I'm sitting in one of my
favorite restaurants, a locally owned bistro filled with the gentle hum of conversation
and the soft rhythms of a guitar from a local performer. I'm thoroughly
enjoying my book and sipping on my tea when someone I know from work walks in.
Crap.
Maybe if I just raise
the book a little higher they won't be able to tell it's me. But oh,
nope, too late. They've seen me. They're walking over and I return
their smile even as I try to think about the best way to position the book so they
can't see the lady who's having her dress peeled off by a half-naked hunk on
the cover.
We make small talk and
they ask the inevitable.
"So what are you
reading?"
"Uh...it's a really
good book about...spies. Yeah, spies during the Napoleon Wars."
The co-worker's brow
arches. "Oh. It looks like a romance novel."
"Uh, yeah.
There's a little bit of romance in it, but it has a great mystery."
Does this scenario sound
familiar? One of the reasons romance books are leading e-book sales is
due in part to many fans of the genre being too embarrassed to carry romance
novels around in public. Many are
concerned about the ridicule, good-natured or not, that can accompany this
simple admission; “I like reading romance books.”
Men and women alike take
all kinds of sides in this argument.
Some bemoan the addiction of the modern woman to the sappy romance
genre. Others argue that they create
unrealistic expectations of relationships, sexual intimacy and the idea of true
love. Some just flat out refer to it as
trash and the people who read them “crazy.”
One article (http://www.livescience.com/14985-romance-novels-bad-women-health-psyche-psychologist.html)
talks about how reading romance books can be bad for a woman’s health and her
psyche. The psychologist mentions how
there’s even a correlation between reading romance books and negative views
towards condoms (side note: safe sex is important. But how many readers think of rolling on a
condom as sexy or want to read about it when they’re simply trying to enjoy a
book? If you do, awesome, but not my
preferred cup of tea).
That’s not to say that
some readers don’t take it too far. But
to assume that every reader of romance can’t function in a healthy
relationship, doesn’t have a brain or can’t handle reality is eye roll-inducing
at minimum.
It was all of this and
more that led to my years of carefully hiding books or even refraining from reading
them in public places. It wasn’t until I
committed to my writing earlier this year that I made a decision. I liked reading romance novels. Yes, I enjoy reading other types of books,
but I was going to stop making excuses for it and at times even lying about it. I enjoy reading romance simply because I
enjoy it. The character development, the
sexual tension, the first realizations of love, and the occasional mystery all
keep me reading well past my bedtime. I
love how far the genre has come in featuring heroes and heroines from different
backgrounds, cultures, times and even traumatic situations. I also enjoy the more realistic portrayal of
relationships, multiple conflicts included, but I always smile and sigh when
the book ends on a happily ever after note.
It’s one of the best parts of the genre.
Even though I want the characters to be flawed and have seemingly
insurmountable obstacles tossed in their path, I also want the trope kiss and
“I love you.”
A couple weeks ago I was
getting ready to walk down to my favorite restaurant, book in hand. One of my male co-workers asked what I was
reading. Rather than skirt the issue, I
smiled big and said “A historical romance.”
He smirked and asked “Like a Fabio book?” “Yes,” I replied, “but the hero has better
hair” (sorry, Fabio, no hard feelings).
I don’t take my
half-naked heroes and heroines and rub them in people’s faces. I don’t read intimate scenes out loud just so
people know that I read romance. But I
don’t shy away from the topic anymore.
When someone says, “Oh, my mom/grandma/great-aunt reads those” I now
respond with a smile and a “Oh, cool!
Who’s their favorite author?” rather than a blush of shame.
Everyone has their own
preferred genre. My husband prefers the
old-school style of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle along with more recent sci-fi works
like The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. One of my co-workers (we’ll call him Dan) enjoys
non-fiction books on hunting. If I had
to read one of these hunting books, I would moan, groan and probably start to
pull my hair out by page ten. But for
Dan it’s a true pleasure. And in the end
isn’t that all that matters?
