Sunday, 12 January 2014

"She’s got an unlikely ally in her undercover ruse: a lab technician who just happens to be a special agent"

If the very thought of combining adventure and intimate coupling calls to the core of you, but the idea of travelling, fighting, crime-solving and intimate coupling fills you with the heebie jeebies then perhaps a career in novel-writing is a more palatable ambition. Now, as the very thought of combining adventure and intimate coupling within the safe confines of sentences calls to the core of you, Bewildered Heart has helpfully detailed two appropriate imprints for such things, Love Inspired Suspense, for thrill-seeking Christians, and Intrigue, for inquisitive agnostics. In the unlikely event that aspiring authors fall between these two worldviews Harlequin offers another alternative. With anticipation bubbling at levels that can only be described as negligible there seems little reason to hold off introducing Romantic Suspense any longer, and so, website guidelines, what exactly is Romantic Suspense? 'These novels are romance-focused stories with a suspense element.' There you have it. With definitions as solid as this, is there even a need for a continued use of words?

The continued use of words suggests that further explanation is necessary, so onwards we go. 'Powerful romances are at the heart of each story, and the additional elements of excitement, adventure and suspense play out between complex characters.' With an emphasis on romance and suspense the imprint could not have been more aptly named. As with every novel worth its weight in paper, the books of Romantic Suspense recognise the importance of good writing, and therefore refrain from boring story-lines and weak characterisation. Yet in order to construct a manuscript capable of reaching a quality that can only be described as publishable by Harlequin, there are several other key elements to note, which we hope are more specific than the initial ones. 'Big, sweeping romances amid dangerous and suspenseful settings.' The message is obvious and more than a little repetitive, but is there another way to iterate this point with synonymous adjectives? 'Strong, compelling romance drives the stories but is matched by dramatic and layered plots.' Unlike the suspiciously similar subgenres previously out-lined where the action was expected to be secondary to love or religion the possibly incorrect use of 'matched' suggests Romantic Suspense gives equal standing to both parts of its name. Unless, of course, such an indication is immediately contradicted.

'Romantic Suspense novels are fueled by the romance and not the suspense.' The conundrum of this underwhelming statement is indicative of the subgenre's inherent narrative problems. In a suspenseful situation, where characters are threatened by violence, death or seeing their empire crumble, the high stakes of the unfolding drama naturally take precedence over the emotional feelings of the hero and heroine. Downplaying the action, as a means to retain the priority of the love story, trivialises the struggle and squanders the tension. The focus of any story should be on its most interesting constituent. For romance to work the narrative must concentrate on the mind games and power struggle that idealists call courtship. More significantly, what is at the forefront of the drama must be deserving of its attention. Traditionally, Romance has solved this by jettisoning anything else remotely diverting, splitting devotion equally between the dripfeed of back-story explaining the protagonists' inability to commit and the forward momentum of them over-coming these obstacles and committing. This, perhaps optimistically, is thought to be more than enough for fifty thousand words of story-telling. Once an orphan, medicine, a kidnapping, or a war is introduced to enliven proceedings, but not over-shadow the central plot, romance writers have tended to run into trouble.

There are means to compensate for the difficulty in finding this balance. Romantic Suspense asks for a word count between seventy to seventy-five thousand to allow for, 'A wider breadth of story and potential for subplots that speak to the conflicts.' With these twenty thousand extra words authors are invited to flesh out their scenarios, characters and themes without having to skimp on the elements that conventional romance often deems superfluous. Due to this, however, there are expectations that the novels are more strongly developed, satisfying, and with an, 'Emotional payoff to fit with the larger-than-life stories.' This makes for a challenge not unlike those faced by non-romance authors, but Bewildered Hearts will have noticed that what Mills & Boon says it wants is not always what Mills & Boon is happy to make do with. Nevertheless, a greater word count, but the allowance of subplots and adventure, might appear more attractive to aspiring novelists than only fifty thousand words, but no discernible plot at all.

To give an indication of what the editors consider classic themes and acceptable conflicts, here is a list of things: 'Revenge, women in jeopardy, espionage, family, Westerns, military and law enforcement.' This is a variety of options, each suggestive of action and bloodshed. Several of them already exist as niche imprints, while Women In Jeopardy was the original name of the romance genre. As a result of the gamut of heroic career choices, including but not limited to, vigilantes, spies, fathers, cowboys, cops and soldiers the novels can be set in any country on the planet, although this is true of all subgenres with the exception of Spanish. On the subject of artistic freedom Romantic Suspense can be written anywhere on the sliding scale of sensuality, with sex scene number ranging from zero to the highest number the author can count to. There seems to only be one constraint and that is for nothing paranormal. If a manuscript contains anything paranormal the most suitable imprint for it would be Paranormal.

All this discussion of story and what passes for theme has caused the guidelines to forget the most important part of romance writing, characters. 'Relatable heroines in extraordinary circumstances - swept into the arms of powerful heroes.' This sounds standard and suggests that cosmic destiny brought about by the wrong end of a sword is the suspenseful version of a meet cute. The heroine is the sense of normality keeping the action tethered to credibility, with her understandably alarmed reactions to pirates, jewel theft, her family and jeopardy grounding the spectacular adventure. Yet other than the aforementioned power, how else should the leads be defined? Something to do with force? 'The hero should be a force to contend with, and the heroines are equally complex, strong and smart.' There are no damsels in distress to be found here, and if the heroine is rescued by a dashing alpha male it is because she wants to be saved, not because she has to be. Still, a less than clear picture has emerged from a handful of sentences that could have been copied from any of the other subgenre pages, with the exception of Spanish.

As we discovered from Love Inspired Suspense and Intrigue, Mills & Boon have taken to using long-running television procedurals as an idea of what they are looking for, because no one reads books anymore. 'Romantic Suspense is Criminal Minds, Bones or The Good Wife for their solid levels of story, three-dimensional characters and varying levels of suspense with strong romantic themes, witty dialogue and lives and hearts on the line.' Naturally, none of these programmes concentrate on developing their love stories above all else, with Bones seemingly interested only in delivering exposition to the detriment of drama. Still, there maybe inspiration to be gleamed from the likes of The Good Wife, a glossy courtroom soap-opera starring actors from other more popular shows, and whatever Criminal Minds is. As with all of Harlequin's implied requests this advice might be worth following, just as long as it isn't followed particularly closely.

Friday, 27 December 2013

"Sounds like he's either a philosopher or a romantic"

There are many problems facing an aspiring romance fiction author. Secrets Uncovered offered assistance, reminding us that heroes must be men, heroines must be women, endings must be happy and words must describe things. Their aversion to external conflict was noted, but any writer hoping to fill a book's worth of paper with sentences might be trepidatious when faced with the prospect of turning boy-blackmails-girl into fifty-five to sixty thousand combinations of letters. Delaying one conversation for twelve chapters is a challenge for even the most skilled of story-teller, perhaps explaining why the most skilled of story-tellers tend to steer clear of romance fiction, but certain subgenres have found means to avoid flagging second acts by concentrating on things other than womanly dithering and manly T-shirt wearing. NASCAR has driving, Paranormal has werewolves, Spice has gratuitous sex and Suspense has suspense. Bewildered Heart has chosen to gloss over the inevitable combination of love and violence ever since the unusual punishment meted out by The Domino Effect, but Romance Suspense is big business, and a handful of the biggest names of the genre have joined forces for Dangerous Attraction, a box-set of novels containing everything from Christmas to terrorists to courageous pinnipeds working on battleships. Fans are greeted to all the traditions Romance is known for. The covers are adorned with models in states of undress, the titles are embarrassing and the synopses sound like parodies of what they actually are.

Who could resist Legal Ease by Lori Ryan, for those who enjoy their lawyer procedurals with a degree of comfort, or Fallen SEAL Legacy, a name not immediately indicative of romance? Three Days in Seattle appears to be cashing-in on Fifty Shades through geography, while Catching the Bad Guy is probably better than no title at all. If it is story-lines a reader is after then the Suspense subgenre has got them. Seeking more ambitious plots than a couple perfect for one another slowly realising they are perfect for one another, Suspense action-packs Romance's traditionally flimsy narratives with chases, fighting and military training. Look no further than Toni Anderson's The Killing Game, 'Forced to choose between his country and his heart, British SAS Soldier Ty Dempsey risks it all to save a wildlife biologist caught in the cross hairs of a ruthless killer.' Besides the angry growth of a murderer's follicles there seems little standing in the way of our prospective lovebirds here. Will Ty find a way to keep both his nationality and vital internal organs? Why are wildlife biologists so irresistible to enamoured suitors and the homicidally deranged?

Other novels take a similar approach, as masculine heroes bravely save attractive women from things attractive women should not be involved with. As further proof, how about Ignited by Kaylea Cross? 'Can sexy ex-SEAL Hunter Phillips keep Khalia safe from the terrorists who took her father's life?' Probably. After all, terrorists rarely succeed in romance novels, unless their objective is married life in the suburbs. For a twist on what has already become convention after only two examples there is Deathscape, which may sound like science-fiction, but instead is described thus, 'Detective Jack Sullivan will do anything to put Ashley in prison for her crimes… even if he's falling in love with her.' Even a Bewildered Heart-like knowledge of the genre will struggle to name many novels that conclude with the heroine sent to jail, but perhaps author Dana Marton has contrived a means to avoid a sequel made up of conjugal visits. Still, at least Deathscape includes a potentially burdensome obstacle for the characters to overcome, even if the resolution will likely involve an explanation that the synopsis was misleading.

The popularity of this action-adventure-romance hybrid has not gone unnoticed by Harlequin Mills & Boon either. They have several imprints dealing with danger and mystery, including Love Inspired Suspense and Intrigue. They both sound packed with excitement, mystery and romance, but which is more suitable for an aspiring author's manuscript about a fearless semi-aquatic mammal's amorous pursuit of a left-wing revolutionary on the grounds of Berkeley University during the 1970s? Mills & Boon describes Love Inspired Suspense as, 'Edge-of-the-seat, contemporary tales of intrigue and romance featuring Christian characters facing challenges to their faith… and to their lives.' Gosh, as if combining love and adventure wasn't demanding enough, Love Inspired insists on integrating religion into the drama. As a result of, 'a Christian worldview and wholesome values,' there is little fun to be had in the traditional sense. Gambling, drugs, alcohol, profanity, pre-marital sex and graphic violence are all forbidden for the hero and heroine, although it sounds as if the antagonists are allowed all manner of interesting hobbies. Yet without these typical means of seduction how is romance supposed to blossom?

The leads should be, 'Heroic, courageous, relatable characters faced with dangerous situations who'll triumph and find love.' Everyone can relate to heroism and courage, especially when embellished by a strong moral code inherited from Bible lessons, but who is this subgenre-specific hero? 'A man bound by loyalty and love. He is a fierce protector.' Protector of whom? The object of his affection, the damsel in distress? 'The heroine is no damsel in distress. She is an equal partner.' Oh, sorry. Together they must solve a mystery or battle a presumably secular conspiracy, with plenty of furtive glancing and innocent hand-holding. Despite the emphasis on Christianity authors are instructed to bring a level of subtlety to the dogmatic indoctrination genre writers consistently fail to bring to their story-telling. For those still confused, how about two poorly-chosen examples from the godless world of network television? 'Castle or Bones, for their solid suspense stories and romantic tension between the characters.' What would Bones be if the makers replaced the sex and graphic violence with Jesus? Who knows, but they would probably have the change the title.

Meanwhile, there is Harlequin Intrigue, an imprint that might deserve the vague-to-the-point-of-meaningless description Mills & Boon usually introduce their subgenres with. 'Crime stories tailored to the series romance market packed with a variety of thrilling suspense and whodunit mystery.' Gosh, such an enigmatic bunch of words are enough to arouse anyone's curiousity, but what do Intrigue editors look for in the hundreds of unsolicited submissions they receive every week? Traditionally, when merged Crime and Romance have walked uneasily through a pretty meadow before finding a corpse in a small clump of trees. The difficulty the novelist faces is in finding the balance between the two, placing an emphasis on developing the love story while simultaneously emphasising the crime element that drives the narrative while never forgetting that in Mills & Boon it is the romance that drives the narrative. There are multiple acts of illegality to centre the plot around, such as, 'Kidnappings, stalkings, women in jeopardy and murder.' It appears as if Intrigue offers rich potential for nerve-shedding thrills, visceral set-pieces and hot-blooded passion. What don't these books have? 'No graphic sexual details, explicit language or gratuitous violence.' These may be gripping adventures, but they are first and foremost love stories for the easily-offended.

The obligatorily North American hero and heroine must, 'Share a palpable physical and emotional attraction throughout.' Yet who are these attractive, but respectful, lovers courting delightfully who foil villains through soothing diplomacy? 'The hero is not afraid to break the rules in order to see justice done and to protect the innocent.' He sounds archetypal, while at least differing from the Love Inspired Suspense protagonist, who must play by the rules and leave justice-doing and innocence-protection to the big guy upstairs. Yet what about this innocent? Is this the object of his affection, the damsel-in-distress? 'The Harlequin Intrigue heroine is the no-nonsense, girl next door who may be caught up in dangerous circumstances.' Oh, good. She sounds likeable, yet flawed, and far from the frivolity-loving women about town found in Modern, or the self-determined ladies in blouses found in life. For those still confused, how about three oddly-chosen examples from the romance-hating world of action blockbusters? '24 for pacing, Justified for composition of the hero and Unknown for complex plot.' What would 24 be if the makers replaced the lone wolf and graphic violence with a loveable couple avoiding physical harm over a more appropriate time period? Who knows, but they would probably have to change the title.

Without studying the intricacies of the subgenre too closely the appeal of these imprints is self-explanatory. The sales numbers of Crime Thrillers make it impossible for publishers to resist the opportunity of crossing-over. The formula lends itself to romance, as two characters investigate and solve while their relationship intensifies organically between the lines. Certain examples have been reviewed here previously. MacKenzie's Promise struggled to integrate the love story with the kidnapping in a satisfying manner. Accidental Princess tacked on antagonistic threat as an amateurish afterthought. The Truth about the Tycoon seemed reluctant to follow through on its numerous subplots and The Domino Effect shouldn't really be considered a novel. Still, none of these titles belong to Intrigue or Love Inspired Suspense, yet their disastrous failings at inter-lacing their criminal element with their ultimate romantic objective are indicative of the problems awaiting an author aspiring to write for these imprints. Romance regularly struggles to credibly portray a couple falling in love even when they are married and one is pregnant with the others baby. How much more of a challenge would it be to work in his former life as a marine animal, a worldwide conspiracy, terrorism, pious devotion to the Lord and an admittedly slightly contrived helicopter chase while still maintaining a focus on his arrogance and her unresolved father issues?

Wednesday, 27 November 2013

“Can she really be falling in love with a man she doesn’t even know?”

For as long as romance fiction and Feminism have existed there has been a slightly unnecessary debate over whether the two are mutually exclusive. In previous times each side has been content to ignore the other, but this has proven unhelpful. Now there are weblogs such as Romance Novels for Feminists reclaiming the genre as worthy of scholarly examination. Outside the comforting bosom of Harlequin Mills & Boon there are feminist writers, readers and critics, but are they battling uphill and hopelessly to have romance taken seriously by the larger critical community? In regards to this, sociologist Elaine Wethington brought up the notion of Gentrification, and whether romance will ever be held in similar esteem to other genres, reviewed in reputable newspapers and discussed by academics on late night panel shows. Will romance, she wondered, ever be considered art? There are four sticking points that Wethington has worked to refute, but fortunately for her she has enjoyed a broader spectrum of reading material than Harlequin supplies. When concentrating solely on Mills & Boon those Bewildered Hearts struggling for recognition as cultural theorists are faced with obstacles so insurmountable if romantic hero and heroine were faced with such differences they would break up immediately and the novel would be over by chapter two. In order to quietly abandon this strained analogy let us study the four issues that are prevent the publisher from a high-brow world of intellectualism and espresso-drinking.

'Point 1: Romances are all the same' - This accusation is difficult to verify one way or any of the other ways. From the pro-romance standpoint it is obvious that their novels are not all the same. They have different titles, covers and authors. For example, The Sheikh's Forbidden Virgin is by Kate Hewitt, whereas Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin is by Trish Morey, yet a company releasing up to twenty books a month for close to one hundred years could surely be forgiven for occasional repetition. The specifics of the genre demonstrate its consistency and appeal. Now Mills & Boon has found its successful formula they would be foolish to add variety solely to appease dissenters. Nevertheless, even within the cosy confines of the publishing juggernaut there are numerous deviations from the norm. Sheikhs, after all, are not surgeons, unless they are sheikh surgeons, while even the most cursory research will show an inherent difference between the NASCAR and Medical™ subgenres, unless there is a crash and the charismatic, yet scarred, driver must be nursed back to health by a sensitive, yet beautiful, doctor with problems of her own. If romances are defined by their invariables, the same criticism could be levelled at more respectable genres such as crime novels, where a troubled detective solves a murder, or family sagas, where an elderly couple take a river cruise.

The constraints of the genre inform, 'Sticking Point 2. Romances are produced by publishers who demand conformity to a set formula, not by authors exercising full creativity' - Without complete freedom of the artist does their art deserve analysis? This attitude might appear snobbish, but it is instead contemptuous of mass production inhibiting personal expression. Food critics rarely write about microwave dinners from their local supermarkets and flatpack furniture does not feature in fine housekeeping magazines. Committee-made Hollywood blockbusters are not regarded in the same way as auteur-directed independents. Still, does Mills & Boon insist upon a rigid formula and frown upon experimentation? Do the restrictions of story and structure really impinge upon an author's creativity to the extent that they are merely inputting words into a company program, mindless drones churning out a standardized product? This is a disservice to romance authors, who retain a degree of dignity through the delusion of imagination as well as a disservice to the publisher, who constantly wish to remind everyone that there is no set formula. There are, however, rules it would be foolhardy to disobey, yet these guidelines have helped to create the familiarity that defines the brand. Furthermore, authors are offered freedoms to invent their own worlds, write in their own voice, name characters whatever they please, locate their stories wherever they choose and have their exotic billionaires hail from any corner of Earth; Greek, Brazilian, Spanish, Italian, it doesn't matter, just as long as they're Caucasian.

'Point 3: Romances promote a conservative message about male-female relationships' - Does the output of Mills & Boon conform to stereotypical displays of propaganda, persuading the public that married child-bearing is the apex of happiness? There can be little argument that the novels adhere to traditional views in this way. Although there are numerous different paths to matrimony, including, but probably not limited to, blackmail, surprise pregnancy, eyelashes, mistaken identity, inopportune fainting and revenge, the only acceptable reason for any action is in the ultimate pursuit of a wedding. Yet romance novels wish to be romantic. Without romance they would simply be novels and novels are not nearly as popular as romance novels. Either the market generated the aspiration or the aspiration formed the story-telling structure. Going by the historical high points of the literary genre an expert can ascertain that Mills & Boon is not entirely responsible for propagating the belief that love and marriage go together like a wheeled vehicle drawn by horse and the aforementioned animal responsible for its momentum. The romance genre of today, with its colour-coordinated covers, suggestive titles and lazy clichés, has tapped into basic human desires for financial purposes. The books push the pursuit of romantic love onto readers who are either married with children or on their way to marriage and children. By glorifying a life choice already prioritised Mills & Boon fortifies its audience's value system, offering a fanciful remedy for the complexities of living.

For a supposedly purposefully apolitical publisher a commitment to promoting traditional lifestyles might seem incongruous, yet romance cannot be exempt from cerebral appraisal due to perceived political leanings. Still, these are genuine reasons to worry, as Wethington notes. 'Romance novels encourage women toward views that reinforce gender inequality... and readers are subconsciously attracted to a latent message that subverts feminism.' Ignorance is not a meaningful defence, and Mills & Boon have encountered criticism such as this on many previous occasions, but they remain determined to do little about it. How high or low the esteem in which the company is held might be irrelevant to profits, but the reputations of themselves and their loyal customers are significant. As Wethingon concludes, '(Critics) equate opposition to academic feminism and enjoyment of sex scenes as indicative of a lack of education. Hence, they find it difficult to accept that even the best romance novels can rise to the level of acceptable popular art.' Therefore, intelligence is wasted on reading romance, and even more so on in-depth analysis. This is quite a knock to Bewildered Heart's confidence and we still have a fourth point to discuss. How else can critics insult romance fans, by subtly insinuating they are all perverts?

'Point 4: Romances are borderline pornography' - No matter how badly romance feels it has been treated by a dismissive cultural elite, it can take solace in having greater artistic value than whatever the cultural elite deem pornography to be. The thinking is understandable. Sex without quality is pornographic and romance novels are without artistic merit, for the Sticking Points previously outlined. Yet because it is unlikely anyone reads Mills & Boon solely for titillation the books can only be described as borderline pornography, due to the fact that they contain levels of sexual content ranging from explicit to light petting. In this case, the borderline the critics have noted separates what is pornographic and what is non-pornographic, with Mills & Boon caught without definition between the two. Thus millions of novels wait to be claimed, read and critiqued, either by erotica scholars or the term someone should invent for people who study and judge the heavier stuff. Why does Harlequin feel that euphemisms are a fundamental element of the genre? Is their target readership uneducated and liable to enjoy such things? Sales of Fifty Shades speak volumes and while sex is emblematic of the power struggle that shaped the story much of the word count spent describing exquisite thrusting was narratively redundant. Yet despite their commercial displays of gratuity, romance writers take a careful approach to carnal relations, using sex scenes to further plot and deepen intimacy. Fearmongers have claimed only 11.5% of Harlequin Romances feature contraception, but this is a misleading statistic, failing to acknowledge that many novels do not feature sex, culminate in surprise pregnancy or belong to the accuracy-obsessive Historical imprint, except in the case of The Carpenter's Virgin Bride, which features all three.

By interpreting the assumed prejudices of the non-existent what can an internet blogger make of the continued isolation of romance fiction, left in the cold to await the unlikely but inevitable arrival of a tycoon carrying a coat? The spirit among readers is positive and progressive, believing romance belongs to feminists and public perception will improve with time, although the cross-over successes have not recently shown the genre in a flattering light. For all that has changed, with hero and heroine meeting on equal footing, him learning from her, she enjoying a career as a professional chef, wedding organiser or secretary, there remains demand for Cinderella fantasies, demure virgins and leading men who take control or, failing that, at least offer money. Are these kinds of romances and feminism mutually exclusive? It might appear so, but the market is enormous and varied enough for this schism to exist. Does the embrace of equality spell the end for captive brides, blackmailed mistresses, convenient wives and less-than-professional housekeepers? So much of the genre has dated poorly and is viewed now with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. When the books being produced today are met with a similar reaction it is difficult to imagine the opinions of a future, which will either be more enlightened or more narrow-minded, and that will depend, albeit only a little, on Harlequin's next move.

Monday, 28 October 2013

"That man was no more a devout Catholic than the dog that begged for scraps at the kitchen door"

During the down time between reading novels and drinking Bewildered Heart scours the headlines for interviews, competitions, medical research and university papers as inspiration and something to write about. In the ever-expanding mass of nothingness later renamed the World Wide Web a day rarely goes by without a baseless accusation, some outrageous opinion or a tired retread of conventional wisdom to tide us over until this weblog can add to the ever-expanding mass of nothingness you, dear reader, are wasting time on at this very moment. Recently, however, keyword searches and Google alerts have not offered much in the way of excitement. However, a recurring theme has developed and, when faced with few alternatives, a recurring theme has to be considered enough. Diana, a biopic of the Princess of Wales, was released and critics everywhere decided that no review could be complete without a reference to Mills & Boon, inundating the Bewildered Heart inbox with antipathy and photographs of Naomi Watts smiling. The storyline of the movie appears to have all the elements considered vital for a conventional romance. There is a beautiful princess, a dashing surgeon and plenty of conflict to threaten their coupling. Yet the critical savaging is not aimed at the scenario, it is based on a supposedly true story, after all, but rather the narrative treatment.

Diana has been reviewed variously as, 'a Mills and Boon with worse dialogue, a doctor and princess book from the Mills & Boon stable, a Mills & Boon-esque misfire, let down by the Mills & Boon-level script, with syrupy sentiment Mills & Boon might reject for being too cloying, and a heroine with a weakness for speaking in Mills & Boon, while events plod a Mills-and-Boon, low-brow and soapy path, playing out like a Mills & Boon romance, with history receiving a full Mills & Boon makeover.' So much for minimising word repetition. Despite this overwhelming barrage The Guardian newspaper disagreed. 'The movie isn't so much Mills & Boon as a horrendous Fifty Shades of Grey with the S&M sex taken out,' they countered, neglecting to notice that Fifty Shades without the S&M sex is Mills & Boon. What can it mean for a brand name to become synonymous with artistic atrocity? Such a calamity befalls Harlequin every so often, as a novel, film, song or heartfelt declaration is criticised for displaying the qualities indicative of the publisher. Is this fair to the likes of Diana and Mills & Boon, their admirers and their detractors? Is this lazy journalism, offering soundbites without evidence or context? Is the use of Mills & Boon in place of an adjective harmful to any hope Harlequin may have of redeeming its reputation?

For a fan of the numerously aforementioned company the backlash aimed at Diana does not make for pretty reading. Fortunately, fans of the numerously aforementioned company are not accustomed to pretty reading. Nevertheless, what can be made of these critiques, besides the obvious insinuation that Diana might be a film to avoid? The use of Mills & Boon as a signifier suggests that the related work is traditionally romantic, predictable and sentimental. The connotations, however, are entirely negative. Even without having read anything from the Harlequin canon any observer will have had their expectations dampened. Devourers of Mills & Boon might be reluctant to flock to a screening of Diana, even though it sounds like an adaptation of their ideal novel. Still, they should bear in mind from real life that their prerequisite happy ending will probably not be forthcoming. More fool the critics, as romance is the most successful genre in literature, boding well for box-office receipts. Still, the implication is unequivocal. Diana is a failure of a film, so bad it is the cinematic equivalent of Mills & Boon. Given sales, however, shouldn't Mills & Boon-esque by an aspiration instead of a depth only the truly inept can plumb? To say something is like Mills & Boon calls for a singular, and agreed upon, definition, but critics have used the term as a shorthand for mushy sentiment, insipid dialogue and indulgent lighting. There is good romantic fiction and then there is Mills & Boon.

A recent interview with Abby Green in the Irish Independent attempts to challenge some of the clichés the public associates with the publisher. Her novels, belonging to the Modern imprint, deal in dark subject matter including rape, sex trafficking, bi-polar disorders and false accusations of rape. Titles such as In Christofide's Keeping and Forgiven But Not Forgotten? are far removed from the likes of The Queen's Nine Month Scandal, Mistress to the Merciless Millionaire, The Brazilian's Blackmail Bargain and The Mediterranean Billionaire’s Blackmail Bargain, which are, admittedly, also by Abby Green. Still, there is more to Mills & Boon than extortion so affordable you would be a fool to pass it up. Anything goes, according to the author, albeit within reason. It is not as if anything goes.  'Nothing is forbidden, but you have to be aware of what interests the readers,' she explains. There is a threshold of what an audience will tolerate, although this uncrossable moral line Green speaks of seems to have been personally marked and based on rationality rather than research. Thus, gay romances are excluded, at least until homosexuals are in the majority, while paedophiles are unsuitable for the role of hero due to their lack of attraction towards the archetypal heroine. Interviewer Mary Kenny offers a handful of sentences in defence of Green's backers. Novels are grittier and more sexually explicit than they used to be, while heroines are typically portrayed as independently-minded young women with careers and contentment in singledom. Nevertheless, endings remain conservative and, 'Despite the advance of equality heroes still tend to be dominant Alpha-males and heroines feminine.'

If Green is right to believe her stories embrace female empowerment this has not been translated into a coherent market strategy. Ruthlessly Bedded, Forcibly Wedded will do little to improve the image of the business, with its tawdry tale of revenge, unexpected pregnancy and innocent heroine manipulated in an exotic location. Taboo-busting adult themes will mean nothing unless they are handled with maturity and insight. Otherwise, concepts such as sexual abuse and mental illness will feel tactlessly included for some unwarranted edge. As Green and Kenny both note, Harlequin is acutely aware of its market and is driven by reader demand. Fairy-tales, brooding masculinity, glamorous locales and incredible wealth are all sought and delivered as a means of escape from the drudgery of everyday living. Darker subject matter either does not belong or is not wanted. It would appear that the unfavourable inferences of the name Mills & Boon have been well-earned and the company show no signs of changing. However, if there are romantic fiction lovers who have wearied of fantasy, virginal heroines and happy endings, but still seek the amateurish standards of writing they are familiar with, critics everywhere agree that there is a film apparently made especially for them, as long as they exit theatres twenty minutes early. Meanwhile, for those hoping for a disappointing conclusion, as always, Bewildered Heart has you covered.

Friday, 18 October 2013

"If Jane Austen had written a book set in a castle off the coast of France"

When we last checked in on Princess Sophie Baldwin for the latest gossip we found her tumultuous life had taken a turn for the turbulent. She and teenage daughter Savannah had decamped to a sovereign island nation to assume their rightful places on the throne after decades in North Carolinian exile. While Savannah's exploits will surely be told in several year's time as another St. Michel romance, potentially entitled Accidental Daughter, Sophie's time is now, and not just because several foreigners are either trying to sleep with her, murder her or offer her shiny headwear. No, there is nothing quite like God-given authority over a well-populated dominion, and the love of a handsome man, to give someone their groove back. Sophie had led a weary existence as ludicrously dressed doormat due to Frank's mistreatment, her adoptive parent's betrayal, her real family's choice of either abandonment or death, her daughter's impertinence, Mary's snobbery and Laura dying. Thus, she has truly suffered for her shot at superiority. One might have assumed that ruling a kingdom would see an end to her troubles, but disaster seems to follow Sophie as closely as her security detail.

Once she has landed and partaken in splendour, the machinations are in place to seal her discreditation. Several inappropriate trysts with the evil Vicomte Yves de Vaugirard sully her reputation and reveal to the world's media that she is in fact the daughter of Princess Sylvie and rock legend Nick Morrison. One might have assumed that this would be the end of her troubles, but there is still the problematic matter of a decades long Founteneau Curse to consider, as well as the mutual physical longing that has consumed the thoughts of Sophie and part-time Oliver Martinez impersonator Luc Lejardin, who isn't the most competent bodyguard at the best of times. Sophie invites her shy yet likeable maid, Adéle and her mother, Marie, to the castle for tea and awkwardly translated conversation. Marie previously worked as Sylvie's most loyal and obsessive assistant, and confesses that when the plane crashed Nick and the Princess were headed on their honeymoon, having been married in a small French village. Does this change anything? Not exactly, because Sophie had already been scandalously born and remains illegitimate, but the revelation elicits a minor response from Luc possibly signifying meaning.

With the numerous subplots established and one hundred and eighty pages filled with words, Thompson is able to pen the final chapter. There is much to resolve and neither the time nor the talent to do so satisfactorily. First up, there's the business of Sophie's claim to her title, which can be challenged on the grounds that her parents were unwed. Fortunately, they were married. Did anyone mention Luc's brother, Alex, is a lawyer who has been studiously scanning the Constitution for legal loopholes? No? Well, he is and he was. What about ex-husband, Frank, and his demands to see his daughter more often than the reader does? This afterthought of an inconvenience is dealt with in a single sentence, as nebulous external conflicts should be. Frank is paid off and invited over whenever he wants. As for Luc's concerns about his besmirched family name and lowly commoner status, this is settled simply by pretending no one had brought it up to begin with. Plot points are resolved in one paragraph of good news, better news and best news, and inevitable love-making follows, as Luc and Sophie fuse into one, although the author rather skimps on salacious detail. There is no time for euphemisms for body parts, not when there are crimes to solve and crimes to prevent.

Speaking of which, how is Luc's investigation going? As the population of the island consists of himself, the King and two other people, Luc manages to narrow his list of suspects down to two. Having patiently waited until after his best friend had been murdered, Luc installs informants in the de Vaugirard household where homicidal schemes are hatched with such Gallic arrogance that staff are invited to listen and offer criticism. Oh, you foolish de Vaugirard's, your secretive and successful killing spree has been uncovered by your lack of secrecy. Yet, despite the damning evidence of countless witnesses, Luc and the King still do not have enough evidence to convict the pair, perhaps because the St. Michel police and court system are inept and open to bribes. Therefore a plan is concocted to lure a hired assassin into the open at the New Year's Eve Ball. Despite the danger, the St. Michel New Year's Ball is something of a tradition and the King isn't about to let threats upon his or his granddaughter's life get in the way of a good party. Still, mannequins are to be dressed and stood on a distant balcony to draw the gunfire. Suddenly and without drama two shots ring out, and, obviously fearing the end, Luc throws his massive body on Sophie's. How did the de Vaugirard's know of the decoy trick? That hardly seems important. What does seem important is not lingering on anything narratively influential.

Thompson skips forward a few days to find Luc and Sophie driving up towards St. Ezra, where Princess Sylvie was wed, to find the necessary documentation proving her legitimacy. King Bertrand was saved by his trusty bulletproof vest. The assassin and Daddy de Vaugirard are behind bars, although Son de Vaugirard escaped. Nevertheless, Sophie is plagued by doubts about her future, and wishes to return to North Carolina with Savannah and Luc in tow. Her lover fixes this fleeting crisis with a similar series of clichés that must have worked on Amanda, because Sophie decides to stay where the money, power and happiness is. All is well, but what's that? Yves de Vaugirard? Awaiting them with a loaded gun? How did he know they would be there? That hardly seems important. What does seem important is disarming him with the minimal amount of tension. Luc takes a bullet to the shoulder and Sophie headbutts the villain. The first headbutt in Mills & Boon history? It seems likely in a world where kisses tend to be spectacular. A cursory epilogue wraps things up as merrily as possible. The murderers are jailed, the hero and heroine are engaged, Savannah is probably all right, the King lives, Luc is redeemed from the scandal only he was aware of and any subplots Thompson forgot about can't have been significant. Everybody loves a wedding. The End.

For all its failings as a romance, and the many deficiencies that prohibit it from working as a mystery thriller, Accidental Princess also misfires as a fairytale. Nancy Robards Thompson is unable to create an atmosphere of wonder to make for a traditional story, while an absence of either wit or insight keeps her contemporary twist clear of subversion. By allowing her heroine moments of clarity she calls attention to the incredulity of the plotting. Despite the world outside intruding hungrily on the idealised island neither St. Michel nor North Carolina are convincing. The characters are too poorly-drawn to perceive events in a credible manner and the novel falls flat around a limp heroine and hackneyed obstacles. With little in the way of internal conflict the plot relies on the supposedly frowned-upon device of external threats. The magnitude of the situation relegates romance to a subplot and fails to differentiate between Sophie's courtship and her regal ascension. Accidental Princess takes a haphazard approach to politics, concluding that unelected Plutocracy works for everyone so long as the oligarchs are nice. As events culminate in farcical crime-fighting Sophie's attempt to redistribute the wealth while retaining all the power and luxury are forgotten, although a Christmas toy drive is tacked on for no worthwhile reason. Her work in social services and initial disagreement with de Vaugirard over just how revolting poor people are become trite indications of Sophie's humanity, and are wasted instead of developed into a moral dilemma as she learns about her new home's systematic inequality.

To bulk out proceedings Thompson introduces several attractive characters for the benefit of a franchise. Luc has two gorgeous, charming and wealthy brothers, while Sophie calls her confidante, the beautiful and single Lindsey (Linds to her friends. Hi, Linds!), ostensibly to learn that Laura's death was an accident, and not suicide, thus absolving Sophie of guilt. Linds, Henri and Alex each later enjoyed their own surprise riches, secret babies and designer shoes with Accidental Heiress, Accidental Father and Accidental Cinderella joining Accidental Princess in a series based around a theme of inadvertency. The first of the series also marked Thompson's debut for Harlequin Mills & Boon, although the publishers repackaged the novel for a Special Moments 2-in-1 alongside Stacy Connelly's Once Upon a Wedding, as a tenuously-linked pair of underwhelming modern fairytales. The publisher's patronage of Thompson is difficult to fathom, as Accidental Princess has the lazy plotting, clumsy prose and laboured setpieces of a seasoned professional coasting on legacy. Authors with several titles behind them have struggled to skillfully combine a standard romance with a dramatic b-story, as The Domino Effect and MacKenzie's Promise prove. Therefore we can perhaps forgive Thompson's indiscretion as foolish ambition. Attempting a cross-genre Mills & Boon just sees a writer offer two disappointments where there should have been one, although if we were to count Once Upon a Wedding on top then that would make three disappointments.

Monday, 30 September 2013

"Obviously new or at least not thirty-three years old"

Bewildered Heart has always maintained the belief that Bewildered Heart is superior to all the other weblogs on this here internet, but until recently we lacked the statistical evidence to prove it. Thankfully those scientific types at Canada's York University have banded together to ponder the significance of people's reading preferences and whether what they read says anything about their personality. The catchy title all psychological studies see as a must have read as, What You Read Matters: The Role of Fiction Genre in Predicting Interpersonal Sensitivity, and appeared recently in the journal Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity and the Arts, an essential journal for those that way inclined. Unfortunately for those that way inclined a PDF of their findings will set you back a hefty twelve dollars, but the money conscious can find succinct analytical breakdowns at places such as The Atlantic, where Julie Beck has offered an explanation for anyone either cheap or inattentive. While the former might want to stop frittering away their income on romance novels, as it turns out the latter might wish to improve their interpersonal sensitivity by reading romance novels.

According to The Encyclopedia of Human Relationships, 'Interpersonal sensitivity can refer to both how well one reads other people and how appropriately one responds.' Reading involves both verbal, including the pitch and rhythm of the voice, and non-verbal communication, such as facial expressions, postures and gestures. The key question for readers of Harlequin Mills & Boon concerns whether or not a history of enjoying romance fiction will, 'provide a distinctive conceptual framework through which readers construct meaning about the social world.' There are few reasons to read trite tales of true love besides the betterment of the self through emotional learning. Has Katrina Fong, and her team of trusty Canadians, found conclusive proof that reading Fifty Shades of Grey makes you an enlightened and insightful milksop, rather than the lonely pervert all logic suggests you are?

To reach the answers a rational person might have guessed the boffins first gathered together a group of 328 willing participants, 258 of which were women, and asked them to identify authors from a series of twenty-five names. The list consisted of non-fiction and fiction writers, along with other names summoned from the imagination. To simplify matters further, four fiction genres were selected, and they were domestic fiction, romance, sci-fi fantasy and suspense thrillers. Following that a personality test was carried out, in order to uncover any significant characteristics that might suggest there is more to sensitivity than literature consumption. The central part of the methodology involved showing black and white photographs of eyes and asking the contributors to recognise the expression from a multiple choice of mental states. The results were hardly surprising. While fiction readers showed more interpersonal sensitivity than non-fiction readers the romance lovers tested higher than fans of the other genres. Does this mean reading romance novels puts you in touch with your feelings, or do highly emotional people simply prefer romance novels due to the dramatic nature of the stories? Thankfully, those running the experiment have no idea either, while Julie Beck figures that the truth lies somewhere inbetween.

There are a handful of estimations one could gleam from the statistics. For example, is it possible that regardless of reading habits females are more empathetic than males? After all, predominantly it is women who read romance novels. The results of previous studies dictate that romance-reading women are likely to be more interpersonally sensitive than the men who traditionally read sci-fi fantasy and the rollicking adventures of seven foot tall ex-military private detectives who solve crimes through a combination of grunting and violence. Still, this conclusion relies heavily on generalisations and prejudice, and if those were able to create irrefutable evidence there would be no need for science at all. The authors of What You Read Matters do end on an epiphany of sorts. 'It may be that the emotional experiences evoked by romance novels lead to rumination on past relationship experiences… perhaps encouraging readers to puzzle out the complexities of their own past romantic relationships. This thoughtful introspection might then be usefully applied to new social interactions.' While this is possibly correct, meaning and benefit continue to prove elusive. Are these conclusions nebulous enough to render the entire endeavour redundant? This appears to be a more worthwhile question. There appears to be only the most flimsy reasoning behind the notion that following words on a page might assist in the distinguishing of emotional states from pictures of eyes.

The full report may offer more indepth insights, but the sensible supposition is that readers tending towards compassion and human interest will seek out romances for their emotional conflicts and happy resolutions. Crucially for Bewildered Hearts though, the study failed to differentiate between the various subgenres of romance fiction, and the varying degree in quality that sees romance as a genre ranges from classic Jane Austen to the likes of Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience or Taken by the Sheikh. For genuine interest in relationships there is a more pertinent and compelling source of entertainment than Mills & Boon where characters are familiar archetypes, the stories are predictable and the writing is lifeless and shallow. You would hope that the truly empathetic would tire of such formulaic nonsense all too quickly. Meanwhile, for someone desiring to improve upon their interpersonal sensitivity there are entertainment sources with greater gravitas and emotional range than Mills & Boon, and so they, like the rest of us, would be wasting their time treating what Harlequin provides as educational material.
Nevertheless, no matter how the findings of York University are analysed What You Read Matters is another positive argument for romance, which in turn is another positive argument for Bewildered Heart being superior to every other blog on this here internet.