"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.

"An action that could've been interpreted as unintentional... or not"

Those weblog devotees who can remember starting Accidental Princess will certainly want to forget reading it. We left Sophie Baldwin in the crux of a life-changing dilemma, putting aside all reason to decide on either changing her life or keep it chugging along aimlessly. There was little to recommend the latter, only her teenage daughter's inevitable pregnancy would someday break the tedium of working and occasionally living. There was, however, something about the alternative offer of taking on the royal duties of a small Mediterranean island. All the umming and ahhing in the world proved unable to make Sophie decisive and therefore within a few pages of chapter four her mind had been made up for her, through a combination of important men and God, perhaps the most important man of all. Initially Nancy Robards Thompson seemed to suggest Sophie's choice was something of an agonising philosophical conundrum, but within moments of intriguing her readers with three chapters of thinking and back-story she resolved to wrap things up as abruptly as possible. After all, who would say no to becoming an European princess and why would those who would say no be reading a Mills & Boon Special Moments Romance entitled Accidental Princess?

Well, due to her career in the social services Sophie cannot simply abandon North Carolina to live on a fictional island. She has obligations to her clients, such as fraught single mother Laura Hastings, and possibly others with names of their own. Somewhat fortunately for everyone involved Laura kills herself, landing her four young children in something of a quagmire, but completely freeing up Sophie's Tuesday afternoon. Still, there is more to life on the east coast than work. What about her spawn and those two strangers who masqueraded for decades as her parents? Savannah cannot decamp to another country, not with school, her father and a first boyfriend to contend with. Somewhat fortunately Sophie's ex-husband is a jerk, Tick reconciles with a former flame and the school denies ever having a student named after a city, completely freeing up Savannah's life. Meanwhile, parenthood is tricky, and made especially tough with no natural bond between adult and child. When considered on these terms, all the betrayal and dishonesty in the world cannot overshadow the selfless act of devotion Rose and John showed by feeding and misleading Sophie across those thirty-odd years. Thus, with details such as organising emigration glossed over, Princess Sophie and Princess Savannah jet off to someplace even the most cursorary research would have told them only exists in the imagination of a geographically-confused author.

Never mind glaring plot flaws though, because regality is tremendous. Sophie and Savannah are indulged, waited upon and given expensive gifts that aren't even real yet, including a super-cool cellular phone that makes the iPhone look like a cinder block with numbers drawn on. Flashy gadgets and luxurious bedding are used primarily to disguise the lack of emotional development in the characters. Luxury appears to appease the mother and daughter, as they recover from the shock of their overnight success. Still, it is not all pillows made of puppies and castles filled with candy, because the thought does occur to Sophie that her biological mother perished as a teenager, her biological father was a rock and roll legend and her adoptive parents are nothing more than fawning imposters who raised her in deceitful poverty. Still, nothing really matters in the face of Luc's haughty handsomeness, which is used primarily to disguise the lack of credibility in Sophie's personality. The novel supposes that the mutual attraction that develops between hero and heroine overcomes the shakiness of the narrative. Nevertheless, this manages to be more convincing than the single stumbling block standing in the way of their union, the class system. Luc is acutely aware that his disgraced family name leaves him in no position to woo a princess without it appearing as ungentlemanly social climbing. Sophie, meanwhile, is from the far more enlightened United States, and she won't let tradition tell her who she can and can't sleep with.

To let the proverbial gremlin loose in the proverbial system, Robards Thompson remembers to introduce the subplot involving someone murdering the king's family in a bid to claim the throne. Who could it be? Luc, the comically inept head of security? The King? Sophie? Savannah? What about the conceited St. Michelian who hates everyone and is hungry for power? Possibly that last one, but whoever knows isn't telling, and so the fairytale continues with several elements that clearly don't belong in a fairytale. Snooty, middle-aged Vicomte Yves De Vaugirard and his less significant father, Comte Pascal De Vaugirard, are dismayed to learn of a secret love child and an unconstitutional attempt to make her queen. Before turning to his trusted method of murder-to-look-like-accident the elitist villain and the evil mouse that lives in his pocket make a much more innocent play at discrediting Sophie, through a combination of kissing and photography. The public relations nightmare that enfolds only drives Sophie into the grateful arms of Luc Lejardin, who had until then been keeping his distance, unable as he is to control his passionate manhood around royal women. With that Chapter eleven ends with the promise of lip-locking, death-defying and subplot-forgetting.

Casual misogyny, trite political moralising and offensive stereotyping briefly enliven proceedings, but besides that Accidental Princess is largely a disappointment and whatever the opposite of entertainment is. Secrets Uncovered would argue that while situations need not be believable for romantic fantasy the reactions of the characters must be credible to keep the scenario tethered to reality. Nancy Robards Thompson's downfall comes from a protagonist too swept up in wonderment to make the necessary decisions to bring about dramatic resolution. She spends her time asking why her, and the majority of her thoughts tend towards Luc, either thanking the heavens he is beside her or asking the heavens where he has got to. This is necessary, of course, given the genre's demands for a love story, but there seems to be greater need for the plotting and fleshing out of the troubled daughter, decades long murdering and the throne ascension, the things the novel has included as background colour. While optimistic hopes that these strands can be brought together for a satisfying finale border on the delusional, readers have the right to expect that Thompson would not have included a mass of detail without the intention of later remembering what it was.

The politics of St. Michel are discreetly hidden behind a wall of confused understandings of how countries exist. The island appears to be an autocracy, running on a form of an unelected elitism, which seems to have suited everyone for centuries. The people are peons to the royal family and while nearly everyone is somehow financially resplendent Sophie does hear of small pockets of poverty from the pampered lips of an unelected elitist. Needing a mission to keep from appearing the ineffectual figurehead she is supposed to be, Sophie discovers the socialist principles all Americans are taught and reveals her nobility by learning her servants names and ordering them not to work on Thanksgiving. What's Thanksgiving, they ask? You're welcome, she smiles, not as their boss but as their equal. While this does call to mind her sterling social work in North Carolina the narrative has no interest in righting societal wrongs, and includes this fleeting attempt to redistribute wealth as a means to reiterate Sophie's kindness. This is hardly helpful to an already crowded plot, but with everything so easily solvable Robards Thompson should be able to fix Savannah, bring a killer to justice, wed Sophie to Luc, give the serfs a decent wage and bring democracy to St. Michel, thus abolishing the Monarchy and allowing Sophie the quiet married life she always wanted. As always, Bewildered Heart reads on, endeavouring against our better judgement to find out what we already know.