The Unkind Treatment of the Romance Genre

In David Gerrold's The World of Star Trek, he presents one of the best definitions of romance novels every made. Speaking of female fans' reactions to Leonard Nimoy's Spock, he writes, "The pointed ears and arched eyebrows suggested great strength and masculinity with a healthy hint of controlled evil. But Spock's conscious suppression of emotion, as well as his unavailability as a sexual object, made him (in the words of one of these young ladies), 'A safe rape. You could love him without risking your virginity" (Gerrold's emphasis). Gerrold continues, "Each of these [women] believed that she was the one who could warm up Mr. Spock. If she could be given half a chance, she could get through to him."

This is romance fiction at its most basic. The male is inevitably strong, dangerous, but--through a hard, disillusioning life--has learned to control his base instincts . . . until he meets the one woman who overwhelms him sensually and intellectually, restoring him to a socially-acceptable, constructive life.

In my novella Mr. B Speaks!, the Committee for Literary Fairness is appalled by the possibility that Pamela might be construed as this type a romance novel. When a romance genre expert shows up, the committee take exception:

“I review romance novels,” said Deborah.

Gary [Professor Just-Call-Me-Gary] and Dr. Matchel looked pained, but the judge set down a folder and said, “Really? Would you call this novel a romance?”

“Sort of,” Deborah said. “It’s really more a polemic about education and servants and stuff. But it has a lot of the same material you’d find in a romance novel.”

“Such as?”

Dr. Matchel objected: “A discussion of romance novels is hardly appropriate.”

“We are looking for established literary customs,” the judge said briskly. “What are the romantic components in Pamela, Miss Walsh?”

“There’s a heroine, first of all, and she’s good—you know, virtuous. And there’s a hero, and he’s a rake. And he pursues her and sometimes gets her into bed, but he always backs off when she says no, and then they reconcile, and then they marry.”

Dr. Matchel cried, “These romance novels have done more to undermine women’s rights than any other type of literature.”

“Oh, that’s old-school,” Deborah said. “Like people who think women should only have supported Hillary in 2008.”

The judge said, “Do other eighteenth-century novels share these components?”

“No!” Dr. Matchel said, but Leslie Quinn said, “Yes. Novels for the middle-class. Broadsheets. The romantic romance isn’t new. Everyone likes a juicy story.”

The judge glanced at Mr. B who looked rather shell-shocked. The judge couldn’t blame him. Mr. B was being depicted as either a lecher or a champion. Personally, the judge thought both roles would prove uncomfortable.

Dr. Matchel and Gary's shock and discomfort is something I have encountered in academic settings. The specific shock is aimed at the low character of romances; the general shock is over the low character of genre writing (see Eugene's lastest post for some thoughts on high versus low literature). It's okay to read stuff like romances for fun, but it's not okay to talk about it (though if you must, be sure to call it "erotica").

I think this discomfort misses the point (as so many academic reactions do). There are badly written romances. There are also well-written ones. But any piece of literature that people actually care about is going to grapple with human emotions. And this is exactly what romances do. The characteristics/reactions that Gerrold listed aren't silly or wrong-headed or simply the product of undeveloped minds. I might not care for them when they show up in Twilight, but I recognize their power, their force, in male/female relationships: their reality. As Mr. B ponders at one point during the trial:

Simply not having sex was unthinkable. He could hardly handle sleeping alone. And Pamela was an eager participant in the marriage bed whatever his detractors might think.

They were an odd people, these twenty-first-century inhabitants—far more obsessed with sex than most libertines, but strangely repressive and easily shocked. Only this idealistic young girl [Deborah, the romance reviewer], who reminded him of his oldest daughter, seemed to take him at face value.

Although the true problem could be that romance novels just aren't angsty enough!

Gary rolled his eyes. “And, of course, romance novels always have perfect weddings.”

“Of course.”

“The whole novel is nothing but trite and shallow pandering,” Gary declaimed. “What about death, disease, poverty, slavery, racism—all the terrible issues of the eighteenth century? Hmm? I mean women couldn’t even vote! But no, we’re fixated on watching an inconsequential couple tie the knot.”

The judge glanced towards the characters’ table. Mr. B was still smiling faintly. He hadn’t flinched at being called “inconsequential.” Presumably, people of the eighteenth century were less obsessed with getting their “day in court” than people of the twenty-first.

The judge reminded himself not to chuckle at his own pun.

“People hid their heads in the sand,” Gary was still declaiming. “Just like they do today.”

Deborah said, “That sounds like the end of a lecture,” and Gary reddened.

She was probably right, but the judge didn’t want audience members giving the CLF any (more) reason to complain.

He said pacifically, “Different novels cover different topics.”

Leslie Quinn agreed, “People in the eighteenth century still had to work, love, have children, get along. Those topics never go away.”

Dr. Matchel said, “But romance novels don’t deal with real domestic problems. They end with the wedding, giving readers the false impression that married life will be eternally happy. Escapist literature!”

“This novel doesn’t end with the wedding,” Lonquist said.

Mr. Shorter muttered, “What’s wrong with escapism?”

Deborah added, “Dark and depressing isn’t automatically profound.”

“Let’s hear about the wedding,” the judge said.

Like Deborah (hey, she is my character), I don't think there is a pscyho-literary (acceptably literary explanation) for romance novels: “Some scholars think the hero actually represents the dark side of the female psyche—the whole thing is sort of Jungian . . . Yes, I know. I think it’s farfetched too. But the point is, the heroine is never completely at odds with the hero.” Rather, I think romance novels are delving into id stuff--stuff that's messy and uncertain and earthy. It's what Barthes called jouissance, delight in the bodily elements. Of course, Barthes had to put a label on it and make it sound literary when any woman over the age of 12 could just tell you that it's about the male/female relationship, both the cerebral and carnal sides as well as the gentle and less gentle sides: the fear that both sexes have towards each other and the possible delight.

And it's not going to go away.

Terminator 2

So I finally saw Terminator 2.

Which is an odd statement to make because I've never seen Terminator 1.

Not that it's all that necessary. Linda Hamilton and guy-from-the-future run from The Terminator. They fall in love, consummate the relationship, kill The Terminator. End of story.

In general, Terminator 2 interested me more, mostly for Robert Patrick, and it is easy to see why this particular movie made him an iconic sci-fi image in his own right. For a part with very, very few lines and very, very little emoting, he manages to sustain a believably villainous robotic persona throughout the entire movie. You can SEE his gears turning over when he processes particular actions. And he gets some exceedingly dry, understated funny moments.

Unfortunately, other than Robert Patrick, Schwarzenegger more than adequately playing Schwarzenegger, two or three scenes with the marvelous Xander Berkeley (he plays the foster dad), the completely underused Joe Morton, the nice cameo of Michael Biehn as Kyle (I watched the extended version), the acting is fairly awful.

Linda Hamilton is at least cool to look at. But Edward Furlong is bad beyond belief. And, surely, there were other child actors available!? For such an important role?!

On top of which, the movie itself isn't all that good. I think my expectations were too high. But it was typical Cameron: lots of flash and glam, little underlying grit.

There's lots THERE. But it's all over the place: are we supposed to get invested in Sarah Connor's search for a father for John (one of the more interesting parts of the film)? Or in John Connor's maturing process? Or in The Terminator's humanizing process? Or in Miles Dyson's decision to give up his important and, possibly, positive research because a bunch of psychopaths tell him he'll cause Armageddon?

Geez, at least T-1000 just does his job.

The movie seems to waver all over the place, and it made me realize why Avatar would likely be a waste of my time. A good action movie should have one main objective (stop the bank robbers) with one main character arc (I can inspire my partner to step up to the plate). Terminator 2 has about 50 objectives and character arcs, but it doesn't deal with any of them on a full-time basis.

Having said all that, I HAVE come to realize why the Terminator mythology has spawned such a following. The mythology is more than a little cool. The possibilities (the questions listed above) could each take their own graphic novel or book to explore. And I can think of more--like how about reprogramming T-1000 to be good? Or having John Connor take over Cyberdyne and create a more robot/human-friendly future (a la Asimov)?

Besides, it may not be the greatest movie in the world, but at least it isn't "literary".

The Partners of Detective Logan

Detective Logan (played by Chris Noth) on Law & Order has had several excellent partners:

Sergent Max Greevey (George Dzunda) is Logan's buddy. His married-with-kids lifestyle complements Logan's carefree, somewhat secular, bachelor existence. In one of my favorite episodes ("Sonata for Solo Organ"), he giggles like an adorable teddy-bear over Logan's outrageous flirting. Despite being amused by Logan, Greevey sees his life as the more stable and productive. He is also more conservative than Logan as indicated in the episode "Prisoner of Love" where he tries to remove himself from the case because of the victim's kinky lifestyle.

Logan and Greevey, though different, rarely argue or disagree. They behave like men who are thoroughly used to, and comfortable with, each other.

Sergent Phil Cerreta (Paul Sorvino) has a much more fatherly attitude towards Logan. Of all Logan's partners, he most often refers to Logan as "Mikey." Like Greevey, Cerreta is a married man with kids, but he comes across as more at ease in his own skin In "Self Defense," he testifies against the prosecution; although he didn't approach the defense, he makes clear to Stone, without apology, that he will say exactly what he thinks on the stand, even if what he says helps the defense.

Logan often argues with Cerreta, but he will bow to his partner's point of view, especially when dealing with the D.A.s.

Detective Lennie Briscoe (played by the gentlemanly Jerry Orbach) is Logan's mirror-self. He IS Logan, all grown-up and divorced. They not only have similar builds (tall and lanky), they share similar views of the world. They are also similar in their sometimes inappropriate, non-PC behavior. Logan, who never warms to his partners immediately, has a harder time warming to Briscoe than to the others mostly due to Briscoe's blunt-speak. (Briscoe is more diplomatic than Logan gives him credit for; although he knows Cerreta won't be returning to duty, he allows Logan to figure this out in his own time.)

When Logan becomes part of the Major Case squad (Law & Order: Criminal Intent), he gets two partners in succession. His first, Detective Carolyn Barek (Anabella Sciorra) is an interesting character but ultimately not a good mirror to Logan (Noth).

To elucidate: D'Onofrio's Criminal Intent character, Goren, needs a "passer"--another character to feed him behaviors, attitudes, and lines. This sounds belittling to his partner (Eames played by Kathryn Erbe), but from a writing point of view, it is a valuable skill, and Erbe is very good at it. (She's so good, it is necessary to rewatch episodes several times to realize how quietly and unobtrusively she helps a scene move towards a denouement. Unfortunately, the ability to "assist" is often ignored in Hollywood--though not, thank goodness, in basketball. Kudos John Stockton!)

Noth's character, on the other hand, needs a mirror--a character that highlights parts of Logan's personality by revealing his similarities or differences to his partners. And Barek was too different, too remote, too self-contained to do this effectively.

Detective Megan Wheeler (played by Julianne Nicholson), on the other hand, is a truly inspired piece of writing/casting. She is perfect as Logan's mirror. For one, Nicholson's unique and utterly bone-centered beauty matches Noth's handsomeness. For another, Wheeler's comparative youth highlights Logan's (slightly) mellowed middle-age plus his hands-on attitude. And her tentative loyalty is something that Logan badly needs.

I do find it interesting, and intelligent, that Noth and D'Onofrio are rarely paired together. Not only are both guys SO HUGE they tend to physically dwarf scenes they are in (hey, is anyone else in that room?), they are both chew-the-scenery guys. With Noth, this is simply a matter of innate and rather remarkable charisma. With D'Onofrio, it is how he tackles scripts, so the audience feels exposed to Goren's inner life in every scene. When they are together, there is rarely any balance.

Apart, however, they've got good partners! And Logan has been blessed with fine ones throughout his career.

(I am aware that the above post skips between discussing the characters from an "outside" point of view and discussing them from within the fictional world. This is the sort of thing that annoys Wikipedia editors, but what-the-hey, I'm aware of both things when I watch a show, so I figured I'd combine them here.)

A Man of Few Words, Second Edition!

The second edition of A Man of Few Words is now available on Amazon Kindle! 

A character study, A Man of Few Words explores Jane Austen’s Fitzwilliam Darcy as he responds to canonical events within Pride & Prejudice. Darcy’s delight, heartbreak, and occasional confusion are carefully detailed. Although containing new scenes and dialog heretofore unreported, A Man of Few Words concentrates on the life-altering moments selected by Austen and remains true to Austen’s original intent. A Man of Few Words does not alter Darcy's history; rather, it reveals the mental viewpoint and cogitation of this most celebrated romantic hero. 

To clarify, the second edition contains more of Darcy's inner-life from his analysis of Mr. Bennet's character to his worries about his unmanageable hair to his in-depth reflections on the purpose of social interactions. There are a few additional scenes, but most additions focus on elucidating Darcy's character.

Currently, the second edition is only available through Kindle. It will appear on other sites, including Smashwords, at a later date.

Mr. B Speaks! can now be found on the Nook and Diesel.

The Humor of 18th Century Writers--Really!

Humor is surprisingly non-translatable. A few years ago, in a forlorn effort to compete with American Idol, another network held a talent contest which included a humor section. The producers eventually dumped the humor section. Unlike singing (one is either on key or not), humor is so entirely personal and subjective, the judges and contestants and audience were continually at odds.

On the other hand, laughing at puns and prat-falls is part of the human condition. Shakespeare is very funny although in his case, a literal translation (what do those words mean?) helps.

In writing Mr. B Speaks! I wanted to show how (deliberately) funny Richardson could be. In my novella, much of Mr. B's testimony (where he retells the story of Pamela), especially his recitation of the dialog, matches the original text (only, not as wordy).

Pamela herself is not always amusing. The text's humor arises from the quick-fire exchanges between Pamela and Mr. B. Like Bones and Booth, Nick and Nora, Pamela and Mr. B thrive on playing off each others' words. (This is one reason the second book is markedly less successful than the first, although still interesting: Pamela and Mr. B are reduced to fighting and making up rather than verbally sparring.)

Pamela is the perfect straight-woman.

The following scene, which is recounted by Pamela in Letter XVI, shows how Pamela will take hold of Mr. B's words to support her own argument.

I’d stopped by Mrs. Jervis’s parlor to tell her my travel plans to Lincolnshire where our family’s original estate is located. She was interviewing a farmer’s daughter; I didn’t want to disturb them, so I went to the back parlor and rang for Mrs. Jervis.

"Is your visitor Farmer Nichols or Farmer Brady’s daughter?" I asked when she arrived.

She laughed. "If your honor won’t be angry, I will introduce her, for I think she outdoes our Pamela."

And she brought in Pamela dressed in plain muslin with a black silk kerchief and a straw hat on her head.

A country miss, in fact. Pamela is no fool; she knows clothes make the station.

I got up and came around the oak writing desk. "You are far prettier than your sister Pamela," I said.

"I am Pamela," she told me with a quick upwards glance.

"Impossible," I said. "I can be free with you," and I kissed her lightly on the lips.

She bolted out of the room. Mrs. Jervis clucked.

"What’s she up to?" I said.

"It’s her new wardrobe. She’s been collecting odds and ends over the last week or so."

Damn Pamela and her practicality.

"Get in here," I yelled towards the door, and Pamela sidled in, scowling. "This is pure hypocrisy," I said, waving my hand at the country dress. Pamela didn’t want the life that dress represented.

"I’ve been in disguise ever since your mother brought me here. These clothes are more suitable to my degree."

I was leaning against the desk, my face almost level with Pamela’s. We studied each other, and I noted her set lips and dark, unhappy eyes.

"Oh, Pamela," I said and drew her into my arms.

She didn’t struggle—not this time. "You have to leave," I said to her hair, "only I don’t want that." She tensed instantly, but I strengthened my hold, and she relaxed again, her cheek against my waistcoat. Poor Pamela sent off in disgrace to a life that would sap her dry.

I let her go and addressed Mrs. Jervis. "I’ll submit myself to this hussy for a fortnight and then send her to my sister. Do you hear what I say, statue?"

And Pamela muttered, "I might be in danger from her ladyship’s nephew."

Never imagine that Pamela’s memory is bad. [Mr. B earlier resisted sending Pamela to his sister's because of the nephew.]

"Damned impertinence," I said.

"What have I done that you treat me worse than if I robbed you?"

I almost laughed then because whatever was between me and Pamela was very much like being robbed—of sense or self-preservation.

She wasn’t done. "Why should you demean yourself to notice me? Why should I suffer more than others?"

"You have distinguished yourself above the common servant," I said. She couldn’t have it both ways—she couldn’t write and read and befriend Mrs. Jervis and then want me to treat her like a scullery maid. "Didn’t my good mother desire I take care of you?"

She muttered. I took her chin and forced it up, and she said, nearly spitting, "My good lady did not desire your care to extend to the summer-house and dressing room."

The latter part of the argument is described thus in the original text:

Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, cried he again, how pertly I am interrogated by this saucy slut? Why, sauce-box, says he, did not my good mother desire me to take care of you? And have you not been always distinguished by me, above a common servant? And does your ingratitude upbraid me for this?

I said something mutteringly, and he vowed he would hear it. I begged excuse; but he insisted upon it. Why, then, said I, if your honour must know, I said, That my good lady did not desire your care to extend to the summer-house, and her dressing-room.

Which brings me to the issue of Pamela's "sauciness." (She is described this way more than any other.) The word sounds coy and playful and when I first started working on Mr. B Speaks! I was confused by the disparity between Pamela's acerbic comments, Mr. B's reactions, and the references to her as some kind of giggling flirt.

However, in the second book, Pamela writes a letter to Lady Danvers in which she describes her personality: I am naturally of a saucy temper: and with all my appearance of meekness and humility, can resent, and sting too, when I think myself provoked.

In this context, "saucy" clearly does not denote pleasant flirting but rather sarcastic zingers. This is far more in keeping with Pamela's personality as delineated by Richardson in the first novel. Although Pamela is often portrayed by anti-Pamelites as leading Mr. B on, she is actually fighting to preserve her own space with the best tool available: her quick tongue.

She could hardly anticipate Mr. B would get a huge kick out of verbal sparring!

Pamela didn’t want me to read the letters; she was worried I would be offended by their bluntness. I couldn’t imagine Pamela could be blunter to the page than she was to my face, but I told her to have more confidence in me. I wanted the honest Pamela, not the Pamela who spoke round and round and round a topic, hiding her thoughts and motives.

"I have read many of your barbed reflections," I said. "And yet I’ve never upbraided you on that score." Not very often, at least.

"As long as you remember I wrote the truth from my heart," she said, "and that I had the right to defy this forced and illegal restraint."

"You have a powerful advocate in me," I said and went to my library to read.

The packet contained not only Pamela’s letters to her parents but letters from Williams [a clergyman who proposed to Pamela] and drafts of Pamela’s letters to him. I glowered over them. Pamela had certainly pled her case to Williams most affectingly, and he had definitely presented himself as more a romantic than disinterested savior.

"Do you find I encouraged his proposal?" Pamela said when I called her down and taxed her about her "love letters."

I didn’t, but, "What about the letters before these?" I said. The ones I had started nearly two weeks after I sent Pamela to Lincolnshire. I knew from Mrs. Jewkes that Pamela and Williams began corresponding immediately after her arrival.

"My father has them."

I remembered then that Mrs. Jewkes believed Pamela had given Williams a packet to send to her parents. Mrs. Jewkes had tried to retrieve it by arranging an attack on the poor man. I would not have condoned such a crude scheme, especially since it failed in its purpose.

"I want to read everything you’ve written," I said. "You create a pretty tale of romance around your troubles."

She raised her chin. "You jeer at my misfortunes."

"Considering the liberties you take with my character," I said, brandishing the letters, "I’d say we are equally outspoken."

"I would not have taken liberties if you had not given me cause. The cause, sir, comes before the effect." Pamela’s voice gets quite steely when she’s riled. I held back a smile.

"You chop logic very prettily. What the deuce do men go to school for?"

"You wouldn’t mock me if I were dull."

"I wouldn’t love you half so well," I pointed out.

She flushed. "I’d be better off married to a plough-boy," she told the worn rug, which she knew and I knew wasn’t true.

"One of us fox-hunters would still have found you," I said. I hoped I would have found her. I couldn’t imagine never having met Pamela. "What about the most recent letters, the ones after these? Are they on your person?" And when she remained silent, "You know criminals who don’t confess are tortured."

"Torture is not used in England," she retorted.

"Oh, my torture will fit the crime," I said. "I’m going to strip you, Pamela." I crossed to her and began to slowly untie the lace handkerchief that masked her bosom. She gazed at me, open-mouth, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought she wouldn’t stop me. But she slapped my hand and darted backwards.

"You’ll give me the letters?" I said.

"Yes," she said and fled.

The underlying sexual threat is something I plan to address in a later post. It is also the one area where Pamela is not completely comfortable. The rather remarkable thing about Richardson is that he was a great observer of human nature. When Pamela actually does behave her age (and isn't just acting a spokesperson for Richardson), she behaves that age with utter believability. Like many a teenage girl, she can be ironic and sarcastic and sardonic and, frankly, rather obnoxious--but, when placed in a setting outside her knowledge, she will get completely bewildered and scared.

Unfortunately, Richardson didn't have the consistency of characterization that would place him at the forefront of English novelists (and I'm not sure he cared), but he definitely had the skill to create strong--and witty--characters.