Beyond Heaving Bosoms

by Sarah Wendell

  We’re not sure which came first: the not-quite-as-shouty-and-angry hero or the switch in point of view, but there’s no question that many New Skool romances feature…

  MORE SCENES FROM THE HERO’S POINT OF VIEW

  According to Pamela Regis, the evolution of the romance novel led to the involvement of the hero in the narrative to the point where his story was “much more in evidence, much more a part of the action.” Because modern heroines began in much more control of their lives politically, economically, and socially (having achieved, in Regis’s words, affective individualism), contemporary retellings of the heroine’s courtship began to show the emotional evolution of the hero, instead of having us view it through the (thoroughly unreliable but fetchingly bedewed) eyes of the heroine.

  Why is seeing the story from both sides so satisfying? The fact is, affective individualism and autonomous heroines aside, books told from both points of view provide a stronger emotional punch, and we romance readers, we sure do love having our emotions thoroughly pummeled. Hey, if seeing the torments one party has to undergo for the sake of love is good, seeing two is even better, right?

  THE RISE OF THE KICK-ASS SEXUALLY EXPERIENCED HEROINES

  For all the derring-do and high adventure in Old Skool romances, it was relatively rare for the heroine to save the hero—or demonstrate much competence in anything, really. One of the classic peeves we have with Old Skool contemporary romance is how the author continually tells the reader how the heroine is the best in her field and an utterly ruthless career person, but continually shows instead what an incompetent dingbat she is. Negotiations with a rival company going badly? Instead of requesting arbitration or siccing the lawyers on them, let’s do something that’s guaranteed to work, like move into the smoking-hot company owner’s house without warning and pester him until he gives in to your demands.

  This lack of anything resembling common sense, coupled with the need to show us that the heroine has more than a limp noodle for backbone, often leads to annoyingly feisty heroines, who in turn are the precursors to the dreaded Too Stupid to Live heroine. You know her. She’s the one who insists on facing down the bandits alone despite the lack of any sort of physical prowess whatsoever, other than the ability to stamp her foot very prettily, or on going to the unsavory parts of town unaccompanied (because what could possibly happen to a gently bred girl in the worst stews of London?), or on committing any number of other dangerous imbecilities—and all for no particular reason that we can discern other than so they can be very fetchingly caught and threatened by the villain.

  Not that New Skool romances are perfect in this regard. Heroines still show a tendency to commit howlingly awful mistakes or make decisions that make absolutely no sense given the character setup provided. But they’re no longer quite as young and naïve, and they’re certainly not as virginal as they used to be. The population of heroines in contemporary romances who are beautiful, smart, and independent, yet for unfathomable reasons unacquainted with the existence of their womanly bud, much less somebody else’s cock, has plummeted of late, and we can only cheer the attrition of their thoroughly odious ranks.

  And can we have three cheers for birth control and prophylactics finally making an appearance in romance novels? Fantasies are all well and good, but given how slutty some romance novel heroes are, knowing that they’re sensible enough to put a jimmy hat on their johnson before playing let’s-make-a-pickle-sandwich at least alleviates the worry that all that burning the heroine feels in her loins might actually be due to gonorrhea, not runaway hormones.

  Not only that, but romance novel heroines who are fully capable of saving themselves and the hero are becoming more and more common. These are romance heroines now who, if the rapist heroes of yore attempted to harvest the pure flower of their femininity, would’ve been able to kick those heroes into the middle of the next week. Which brings us to…

  THE QUIET DEATH OF THE RAPIST HERO

  The rapist hero went away by degrees. For a time, the rape scenes became somewhat more ambiguous, with the heroine telegraphing mixed signals (unlike the unambiguous rapes portrayed in books like The Flame and the Flower) and the hero showing more and more remorse for his acts. Thus was the era of the Forced Seduction born. Motto: If she kinda wants it, give it to her hard. Other motto: It’s not rape if she comes!

  But those sorts of encounters started slowly withering away, too. Now, when books featuring rape or forced seduction scenes rear their tumescent, purple-helmeted heads, Internet message boards on romance Web sites light up like Christmas trees, with the majority of people expressing indignation at the continued presence of this specter in our genre. This was amply demonstrated by the reaction many readers had to A Well-Pleasured Lady by Christina Dodd in the late 1990s, and the more recent kerfuffle involving Claiming the Courtesan by Anna Campbell. Much as Jayne Ann Krentz would like to say the editors dunnit—and editors could probably occupy the same niche as butlers did in murder mysteries set in British manors—cultural sensibilities have changed, and fictional rape, especially by the hero, is more likely to burn the average romance reader’s biscuit than melt our butter. (But for the record, we would like to note that while we, personally, are glad that the rapist hero is no longer the default model in Romancelandia, we are fully in favor of writers writing whatever the hell they want, and readers enjoying the same.)

  However, has rape really disappeared from the landscape? Perhaps not. The rape of the heroine may have shifted focus; instead of violating the heroine’s hoo hoo, rape may be visited instead on her will. This sort of metaphorical breach is especially pervasive in paranormal romances, in which heroines are often changed or transformed without their consent, even against their express wishes, by the hero. Pity those heroines! Imagine the shock of waking up one day to discover that from that day forward, they’d have to suck blood down like rock stars chase beer with Vicodin, or that they’d spend a portion of every month sporting lush fur in parts of their body where no fur had ever been before and feeling overwhelmed with the urge to groom their own asses.

  Rape in romance: it’s magically delicious, whether real or metaphorical.

  And there you have it: a quick and moderately dirty précis of the romance genre as we know it in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century. Let’s get to the nitty-gritty details, shall we?

  The Bitches’ Dictionary (With apologies to Ambrose Bierce)

  We romance aficionados know that Romancelandia has its own dialect that may be unfamiliar to outsiders of the genre. Fear not, gentle reader, for we have here an extremely handy dictionary, composed with greatest care, that should hopefully eliminate any and all confusion you might have. We are, in fact, proud to present to you: The Bitches’ Dictionary.

  Hero. n. He who gets the milk for free only to find he must have the cow as well, for he cannot get it up for any of the other dairy maids.

  Heroine. n. She who could be given a direct map to fulfillment and happiness, but would still find a way to get lost. Kick-ass heroine. n. A heroine who allegedly knows how to handle herself in a dangerous situation, yet still shows the occasional distressing proclivity toward throwing her gun at the villain instead of shooting it.

  Virginity. n. An oxymoronic state of physical and spiritual being. She who has it wants to lose it; she who has lost it needs it back. Cabin boy. n. Often a heroine in boy’s clothing; the hero’s attraction to her will sometimes lead him to agonize over his masculinity and sexual proclivities, because it’s not as if sailors have been known to engage in homosexual shenanigans after many months at sea. Never. Not once. Not known to happen. Ever.

  Pirate. n. A seafaring criminal with a penchant for puffy linen shirts that are unbuttoned to the waist, yet still firmly tucked into trousers, thus rendering him irresistible to cross-dressing heroines. See CABIN BOY.

  Viking. n. Another seafaring species, this one has a penchant for wearing furry vests and horned helmets and having their fingers pulled.

&n
bsp; Rake. n. 1: A sharp gardening implement used to comb through dense bushes, usually in the hopes of finding riches and security.

  2: A species of attractive and sexually promiscuous male; scientists postulate that rakes exhibited strong antibacterial properties, as they were capable of copulating with anything and everything on two legs without falling prey to venereal disease.

  Vampire. n. 1: Immortal, soulless animate corpse that drinks the blood of the living. This is, for some reason, considered extremely sexy.

  2: An excuse for authors to inflict their most Outrhageouz Nhames on the reading populace.

  3: IS MORE EMO THAN YOU.

  Werewolf. n. The only creature with hairy shoulders who is portrayed as sexually viable in romance novels.

  Shapeshifter. n. See WEREWOLF.

  Hymen. n. A membrane partially covering the vaginal opening, especially in females who haven’t experienced penetrative sex. In romance novels, often located two to three inches inside the vagina itself, with the toughness and resiliency of a rubber sheet, though massaging it with fingers apparently can help relax it.

  Sheikh. n. A swarthy, hard-edged playboy hero of Middle Eastern origin, though, oddly enough, rarely a devout Muslim who desires that the heroine convert to Islam.

  Tycoon. n. A swarthy, hard-edged playboy hero, usually of Mediterranean origin who, oddly enough, has scads of free time to chase after the virginal heroine despite having billion-dollar business concerns to look after.

  Cowboy. n. Always smells like horses, hay, and sweat. This is always a good comforting smell that never makes the heroine want to head for the nearest fire hose to bathe him forcibly.

  Navy SEAL. n. Fearsome modern warrior of the deep who in real life smokes two packs a day and can be emotionally nonfunctioning, but in a romance has deep, rich, hidden, murky but not watery sensitive depths.

  Mistress. n. 1: A woman of ill repute who services the hero sexually in exchange for money and gifts before he meets the heroine. Her ability to enjoy orgasms without requiring a wedding ring of the hero is usually a sign of villainy, as is her use of makeup and nail polish.

  2: Harlequin romance only: A position the virginal heroine can occupy that doesn’t actually require her to engage in sexual intercourse in any way, shape, or fashion.

  Widow. n. See VIRGINITY.

  Amnesia. n. A temporary but severe memory loss caused by head trauma that is rarely accompanied by the usual side effects of real-life amnesia, such as personality changes, loss of motor control, and incontinence. If amnesia helped mask heroine’s former hatred of hero, another blow to the head or similar trauma will restore her memory and generate, at minimum, another fifty pages of conflict.

  Secret baby. n. A stupid plot device by any other name would still smell as much like a used diaper and be full of too much screaming cluelessness to sue for child support.

  Chaperone. n. A singularly ineffective guarding device, usually aged past its prime and sleeping on the job.

  Corset/stays. n. 1: Boned fabric meant to whittle a woman’s waist to significantly unhealthy circumference, depending on the year and the style of that time.

  2: Item commonly not worn by heroine (see above), despite historical knowledge that indicates her dress would then look like a misshapen sack.

  3. Historical equivalent of Barbie doll meant to contribute to intimidation and poor body image of reader. See also SIMULTANEOUS ORGASM.

  Pelisse. n. Some kind of coat. Every historical heroine has one, and usually it gets wet or is in some way insufficient protection from the elements.

  Riding habit. n. A jacket and skirt ensemble worn habitually by heroines in every novel for horseback riding, sidesaddle of course.

  Musicale. n. Someone will be singing or playing an instrument, and the quality of the performance will be worse than dreadful.

  Lady’s maid/Abigail. n. Servant who assists independent, autonomous, and individually feisty heroine with washing, bathing, drying, dressing, hairstyling, wiping, chamber pot emptying, bed making, and just about every other domestic task known to woman.

  Simultaneous orgasm. n. Everyone has them but you.

  Dog. n. Companion of hero or heroine (see above) used as foil to highlight presence or absence of loyalty, faithfulness, and devotion in owner.

  Hedgehog. n. Most awesome sidekick animal ever in the history of the world, bar none.

  Chapter Corset

  AN IN-DEPTH INVESTIGATION OF THE ROMANCE HEROINE, EMPHASIS, OBVIOUSLY, ON “DEPTH”

  THE HEROINE

  Can’t make a soufflé without breaking a few eggs. Can’t make romance novels without breaking a few heroines.

  The heroine is a difficult beast to create. She has gorgeous hair, fine eyes, a mouth that usually begs to be kissed or at least gazed at while thinking of kissing, and a plucky, demure, yet saucy and seductive personality—all housed in a perfectly perfect character that drives the hero wild, and perhaps annoys the ever-living shit out of the reader. Like it or not, romance readers are oftentimes harder on the heroine than they are on the hero, and managing the hero isn’t exactly an easy job for the heroine, either, especially if she has to deal with an Old Skool alpha hero, full of rape and fury, signifying imminent assault.

  The readers (and the hero) often demand impossible things of her. First of all, we prefer a heroine who’s drop-dead gorgeous—but she has to be completely unaware of that beauty. We want her to be intelligent, independent, brave, and strong—but we don’t want her to outshine the hero. We want her to have a stellar sex life and the ability to experience multiple orgasms with the hero—but be demure and sexually unawakened prior to knowing him; a heroine having multiple lovers and enjoying the experience the way the hero enjoys sex with his bevy of mistresses and former lovers would be about kosher as a bacon cheeseburger. If she’s a paragon, we want to shake up that perfection; if she’s less than perfect, we often find her flaws annoying. The hero, however, can’t resist her. She drives him crazy; she oftentimes drives the readers crazy, too.

  And what would a Smart Bitch guide to romance be without an exhaustive list of the various flavors of Heroine Sauce available on the market? Here are the different types of heroines we’ve been able to discern using our patented Detect-a-Magic-Hoo-Hoo technology:

  Too Stupid to Live: Unfortunately, not extinct, but potentially endangered. At every moment. This heroine archetype was first recognized and the term coined at romance supersite All About Romance. She runs down dark alleys and wonders why each and every time she meets up with danger. She challenges at the wrong moment, fights when everyone, including the reader, can see her cause is lost, and generally makes an annoying, whiny nuisance of herself. This heroine, more than any other, has the greatest potential to cost you thousands of dollars in dental work as you grind your teeth in frustration. Last seen: Old Skool romance. Prototype: Shanna by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss; Cathy from Island Flame by Karen Robards.

  Spoiled Hoyden of Historical Inaccuracy: Unfortunately, not extinct, but seen less lately, thank heavens. She’s in your face. She’s in the hero’s face. She thumbs her nose at social mores; she bites her thumb at you. She wants a job at a time when employment was Not for Gently Bred Ladies. She wants autonomy before the word had been invented yet. She’s utterly anachronistic, spoiled, and irritating, and if she lived in contemporary times, she’d drive you up a wall if she were your coworker, what with her petulant demands. Last seen: Old Skool romance. Prototype: Whitney, who is not our love, from Whitney, My Love, by Judith McNaught; Genny from Catherine Coulter’s Night Storm.

  Doormat: Still out there, waiting for you to wipe your shoes on her. She’s malleable, weak, and an utter bore. She doesn’t stand up to anything, much less her own desires, and can be found swooning on the nearest sofa, or lying on the bed while she’s ravished with pleasure that she so does not deserve. Might be seen swooning, wringing her hands, whining, or otherwise worrying about something. Any resistance she might mount against the hero is ineffectual, and she
couldn’t find her own backbone if you showed her an X-ray and counted each vertebrae. Last seen: freaking everywhere, dammit, especially in older Harlequins as the victim of punishing kisses. Current idol: Marissa from Lover Revealed by J. R. Ward; Bella from the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer. Former all-time greats: Sarah from Linda Howard’s Sarah’s Child; Marlie from Dream Man, also by Linda Howard.

  Plain and Strong: If you find her, and she’s well written, she’s wonderful. One of our favorite types of heroines: she’s nothing extraordinary, but she’s a marvelously good person. No fiery hair, no flashing eyes, no outlandish adventures or daring feats of iconoclastic inappropriate behavior. But being around her makes the hero happy. Maybe she cooks well, or she’s caring and warm in a way that reaches him, but she’s the lighthouse in his storm, and while superficially she’s not spectacular, her determination, honor, sense of humor, and strength can make for a marvelous story. Last seen: making us happy. Prototype: Honoria Anstruther-Wetherby from Devil’s Bride by Stephanie Laurens; Folie from Laura Kinsale’s My Sweet Folly; Leda from The Shadow and the Star by Laura Kinsale; Sara from Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas.

  Antiheroine: Her mantra as coined by Jorge Luis Borges: “To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.” First identified by former English professor Robin L. Harders (writing under the pseudonym Janet) at Dear Author, this heroine may eventually fall in love with the hero—but she’s definitely not crazy about the idea of being in love. She genuinely and consistenly resists committing to the relationship, sometimes because of the nature of the conflict in the book, sometimes because she wants to maintain her independence—true independence of the self-sufficient sort, not the “I’m going to stamp my foot prettily, run away, and promptly be caught by the bad guys” variety. When written clumsily, she veers dangerously close to Too Stupid to Live territory, basing her resistance on some thin reasoning. When written well, however, her integrity and consistency provide a refreshing change from the bevy of heroines in Romancelandia whose loudly proclaimed resistance collapses like a soggy pile of cards in the face of the heroes’ masculine wiles, or the heroes’ masculine chests. However, many readers often perceive the resistance as insufferable stubbornness or self-ishness—after all, they can see how wonderful the hero is, so why can’t the heroine? Last seen: a sparse smattering throughout contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and historical intrigues. Prototype: Eve from J. D. Robb’s In Death series; Merlin from Laura Kinsale’s Midsummer Moon; Tessa from Kathleen O’Reilly’s Shaken and Stirred; Meriel from Mary Jo Putney’s Uncommon Vows.