Everything I Know About Love I Learned From Romance Novels (4 page)

As a rule, the heroine is usually the focus of a romance, but it’s not just all about her. It used to be that the hero would show up at some point and be present in a few key scenes, notably marked as “the hero” by the number of times the heroine would notice him, and how amazingly handsome/smart/dangerous/all-of-the-above he seemed. Nowadays, romance novels, as defined by what’s currently popular—and romance is popular, to the tune of over a billion dollars annually, according to the Romance Writers of America—feature the stories of both the hero and the heroine as equally important.

So what does that mean for romance readers? Well, for starters, we read a lot of romance, and we meet a lot of heroes and heroines. We’re reading narratives about a woman’s self-fulfillment and her own achievement of happiness, whether that’s beating the bad guy or finding her way back from a trauma, and we’re experiencing the repeated discovery of someone who not only fought for that happiness but realized that she was worth that struggle.

In short, romances teach readers that we should know ourselves, and value ourselves, in order to find happiness. Romance readers experience the repeated discovery of someone who not only fought for her happiness, but realized that she was worth the struggle. That’s the first lesson of romance novels, really: romance is found in how we treat ourselves. Would you want to read a three-hundred-page novel about some woman who beat herself up constantly for being those extra few pounds overweight and having the wrong shoes? Maybe, like many of us, she does that every once in awhile, but characters worth reading about eventually conclude that they are awesome as they are, and don’t need to put themselves through abusive crap like that every time they get dressed.

Everyone has their kickass outfit, the clothing that fits and flatters and makes the wearer feel invincible and, well, kickass. A romance heroine arrives at that feeling more and more often, particularly if she begins the story feeling poorly about herself, because feeling kickass is the first step to a long day of awesome. Reading that type of self-discovery teaches clearly and openly that women are valuable and awesome.

So how do romances teach the value of knowing yourself and your worth? Well, just reading one is an act in and of itself that demonstrates that you care about yourself. If you’re like me, there’s hardly a moment in your day when you’re not doing six things simultaneously. If you’re reading, then you’re likely doing just that one, indulgent thing.

Indulging yourself is a very, very noble task. Don’t stop doing that. You’re giving yourself a break, an escape, and a moment of relaxation—and if you’ve noticed the workaholic, wired culture many of us live in, that cessation of constant action is a true respite.

Not only are you indulging yourself, but you’re indulging yourself with, literally, happiness. You’re reading a reminder that problems work out, challenges become easier, mysteries get solved, and everyone involved can live happily ever after. There is absolute value in reminding yourself that happiness is a worthwhile endeavor.

Harlequin, which publishes over a hundred romances each month, can tell you (and me, actually) a great deal about the value of romance for its readership. Harlequin has an entire corporate division dedicated to researching its customer base, and they host focus groups where they ask readers to explain why romance is valuable to them—and not just Harlequin romance, but romance in general.

Janet Finlay, head of research for Harlequin, says that in each focus group, much to her continued surprise, there are always women who can remember with great and vivid detail the first romance they ever read. She says that listening to women share details about the first romance they read is much like listening to someone share a story about a truly special moment in her life. Readers can remember details of that first romance, even if it was over thirty years prior.

She’s totally right. I have long had a similar theory that romance fans do not ever forget that first romance novel, especially if they enjoyed it. For example, the first romance I read was Catherine Coulter’s
Midsummer Magic.
I read it in 1991. I can still remember where I found it (in the public library), how I found it (petty larceny), and who introduced me to romance (a high school classmate—I stole the book from her while she went to the ladies’ room, checked it out of the library, and left before she returned to her seat). I can tell you details about that book as well, not only because there are some crazy over-the-top moments but because that book made a tremendous impression on me. It was not just the story of two very headstrong (I believe the word “mule-headed” was used by both parties) people learning to accept one another, but the absolutely insane lengths the heroine, Frances, goes to to avoid marrying the hero. She goes from Hot Scottish Lassie to Butt-Ugly, Judgmental, Slightly Rumpled, Possibly Smelly, and Definitely Nearsighted Dowd—and he marries her anyway, precisely because he thinks she really is all of those things. Imagine his surprise when a few months later he discovers she’s really quite lovely (read: hot), she’s terribly intelligent, and she’s wickedly and lastingly pissed off at him.

Reading this book, with the mistaken identity and the characters being hoisted by their own petards more than once, was a revelation to my fiction-starved teenage mind. Here were stories, big, rich, detailed, lengthy stories, about passion and excitement and places I’d never been. I was tired of stories about high schools that were populated by people more beautiful, more blonde, more aquamarine-eyed, well-adjusted, and wealthy than I was, and in romances, I found adventure, challenge, and emotional depth I hadn’t experienced in fiction before. In short: Boo Yah!

Just about every romance reader I’ve ever spoken to can recall the first romance she read, and certainly the romance that hooked her on the genre. As Harlequin sees it, the first romance is a moment of passage, and can be a marker of coming-of-age due to the emotional experience of finding this rich and very well-populated form of narrative written mostly by women, for women, about women.

And it’s not just “older women” or “women of a certain age.” Romance readers are all ages, so you can chuck that stereotype of women in their graying years, wearing shabby sweatshirts with stained sweatpants, reading fat paperbacks, and surrounded by too many cats. Romance readers are young and old, and may have nothing in common except the books they read and the experience they gain from reading them.

The Romance Writers of America collects statistics on romance readers every year, and according to their 2009 figures

Harlequin’s research has revealed what they consider the three main things that we romance readers receive from our fiction-reading. The first is rather obvious: escape and relaxation—but, as Finlay says, those are broad and generic terms. Most people read anything to escape or relax. Romance specifically creates a sense of hope and hopefulness that a romantic situation can and does exist. Perhaps you haven’t experienced it with your parent’s marriage or your friends’ marriages or your own relationships, but there is lasting romance. Romance reading affirms that idea and supports belief in the possibility.

Second, romance readers find ways to temporarily leave their present situations—though not every reader escapes entirely into the fantasy world. Certainly not every reader believes she is being kissed by a secret prince who is also a billionaire and a well-hung sexually adventurous tiger in the bedroom besides. The value of romance-reading, as Harlequin has found with its reader focus groups, is not so much in what the romance novel offers as an escape destination, but what reading offers as a temporary rest from the present stress and demands of life.

One woman in a focus group mentioned that her every waking moment was spent caring for her son, who was dying. The only time she had to forget that daily pain was when she was reading a romance, because then she could get away from that imminent unhappy ending.

It’s not always a tragic situation that brings readers back to romance. Any amount of rest from a present stress could be desired. Another woman said that romances help her make that transition from workday to family evening: “I just need thirty minutes after work of reading Harlequin books and all the stress of the day is gone. All it takes is thirty minutes and then I’m ready to cook dinner.” Escape and fantasy play an important role in every person’s life, whether it’s the fantasy of romance, or the fantasy of being an unstoppable warrior, or knowing you’re the smartest person in the room, able to solve any puzzle with observational skills and the ability to quirk one eyebrow. The time spent in escape and fantasy, regardless of the venue of the escape, is fulfilling because it presents a time of rest and quiet while one is awake. Some people watch TV, some folks play games, some build or create things, and some people read—and some do all of the above, though not necessarily at the same time. One would hope not, anyway—might be messy.

A third benefit that romance readers receive, according to Harlequin’s research (which I am told fills many a PowerPoint presentation), is the validation of seeing their lives, their stresses, their beliefs, and their values reflected in fictional narratives. It’s reassuring to see confirmation of your own beliefs and to find someone or something that is like you. This is part of the reason that inspirational or Christian-focused romance is popular: it is reassuring for a reader to see a validation of personal values, and to realize that one is not a freak for wanting to attend church, for finding community in a spiritual setting, or for wanting to be chaste.

Within the romance genre, there exists the validation of the belief and the desire for a happy ending, and the idea of a perfect someone who will create happiness in tandem. Perhaps this explains why romance readers are in romantic relationships themselves: they’re repeatedly reading about successful relationships, and creating ones for themselves as best they can.

This is not to say that every romance reader is in a happily blissful relationship—not true. Some are single, some are partnered and miserable, and some have a relationship that’s in progress. But the affirmation of seeing conflict resolution and the acquisition of more self-confidence played out over and over again with different problems and different people can create a belief in the possibility that, if a fictional heroine can overcome that problem, surely one’s own difficulties can be battled into submission. It’s pretty simple: seeing kicking of ass inspires one to kick ass.

These benefits of reading romance, as Harlequin puts it, are only some of the reasons why romance readers are so devoted to the genre—and boy howdy, are we devoted. This dedication is one unique quirk of the romance reader. We turn to romances and stories of courtship again and again. We finish one book and immediately seek another. We read romances that vary in settings a few hundred years or even light-years apart from one another, but we return to the stories of courtship repeatedly.