A Damsel in Flight

Chapter 3 of Aubrey: Remnants of Transformation has been published.

Read all about a damsel in flight on my novel page!

E.P. Samokish-Sudkovskaya
Girl's Flight from Cow



The Problem of the Obnoxious Romantic Hero(ine)

"F" is coming up on my A-Z List 2. One of the "F" authors is a romance writer; pondering my review for this author led me to contemplate the problem of the obnoxious romantic heroine.

A little background:

Excellent illustrations of Devil in Winter from

a blog of romance manga

For most of the 20th century, romance novels used demure, innocent heroines alongside domineering, brusque heroes. Towards the end of the 20th century, this combo pack fell out of fashion. It has thankfully come back--that is, it is currently, more than okay to have a feisty, worldly heroine but it is also okay to have a demure, innocent heroine (the best example of the latter type in my opinion is the heroine of Kleypas's Devil in Winter who is demure and innocent while fundamentally tough).

However, for about a decade or so (basically, the 80's), it was considered very bad, dare I say "politically incorrect", to use demure, innocent heroines. Romance writers began presenting readers with pushy, opinionated heroines.

Now, there is nothing wrong with pushy, opinionated heroines (says this opinionated, occasionally pushy blog writer). However, these 80's heroines came fraught with problems.

The two main problems:

1. The heroines were (still) paired with domineering, brusque heroes (who liked having their opinions challenged).
2. Nobody had a sense of humor.

#1 is a problem, not because domineering, brusque heroes never like having their opinions challenged. As Agatha Christie points out in her books, sometimes they do; sometimes they don't--it depends on the guy. #1 is a problem because 80's romance writers would inevitably make the heroines constantly, continually, unendingly challenging.

The hero likes Captain Crunch--she doesn't understand why he doesn't eat something healthier. He reads the Times; oh, he is too, too bourgeoisie. He voted for somebody the heroine doesn't approve of--shock, shock, shock!

A laid-back hero would just shrug and go on eating his Captain Crunch. But the domineering, brusque hero who loves a challenge goes to bat for his opinion, and well, exhausted yet? I mean, can this sort of thing really go on day-in-day-out without making all parties want to crawl into a hole and die? Does it seem even vaguely . . . homelike?

Maybe. But whenever I read these types of romances, I finish the book, thinking, "That marriage has maybe a 20% chance of survival."

And I can't count the number of 80's romances I've read where half-way through, I've started yelling at the hero, "Run! Run for your life!"

Just to be clear (and fair), the reason I yell this at the hero, not the heroine, is NOT because men can't be Mr. I've-Got-To-Challenge-Everybody-All-the-Time too. It is because in these particular novels the heroine is the one who always starts the arguments--presumably, to show how tough she is. The end result . . . Run, Run for your life!

So, can this type of relationship work? Sure!

The relationship between Dr. Cox and his wife/girlfriend/ex-wife/wife Jordan is a great example of a no-nonsense, challenging, alpha female married to a fairly high-maintenance alpha male.

The difference is (1) Jordan's no-nonsense attitude means she is more likely to tell Dr. Cox to cut his crap than to challenge him to death and (2) they both have a sense of humor.

Which brings me to Problem #2.

Romance novels throughout the 20th century are surprisingly lacking in humor (I except Heyer). I think part of this was the writers, but I think part of it was the industry. Romance readers nowadays pretty much expect humor in their romances from Family Ties cuteness to hilarious Powell and Loy dialog.

And it is far, far easier to take pushiness when everyone throws up their hands and laughs at the end of the day.

I will post later about problems with the more-alpha-than-alpha-male solution that still dogs far too many romance series. (These are series in which there are 4-7 male heroes, sometimes brothers, sometimes friends. There's a book for each male; the last book is always about the toughest, strongest, most domineering male of the group, and it is almost always--with few exceptions--a flop).

A Damsel Detained

Chapter 2 of Aubrey: Remnants of Transformation has been published.

Read all about a damsel detained on my novel page!


Hugh Welsh Diamond
Melancholia Passing into Mania

A Damsel in Distress

Chapter 1 of Aubrey: Remnants of Transformation has been published.

Read all about a damsel in distress on my novel page!


Julie Manet with Cat by Renoir from Wikimedia 

Classic Character Actor: Don Knotts

I came to Don Knotts by way of Matlock. In Season 3, he moves in next door to Matlock, playing basically an older version of Barney Fife.

After watching Don Knotts on Matlock, I put myself through a time wrap and checked out The Andy Griffith Show, and there was Don Knotts, absolutely fall-down hilarious.

The thing that impresses me so much about Don Knotts is his versatility. I've written elsewhere that we American media aficionados should be careful of assuming that British-Is-Always-Better. However, there is one thing that British television does do par excellence. Both American and British comedies will often have a comic character who is the butt of all the jokes. In American television, it seems like these characters are ALWAYS the butts, ALWAYS stupid, ALWAYS ridiculous. In British television, these characters will also often be right.

Red Dwarf accomplished this flexibility with Rimmer, played by Chris Barrie (which I wrote about here). The Andy Griffith Show astonishingly accomplishes this with Don Knotts. He's odd, quirky, occasionally vainglorious, romantic, sensitive, shrewd, and, most of all, intrinsically sweet and kind.

One of my favorite episodes is "Andy on Trial." Barney's boasts to a girl get Andy in trouble. The moment Barney realizes what has occurred, he immediately corrects the misinformation that he inadvertently passed on. His serious--yet entirely in character--monologue at the end of the episode always impresses me. Like so many actors from this era, Don Knotts was a remarkably multi-faceted actor.

And some of my favorite parts of The Andy Griffith Show occur when Barney and Andy play music (Andy Griffith was a music guy before he was an actor guy; like with many of these early television shows, the actors go back to Broadway and/or music). Although Barney is supposed to be a "bad singer" (several episodes have him trying to join the local choir), his nasally voice and harmonica work perfectly alongside Andy's guitar and what has been described as Andy's "low tenor and a soft baritone."

Some of the most touching moments in Matlock occur when the two men kick back in the living room and pay tribute to those bygone days when they sang together on Andy Taylor's porch.

I Go Dickens! Serialization of a Novel

Over the next six months, I will be taking a page out of Dickens and publishing chapters from my fantasy novel Aubrey: Remnants of Transformation.

Prospective Cover

In the aftermath of a spell-gone-bad, Aubrey discovers herself in perilous surroundings troubled by inexplicable scars and grisly memories. Initially at the mercy of deceitful fraudsters, she must outwit politicians, police detectives, and aristocrats to escape danger for safety. But is safety her true desire? As the agendas mount, Aubrey must literally as well as figuratively transform--or die.

Chapter 1 will be posted August 16, 2013 on my Novel blog (linked to Votaries of Horror).

Thanks to Eugene for providing feedback on several Aubrey drafts!

Car Superstitions: I KNOW They Can't Be True . . .

My aqua car: I swore I'd

never seen that color on a car

before--until I bought it
and starting seeing that
car color everywhere!

Every time I step out my door, get in my car, and drive, I swear the experience takes on a specific character.

One day will be Truck Day. There are trucks all over the road, cutting in front of me, slowing up traffic, trying to make bad turns.

The next day is Crazy Pedestrian Day. Suddenly, sidewalk strollers are darting out into traffic, not obeying cross-walk signals, strolling down the meridian.

And then it will be Out-of-Town Driver Day which, in Maine, usually means Massachusetts drivers trying to back all the way up (one-way) State Street, just to find a parking space.

I KNOW that the pattern is simply the result of perception--like when you buy a new car and suddenly, EVERYONE has that color car. But that doesn't stop me from determining, "Crap. Today is People-Making-Inconvenient-Left-Turns Day."

Our brains are wired to sort and select information. As an example, students of the brain often refer to the invisible gorilla experiment. The best-known version is a gorilla walking across the floor at a basketball game; when asked, "Did you see the gorilla?" about 1/2 the attendees said, "No."

Apparently, this tunnel-vision works the other way as well--to see only gorillas--which makes sense from a survival standpoint. Our brains are wired to perceive patterns, especially patterns that might save our lives.

However, this wiring often results in confidence about non-statistically viable conclusions. In response to the myth, "Your first answer is usually the right one!" Ken Jennings (in his book Because I Said So! The Truth Behind Myths, Tales, and Warnings Every Generation Passes Down to Its Kids), states the following:

One review found that, out of thirty-three studies, not a single one showed that changing answers hurt test-takers . . . [but] students are more likely to remember the times that an answer change worked out badly, because they'll feel cheated by the last-minute switch that cost them the question. Those memories tend to overshadow the (actually much more common) memories of an answer switch that went from incorrect to correct. It's similar . . . to the conviction that all changes of grocery store checkout lanes result in slower progress. It's not always true, but we're so outraged by the times when it is true that we forget the times when it's not.

Likewise, there are probably just as many trucks and pedestrians and out-of-state drivers on the road (at least in the summer) per day as any other day. But on any given day, my brain will start to sort and store a particular type of road annoyance more than any other.

This doesn't stop me from thinking, "Holy cow, this is Crazy Construction Day!" And I'll swear (no matter how irrational it is) that knowing, "Today is Stupid Blinker Day" helps me prepare against possible accidents.

I just wish someone would send out a memo beforehand!

Don't Entail Smentail, Me! The Difficulty of Entails in Persuasion and Persuadable: Last Chapter

The last chapter of Persuadable is a rebuttal to the ending of the Persuasion (2007) film.

At the end of Persuasion (2007), Captain Wentworth buys Anne's family home. The film correctly indicates that part of Anne's attraction to Mr. Elliot, or at least her attraction to marrying him, is that she will be able to live in her family home. By buying her family home, Captain Wentworth resolves that dilemma (Anne doesn't have to give up anything for love!).

Unfortunately, having Captain Wentworth buy Kellynch Hall makes mincemeat of the plot.

A possible Kellynch Hall from JASA.

If selling Kellynch Hall was this easy, why didn't Sir Walter sell it to begin with? That would be an easy way to clear his debts.

An argument could be made that Sir Walter's vanity won't allow him to give up the manor; this still begs the question: Why would he suddenly be willing to sell at the end of Persuasion (2007)? (There is a possible explanation; the film just never supplies it.)

In Austen's tome, Mr. Elliot wants Kellynch Hall because he is tired of being "Mr." and wants to try out being "Sir." He will be "Sir" without Kellynch Hall, but not to the same degree. And, in the book at least, there's no financial reason for him to give up the hall.

To explain Mr. Elliot's behavior, many movies make him (relatively) poor/in need of funds. This, of course, begs the question of why a poor Mr. Elliot would be chasing after women with small dowries and an estate encumbered with debt. However, even if we assume that Kellynch Hall, unencumbered, could bring in a decent income, there is still an underlying problem:

THE ENTAIL.

Sir Walter's vanity is not the sole block to a sale anymore than Mr. Bennet's passivity is the sole block to his disposing of Longbourn. Both estates are entailed; they can only be passed on to the nearest living male relative: Mr. Elliot or Mr. Collins. And entails in the 19th century were rather difficult to break.

They can be broken, which the passage below discusses in some detail. However, Persuasion (2007) makes no effort to explain how the entail was broken, leaving the viewer to wonder what everyone has been fussing about for 120 minutes. Captain Wentworth just, you know, walked into an estate office one day and, like, said, like, "Oh, hey, I'll buy that."

My primary problem with Persuasion (2007)--which does have some redeeming points--is this assumption of dumbness. I don't feel as if the writers were real Janeites. Instead, they come across as people writing for Austen fans, who they have imagined much the same way people imagine romance writers and readers: silly airheads who only read Austen for the cutesy romance and the girl-talk and don't pick up on anything else.

Sites like The Republic of Pemberley and JASA (above) disprove this cynical painting of such fans. Jane Austen fans (and romance writers/readers) are remarkably well-informed.

(Despite my annoyance, this kind of stereotyping is fairly typical between fan groups: one group perceives another group's interest as monolithic. I've heard classical music fans say, "All country music is the same." And I've heard country music fans say, "All classical music is the same." In fact, a professor once said the the former to me in class; when I balked, he automatically assumed I was a country music fan! Truth is, I just know too many die-hard fans of [fill in the blank]. Nothing is monolithic to the fan.)

I would have preferred Persuasion (2007) to have been written by true fans rather than by people-trying-to-make-the-fans-happy.

Setting aside the film, if you want to know how to really break an entail, keep reading!

Captain Wentworth eyed [Will and Penelope] as they entered [the drawing room of their house]. Anne curtsied; Penelope responded quickly. Will returned Captain Wentworth’s curt bow, then stood behind Penelope’s chair. His stance mirrored Captain Wentworth’s. His use of mimicry, Penelope had learned in the last three years, was a protection against outsiders. She was an insider.

“You received my letter,” Captain Wentworth said to Will.

“You wish to discuss breaking the entail to the Kellynch Hall property.”

“Sir Walter’s health is failing. He has moved permanently to Bath. He is willing to break the entail for his daughter’s sake.”

Penelope scarcely believed it—the man’s self-love was so bound up in his ancestry—but then she realized that his self-love had always been as much for the form as for the substance. All said and done, Kellynch Hall was a means to an end.

Besides, attempting to break the entail would spite Will: Better his daughter in Kellynch Hall than the despised cousin.

“Are you committed to inheriting Kellynch Hall?” Captain Wentworth asked Will.

“It’s a pleasant area,” Will said.

“You don’t strike me as a countryman,” Captain Wentworth said.

No. Will was no countryman. After all, Penelope remembered, Captain Wentworth manages men on his ship; he isn’t lacking in perception.

Captain Wentworth continued: “Are you sure you would be accepted in Kellynch?”

His eyes didn’t flicker towards Penelope, but Will said sharply, “I believe the populace would be well-satisfied with the Hall’s lord and lady.”

Across from Penelope, Anne tilted her head. For the first time in their acquaintance, she looked at Penelope with real interest. Her eyes drifted to Will who slouched, half-sitting, on the arm of Penelope’s chair. So, her gaze seemed to say, you are not just opportunists.

Penelope said smoothly, “Town life certainly has more to offer.”

“We are country-folk,” Captain Wentworth said and settled into one of the armchairs. Apparently, he had decided that Penelope and Will were sensible people who would listen to reason. “Once I leave the navy, my wife and I would prefer a country residence. Kellynch Hall would be very much to our taste. We want to acquire it.”

Penelope silently applauded Captain Wentworth. Any other husband of a baronet’s daughter would have kept up the pretense of a friendly, non-financial visit for hours. The horror of appearing vulgar!

Captain Wentworth continued, “Since the entail has to be renewed in your lifetime, Mr. Elliot, this is a chance to review your options. And since renewal may not be possible—”

Because Will and Penelope currently had no son, and Jennie [Will and Penelope's daughter] could not inherit. The Wentworths weren’t fools; they were going to press their advantage now, even if it meant dancing around their dislike of Will and Penelope. At least, Captain Wentworth disliked them. Anne seemed more curious than disgusted.

“My husband will not give up the title,” Penelope said.

She felt Will’s bright gaze on her, but she didn’t look away from Captain Wentworth’s speculative stare.

“Do you think of yourself as a baronet?” Captain Wentworth said to Will in a tone that suggested he didn’t think Will merited any title, including “captain.”

“Of course Sir Walter’s cousin should inherit the title,” Anne said quickly. “You are my father’s heir, Mr. Elliot.”

To give the Wentworths credit, Penelope doubted they cared about the title. In the City, however, a title could open doors for Will. And Penelope saw no reason why he should give up what was rightfully his.

Will said, “Penelope’s father, Mr. Shepherd, should be kept on as manager.”

“He’s too good to let go,” Captain Wentworth said. His tone added: Despite his daughter’s scandalous behavior.

Penelope resisted rolling her eyes. She knew how to play this game. Everyone brought deficiencies to the table and every deficiency had a cost. My scandalous behavior versus Anne’s non-male gender. Anne’s lack of maleness cost her more than scandalous behavior ever cost Penelope; Penelope didn’t see why she should allow anyone to forget that.

She said, “Since only my husband can break this entail, we expect to be compensated. The property is nearly disencumbered of debt. It will make a tidy profit in a few years’ time.”

Anne leaned forward, her eyes filled with the quiet speculation that marked this middle Elliot daughter. Anne knew that Penelope had no real tie to or love for Kellynch; Anne would remember how quickly Penelope left it behind the first time.

For Will, Penelope might endure it. But Will had no interest in playing squire. However much he liked the idea of a country estate, he’d never bother with the day-to-day. He would hire a qualified agent (who only skimmed slightly off the accounts) and move on to another endeavor.

Penelope could direct his energies better elsewhere. The Wentworths would get all the unpleasant noblesse oblige of being estate landlords while Will and Penelope stayed in London and watched its neighborhoods grow. The Wentworths would thrive, Penelope assumed. Kellynch Hall was their type of place.

She thought fiercely: I only want Will to thrive.

She turned back to Anne. Anne, still leaning forward, gave her a seraphic smile, and Penelope realized, Sir Walter’s unappreciated daughter is getting everything she wanted. Well, well, Miss Anne Elliot. Good for you.

Captain Wentworth said, “It is still encumbered, however. That should be a consideration.”

Will laughed. He tapped Penelope’s shoulder as he crossed to the decanter and poured himself a glass. He held out another to Captain Wentworth who took it after only a slight pause.

Détente.