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.
'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.
