"He offered his elbow. Stacy couldn't think of a courteous way to decline"

Much to Bewildered Heart's pleasure Mills & Boon begin their novels with a letter from the author alongside a biography always involving marriage to childhood sweethearts, indulgent numbers of children and a flatteringly unrealistic representation of the happiness and financial well-being writing for Mills & Boon brings. In Emilie Rose's correspondence to her fans she confesses that her latest hero is her most sensual yet. 'What could possibly be more delicious than a sexy, French chocolatier?' she asks, tantalisingly. A man made of chocolate wearing a chocolate tuxedo carrying a bouquet of roses that under closer inspection turn out to be made of chocolate? Oh, Emilie Rose's Dear Reader, you know us so well. The only thing we love more than that is an arrogant millionaire with more money than decency who treats women as hookers as way of seduction. Throw candy and an exotic location into the mix and we have ourselves a hit.

The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal begins, suitably, with a prologue that sets forth a chain of events concerning such expected themes as extravagant wealth and bitter misogyny that can only end with extravagant wealth and the shiny side of misogyny. Franco Constantine is a successful international tycoon and chief executive of Midas Chocolates, a very well known company within the world of the novel where highly lucrative independently-owned chocolate companies exist, and prosper. However, all is not splendiferous in the halls of the many Constantine mansions. Franco's father, Armand, wishes to marry Angeline, a gold-digging harpy forty-five years his junior, and the inevitable divorce that always follows such a marriage will cost the chocolate dynasty so many euros. 'Do you think chocolate will always be this popular, Papa? Who knows when the bubble will burst,' Franco yells exasperatedly, his long, thick eyelashes fluttering in the gentle breeze.

To save his business from another pay-off, and because the author could not think of anything more believable, the son makes a wager with his father. Franco will offer a woman €1,000,000 in exchange for being his mistress for one month. If she accepts all women are mercenaries willing to trade sex for money, proving Angeline is no different. If Franco convinces a woman to accept this offer Armand must sign his fortune over to his son, which would surely have been a quicker way of discovering where Angeline's interests lie. Never mind such obvious plot contrivances though, overly-discerning reader, because now there is a plot apparently worth basing a book around. Only one issue remains, where is Franco going to find a beautiful, desirable female who coincidentally only happens to be in Monaco for four weeks?

Meanwhile, on another part of the island, the unremarkable, sensible Stacy Reeves is admiring the chocolates in a Midas store window when something even more delectable wanders into view, a gorgeous, sophisticated slab of Frenchman-meat, possibly named Franco Constantine. Stacy isn't in town for romance, however. Oh no, she is too unremarkable and sensible for matters of the heart. Indeed, she is busy organising the wedding of her only friend, a nurse named Candace, who is set to marry another millionaire named Vincent. But wouldn't you know it, when Franco introduces himself Candace recognises him as Vincent's best friend. Ye Gods, Stacy! The man you are attracted to is a key player in the wedding, meaning there will be plenty of opportunities for the two of you to steal glances at one another, say awkward phrases, feel nervous and exchange sex for money.

For dowdy Miss Reeves the attentions of an attractive, muscular French millionaire made of chocolate isn't quite as appetising as he sounds. Stacy has a mysterious past, glimpsed at briefly through poorly-written asides from the author and involving a millionaire father who used his resources to torment Stacy and her mother with years of abuse and chasing that eventually may have ended in murder, probably. Stacy has been left unable to trust, love or enjoy intercourse, and has sunken to such depths she even took a job in accounting to further disaffect her in the eyes of men. Now she has lost her job because of corporate downsizing, the one person she is close to is moving to Monaco with husband and foetus because of marriage and untimely pregnancy, and an enigmatic tycoon keeps pestering her with chocolates and tactless invitations to make love in fancy locales, because of reasons that aren’t entirely obvious.

Reluctantly she agrees to one date, on the condition that Franco must end his Gallic seduction attempts if the evening is less than successful. Yet Stacy's luck has petered out. Franco wears a suit that parades his biceps and sturdy torso, takes her to an intimate restaurant where a string quartet plays swelling music on the patio and when the perfect opening reveals itself forces himself upon her by pinning her down and speaking foreign-sounding words she is too enamoured to understand. Later, outside the hotel Stacy admits what she really wants from life, financial security, and seizing the manufactured moment Franco offers her one million Euros to become his mistress for the month leading up to the wedding, guaranteeing no romantic feelings and no declarations of love. Stacy perceptively notes that the offer is akin to prostitution, but Franco tempers her fears by explaining that there is nothing wrong with being a prostitute. After all, she is a silly, fragile woman and no match for his wealth and European sensuality. She is only going to sleep with him anyway, so why not make some money out of it? Maybe she can spend some on that security she so desperately craves, to keep continental miscreants off her property for good. Stacy has twenty-four hours to accept or reject the venture, and define forever how women should be treated. The stakes couldn't be higher.

This brings to close the first three chapters and so far we have The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress relocated from Australia to Monaco and re-dubbed The Millionaire's Mistress. Less money and no tidying? Call yourself a story, The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal? Typical of this Mills & Boon sub-genre, which we shall call Solicititilation for want of a better invented word, the blatant sexism is submerged within character and physical beauty. Arguably Franco is the womanising jerk all evidence points to him being, pimping an innocent American tourist to stop his father from finding happiness, but when the author subverts the stereotype by having him make his own coffee and think of the feelings of others, all of his beliefs, actions and deeply inappropriate chat-up lines sound sensual and irresistible. Besides, Stacy has more depth than some lady who likes money and is willing to sell her body for more money. She is an accountant, which shows she understands money. She has never had a serious boyfriend and finds sex merely endurable which means she is hardly selling out something personally significant. Also, she recently lost her job and her mother was poor so she won't spend the million Euros frivolously. Finally, it is one million Euros and Franco is handsome and she has a whole month to kill, so calling her a prostitute, as she does, is unkind when you take all that into consideration. Let us not forget that once this novel ends with Franco and Stacy married they will have an adorable tale to weave when the grandkids ask them how they met.

We assume, naturally, that Stacy will accept the money and become Franco's mistress, leading them to develop feelings for one another via passionate thrusting only for Stacy to discover it was all part of a bet forcing Franco to chase after her in a sequence eerily-reminiscent of Stacy's own father's action, but ending when Stacy realises she must move on from her horrific past and learn to overcome her prejudice against men who pay to have sex with you only to develop feelings for you and then ask to have sex with you without wanting to pay anymore, which would be marriage if this were an analogy. Alternatively, Stacy might refuse Franco's money, showing him that all women are money-grabbing she-devils except for her, prompting him to fall in love with her because she is so special. Alas, however, because without reading the rest of the book we can be certain she will accept the money. Maybe it will turn out Vincent is actually her father, or Armand is Stacy's dad and she and Franco are in fact half-siblings. That seems far-fetched. Let's say he pays her for sex and then they fall in love and everything somehow works out ideally for everyone, except Angeline who turns out to be an actual prostitute. That seems just about the right amount of farfetchedness.

“We are all just one small adjustment away from making our lives work”

When you reach a certain age and pass on feelings such as hope and not having pain in your knees to the next generation you settle into a resigned attitude towards most experiences that have consistently disappointed you to stop the never-ending suffering of resentment, and replace it with the joyful superiority of cynicism. Chief among these experiences is the Hollywood movie genre known as the romantic comedy. As we move into whatever we are calling this decade that presumption that the next boy-meets-girl nonsense will be appalling has managed to evolve into downright hostility. Nowhere has this been more noticeable recently than in the case of James L. Brooks' latest How Do You Know. Early indications suggested poor results, the budget had soared to over $100 million and critics and audiences were ready, as they always seem to be, to punish such excess with scathing reviews and a paltry gross revenue. There was little surprise when the film was released to scathing reviews and audiences staying away in their droves, instead heading next door to spend their hard-earned money on the likes of Yogi Bear, Tron: Legacy and Little Fockers.

When you imagine scathing reviews, however, you imagine something more fierce than those How Do You Know received. Critics instead reserved their utter contempt for the likes of Yogi Bear, Tron: Legacy and Little Fockers. Nevertheless, the romcom, starring such luminaries as Reese Witherspoon, Paul Rudd, Jack Nicholson and Owen Wilson, had its fair share of caustic remarks. Philip French described it as, 'interminable', perhaps a dig at the running time which clocks in at an epic two hours. Better still was Peter Bradshaw, who wrote of, 'a fatuous and depressing parade of nothingness.' David Jenkins of Time Out called it, 'Contrived, mawkish and mirthless,' leaving Lou Lumenick to end with this neat summation, 'a rambling, over-produced, tone-deaf melange of romance, comedy and drama.' Many of those adjectives are harsh, of course, as How Do You Know is too bland to provoke such bile. Other critics were stung by Brooks' continuing downhill trajectory from the contrived and mawkish Terms of Endearment, to the Network for Dummies romcom Broadcast News, to As Good as It Gets and that interminable parade of nothingness, Spanglish. Brooks is finely-considered as a writer, director, producer, and rightly, so expectations were higher for How Do You Know, compared to the collective holding-of-breath that preceded Little Fockers.

Reese Witherspoon is a much-loved and very successful professional softball player whose career is coming to an end prematurely due to her turning thirty. Disillusioned and without a future she does what any woman should do in such a circumstance and begins putting herself out there sexually in order to snare a wealthy husband. Immediately two such Lotharios begin sniffing around. First there is Owen Wilson, a professional baseball player enjoying his success, laid-back charm and thick, luscious hair. Clearly entranced by at least one of these, Reese jumps into his bed without so much as a serious conversation only to discover he is something of an insensitive chauvinist, who cares not for her constant whining. Soon after she meets Paul Rudd, who is possibly the protagonist. Paul has his own set of troubles, caused by the financial mismanagement of his father being blamed on him. This causes Paul to lose his job, his fiancée and his luxurious apartment, while also being threatened with having to choose between saving his father from jail or going to jail himself. Why is there the tale of corporate fraud and father-son tensions clumsily forced-in to a romcom about a woman saying goodbye to her youth? Because Brooks got as bored as we did by the romance story and decided to clumsily force-in a whole second movie on a whim.

How Do You Know's flaws are conspicuous and fatal. The story never rises from its disorganized origins, the actors coast without much effort, there is minimal chemistry and the majority of the dialogue is lifted directly from self-help books and the psychiatrist's office, even though only Reese briefly drops in on an analyst to quickly dismiss any need for insight. Despite these glaring faults and an excessive budget the mauling the movie received seems a result of the unnecessarily large cost and indulgent salaries for the stars. That the content fails miserably is something of a happy coincidence. However, How Do You Know does not deserve to be remembered as one of the Hollywood's biggest follies. How should anyone of us know what insipid drivel audiences will flock to out of their devotion to love stories? After all, lazy romantic comedies continually rake in a fortune at the box-office much to critical dismay, so why shouldn’t Brooks have some coming?

On paper, the film sounds promising, so long as the paper isn't a page of the screenplay. When judged by the trailer, Brooks' film plays heavily on star-power, but there lacks a striking concept such as a magical fountain, a male maid of honour or commitment-free sex to draw the viewer in. All these scenarios scream jokes and a happy ending, meaning it matters not whether they are then forthcoming. How Do You Know has loftier ambitions and avoids meet-cutes and gimmicks, yet this should not be interpreted as a sign of greater intelligence. The corporate fraud subplot is borrowed from newspaper headlines and is introduced without any consideration of how it will affect the central premise. The script abandons any pretensions of realism, or even sympathetic characters, in the hopes of entertaining us with our favourite thespians traipsing out their usual shtick in a world of aspirational success, beauty and expensive real estate.

Romances exist as escapist fantasies involving impossibly-attractive people falling in love in an idealised location. Their popularity rests comfortably on a universal, timeless empathy, safe in the knowledge that audiences shall always identify with someone searching and falling in love. We cherish the books, television series and films because they are honest in their intentions and sell us on delusions that love conquers all, attractive people work in offices, there is a soul-mate for everyone and becoming sexually-desirable is only a montage away. How Do You Know offers an alternative insight. Sure, all the characters are wealthy and pretty, and even the most cramped apartments are spacious and handily-located, but life is difficult and painful, problems are never easily-solved and financial corruption is occasionally punished with appropriate retribution. A potential single mother is saved from her fate by the father of her baby proposing marriage, and Reese's forced retirement, career limbo and general confusion about men, life and infirmity is fixed by loving a man with the same inadequacies. Brooks creates a melancholy world of fraught disturbances where there are no easy answers and then climaxes his story by solving everything with an easy answer, and an unseen comeuppance for the film's thankless villain. How Do You Know ends as nothing more than the superficial veneer Brooks invented to convince us there was more to his film than there was.

Such a spectacular failure with critics, audiences and on its own terms as a film, there came an unexpected sense of pallid disappointment from those still capable of being disappointed. The contempt How Do You Know provoked was caused largely by our superior expectations attached to James L. Brooks, but he was let-down by a misguided sense of ambition and an alienation from modern audiences who have never been fully committed to explaining what they want from this strange genre. His was a story of grown-up troubles settled by cheap romcom tricks. Either poor, getting old Reese Witherspoon is single, yet likeable, and suddenly meets the man of her dreams leading to any number of hilarious social embarrassments and grandiose displays of affection, or she is facing the second act of her American life and needs a few big answers to comprehend the meaning of her existence, in which case meeting the man of her dreams just won’t cut it as a solution. Equally, if Paul Rudd is having a bad life, but then through an unlikely circumstance meets the woman of his dreams, but must hide his impending strife for fear of scaring her away leading to hilarious social embarrassments and grandiose displays of affection then we have a strong idea for a romantic comedy, possibly starring Jack Lemmon as Paul Rudd. However, if his impending doom is tied to the actions of his estranged father with whom he has never had a happy relationship and has never escaped from under the shadow of you cannot then introduce a blonde woman and hope that will take care of his predicament. Nice try, Mr. L. Brooks, but somehow we viewers saw through that from just the trailer.

‘Should Rick start mixing business with romance -- and both with a baby?’

The talk of Mills & Boon titles being proof of anything has made Bewildered Heart thirsty for a romance novel with a heavy-handed title indicative of female mating interests. One of the many omissions of the scientific study was no noting of the gradual evolution the publishers have made towards ridiculous titles containing market-researched signifiers and away from the previous generation’s more artistic leanings. Nowadays there is no ambiguity in a Harlequin title, with modern monikers increasingly close to those a website such as this would invent for parody. Even our limited travels into the world of saucy fiction have thrown up names such as Finding Nick, Romantics Anonymous and Leopard in the Snow. Those don’t include the words billionaire, bride, mistress or pirate. What on earth will the female reader base her consumer wants on?

For this reason, among others that will soon become clear, we have chosen to investigate the Mills & Boon Desire 2-in-1, named 2-in-1 because there are two stories offered in one novel and not because of any sexually-explicit love triangles. In this case we have Emilie Rose’s The Millionaire’s Indecent Proposal and Under the Millionaire’s Influence by Catherine Mann, two writers challenging readers’ expectations by asking us to fall in love with millionaires when there are so many gorgeous single billionaires running amok. Best of luck, Rose and Mann. Before we tackle the stories, however, our research begins with the publisher’s description of what a Desire is.

Originally an imprint at Silhouette over a Simon & Schuster the sub-genre was bought by Harlequin in the mid-eighties and today Mills & Boon operates it solely as 2-in-1, having before that run it as Desire Double. Why is Desire only sold as two times the amount of novel at twice the price? No one seems willing to explain, but each coupling is themed, as ours is themed by millionaires and force, while others might instead use cowboy tycoons, secret babies, virgin brides, billionaires, blackmail and force. With instant appeal and obvious differences between others sub-genres aspiring authors can look to the Writing Help for further information. ‘A powerful, passionate and provocative read…guaranteed!’ it says, temptingly. All alliteration, and rhyming, aside, this is a strong start. Whereas Cherish would guarantee a gentle, loving and inoffensively bland read, Desire sets its stall out without any ado. We can only hope they don’t instantaneously become vague and contradictory in the opening paragraph.

‘Desire books are filled to the brim with strong, intense story-lines. These sensual love stories immediately involve the reader in a romantic conflict and the quest for a happily-ever-after resolution. The novels should be fresh, fast-paced and modern, presenting the hero and heroine's conflicts by the end of chapter one.’ Do you see, gentle reader, here we are offered palpable narrative instructions to help us understand the key variations that mark Desire unique, from, for example, Modern or Nocturne. Those sub-genres are stagnant, meandering and archaic, presenting tensions eventually, once the reader has bored of all the easy-going camaraderie. But who are these heroes and heroines the Author Guidelines speak of and how should we, starry-eyed writers, attempt to present our leading men, other than perhaps making them desirable?

‘The hero should be powerful, wealthy — an alpha male with a sense of entitlement, and arrogance. While he may be harsh and direct, he is never physically cruel. Beneath his alpha exterior, he displays some vulnerability, and he is capable of being saved. It's up to the heroine to get him there.’ These are the conflict seeds we have previously discussed. Firstly we introduce the hero, as conceited, believing he has the right to have sex with a woman just because he is authoritative and prosperous. However, our heroine is not attracted to those traits, though she is enamoured by his physical appearance, money and influence and thus, over the course of some two-hundred pages, she must teach him to stop being egotistical by having sex with him and acting womanly. Any further character details for those who haven’t been paying attention? ‘The Texan hero should own the ranch, not work on it, and the urban hero should be the company CEO, not a handyman.’ Indeed. Female readers will not buy A Texas Handyman’s Respectful Courting, and more fool you for even suggesting it.

Desire heroes, therefore, are much like all the other Mills & Boon heroes, with the exception of Cherish men, who, by this definition, aren’t men at all. Now, what of the protagonist, the heroine herself? ‘She is complex and flawed, strong-willed and smart, though capable of making mistakes when it comes to matters of the heart. The heroine is equally as important as the hero, if not more so. There is room for both protagonists' perspective, as long as his thoughts are centered on the heroine and their conflict. Desire novels are usually 60% heroine and 40% hero.’ Everyone understands percentages. We can expect our two upcoming Desire novels to be more women-centric than any examples from the other categories. Due to this statistical breakdown then, it is advisable to create a compelling heroine with more depth than cooing at babies in supermarkets and having frizzy hair on especially humid days, although it is most likely this is what they meant by complexities and flaws.

‘The conflict should be dramatic with such classic plot lines as revenge, secret pregnancies, marriages of convenience and reunion romances.’ Where is the implied prostitution? From the list of fairly standard soap opera clichés we can only hope marriage-of-convenience is code for live-in-mistress-but-not-prostitute-because-they-love-each-other. After all, that is a pretty classic plot line. Wannabe Mills & Boon creators should look to these suggestions for a scenario for their own ideal novel, where a couple reunite, arrange a marriage of convenience and then the heroine makes a terrible mistake in matters of her heart by getting pregnant because of the hero’s arrogant misplaced sense of entitlement, but gets revenge by falling in love with him. We can call it The Millionaire’s Blackmailed Bride’s Secret Baby Revenge. Cox and Fisher would adore that one. All we have left to learn is how many gratuitous sexual acts we will have to type.

‘Desire novels are sensual reads and a love scene or scenes are needed, but there is no set number. Rather, the level of sensuality must be appropriate to the storyline. Above all, every Silhouette Desire novel must fulfill the promise of a powerful, passionate and provocative read.’ Goodness, how helpful. With there being little discernible difference between Desire and Modern, besides a minor emphasis on the heroine, we should assume by the over-use of words such as sensual, passionate and desire, as well as the red cover, that this series will have a large story-appropriate quantity of copulation. Once you have decided your story will contain a wealthy tycoon buying a woman for cohabitation (and possibly more!) only to discover his physical attraction blossoms into genuine emotional connection you are going to need a gregarious attitude towards describing their love-making just to reach the required fifty-five thousand words.

First up for our reading pleasure is the aforementioned The Millionaire’s Indecent Proposal by Emilie Rose, part of her 2007 Monte Carlo series that included The Prince’s Ultimate Deception and The Playboy’s Passionate Pursuit, so we can comfortably assume Emilie knows what she is doing. The blurb promises passion and drama and the title hints are derivativeness. ‘Would she accept one million euros to be his mistress for a month? How could practical American Stacy Reeves say no to Franco Constantine's proposal?’ Hopefully these are the first of many deeply philosophical questions the scenario will throw up. How do women refuse money in exchange for sex? ‘The wealthy, arrogant CEO of Midas Chocolates was overwhelmingly passionate in his pursuit. Their union would be pure pleasure, but Stacy did not know Franco's offer was part of a bet.’

Intrigue, pleasure and chocolate, the dream trifecta for every lady of a certain age, but how does this differ from Modern’s The Billionaire’s Housekeeper Mistress, besides the gulf in wealth? Reading through the Writing Guidelines we are supposed to study before submitting our manuscript to the beloved publishers the only alteration should become apparent from reading on, and that shall be the focus on Stacy over Franco. This suits the story perfectly, as Franco, a millionaire who pays vast sums for call-girls, can remain suitably enigmatic, to hide his blatant sleaziness under layers of sexy mystery, while Rose can delve into Stacy’s psyche and convince the reader that her protagonist’s actions are credible. Our empathy will be vital to prevent us from falling into the trap of leading with prejudices and concluding that Stacy sounds like a hussy. Emilie Rose will presumably do this by making Franco incredibly gorgeous, charming and seductive, the offer impossible to turn down and the terms quite agreeable, thus under-mining those guarantees of passion, drama and provocation.

"What I need is someone who's going to be in my bed at 2 a.m. who I don't have to lie to or eat breakfast with"

Mills & Boon Modern Romance attempts to assimilate the old-fashioned joy of falling in love into this contemporary world, offering second-hand joy to readers whose understanding of romance has been warped slightly by living in a world devoid of old-fashioned romance. Mills & Boon are escapist fantasies, offering fairy-tale scenarios through a rose-tinted view of our social landscape with the smooth veneer of nostalgia. Recently, the publishing monolith has aspired for modernity beyond stamping their novels with the word Modern. Spice has upped the sexual quota to a hedonistic-degree that trendy, urban types will immediately recognise. Paranormal hopes to cash in on the ludicrous success of Twilight, The Vampire Diaries and The Next Big Thing because part of the future is sanitising out-dated horror staples. Will these young, go-getters of love check potential dates on Facebook, update the progress of their relationships via Twitter, watch Blu-Rays together and do other things that are all the rage among twenty and thirty-somethings nowadays?

One can only hope to never find out. Of course, there is one romantic phenomenon that those who are out-of-touch, but still running large entertainment conglomerates, are beginning to recognise and that is the always thrilling-to-watch-from-the-outside trend of friends with benefits, or 'physical coupling buddies'. Soon there will be a few television series about it, there have already been films and there will be a few more, and if they haven't already, soon enough Harlequin will catch up, because they have their finger on the pulse of young people's wrists even more solidly than we Bewildered Hearts. What is a friend who offers other benefits besides friendship, however? Should we look it up on the Urban Dictionary so we don't appear uncool? Do the kids still say 'cool'? No, let's get our information from the usually reliable and insightful source of a glossy Hollywood romantic comedy? That's where we learnt so much about Valentine's Day, and Evita.

No Strings Attached tells the story of a serial romantic, Adam, played by Ashton Kutcher's mop of hair, who falls for a hard-working trainee-doctor, Emma (Natalie Portman's remaining integrity), over the course of a series of unlikely coincidences. Adam is troubled due to his ex-girlfriend beginning a relationship with his own father, while Emma is incapable of emotion, brittle and so dedicated to her work she has neither the time nor the interest for loving. The film manages to hint that she is also emotionally-healthy, suitably ambitious and willing to sleep her way to the top of her profession, alienating friends and colleagues all the while, although some of this is only barely hinted at because Adam is supposedly our protagonist, despite the film's incompetent story-telling. While Adam is our lead, the demands of the plot rest on Emma's arc from becoming a girl without a boyfriend to being a girl with a boyfriend. Before she can complete this transition, though, there is the complicated matter of filling out a running time and dick jokes can only go so far.

Emma has the bright idea of sleeping with Adam in a number of different locations, but refuses to become emotionally-involved for reasons that are never adequately explained. Adam, meanwhile, remains exactly the same for the entirety of the movie. No Strings Attached has all the hallmarks of a hip, young-people film, including a twenty-something screenwriter, Natalie Portman as both star and executive producer, the presence of Ashton Kutcher, a veritable who's who of up and coming actors (Olivia Thirlby, Ophelia Lovibond, Greta Gerwig, Kevin Kline), an uninhabited homosexual character, a black friend character played by a rapper, a sixty-four-year-old director and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo appearance by Tim Matheson. Characters have iPhones regardless of their material wealth, make inappropriate jokes about genitalia, fetishise contrived lesbianism and somehow force in references to Glee, all the while relying on romantic comedy clichés such as strained parental ties and siblings getting married to reinforce a desire for a similarly committed bond.

Every effort is made to update No Strings Attached as a modern romcom, but on their first date Adam takes Emma to a miniature golf course and then to an all-night diner where they innocently squabble over a shared milkshake. Once the predictable end to the formula comes the viewer is left to wonder whether the conservative attitudes were intentional. No matter how much the youth attempt to avoid traditional relationships with their ironic emotional distance, casual sex and devotion to their careers deep down everyone craves the same thing, and that is what their parents where unable to achieve, a happy-ever-after and a kiss atop a fountain while an elf plays the violin. We are all slaves to our sex-specific mating interests and even Hollywood's continued delusion towards glorifying individualism and the free-spirited pursuit of dandyism can break us from the conclusion that humans are simple animals who like babies, houses and Ashton Kutcher movies.

Be that as it has been scientifically-proven to be, No Strings Attached remains responsible for its inept fumbling of narrative, characters and comedy. Evolution cannot be blamed for everything. Adam and Emma are smug, instantly-detestable, hard to warm to and face no difficulties in their idealised versions of life. For the film to work with Adam as its hero and the love story told through his mentality, the world of the film would have needed to have been heightened with a satirical play on gender roles. Adam is the feminine male, the romantic, betrayed by broken entanglements yet still relentlessly optimistic. His long-time goals are marriage and family and he is honest in the validity of these dreams. Emma, meanwhile, takes on the masculine form as Adam's emotional counter-point, refusing connection beyond the physical, commitment-phobic and rejecting the social norms that dictate love shall bring stability and happiness.

However, because of the realism of the characters' rooting there is never a satisfactory excuse given for Emma's inability to accept feelings. Her sister and mother are healthy, her father is never mentioned. She is self-assured, funny, smart and grounded. Therefore, Adam, the hero, must work even harder to convince Emma to reject her principles, prove that work and relationships can be combined and also manage to solve the deep-rooted cause of her emotional frigidity, with hilarious results. Still, to shirk on laughs is forgivable if the film's inclination is for conceptual credibility, but with neither you have a romantic comedy that is not romantic, comedic or believable.

The other option, and clearly the one the filmmakers decided to follow two-thirds into their picture, is to make Emma the heroine having to re-evaluate her ambitions when a friend with benefits turns into what a friend with benefits is, someone you like who you have sex with. Consistently throughout the film supporting characters and strangers walking their dog in the middle of the night tell Adam that such a scenario is unworkable in the long-term, but this is surely no revelation as the system is designed to be transitory and functional. Inevitably, thanks to the central conceit being short-sighted and misunderstood by the writer, there is no drama to the concept, no mystery and no insight. This leaves us with nothing more than a pathetic attempt to repackage When Harry Met Sally... without the wit, iconic scenes, depth or Billy Crystal. Critics have argued the film is feminist, as did the director, but if this were the case Emma would have been the protagonist and all the obstacles the central romance faced would not have stemmed from her independence masquerading as psychological problems which are then cured by a penis.

As the story actually goes, Adam meets the girl of his dreams only to discover girls are weird! However, because of his manhood and sturdy torso she stops being weird and starts crying and speaking sentimentally. With Emma as the film's centre there would be greater nuance and a more compelling protagonist. We also might have had what the writer originally intended, less of a generic, broad romantic comedy, and more of an insular exploration of the troubles facing modern women trying to juggle the professional with the personal, with evolutionary conditioning drilling maternal instincts into their pretty, little brains. Does such a sexual agreement between colleagues afford the ideal situation for determined career types, and furthermore is that an interesting scenario for a feature film? We shall have to wait and see, for No Strings Attached sets out to do all kinds of things and ends up only doing one, being a terrible feature film, two hours of Ashton Kutcher attempting to convey bafflement with his lips.

Would a Mills & Boon author aspire to tell the tale of two friends who start having sex only to continue to have sex? Presumably we can discount this as a classically-structured romance for a number of obvious reasons. Still, we have reviewed books on this very site where friends become lovers, eventually, after endlessly discussing whether increased intimacy might destroy the bonds of friendship. The stakes are never high enough and the journey is no challenge. The casual attitudes of the characters towards sex, fidelity and commitment mean that the mighty struggle to come to terms with what they risk lacks significance. No Strings Attached would have worked much more strongly had Emma lost Adam at the finale, with her coming to a realisation about priorities against a more credible backdrop of responsibilities and incitement. Of course, had that been so the film would not have been considered a romance and therefore Bewildered Heart would have been saved from having to watch it.

"A shyness came between them, a shyness that stirred expectantly, like a tree whispering in the wind"

There was more to The Texas Billionaire's Pregnant Bride: An Evolutionary Interpretation of Romance Fiction Titles than a few tables of statistics suggesting women like babies, commitment, money and men from the rural southern states of America, although the majority of the paper did seem devoted to suggesting that. Amongst all the data and well-educated conclusive opinions hid a few paragraphs that attempted to make sense of the grandest question of all, the conundrum that has riddled generations for generations. Why do our collective female population keep buying these terrible books and is the answer more complicated than that many women buy romance novels for the same reason that many men watch Zack Synder movies? Simply put, the human species is really lousy and we are all doomed.

Not so, say Anthony Cox and Maryanne Fisher, or, more likely, not just that. On page two of their paper they enter into the nitty gritty of examining the inexplicably enduring success of the genre. They quote Deborah Camp, from Rita Gallagher and Rita Clay Estrada's Writing Romances: A Handbook by the Romance Writers of America, to help point out that said novels help to satisfy an 'insatiable appetite for love in all its guises.' Not all of its guises, of course, merely the most idealised, joyous and treasured kind of eternal love that knows only easily-surmountable, amateurishly-contrived obstacles, and only love as it is first discovered to then flourish most brightly against all the odds between very beautiful people in a series of expensive and exotic locations. 'Past analyses of romance novels have extensively relied upon socio-cultural interpretations. For example, Camp writes, '(The) stories appeal to females because they teach lessons of nurturing, of aspiring, of following your heart, and of finding success.''

This is correct, but the attribution is over-simplified. Stories with female protagonists learning, daring to dream and being rewarded for enterprising behaviour are not exclusive to the romance genre, albeit a heroine's tale usually revolves around sex-specific mating interests and therefore will invariably concern love and reproduction. Yet how about those age-old tales of small-town girls heading to the big city with dreams of a career in the lucrative, empowering business of dance or musical theatre, where they inevitably struggle against mean-spirited, bitchy rivals and only find support in the cultivating arms of an attractive male, usually portrayed on film by Cam Gigandet's torso? Speaking of patriarchal interpretations to further denigrate feminist principles that women can be more than mothers, nightclub dancers and wives, there's also this. 'Feminist scholars such as Germaine Greer propose that the stories reflect women’s acceptance of their “chains of bondage” to patriarchy rather than their true selves. Likewise, Brownmiller, when talking about the occurrence of sex in romance novels, states, “the fantasies are usually the product of male conditioning” rather than an accurate reflection of women’s true desires. Modelski contends that the books provide an “outlet for female resentment” whereby heroines rebel against male authority figures.'

Bewildered Heart has sensibly steered clear of this debate for fear of revealing an embarrassing misconstruction of feminism. More importantly, however, we don't wish to guide the weblog away from its original intention of making fun of romance novels. Nevertheless, such subject matter can only be ignored for so long until accusations of misogyny or stupidity are heard from the many readers of the site. The central argument of The Texas Billionaire's Pregnant Bride is that the novel titles accurately reflect women's true desires, and as the majority of the authors are women either they are held down by these chains of bondage (Surely only in Mills & Boon Spice!) and are not manifestly free from male oppression or these stories are female fantasies and should be merited as proof of psychological evolution or dismissed as unadulterated fairy-tales that should not be taken seriously. As those who believe in evolution can attest to current human philosophies of life and aspiration represent our true selves and only the dismantling of romance literature, entertainment, magazines and centuries of religion, capitalism, and whatever else is happening out there, will bring about definitive change to thought processes and stop women from aspiring towards what they already aspire to.

Are Mills & Boon authors holding humanity back with out-dated fantasies entirely constructed around the desires of males, and if so, why are all men written as commitment-phobic and chivalrous for the initial one hundred and eighty pages? Is the alternative more likely, that the authors are merely feeding into the hopes that already exist and that a gorgeous, wealthy, sturdy, physically-immaculate man with dark, enigmatic eyes, ridiculously long, thick eyelashes and no visible signs of pattern balding is the evolutionary goal for every woman, and as the basis for a genre of fiction is more offensive to the emasculated male of the species unaware of these books than the ladies who read them, foolish and misguided enough to form any unrealistic expectations from their titles, covers or contents?

Besides this, 'These interpretations do not satisfactorily explain why romance novels, and Harlequins in particular, have remained so incredibly popular across time and cultures.' Too right, Cox and Fisher. The Feminists are free to their righteous intolerance, but frankly they are not helping to answer the initial proposition. 'An alternative explanation is that these novels are consistently addressing topics that have universal appeal to women. Evolutionary psychology offers insight into human universals, and suggests that women and men have sex-specific mating dilemmas.' We couldn't have put it better ourselves. Perhaps male conditioning can be interpreted as human nature and we, as people, are naturally predisposed to procreate to further our family trees. Harlequin and Mills & Boon take this evolutionary impulse, slap a seductive title and photograph on the cover and call it pure reading pleasure. Likewise, we have even evolved to finding a sense of humour and a picturesque, though nonsensical, green map background attractive so even bitter and unwanted websites are able to sow their seeds through links.

'Across cultures, women tend to be the primary caregivers. Furthermore, women have notably lower limits on the number of children that they can have, as compared to men. These differences have led evolutionary psychologists to propose that women tend to seek commitment from their mates, and prefer mates who have a propensity to accrue resources since they will need these resources while they tend to the children. Therefore, we propose that a better interpretation for the success of Harlequin romance novels is that the books are addressing women’s sex-specific, evolved, mating interests,' explain Cox and Fisher, although they cannot specifically argue that the romance publishers, or their readers, are overtly aware of this. In truth, it matters not, because evolution has defined our idea of a happy ending and despite this doing little to explain what words men look for in book titles, it does at least help us resolve that nagging issue of why women read Mills & Boon by the truckload, and that's because they are evolutionarily predisposed to do so for the benefit of humankind. Therefore, to malign the genre, and the weblogs that have resulted from its existence, and to call for its end, is not only feather-brained it is practically apocalyptic.

"Men could be hired anywhere at any time... for only a few dollars a month”

One of the many troubling aspects of writing a weblog concerning romance fiction, besides the continuing prospect of having to read and write about romance fiction, is the clear lack of positivistic analysis of psychology related to scientific studies at renowned universities. Worry not though, Bewildered Hearts, for all that is about to change thanks to The Texas Billionaire's Pregnant Bride: An Evolutionary Interpretation of Romance Fiction Titles. You read that correctly, dear reader. Apparently one Anthony Cox from the Centre for Psychology and Computing in Dartmouth, Canada and one Maryanne Fisher from the Department of Psychology in wherever St. Mary’s University is have teamed up to make sense of fifteen thousand and nineteen book titles published between 1949 and 2009 by Harlequin, North America's very own Mills & Boon.

So, how did Cox and Fisher decide to use this huge amassed amount of information and what did they hope this venture would prove? 'First, we identified the most frequently occurring words to determine the most prevalent issues addressed by titles. Second, we performed a qualitative analysis to identify the most popular, recurring themes that appear in the titles.' Hmm, that sounds like something someone might do to obtain grant money, but for those in the audience already bored by phrases such as 'qualitative analysis' is there a pithy sentence in the opening paragraph that might set out a conclusion so obvious it renders the entire research nugatory? 'Our results indicate that Harlequin romance novel titles are congruent with women’s sex-specific mating strategies, which is surmised to be the reason for their continued international success.' Bewildered Heart likes the sound of women's sex-specific mating strategies, but we can't help but wonder whether the world needs hard evidence to show that Harlequin and Mills & Boon are successful because they offer a product that deals with an element of life a large proportion of women think about.

Still, there are fifteen more pages of charts, tables and statistics to wade through, so enough questioning the time and cost that was wasted here, and let us examine the findings. Cox and Fisher break down this vast number of texts into Harlequin's own hilariously-titled sub-categories, such as Love-Inspired (Christian emphasis, inspired by love, no actual love), Super-Romance (Really good romance), NASCAR (Thanks to a clever marketing strategy to combine romance with NASCAR), American Romance (For patriots) and, of course, Flipside, which lasted three years before someone realised the name might be misconstrued as homosexual. To complicate matters further, our clever authors included the Silhouette Imprint and their own remarkably varied list of subgenres, which aren't nearly as silly-sounding as those of their sister company, so little wonder most are now defunct. With their database full to over-flowing with romantic words and their technical normalising work complete, the complex algorithms did their business and now the public can marvel at the surprising results. Do you think billionaire and sheik made the list of most used male occupations? How about disenchanted blogger?

With the paper outlining Harlequin's success, 5.8 billion books sold so far and counting, they go onto speculate explanations for why, and how. According to a study over at Parapublishing, a potential consumer will spend an average of eight seconds weighing up a book's appeal before buying it. As Oscar Dystel points out, in Mass Market Publishing: More Observations, Speculations and Provocations Harlequin do little to distinguish their 'uniform, homogenized, quality controlled' novels. Therefore, within these aforementioned eight seconds the potential reader forms an opinion based on the subtle differences between the books, which are the title, the author name and the photograph of a couple canoodling. Naturally, Harlequin are well aware of their target audience, and in fact, romance fiction publishers conduct more market research than any other publisher. They know what women want from their romance fiction and, for financial reasons, give it to them via implied semantic signifiers.

Therefore, when female consumers trawl through the shelves at a down-market bookshop for as long as we still have bookshops, and after that trawl through the Mills & Boon website, their eyes and opinions are immediately shaped by the title, and shortly thereafter the blurb. Yet we have learned that the blurbs lie and we have also learned that titles lie, so in one sense, the commercial draw of an enticing title is vital yet largely immaterial to plot and characters. As we have witnessed, the salacious aspect of Bewildered Heart's wanton desire for romance fiction means we search the library shelves for certain words. There is no logic in trying to pick a good one, so we pick the ones that offer our favourite clichés of the genre. Those include reclusive billionaires, emasculated former circus performers, brunettes, small business owners, Hugh Jackmen and ladies dressed in costumes of cartoon animals. Had Mills & Boon ever visited this internet treasure trove of useful information they would surely have published The Kinda Hugh Jackman-Looking Emasculated Former Circus Performer Billionaire's Brunette Wearing a Cartoon Animal Costume Mistress, Accidentally Pregnant!

The results substantiate what Cox and Fisher seemed intent on proving, that women's evolved sex-specific mating interests are consistent with the words found in Harlequin titles and the heroine's yearnings within its pages. The top twenty most popular words were Love, Bride, Baby, Man, Marriage, Heart, Secret, Wife, Doctor, Night, Christmas, Cowboy, Wedding, Child, Family, Texas, Nurse, Woman, Lady, and Husband. Danielle shall be delighted to note the absence of mistress from the list. So, Cox and Fisher argue, we can ascertain that what women want from their romance books are Texan cowboy doctors marrying and impregnating a nurse at night on Christmas, whilst one of them hides a secret family. Furthermore, says the paper, what women want from their romance fiction is what women want from life and this means the ideal characteristics of the perfect husband are decency, healing hands, a well-paid job (or cowboy) and a love of fidelity, Christmas, Texas, cooing at babies in supermarkets and different nouns for the same word.

Don't lose hope though, men who are unlikely to become doctors or cowboys, for Fisher and Cox have listed the twenty most frequently occurring professions in romance novels and they are as follows: Doctor, Cowboy, Nurse, Boss, Prince, Rancher, Knight, Surgeon, King, Bodyguard, Sheriff, Soldier, Lawman, Pirate, Secretary, Consultant, Midwife, Cattleman, CEO, Executive. It shouldn't take an academic to note that these careers fit into four categories. Medical: Doctor, Nurse, Surgeon, Midwife. Masculine: Cowboy, Rancher, Knight, Bodyguard, Sheriff, Soldier, Lawman, Pirate, Cattleman. Billionaire: Boss, Prince, King, CEO, Executive. Other: Secretary, Consultant. Secretary would depend largely on the inclusion of Boss, while Consultant is frankly the most confusing one, and that is on a list that includes Pirate. So, what straightforward conclusions can we gleam from these results? Cox and Fisher note, 'two primary themes: resource-based (e.g., doctors, surgeons, CEOs, kings) and athletic (e.g., cowboys, cattlemen). Perhaps related to the athletic theme is that of protectors (e.g., sheriffs, soldiers, lawmen) since these professions also require a high level of physical fitness. Therefore, our hypotheses concerning resources and physical fitness gained at least partial support, given the emphasis on these professions.' See, they glossed over Consultant and Pirate as well.

To round out the findings the authors define eight distinct themes, beginning with the most evident and ending with the afterthoughts: 1. Commitment, 2. Reproduction, 3. Western, 4. Resources, 5. Medical, 6. Christmas, 7.Royalty, and finally, 8. Professional. Now, this data is inevitably skewed by Harlequin's Medical and Western subgenres, and a world of lazily unimaginative writers. Despite this, the popularity of these books should not be overlooked. They should be looked at as indicative of the reader's sex-specific mating interests, and when done so doctors and cowboys are basically the same man, strong, nurturing, able, protective, passionate, land-owning, wearing funny outfits and using unorthodox methods of transportation.

With the irrefutable proof out of the way, the authors can move onto their wild and unreasoned conclusions. For example, 'The 20 most frequent words clearly suggest long-term commitment and reproduction are important to readers.' As other writers have pointed out, with far less research and intelligence to back them up, the romance genre is defined by a happy ending, and unlike life, a successful relationship involves having children and dying together. Therefore many of the words and themes that appear throughout the titles are a requirement of the form of story-telling. While no one should be surprised to see marriage and offspring hinted at by the book names, there were a handful of actual surprises. 'The word “attractive” appears only once in the database, and “handsome” only six times. Synonyms like “gorgeous” appear rarely (gorgeous appears three times), and the word “athletic” does not appear at all.'

What does this mean? As it turns out, nothing, 'It must be noted that there are only a few adjectives that describe the characters’ traits in the database. The majority of the words are nouns that identify the characters’ roles, such as bride, executive, or husband.' However, a quick glance at the contents of the book assuages any doubts regarding the physical attractiveness of the characters. It goes without saying that Texan billionaire doctors who own a ranch are rugged and gorgeous. However, Cox and Fisher are obviously dedicated to the subject of evolutionary psychology and whether or not Harlequin Enterprises entitle their books with a keen understanding of evolutionary psychology. They surmise, rather disappointingly, that such technical terms are interchangeable with common sense. Importantly, there is no way of proving how successful the books are, and whether a title such as The Texas Billionaire's Pregnant Bride would sell more or less copies than The Welsh Lorry Driver's Infertile Pen Pal, although common sense would surely prevail.

Due to these flaws and a seemingly tentative understanding of the genre, the study offers little valuable insights for a prospective romance writer, besides maybe dusting off those boots of yours and giving cowboys another spin. The focus of the article concerns itself with the sex-specific mating strategies of women, and only deal with the what, leaving the why tantalisingly vague. Why would a woman's ideal man be rich, caring, honest, loyal, virtuous, handsome, muscular, intelligent, kind, stable and also a doctor? Please don't just argue that evolution explains everything, because otherwise we are going to need a scientific analysis on what evolution is and then another one explaining why Texans don't believe in evolution.