiction (http://wp.me/pOlrw-pe) I started thinking about this as well: If I believe certain things are important, and should be discussed, is it my obligation as a writer to represent those in my writing?
I don't think there's a simple answer, but I lean towards yes.
Hi Anna, your post on body hair is really interesting as well, and highlights how very narrow the parameters of acceptability in the female body are in terms of contemporary publishing. I think that's another side of this whole argument - an interesting question might be who drives the norms? Publishers? Authors? or Readers?
DeleteKate, that's a great point you're making. I remember the Twitter discussion and I remember thinking 'yes, yes, YES!'. I wonder if we romance authors get so caught up in the happily-ever-after, knowing it will all work out fine that we lose a real sense of reality. Sure, we don't want to be dragging our heroes and heroines through the mud - I think the best romance at its heart is about happiness - but if romance IS the great female bastion of literature and therefore we owe it to ourselves and all the women who will read us to say something real about what it means to be a woman, particularly in contemporary romance.
ReplyDeleteThanks for giving me something else to consider when writing.
Thanks Nicole! I'm glad you find it inspiring.
DeleteI think that the flaw in this analysis is that the subgrenre in which Redwood Bend is written has not been taken into account. Its intended audience is single mothers. Its part of that massive subgenre of "my baby's father gets his act together, comes back, and loves me." fiction which started in the 1990s. Romance is a really broad genre: so broad its almost an appeal factor rather than a genre. It's going to have subgenres which seek all kinds of audiences. In Australia, for example, the one subgenre with huge market share that the poster has skipped from her list is erotic romance. Gay erotic romance and Christian romance both sit in the same genre: to ask them to find much common ground so that you can stamp the whole thing as feminist is going to be hard.
ReplyDeleteFor that intended audience of this book, you need a main character who gets pregnant to an irresponsible guy. The main character's function is to fade out of the narrative so that the reader can insert herself in their place.
So, the question of "Why does the character not make sensible use of contraception" is kind of like the "Why doesn't the cowboy in the Western give up his dangerous job and becme a rancher?" question inherent in Westerns, or the "Why doesn't the warrior put down his magic sword and use all of that treasure to run a pub in the city?" question in fantasy, or the "Why doesn't the gay werewolf keep it to himself?" question in coming out fic. It's because the reader doesn't want them to, because if they do, they no longer work as a reader proxy and it breaks the book.
To the question of "Is it feminist?" well, women love it. Daddy-comes-back fiction is ridiculously popular. As a male writer it'd be odd for me to stand outside of it and say "You're doing it wrong." Can feminism approve of what millions of women really like in their books, and really read, in the tens of millions of books per year? If it can't, does this argue for a more litfic romance novel, or a for a more indulgent angle of feminism for an audience who, from what I've seen as a librarian, already face a lot of pressure in their real lives?
If a single mother wants to blow off some emotional steam reading (madlib your own entries) "The (ethnic identifier) (high status job)'s (word meaning unexpected) (word meaning child)" then it seems kind of unpleasant to say her reading choices make her a poor feminist, in the same way that it seemed maternalistic back in the day when librarians said "We won't stock romance, read Dickens." But, that's just a personal, gut repsonse. I'm not sure I could defend it in an argument.
Timothy, I think these are reasonable responses to Kate's piece, but as a romance reader I feel it's becoming increasingly difficult to defend the lack of consideration of contraception and abortion in romance. Some quick thoughts based on the points you raised:
Delete1. An author doesn't need to belabour contraception and abortion for it to satisfy what I think Kate is looking for. It just has to be consistent with the characters. It's reasonable to expect that on discovering they're pregnant women will say/think beyond, 'Yes, I'm keeping it.' Even those who decide to keep the baby.
2. The heroine isn't always just a placeholder. We assume a lot about readers when we assume this.
3. The 'women love it' argument is misleading. They may love these kinds of books, but in the same way may they (we) love Mills & Boon novels but hate the titles, or Avon historicals but hate the clinch covers, there's no way of knowing whether they love the books because of or despite the lack of discussion of women's options.
4. The question isn't whether or not authors are doing it wrong--it's whether or not they can do better and the fact that readers expect more. It's less to do with feminism 'approving' of romance fiction than with romance fiction reflecting women's concerns honestly and authentically.
I do agree with you that it would be offensive to consider all romance readers to be poor feminists. I think we're capable of--and I might even argue we've had very little choice but to--read and enjoy romance fiction despite its weaknesses. That, however, doesn't mean that we can't keep hoping and arguing for more authenticity in the way they depict our emotional lives.
Hi Tim,
DeleteThanks so much for your post. I've got three things:
1) I don't think this is as simple as a genre definition, nor do I accept that Robyn Carr (or her publisher) are marketing her Virgin River books at single moms. It may be that Carr uses a familiar trope in her book, (one in a long, on-going series, which also speaks to the broad nature of the series) but to limit her audience to only one type of reader is not only dangerous but reductive - after all, isn't romance *still* defined by its stereotypically lonely, single, over-weight, shabby reader?
2) I agree that I didn't cover all the subgenres in romance - my main focus is on mainstream contemporary romance, but I believe that responsible sex is not a plot-breaker. Shannon Stacey wrote a convincing unexpected pregnancy story in Undeniably Yours wherein the condom broke. I would expect, with the life-altering threats of STIS, that characters in gay or menage romance to also act responsibly. Certainly sex occupies a different sphere within Christian romance, but there are always options (and who says abstinence can't be damn sexy on it's own?)
3) I'm going to refer you back to Kat's response on the heroine being a reader stand-in. In my experience (and the completely anecdotal 'evidence' I have through many discussions about this), the reader occupies a space more as an intimate friend who gets to watch people she cares about fall in love, more than someone who steps in to the story his/herself.
I hope that clarifies some of the points I left out of the original post. Thanks again for your post. You made me look at my thoughts in a different way, and though I came out in the same place, I appreciate your clarifying my argument.
Kate
This is a fascinating commentary.
ReplyDeleteI probably have no right to an opinion on it as I don’t read romance novels (and no I’m not “against” them I just don’t enjoy them in the same way I do my genre of choice which is crime fiction). But I’ve never let that get in the way of me shooting my mouth off before now.
My immediate, gut reaction to this extremely well argued point is the same as when I hear people talking about how footballers and other sports stars should be role models, especially to their young fans. As if signing a contract to kick pigskin around a muddy oval once a week gives a bloke super human powers of insightfulness and strength of character. My argument when I am involved in discussions on this topic is always that I feel it is up to little Johnny’s parents/grandparents/community to be a role model to little Johnny and ‘we’ should stop outsourcing our responsibilities to our own children. Footballers play a game. The fact that some of them happen to also make good role models that little Johnny can be encouraged to emulate should be accepted as a delightful accident not our god-given right as Australians/the public/little Johnny’s parents.
I think I feel the same way about this topic. Romance writers write fiction. It is not their job to be political or to take a stance on this or that issue. Of course if some of them happen to some of the time “deliver frank, honest, and open debate about women’s health, their bodies, their sexuality, and their choices” all well and good but it is our job as mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers (and yes fathers, brothers, uncles and grandfathers too) to teach our daughters (and our sons) about these issues and we should no more outsource our responsibilities in this arena than in respect to teaching little Johnny how to be a ‘real man’.
It feels kind of odd to put this thought into words because as a reader I love books which both entertain AND explore some aspect of the human condition or tackle some political or social issue. And I think such fiction can probably change the world for good in a way that few other forces can. But I am reluctant to demand such things from writers – romance or otherwise. Not every word written has to have a second purpose. If writers want to create world in which there are no lasting harmful consequences of a one-night stand or the participants don’t even have to consider such consequences I can live with the fantasy. In my genre of choice people deal with personal problems by murdering their family members and acquaintances with far more regularity than we do in the real world – I don’t think that’s teaching readers anything other than a bit of escapism into fantasy can be a welcome relief from the real world.
That said if I had any writing skills at all I would take your final sentence as a call to arms and I’m some romance writers will do so.
Not sure I agree with the analogy. Footy players are there to play football. Authors are there to...well, some would say to entertain, but I guess I'd add that they're there to reflect certain aspects of our life in an honest way.
DeleteMaybe a better comparison would be if a crime novel had a plot in which the investigator gathered all the immediate clues, found the likeliest suspect and then concludes that it's definitely that person without exploring the other potential suspects. Not only would this be dissatisfying but it's a disservice to readers who expect a well-developed mystery.
Likewise, a romance plot where the hero and heroine fall into bed without taking precautions, then don't freak out about it the next day, and assuming a pregnancy occurs don't consider the potential impact on their lives...well, it's not an honest portrayal of women's lives.
We'll have to agree to disagree about the footy analogy. I think writers and footy players ARE doing exactly the same thing (personally I value writers far more than footy players but that's my choice and I suspect a minority one in most parts of the world).
DeleteAnd I really don't understand the need or desire for realism in every corner of our lives. Some books are realistic or offer realism and some don't. I don't really judge a book's quality by virtue of its realism. In crime fiction for example the bad guys can be made to receive justice whereas in the real world a heck of a lot of criminals get away with murder (and everything else).
Of course there is a lot of crime fiction that offers realism and I read and enjoy it. But I also read and enjoy the kind that offers escapism from the daily grind - the kind where the good guys are good and women and men are treated equally in all walks of life and little children aren't abused by anyone and so on. There's plenty of realism in the real world.
Hi Bernadette,
Deletethanks for commenting! Where I'm going to argue with you is with the realism aspect. In my opinion - and I've often argued this point - romance fiction *is* realistic. Sure it's a bit larger-than-life, but the main problem is it's just not a particularly popular or respected aspect of realism on which to focus. For all the vampires or werewolves or Greek shipping magnantes, romance is fundamentally about finding someone that you connect with, that you trust, that you want to spend your future with. Finding the witness to your life. Recognising that connecting offers something more than being alone. Accepting the vulnerability of opening up to someone, and finding the inherent strength that brings with it.
I think that we're all looking for that, even if we're too cynical (or pretending to be) to admit it. The reality of romance novels is that, yes, 50% of marriages end in divorce. But 50% *don't*. And there are happy people in happy relationships.
This isn't a popular opinion, and I've gotta admit, I've been laughed out of a lot of places for spouting it. But it's mine, and I believe it.
NOW, does that mean that, what with all this reality around us, we want to hear the ripping of condom packages? Possibly not. And I'm with you in that it has the potential to disengage the fantasy. My argument is that it might be more important to run that risk than to be blind to the possibility of AIDS and unwanted children. And to support the fact that women have the option to avoid futures with either of those endings.
I read Redwood Bend quite recently and I have to admit, I never actually expected any sort of discussion or thought processes on what Katie would do. These books are very linear where all roads lead to the hero and heroine finding true love and overcoming adversity, usually commitment problems. I've read nearly all the Virgin River books and it's clear that Carr does have her soapbox issues - homebirths, midwifery and pelvic exams being the first ones that come to mind. There isn't a character that hasn't had many a pelvic exam in that series, no matter what their situation.
ReplyDeleteBoth the characters use contraception and it seems that it's a contraception "fail" in this situation and given that Katie has gone it alone with twins before, it doesn't seem likely that she would even consider the options. Although not Christian fiction, the Virgin River novels do have an element of the religious - the characters go to Church and one novel revolves around the pastor finding his happily ever after. They're definitely not the sort of novels that as Bernadette said above, I would expect to entertain political debate about the right to choose. America is also a country where this debate rages far more heatedly than it does in Australia, where protests and Right To Life campaigns are rampant. It may be that Carr is simply not willing to alienate a possible percentage of her audience (conservative women) by engaging in a lengthy discussion on the choices that single mothers (or potential single mothers) face.
Nevertheless, I do definitely see your point - I read romance regularly and the amount of times I've read a character agonising over keeping a baby in an accidental pregnancy situation might arise to....well, never. It is 2012 and it's not like there are not a large amount of options available to women in this day and age, which could easily be considered, or even given passing reference.
Hi!
DeleteI don't need a lengthy argument. I would have been happy with 'She knew her options, but her faith meant she'd keep the baby'. Or heck, even a stray thought about adoption. She was in dire circumstances. Maybe even just an acknowledgement of the difficulties facing her with a new baby. Something, somewhere that made me believe she was living in the 21st century.
I know, I don't ask for much!
She wasn't struggling financially though, unlike a lot of people and I think she mentions that given they sold the hardware business and the Sacramento houses, she was significantly well funded for the future. She was probably better placed than when she was widowed whilst pregnant with twins. I do agree that a passing comment could've been thrown in, ie Connor or Leslie saying "What have you chosen to do?" and then Katie saying "Oh well I'm definitely keeping it, as far as I am concerned that is my only wish" etc. Pregnancy is quite the popular consequence in VR books (my personal favourite is the midwife who gets pregnant twice and doesn't realise!) so I'm not sure they'd ever touch on other options. Doesn't mean that they shouldn't though so you're quite right.
DeleteTraditionally, as far as I'm aware, it's been the publishers of romance rather than individual authors who are responsible for the total non-inclusion of abortion (in particular) in their books. John Boon (of, of course, Mills & Boon) once explicitly said that, "We don't like abortion in the books, or brutality, or sadomasochism." (1) This was because of a combination of factors. There was the company's own moral position, but of more commercial importance were several other things:
ReplyDelete1) The deeply conservative Irish market. In 1939, Barbara Hedworth's romance How Strong Is Your Love? was banned because the heroine's father was an abortionist, even though abortion itself was not endorsed and said abortionist kills himself after a botched procedure kills one of his patients. The Censorship of Publications Act there was pretty intense for a long time and it wasn't a market Mills & Boon could afford to alienate.
2) Their deal with Harlequin, the Canadian publisher (Harlequin would reprint Mills & Boon titles they deemed suitable for the Canadian market before the two companies merged in 1971). Mary Bonnycastle, who was a major part of Harlequin for a long time in the 1950s/1960s, felt, according to Alan Boon, that the novels "shouldn't bring a blush to the cheek". (2) Because of this, Mills & Boon would actively steer authors away from mentioning things like abortion. When Nora Sanderson mentioned abortion in her 1966 manuscript Junior Nurse on Ward Seven, Alan Boon advised her to excise it, writing, "I am sure... the very mention of the word 'abortion' would worry our Canadian associates from the point of view of what they feel their teenage girls should read." (3)
3. The risk to their serialisation deals. In the 1950s, Mills & Boon novels were serialised in women's magazines, and had to make concessions to these magazines vis a vis content. The biggest influence in this respect was Winifred 'Biddy' Johnson, who was the editor of Woman's Weekly. Johnson insisted on 'moral uplift' in the books, which meant swearing, drinking, and sex were taboo, let alone abortion. (4)
However, this is all history. While this might all make sense in the context of its time, I completely agree that romance now should engage with the realities of women's lives, and that certainly includes reproductive choice. Perhaps the lack of engagement with it is still a market consideration - there is still a hyper-conservative section of the market in the US, for example - but I still don't think this should mean that the issue is one that should be avoided altogether. These options exist, and they should be considered, even if the heroine does end up keeping her baby.
(cont'd)
(from previous)
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure when the policy changed, but clearly, there is no longer a DON'T EVEN MENTION ABORTION YOU WILL SCARE THE KIDS policy in place. Instead, when it is mentioned, it's demonised. I've read more than a few books where the hero and heroine have had unprotected sex and they've both been all, 'I have too much respect for life to even consider something like abortion'. One case of this that really sticks out in my mind is Penny Jordan's 2006 book 'The Italian Duke's Wife'. The hero, Lorenzo, and his brother, Gino, both used to be sleeping with the same woman, Caterina. She falls pregnant with Gino's child and Lorenzo tries to get her to tell Gino, but she doesn't want to, so she has the pregnancy terminated. Lorenzo then proceeds to beat himself up for this, feeling like he had "murdered his own brother". Here's a snippet of dialogue from the book as an illustration of its position:
"'I can never forgive myself for it - never!'
'It was Caterina who made the decision - not you,' Jodie pointed out quietly. 'It was her child, and her body. You weren't even the father.'
'If I had been there is no way she would have been allowed to do what she did,' Lorenzo told Jodie passionately. 'Not even if I had to lock her up for nine months to make sure of it.'" (5)
As you can see, that's not exactly progressive.
I think that this might be the next major step romance fiction makes. In the late 1960s/1970s, it was the inclusion of sex scenes. Some time after that came the inclusion of contraception, which regularly (though certainly not always!) appears in romance fiction now. (You raised an interesting point about assuming contraception use. Unfortunately, I think romance is still at a 'if they didn't mention it, they didn't use it' place, though hopefully this will change.) I understand that abortion itself is not a particularly romantic notion, nor does it contain the erotic potential of the daddy-returns storyline. However, currently, where abortion is mentioned, it's with horror. Is this better than not mentioning at all? Maybe. But is this an area where we should hope to see more progress from romance in this future? Abso-freaking-lutely.
1. McAleer, J. (1999). 'Passion's Fortune: The Story of Mills & Boon'. Oxford University Press. p.6
2. Grescoe, P. (1996). 'The Merchants of Venus. Inside Harlequin & the Empire of Romance'. Vancouver: Raincoast. p.56
3. McAleer, pp.270-1
4. McAleer, p.232; Grescoe, p.50
5. Jordan, P. (2006). 'The Italian Duke's Wife'. Harlequin Mills & Boon.
Wow - this is an amazing comment. To focus on the end paragraph, I don't necessary think there has to *be* abortions in the fiction, just the understanding that there are alternatives to carrying and raising the child. Indeed, adoption is highly underrepresented as an alternative as well.
DeleteIn terms of representation of abortion, I agree - horror is inappropriate it as well. But so would be to diminish the emotional affect it can have on women as well.
There's a lot of grey shades through here, which is why I think it's important to start representing them - how else can we have a full spectrum of women's experience?
I think what most disturbs me about all the points you raise, Kate, is that the biggest risk taking in the genre that I've noticed is around erotic romance. So while we're upping the levels of sexuality in our books--and this is not necessarily a bad thing--we haven't been keeping up with the honest and realistic portrayals of the characters' physical and emotional concerns.
ReplyDeleteAnd aside from abortion and contraception--which some argue are too highly politicised (though, seriously, if we can accept rape fantasy surely there's room for at least preventive contraception)--there's the glaring issue of STDs that must surely be a concern for any contemporary or urban fantasy heroine, and at least a risk for historical heroines, particularly the courtesans, who seem to be increasingly popular.
Look, for me as a reader, there are very few strict taboos when it comes to romance fiction plots, and I don't feel we would lose anything in any of the subgenres of romance by insisting that authors be more honest about women's health and reproductive choices and constraints. These issues are essential to our lives, no matter how we choose to respond to them.
Hi Kat,
DeleteAgreed across the board. Romance novels are taking more and more risks in terms of characters and portrayal of sexuality. It just seems to make sense to take more risks in terms of the methods of protecting those characters.
I'm reading a review of Colm Toibin's latest in Saturday's SMH and this quote struck me. "The novel is not a moral fable ... it is not our job to like or dislike characters in fiction, or make judgements on their worth, or learn from them how to live. We can do that with real people ... A novel is a pattern and it is our job to relish and see clearly its textures and its tones ... A novel is a set of strategies ... a release of certain energies."
ReplyDeleteI'm uncomfortable about slotting any genre into a set of expectations about how people should live. If an author writes a contemporary romance novel where contraception is not mentioned in a context where the reader would expect to see it because of the story, then that's poor writing. But it would be poor writing if it was lit fic or crime fic too.
Kate writes: if a genre by women, produced by women, edited by women, published by women with an express purpose of being read by women doesn’t deliver frank, honest, and open debate about women’s health, their bodies, their sexuality, and their choices…in short, if romance doesn’t step up into the vacuum that currently exists, who will? (end quote)
Well, everyone. Why does romance have to be the standard bearer? Why wouldn't we expect this of all genres we read?
Hi Keziah,
DeleteAgreed - everyone should. But they don't. My question to you is why *shouldn't* romance be the standard bearer? Someone has to stand up and accept the mantle of leadership. If everyone asks, 'well why should we be that person', no one will.
This comment has been removed by the author.
Delete(Sorry, I posted under the wrong account!)
DeleteIf an author writes a contemporary romance novel where contraception is not mentioned in a context where the reader would expect to see it because of the story, then that's poor writing.
I'm a bit surprised that most readers wouldn't expect contraception mentioned. It's like taking underwear off (or, okay, moving it aside) before having sex.
And this reminds me of something else concerning women's health. In most paranormals, the issue of disease transmission during sex (and, I suppose, just generally) almost never comes up. If I found myself on the brink of sex with a non-human partner, I certainly would be very concerned about that!
As for morality, I don't actually care what the heroine's decision is, as long as it's honestly portrayed, and it's not always done or done well in romance, which is both surprising and disappointing given that the genre is dominated by women writers and readers.
I've enjoyed Ilsa Evans and Diane Blacklock's works. As I must admit I haven't kept up with this genre, I will refrain from further comment.
ReplyDeleteSorry it has taken so long to reply. (Since my PC crashed, I've been using a PC and Mac laptop, neither of which, for some reason, would let me log in to comment!)
ReplyDeleteI won't revive the discussion - it has been addressed so well already - I just wanted to thank you for stopping by and for your support for Australian women's writing and the AWW 2012 challenge.