"Personal relationships aren't team sports"

Previously on Bewildered Heart we discussed the numerous arguments romance fiction fans have mounted in defence of their favourite kind of writing. Due to the frequency and quantity of these opinion pieces it might appear as if critical maulings occur regularly, requiring a steady stream of justified rebukes. Yet Romance exists in an isolated vacuum, much like actual couples, and within these confines the genre treats itself generously. Critics review new novels with the understanding of their place within the literary canon. Award ceremonies do not include books from other genres. Websites and weblogs dedicate themselves solely to Romance, as if the wider world of aliens, dystopian societies, families, and teenage girls battling aliens, dystopian societies and their families somehow aren't noteworthy.

For a Bewildered Heart to demonstrate the vitriol romance defenders object to there is an absence of essays and articles to cut and paste from. Instead we make do with a silence from intellectuals with better things to do than read the latest publications from Mills & Boon, and we simply cannot cut and paste silence to fill our monthly Google blog quota. Still, to not be taken seriously is affront enough if, of course, you wish to be taken seriously. Considering the wealth of reactions from readers, writers, editors, reviewers and self-proclaimed experts such a desire exists. The crux of the argument comes down to the mass market. Does Romance cross-over with reviews in journals and newspapers and discussions on the late night chat show circuit. Numerous other genres are not treated in this manner, with their own dark and dusty sections in bookshops and never featured in the Times Literary Supplement, so why Romance?

Some put mainstream dismissal down to misogyny. There was a time that considered love as worthy a subject for literature, theatre and poetry as honour or horses. 'Sociologists have long recognized a phenomenon called “feminization,” which means that anything that becomes associated solely with women falls in general esteem.' So says Jennifer Crusie, a woman, in Defeating The Critics: What We Can Do About the Anti-Romance Bias. Her typically melodramatic female reaction suggests that the genre is universally condemned because it threatens the patriarchal establishment. This is achieved because Romance tells uncomfortable truths that men and some feminists don't want to acknowledge, such as heroines are equal to heroes, sex is as vital to women as it is to men, love is powerful and justifies fiction, women coo at babies in supermarkets, no one really enjoys responsibility, women need relationships and happy ever afters are not delusional fantasies dangerously out of touch with reality.

Bearing this in mind what can we do to fight against oppressive rejection? 'We can argue that romance fiction is maligned because it’s so threatening to rigid political and academic structures.' Yet ultimately, Crusie argues, this is unnecessary. Firstly, men and most feminists are bad listeners, and secondly, 'We don’t write to please establishments, we write to reach women.' This sounds suspiciously similar to what untalented authors, musicians and filmmakers say about their lousy books, music and movies. Therefore, is there a more grandiose way in which to spell out that sentiment? 'By writing good books we counteract decades of pessimism with narratives of realistic optimism, we break through knee-jerk limitations on women imposed by both the political right and left, and we refute the sterile elitism of current literary criticism.' You go, girls.

All this proud resolve masks an obvious flaw in the pro-Romance rhetoric. The genre enjoys its status as an outsider ignored by the establishment, yet as we are repeatedly told Romance fiction is the largest and most lucrative sector in publishing. Romance, despite its protestations, is the commercial establishment. When the likes of Crusie speak of crossing over, what would they like Romance to cross-over to? Is there a larger audience for a genre that already enjoys the largest audience of the written word? As exemplified by corporate juggernauts such as Harlequin Mills & Boon, Romance is the bloated big business that critics have always railed against, from pop music to Hollywood blockbusters. Still, generalising the genre into a single style, title or notion is misguided. As with anything else, there is the mainstream, the alternative and the independent. Anything mass-produced, indiscernible in content and low on quality will rightfully be chastised for lowest common denominator money-grabbing.

Romance does not require voices of support because its dominance can withstand any amount of disapproval, but it is not immune from criticism, even if such judgements can be fancifully rebuffed as sexist, snobbish or pretentious. Besides this hugely successful genre would be foolish to discount all of the constructive negativity it does not receive from a powerful authority that doesn't exist. The reason Mills & Boon products are not favourably compared to Jane Austen or the poems of John Donne is not a result of institutionalised sexism, but because modern romance does not favourably compare to anything critics think highly of. Nevertheless, there are acclaimed authors writing love stories with happy endings, and their recognition elevates them above genre, but in the homogenized world of Harlequin plaudits are earned through quantity. The majority of Mills & Boon novelists churn out more books in a year than Austen managed in her lifetime. Carefully-plotted stories, strong characters and believable dialogue are not organic by-products of this profit-driven, slapdash approach.

There is, of course, another flaw to the pro-Romance rhetoric. The disparagement it has received over the last few decades has a degree of justification. While Mills & Boon has staked its place as the least the genre has to offer, the examples to have broken into the public consciousness have been met with equal disdain. The Twilight and Fifty Shades series are not the ambassadors the genre would have chosen for emotional depth and strong female role models. Both are ineptly-written, sexist and tedious reads with poorly-drawn characters and narratively-redundant sequences. As a consequence Romance fiction has to stand up for itself once again, pushing readers to seek out the finest quality erotic and paranormal fantasies available. Yet it is understandable that those in need of convincing will not want to sacrifice anymore time on being convinced.

Romance has taught us many things. Thick eyelashes are a man’s most essential body part. Beautiful twenty-seven year old virgins are plentiful. Blackmail always leads to eternal love. Still, the life-altering epiphany that the genre is responsible for is that love is difficult and rewarding. Firstly, because the ideal man is attempting to tear down the wildlife park your adoptive parents fought their lives to preserve so he can build luxury casinos. Secondly, because in his arrogance he has offered you the money you need to save the animals in exchange for sex. Thirdly, because he is secretly a royal prince of a small island on the French Riviera. Finally, love takes courage, faith in yourself, faith in the most handsome billionaire you have ever seen, and a confidence that happiness is there for those who open themselves to experience it. Believing in your favourite genre requires faith that if the proof of Romance fiction’s brilliance is out there critics and a wider readership will discover where the good stuff has been hiding and know the difference.

"He didn't think Jewel was the type of women to care that he was royalty"

Every so often someone speaks out in defence of Romance Fiction. This is usually unnecessary, apropos of nothing and achieving of little. Despite this, as long as there are those who negatively criticise there will be others responding with the positivity and evidence that not everything is awful. To coincide with the month of St. Valentine, National Public Radio have offered Don't Hide The Harlequins, an essay by Wisconsin's favourite daughter, Bobbi Dumas, a reviewer for Kirkus Media and a founding contributing editor of HowToWriteShop.com. Let's meet her. 'Hi, my name's Bobbi.' Hi, Bobbi! 'I read romance.' This is an excellent start, but enough small-talk, we should begin the article by naming the first romantic novel we ever read at the tender age of twelve. 'I saw the book — The Fortunes of Love by Caroline Courtney — in a library, and I was hooked by the cover. Something about that man and that woman — his enigmatic hover, her sideways glance — spoke to me. This was a couple who was meant to be together but hadn't figured it out yet. They were attracted but distrustful.'

Caroline Courtney was an early pseudonym of the late Penny Jordan and The Fortunes of Love was first published in 1980 by Warner Books. It tells the tale of The Duke of Strathavon, who may have the ladies of Bath all agog, but his charms have no effect on Davinia Sinclair, because a gypsy had told her she would marry a man whose name began with M, possibly the dashing treasure-hunter Lord Maunsell. What unfolds is presumably predictable, the feisty Regency heroine and her wealthy pursuer finding love against all the odds. Nevertheless, the child Bobbi Dumas was hooked. 'This book was what I'd been looking for, a glimpse into the commingled elation and vulnerability of falling in love, losing that love, regaining it.' Finally, a tawdry nineteenth century-set love story every twelve year old girl can relate to.

What was it that struck such a chord with Bobbi Dumas that her affection for romance has lasted a lifetime? 'It was emotional and sweet and scary, and the moment those characters admitted their love for each other in the end, after everything, in spite of everything — because of everything — I felt such bittersweet joy. They were together, happy, in love.' This sounds delightful and not dissimilar to what Mills & Boon authors often attempt in their own novels, but just as in real life one happy ending is never enough. 'It was a romantic rush, but the book was over — so I went to find another one.' Dumas' brief autobiographical insight will sound familiar to anyone fighting on the battleground either for or against addiction to romance fiction. Dependency begins innocently enough, a trip to the library, an intriguing semi-erotic photograph, some staring at words, a dizzying high and then the painful withdrawal. Like jazz music or the films of Michael Bay, Romance is the pinnacle of the literary medium. 'Once you go romantic you'll never go back tic,' as the saying goes. Reading is no longer reading unless it concludes with two people locked in an eternal embrace, blissful and perpetually pregnant.

As we know from bitter experience, of course, a romance fan's journey is never complete without a little antagonism from the usual places. 'My mom, a teacher, thought romances were beneath me. My school librarian gave me her disapproving look when I checked out more romances from the bookmobile. And my best friend's mother told me I should be ashamed for reading such trash.' Romance is not all roses, chocolates, thick eyelashes, sunshine and glistening forearms. No guilty pleasure comes without a certain amount of guilt attached. Peers and superiors are sure to find fault with reading habits that fall below an intellectual threshold of their own definition. Unless we are challenging ourselves how shall we ever improve? Bobbi Dumas has found a strong defence, however, by using impressively long words and casually insulting other genres. 'I was fascinated, by the road-to-love storylines, and the psychological metamorphoses that had to take place in order to overcome internal and external conflicts, so that these two people could earn their happily ever after. To me, those were every bit as interesting as my mother's whodunnits or my sister's sci-fi and fantasy excursions — and far more touching!' Precisely, there are no emotional journeys in genres besides romance, unless by psychological metamorphoses Bobby Dumas means a character arc, because those are a fundamental cornerstone of every story.

Nevertheless, pointing out that Pride and Prejudice is a romance, with all the alpha masculinity, nipple pebbling and supermarket baby cooing fans have come to expect from the genre, does not alleviate the guilt from all the negative connotations associated with Mills & Boon. But why? 'Why is our devotion to this lovely, affirming storytelling something we should hide, or apologize for?' Exactly, Bobbi. Why? 'Why this intellectual idea that romance is something to look down on? We know that many intelligent, educated women read it.' The sales figures speak for themselves, thus explaining why articles have stopped quoting the large sums of money earned last year. There are indications that Dumas is building towards the perceptive piece of wisdom that will reveal why romance is enjoyed by billions of people and scorned by everyone else. Unfortunately, expecting a Happily Ever After from an essay about romance fiction is misguided, at best.

Perhaps there are no reasons because there is no actual problem. If Dumas ever did feel ashamed it was probably due to being twelve. She certainly does not feel ashamed nowadays. Instead she is so proud to proclaim her love for romance fiction that she has penned an editorial for NPR. Generally, her fellow love junkies are not embarrassed by their bookshelves either. Equally importantly, perhaps, the genre is not critically disparaged, although the blandly homogenized, mass produced mainstream of it is, but this is the case with every area of culture. When it comes to the most fervent voices of disdain and ridicule the solution is the obvious combination of saturation and political manipulation. 'Even if you don't read romances, there's a lot to be proud of in a successful industry that is so dominated and influenced by women. In romance, we are the creators, the intended audience and the receptive consumer, showing our appreciation through astronomical sales. Female writers writing for female readers about traditionally female interests.' The advice for those who avoid the genre due to the negative opinions of teachers, mothers and school librarians is to ignore all that and try reading one for yourself. As for those dismissive teachers, mothers and school librarians, who knows what their problems are. Maybe they are bad feminists or science fiction fans, or a mixture of the two. Dumas may not be able to offer any explanations, but she does suggest further reading for anyone convinced enough by a message of follow your heart, ignore your elders and just stop pretending you are better than this.

"You don't strike me as the type to carry lucky stones in his pocket"

Valentine's Day happened, as inevitable and aggressive as always, leaving everyone with little choice but to try and enjoy it. While the cynical and desperately alone might wish to see the non-holiday as a commercial enterprise pushed by a capitalist elite to fleece money from the masses through emotional bribery, those who know what is good for them invariably partook in romantic declarations of affection using greeting cards, flowers, chocolates, restaurant tables or small acts of kindness, which are free and therefore worthless. Naturally assuming cheapskates and the unimaginative may turn to the internet in search of inspiration, romance outlets offered their own timely insights, articles and essays on fictional loving. There are reasons for this besides it being early February, as Harper's has noted that the industry is worth $1.4 billion, and thus a suitable subject for a subscription-only magazine. Last summer they sent their intrepid editor, Jesse Barron, to the Romance Novel Convention in Las Vegas where, 'Professionals and novices alike pool resources, share ideas and generally have a love fest.' Described more accurately, 'The convention is a five-day smattering of trite classes, cheesy entertainment and a costume ball.'

Over at the thankfully free National Public Radio, Arun Rath asked Barron several questions concerning the experience, copied down the responses and submitted the series of words to the website. Barron appeared particularly interested in the male cover model who emceed the event, but within the numerous facts and anecdotes about what it takes to be handsome and often shirtless there are a handful of other points that can be copied from NPR and turned into an article for Bewildered Heart, to coincide with Valentine's Day and satisfy a necessary obligation for a weblog about romance fiction. First and perhaps most important is the nature of the female protagonist. Who is she? Where is she going? What is she buying from that supermarket? What's wrong with her hair? Is it because of the hot weather?

According to Barron, newest and thus foremost, expert on all things romance, 'She's gotta be tough, but she can't be cold, she can't be whiny ... and if she's got those walls up, you must show her vulnerability. She is just like the reader.' Unlike the reader, however, she has to be desirable to billionaires, and tough. The walls in question are proverbial walls that the hero must knock down with his sledgehammer of empathy. When the heroine's father abandoned both her and her determined single mother she retreated into a shell, refusing to trust her heart to anyone else in case it was broken once again. Her pursuer must become a surrogate by means of being male and older, while proving through the repeated use of a penis that he will never leave, allowing her to cast off the protective layer of emotional insensitivity and love with her entire self. While this example is just a single potential option it appears to be the only one authors have chosen to use.

On the topic of the writing craft, or the craft of writing, Barron explains that there is one thing we all have to understand. 'One thing that you have to understand if you're gonna get into writing romance is that the things that are valued in that genre are not the same things that are valued when we read something like literary fiction. So you're gonna want to hone your prose until its extremely clear, it's very, very fast, the dialogue is funny and the plots are really engaging.' All seemingly important things, and while comprehensible prose, funny dialogue and engaging stories are not rated significant for works of literary fiction, we must recognise that romance and literature are different, with value systems that are not the same, and should be treated accordingly. From there, naturally, we turn to infidelity. 'Heroes and heroines in romances never, ever cheat ... it's really about the relationship between two people and the way that they gradually become more vulnerable to each other over time.' By cheating Barron means casual dating, and by ruling out alternative suitors the author is able to concentrate on the actual plot, which deals with the initially emotionally-frozen characters slowly recognise their estranged parents in the manner of their prospective partners and allow themselves to indulge in intense feelings before married life rather takes the edge off.

With the latest trends of the genre covered it is time for business and the real reason for all this lovely intimate sweetness. Money. 'It's estimated that about 60 percent of all romance novels are e-books, and that's compared with about 40 percent of trade fiction. Literary fiction does not get along well with e-books and self-publishing because it takes too long to write, and e-books are cheap. So e-books will favor writers who can write schematically, quickly.' No one writes more quickly than the authors of Mills & Boon, and if, by chance, Barron uses such words as schematic and quick as euphemisms for bad or amateurish, this is not problematic either, as no one writes more ineptly than the authors of Mills & Boon. Bearing this potentially good news in mind, however, the chances of an upturn in quality appear ever dimmer, but at least now there is alternative to blaming the publisher. The fault clearly lies with the consumers and the internet. Thanks, internet.

We conclude, as we always seem to, with photographs of handsome men. 'Romance is published, written, edited, bought by women. Ninety to ninety-five percent of romance readers are women. The one exception in the industry is male cover models.' When it comes to cheap imitations of a smouldering Hugh Jackman, positioned provocatively and somewhere glamorous, in a clinch with a female equivalent of Hugh Jackman, such a stock picture can cost anywhere from $15 to $300. As to how this wide a range of price is possible Barron does not elaborate, but beauty beholders will no doubt acknowledge the vast handsomeness divide between a Hugh Jackman and a non-Hugh Jackman. Did you know that, 'Authors have even figured out what kinds of cover poses are more likely to make customers swoon?' Apparently they have, thus explaining chin-holding, finger-pointing, distance-staring, torso-bearing and crotch-emphasis that has become the standard over these last few decades of tinkering. For genuine interests on romance fiction, Harper's Magazine is willing to share Barron's investigation in exchange for a small annual fee. For a retread of what you already know, lovers are advised to stay with the one they are with. Sound wisdom, whatever disappointment that befell you this Valentine's Day.

"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.

"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?

“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.