Hidden away rather appropriately at the University of Reading is Boons Mots: An Anthology of Artless Extracts, a fifty-year old pamphlet compiled anonymously by Mills & Boon editors. Highlights include favourite lines from aspiring authors and a letter from Violet Winspear, whose novels include Satan Took a Bride, Bride of Lucifer, Devil in a Silver Room, Dearest Demon, Lucifer's Angel, Darling Infidel, The Passionate Sinner and, just as a pattern appears to emerge, Palace of the Pomegranate. Winspear asks after the future of romance fiction, with questions ranging from the eerily prescient to the timelessly adorable. We may never know what prompted Winspear to write a list so long that lettering it proved myopic, but we may also never know any of the answers.
Much has changed in fifty years, of course, and modern Mills & Boon authors show little interest in the etiquette of bedroom door positioning, but there are several thoughts that require thinking about. As always, into this void steps Bewildered Heart. 'Are the books too long by present day standards?' Violet begins. Whether present day means the historical present of yesteryear when Winspear broached this subject, or the present day of today or the present day of the future when this will be read accidentally by someone searching for Hugh Jackman photographs, romance novels have always been longer than necessary. The formulaic demands of word count do not help and while Winspear offers solutions such as shorter passages of dialogue and cuts to descriptive detail, superficial alterations do not affect the larger problems of form. Nevertheless, was this crusading writer requesting a technical discussion on inherent romance structures, or was she looking for a simple yes or no? Romance novels are shorter than the majority of other genres, and therefore the answer is simple. The books are not too long by present day standards, but should still be shorter, unless extra words would make them more interesting, as well as longer.
Perhaps Violet Winspear wrote her letter seeking statistical proof that many of the archetypes and clichés of Romance actually work. This, after all, is a manifesto asking for permission to revolt. 'Are backgrounds more popular if foreign?' she asked. 'Are heroes more desirable if foreign? Are successful heroes and virtuous heroines passé? Are heroes required to be more ordinary? Are heroines required to be more ordinary? Are established romantic ideas out of date?' As it turned out, a handful of decades later, authors eventually covered every possibility, with local characters, down-to-earth sheikh surgeons and impoverished billionaires all making an entrance to varying degrees of popularity. Given that each book sold an identical number of copies, the Mills & Boon of Winspear's age found a way to avoid measurements of fashion. Nowadays, an in depth undertaking of what sells would be possible had anyone such an inclination.
There is a wider point of Winspear's befuddlement. What is convention? With a product such as Mills & Boon, the designs that have become so universal they are the generic jokes of anti-romance criticism were created not necessarily from readership desire but from a lack of diversity. As the author herself asks, 'Are readers satisfied with the romances? Are readers stating specific requirements? Are readers stating specific dislikes?' Once the publisher begins dictating requirements to their authors based upon the findings of market research creative freedom is diminished and Mills & Boon lose the individual voices it claims to crave. Yet Harlequin is a corporate entity motivated by profit. Original work is heralded and increasingly the company has looked to branch out, creating new imprints for more daring directions.
Despite this, playing to a formula, whether real or imagined, seems safe, especially in light of the victory for Resisting the Sicilian Playboy in the most recent So You Think You Can Write competition. Why Sicilian, modern day versions of Winspear might ask. Are Sicilian playboys that much more appealing to consumers than playboys from less exotic locations? Romance fiction has traditionally tended towards the far away, idealised backdrops of abroad. Thus it has been and the standard has rarely been questioned. New subgenres emerged to allow a move away from the norm.
When it came to offering alternative visions of classic romantic tropes, however, Violet Winspear preferred an innocent damsel in an exotic location. Her heroes were the hunters, hard-muscled, sardonic, rich, frightening and fascinating. She caused outrage when she commented, 'They must be the sort of men who are capable of rape: men it's dangerous to be alone in the room with.' Beneath the cynical exterior, however, her alpha males are lost, lonely and in need of love. Due to this, her heroines are passive creations by comparison, lacking in modern ideals such as self-esteem and sexual awareness. This was partly because of the era, but her novels are marked by old-fashioned attitudes towards sex, contriving plots of kidnap and forcible marriage to relieve the heroine of desire and moral responsibility in choosing to have sex.
Perhaps Winspear saw this as a necessary means to an end. She asks her editor, 'Are we to suppose (our) readers a bit dim?' It seems a worthwhile question and is followed later by Zb, 'Are authors to suppose their readers remain mentally backward?' Assuming that a writer begins their career in romance fiction under this assumption they would be wise to periodically check that they should continue to believe it. The answer then and today, for this question and most of the others is, 'Yes, but they shouldn't.' However Winspear defined mental backwardness is unknown, but it seems unlikely that this is a ringing endorsement of the intelligence of her readership. Mills & Boon novels do not challenge their readers with such demands as complicated sentences, politics, sociology, tension, unpredictability or even lengthy words, but there are powerful cultural undercurrents to what Winspear said and did not say. She wrote seventy novels in a career spanning twenty-seven years. Her books may belong to her time, and Romance has evolved to whatever it is now. Many of queries Winspear asked remain relevant, and continue to be unanswerable.
The type-written page of Boon Mots concludes with an insight into the direction Winspear saw her genre heading. 'Are authors to suppose sex measures maturing romance? Is sex the new name for romance? Are authors permitted to rebel against the above question?' The future played out as expected. In these times no one uses romance as anything other than a euphemism for pornography. Mills & Boon is a gateway to erotica, and the most popular exponents of the sex genre are published only if they contain light bondage as an indication of emotional development. Without regular sex scenes authors and readers have no idea how successfully a courtship is maturing.
Heroes are no longer capable of rape and heroines occasionally dare to be the aggressors, knowing what they want from a man and not being afraid to ask for it in exchange for money. Romance fiction of the 1960 and 1970s would look on forlornly, shaking its head at what has become of revolution. Where are the timid virgins, they would ask? Where are the dominating alpha males exercising control through wealth and masculinity? Why aren't all the novels set on islands in the colonial Dutch East Indies? What is escapist about reality? Romance fiction of the 1960s and 1970s, however, is misguided. Not much has changed, really, the business still caters for all tastes, but a little room has been made at the edges, for those authors who were allowed permission to rebel.
Much has changed in fifty years, of course, and modern Mills & Boon authors show little interest in the etiquette of bedroom door positioning, but there are several thoughts that require thinking about. As always, into this void steps Bewildered Heart. 'Are the books too long by present day standards?' Violet begins. Whether present day means the historical present of yesteryear when Winspear broached this subject, or the present day of today or the present day of the future when this will be read accidentally by someone searching for Hugh Jackman photographs, romance novels have always been longer than necessary. The formulaic demands of word count do not help and while Winspear offers solutions such as shorter passages of dialogue and cuts to descriptive detail, superficial alterations do not affect the larger problems of form. Nevertheless, was this crusading writer requesting a technical discussion on inherent romance structures, or was she looking for a simple yes or no? Romance novels are shorter than the majority of other genres, and therefore the answer is simple. The books are not too long by present day standards, but should still be shorter, unless extra words would make them more interesting, as well as longer.
Perhaps Violet Winspear wrote her letter seeking statistical proof that many of the archetypes and clichés of Romance actually work. This, after all, is a manifesto asking for permission to revolt. 'Are backgrounds more popular if foreign?' she asked. 'Are heroes more desirable if foreign? Are successful heroes and virtuous heroines passé? Are heroes required to be more ordinary? Are heroines required to be more ordinary? Are established romantic ideas out of date?' As it turned out, a handful of decades later, authors eventually covered every possibility, with local characters, down-to-earth sheikh surgeons and impoverished billionaires all making an entrance to varying degrees of popularity. Given that each book sold an identical number of copies, the Mills & Boon of Winspear's age found a way to avoid measurements of fashion. Nowadays, an in depth undertaking of what sells would be possible had anyone such an inclination.
There is a wider point of Winspear's befuddlement. What is convention? With a product such as Mills & Boon, the designs that have become so universal they are the generic jokes of anti-romance criticism were created not necessarily from readership desire but from a lack of diversity. As the author herself asks, 'Are readers satisfied with the romances? Are readers stating specific requirements? Are readers stating specific dislikes?' Once the publisher begins dictating requirements to their authors based upon the findings of market research creative freedom is diminished and Mills & Boon lose the individual voices it claims to crave. Yet Harlequin is a corporate entity motivated by profit. Original work is heralded and increasingly the company has looked to branch out, creating new imprints for more daring directions.
Despite this, playing to a formula, whether real or imagined, seems safe, especially in light of the victory for Resisting the Sicilian Playboy in the most recent So You Think You Can Write competition. Why Sicilian, modern day versions of Winspear might ask. Are Sicilian playboys that much more appealing to consumers than playboys from less exotic locations? Romance fiction has traditionally tended towards the far away, idealised backdrops of abroad. Thus it has been and the standard has rarely been questioned. New subgenres emerged to allow a move away from the norm.
When it came to offering alternative visions of classic romantic tropes, however, Violet Winspear preferred an innocent damsel in an exotic location. Her heroes were the hunters, hard-muscled, sardonic, rich, frightening and fascinating. She caused outrage when she commented, 'They must be the sort of men who are capable of rape: men it's dangerous to be alone in the room with.' Beneath the cynical exterior, however, her alpha males are lost, lonely and in need of love. Due to this, her heroines are passive creations by comparison, lacking in modern ideals such as self-esteem and sexual awareness. This was partly because of the era, but her novels are marked by old-fashioned attitudes towards sex, contriving plots of kidnap and forcible marriage to relieve the heroine of desire and moral responsibility in choosing to have sex.
Perhaps Winspear saw this as a necessary means to an end. She asks her editor, 'Are we to suppose (our) readers a bit dim?' It seems a worthwhile question and is followed later by Zb, 'Are authors to suppose their readers remain mentally backward?' Assuming that a writer begins their career in romance fiction under this assumption they would be wise to periodically check that they should continue to believe it. The answer then and today, for this question and most of the others is, 'Yes, but they shouldn't.' However Winspear defined mental backwardness is unknown, but it seems unlikely that this is a ringing endorsement of the intelligence of her readership. Mills & Boon novels do not challenge their readers with such demands as complicated sentences, politics, sociology, tension, unpredictability or even lengthy words, but there are powerful cultural undercurrents to what Winspear said and did not say. She wrote seventy novels in a career spanning twenty-seven years. Her books may belong to her time, and Romance has evolved to whatever it is now. Many of queries Winspear asked remain relevant, and continue to be unanswerable.
The type-written page of Boon Mots concludes with an insight into the direction Winspear saw her genre heading. 'Are authors to suppose sex measures maturing romance? Is sex the new name for romance? Are authors permitted to rebel against the above question?' The future played out as expected. In these times no one uses romance as anything other than a euphemism for pornography. Mills & Boon is a gateway to erotica, and the most popular exponents of the sex genre are published only if they contain light bondage as an indication of emotional development. Without regular sex scenes authors and readers have no idea how successfully a courtship is maturing.
Heroes are no longer capable of rape and heroines occasionally dare to be the aggressors, knowing what they want from a man and not being afraid to ask for it in exchange for money. Romance fiction of the 1960 and 1970s would look on forlornly, shaking its head at what has become of revolution. Where are the timid virgins, they would ask? Where are the dominating alpha males exercising control through wealth and masculinity? Why aren't all the novels set on islands in the colonial Dutch East Indies? What is escapist about reality? Romance fiction of the 1960s and 1970s, however, is misguided. Not much has changed, really, the business still caters for all tastes, but a little room has been made at the edges, for those authors who were allowed permission to rebel.
