Beyond Heaving Bosoms

by Sarah Wendell

  While the romance genre dances merrily with its happy endings in both meanings of the phrase, within the genre there are some kerfuffles that pop up now and again, some small, some large, some ongoing and without seeming resolution. We’d be remiss if we didn’t mention a few of them, so have a look at our dirty laundry: minorities and gays in romance, plagiarism, and the pressure of the Be Nice culture in Romancelandia.

  MINORITIES IN ROMANCE: YOU MEAN IT’S NOT JUST WHITE ENGLISH PEOPLE?

  One of the complaints that most often faces historical romance is that it’s very white, very British, and very classist.

  Yup. It sure can be. A vast majority of the romances taking place in the historical period known as Days of Yore feature white protagonists and some assurance of financial security, plus a really spiffy title. We Bitches love spiffy titles.

  The segregation isn’t unique to romance, but we must be honest. The face of romance is overwhelmingly white. That’s also a problem with much of American media in general. The default face in popular culture in American is white—and this means pop culture in many places of the world is also default white, because America’s biggest export, arguably, consists of cultural products. Movies. TV shows. Books. Video games. Fashion. And the accompanying advertising. Internettage.

  But since the prospect of writing something that would adequately address all of that makes us reach for the smelling salts and some paint thinner, we’re looking specifically at the issue of minorities in romance. And when the marketing and shelving affect romance authors’ bottom lines, there’s plenty of opinions to go around.

  Romance is pretty homogenous. Historicals are usually about white characters, though there are notable exceptions, and notable exceptions of great quality in terms of writing. Contemporaries are a touch more diverse in terms of the overall number that feature minority characters, as is erotica; and mercy, paranormals feature a rainbow hue of protagonists—literally, in some cases.

  Currently on the market are several lines specifically targeted toward minority readers—a systematic marketing of “otherness” that makes many an author and reader of romance see red. There are lines of romance for Latina readers, in English and in Spanish; for African American readers; and even some niche lines in e-pubs for those looking for erotic combinations of many different ethnicities, in many different positions. (It is erotica, after all.)

  The debate of racism in romance is a large one, and it’s unresolved. Why? Because it’s all in the marketing and the shelving. It’s not what you write but what color you are when you write it; what color the folks are on the cover; and what marker appears on the spine of the book, which may determine its shelving. If the marker says “African American” or “African American Romance,” that book will most likely be shelved in the “African American” books section of the store—which for Sarah and her local Barnes & Noble means, “Way the fuck yonder clear on the other side of the store from the romance, nestled between psychology and Asian literature.”

  To segregate or not to segregate, that is the question.

  Yeah, we’re serious. No, we’re not kidding. And we’re as befuddled as you.

  Presently, when a romance by a black author approaches the phase of publication that determines marketing, any number of divisions and decisions could be made to market that book as black romance by a black author, potentially to be sold in the African American fiction section of the store. And those sales, marketing, and artistic decisions are based on what, according to publishers, the readers want.

  One African American romance reader said to us directly, “Black people like to read about other black people. And I look for romance about black women in the black section of the bookstore.” One bookseller, who asked to remain anonymous, told us that when it fell under her responsibilities to shelve the black romance, if she put the new releases from authors like Brenda Jackson, Noire, or Michelle Monkou in among the romance, apart from the African American books, readers who wanted those books would go hunting for them and then complain that they were incorrectly shelved. They didn’t belong in the romance section, according to those readers. There was a vocal preference among the customers who came to browse the African American authors section that African American romances be shelved separately for easier browsing. Our anonymous bookseller’s solution was to create an end cap—the display area on the narrow end of a bookshelf—that featured all the newest black romance, so that it was in the romance section proper, but collected in a special section.

  Ultimately, what we’re talking about here is segregation and separation in terms of marketing and shelf space. Black romance is marketed toward the black reading community and, as such, usually features dark-skinned individuals on the covers; these titles are most often published in specific lines within mainstream publishers, like Harlequin’s Kimani, or New Spirit, or Kensington’s line of Arabesque romances.

  But let us be blunt: you know what happens when a section of romance is shelved away from the money-spending romance-hunting book-buying fans of romance? Those books have a lesser chance of being purchased, and those authors lose out on sales to romance readers who shop only in the romance section and who take chances on authors they may not have read before. There’s a certain number of sales that are made to readers who follow a particular author, and no matter where the book is shelved, they’ll find it, buy it, and possibly complain if it’s not where they think the book ought to be. But if the black romance isn’t on the romance shelf, the readers who browse and shop without a list won’t see that title and buy it, and they probably won’t think to leave the romance section to look for romance in another part of the store. So by shelving black romances and black romance authors separately, sales are possibly lost.

  That’s a big fucking deal to some authors who hate being shelved separately. Do publishers market romance based on the cultural or racial identity of the person writing them, or the persons who appear in them? Both. Does the image on the cover affect where a book is shelved and in what part of the United States a book is sold? According to romance author Monica Jackson, who is vocal in her dislike of the segregation of romance, there is no doubt. She believes that the lack of what publishers call an “urban market” means that her books may not reach shelves in parts of the country.

  Despite all that, the black romance authors we spoke with were firm on one point universally. Whether they agreed with the separate shelving or wanted to be included in the Great Stack of Romance in the local bookstore, each and every one said they were writing love stories, with passion, attraction, and sexual tension, and the racial makeup of the protagonists shouldn’t, and doesn’t, matter.

  Ultimately, the publishers and the bookstores are trying to predict what readers want, because fulfilling what readers want translates into readers buying books, and that would be the goal of both publishers and booksellers. And because every reader has a different opinion on the issue of segregated publishing and shelving, there’s no way to satisfy everyone. Shelve all the romances together? Create separate shelves to highlight the black romance, the Latina romance, the gay erotica, the Jewish inspirationals? File the romance fiction published by black authors among the other black authors? Behold: a smaller yet powerful facet to the Rise of Online Booksellers and the even bigger rise of the e-pubs and the erotica market. No worries about who to shelve near whom. They’re all in one database, and they’re linked by topic, plot, author name, or historical period. There’s no “black romance only” section at Amazon. com unless a user creates a list specifically designed for the topic.

  The issue of marketing and ultimately shelving is a very hot one in online discussions of romance. Author Millenia Black sued her publisher, Penguin, on grounds of racial discrimination after they restyled the cover of her previously self-published novel The Great Pretender. Black’s lawsuit alleged that upon discovering that she was a black author, despite there being no racial identification within the narrative, Penguin marketed the book as African
American fiction, using cover images and marketing classification guidelines. The suit was settled out of court in 2008, and as part of the settlement, Black had to purge all mention of the suit from her personal site and refrain from discussing it ever again. Except for other blogs and Web sites that discussed the suit, there are few available documents about it, but without a doubt, it was the first time to our knowledge a black author has tried to fight the classification and potential shelving segregation by taking the issue to court.

  Black authors are not the only ones who find the “African American” classification a frightening damper on sales. Paula Chase Hyman, who wrote the successful Del Rio Bay Clique series of young adult novels, found one of her books mislabeled as AA instead YA, for young adult. While one bookstore adjusted the shelving despite the labeling on the book, another major chain did not, and not even the publishing house telling the book chain directly that it was mislabeled could correct the problem.

  So if classifying black romance as African American fiction results in a segregation that decreases potential sales, what’s the solution? Some editors and authors don’t disclose the racial identity of an author deliberately so that they won’t be marketed in an exclusive fashion. But authors and readers who discussed the topic at length on our site say that part of the solution lies with people like us, and people like you. If readers become aware of black romance authors and go find them and buy them—online or in stores—that’s one thing. But there’s no reason for the romance community to treat the black romances as if they are separate and “other” just because the bookstores and the classification system presently in place insist on doing so, or because a vocal number of readers insist that it remain that way. Ultimately, the only thing that will change the way sales are made is the sales themselves. Much of romance, from the cover art to the shelving designation, is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  THE GHEYS: LESBIANS, GAY MEN, AND THE STRAIGHT FOLKS WHO WRITE THEM

  We talk a lot in terms of “hero” and “heroine,” and while that is sexist language that defines and assigns gender stereotypes (boy howdy, does it ever), we are not excluding gay romance. Like a metaphor that’s gone on too long, constantly saying “hero or heroine” each time we refer to one of the protagonists would be cumbersome. And implying that heterosexual romance is easily substituted with gay romance is slightly insulting to the GLBT romances we love. Moreover, the standards and stereotypes that apply to heterosexual characters in romance novels do not equally apply to hero/hero romances, or heroine/heroine romances. To put it another way: the love may be the same, but the heterosexist archetypes that often display it are not, and it’s unfair and inaccurate to assume that the same tropes in heterosexual romance apply to gay romances.

  Like the thighs of a really horny erotic romance heroine, erotica itself is open to all manner of kinky, interesting plot developments and characters. Raelene Gorlinsky from Ellora’s Cave noted that the erotic romance genre is more open* to plots and protagonist combinations that might otherwise be considered risky: “The readers of erotic romance are already in the riskier end of the romance spectrum, so they are more likely to be readers who will take chances, want something different, who desire over-the-line excitement.” Therein lies an interesting rub: one of the steaming hot elements of the erotic romance market is gay erotic romance, that is, erotic romance between two men. And much of it is penned by straight women. Gorlinsky says, “The current hot fad of male/male romance is for the female fans in the erotic romance market. Most of the authors are heterosexual women. Just as the vast bulk of readers are heterosexual women. There is a separate—and not necessarily overlapping—market segment of gay men or women who write more realistic stories for gay male readers.

  The flexibility and friendliness of e-publishers to gay erotic romance is no secret. Author Selah March told us that “small presses in general, and e-presses in particular, can afford to have a much more ‘throw everything at the wall and see what sticks/sells’ attitude. For example, I write for the Heat and Allure imprints of Amber Quill Press. A year ago, Amber Quill discovered male/male erotic romances were outselling “hetero” romances in their erotic Heat line, so it opened the Allure line just for m/m and f/f. Sales have more than doubled over the past year.”

  So where is all that gay romance? Most of it is online from e-publishers, but folks who go searching for it in the bookstore may have a difficult time of it. Just as with the African American romance, the issue comes back to shelving and marketing. As March tells us, “Some e-publishers who also produce m/m romance in…trade paperback are finding it tough to reach their readership because of shelving issues in the big-box stores. In my local Borders, all gay romance is shelved with ‘LGBT studies,’ no matter who published it or whether it might sell better snugged up against all the other trade paperback erotica in the romance section. Chicks who dig erotic romance [are] buying this stuff by the butt-load, so to speak, but I don’t know how many would think to go looking for it in next to nonfiction books about the Stonewall riots and how to draft a will that doesn’t leave your life partner out on the street….”

  Yet again, even as folks whine that e-marketers like Amazon drive individual stores out of business, the allure of the online bookstore when it comes to finding and purchasing books with a minimum of effort cannot be understated. But the real controversy over gay romance is the number of people who insist it doesn’t belong in romance at all, and the shrill responses some fans deliver at the growing strength of the gay-romance trend. It sounds, not surprisingly, much like the shrill response to any advances into mainstream America made by gay individuals. Whatever the negative response, whether it be removing gay-romance promotional material at conventions or not creating a gay-romance category for romance novel awards despite the number of gay romances published each year, gay romance isn’t going anywhere any more than romance readers themselves are giving up their reading material. So we’ll all have to learn to get along. And exchange tips on proper buttsecks techniques.

  BE NICE

  One of the most peculiar aspects to the romance community, online and off, is how that community reacts to criticism from within itself. Romance readers, writers, authors, and fans take all manner of multicolored shit for our involvement in romance, and each one of us has a story whereupon a diss was laid against our reading material. But that mess pales in comparison with the slapping that goes on within that community. It is, for lack of a better word, bugfuck. Never in your life have you seen a more dysfunctional community than when the evil demon of Not Nice rears her critical tongue about the romance genre.

  We fully admit, we knew we were wading into vague waters when we started our site. We found that most reviews of romance novels online were unfailingly too nice. Not nearly critical enough, and in our opinion likely to recommend highly books we both loathed. Our grading curve, we knew, was harsher than most.

  But romance novels, we thought, deserved the harsh eye simply because we loved them as much as we loved the literary canon at which we were encouraged to level the power of our sexy, sexy literary analysis abilities. Criticism is good in a literary context. Criticism is Not Nice in a romance community context.

  We also admit with grins and nodding that we aren’t by any means nice. We don’t sugar coat, but when we harsh on a book, we can guarantee that we back up any points we don’t like with a full explanation. The genre gets nowhere when criticism amounts to “I didn’t like it, because it sucked.” Sure, maybe it did suck, but why it sucked is of crucial importance.

  But then, describing in detail why you think something sucked? Not Nice.

  Author Marta Acosta probably put it best when she asked in utter fucking bewilderment, what is it with the romance community that it acts like a minority, even though it’s a majority? As we’ve stated, romance = biggest genre with biggest profits, biggest man titty and biggest market share of fiction sold in the United States. With the billions bought and billions sold, one would think romance
would get a swelled head.* But no, our egos and our manhoods are flaccid like green balloons on March 18. We behave as a much-persecuted minority. Persecuted, sure, but minority? Come on, now. What Acosta means by “majority behaving like a minority” and what we mean by “wrapped inside a crunchy taco shell of bugfuck” is the panic and censure that erupts whenever anyone for whatever reason dares criticize any element of romance. It’s as if any criticism within the romance community cannot be tolerated lest it give additional ammunition to those who attack us from the outside of that community. We can’t criticize each other when we’re being criticized by our detractors, the frail logic goes.

  But without criticism, there is no growth. And when a genre is crapped upon and denigrated as much as romance is, the only people we think are qualified to criticize it are those who read it and love it. So we brought in the noise, the funk, the snark, and the “Oh, hell, no.” And in doing so, we proclaimed ourselves Bitches, because we knew the whole package probably wouldn’t go over well.

  The general backlash against criticism in romance roots itself in the idea that to criticize someone else means to admit there’s something wrong with you as well. To admit flaws in another’s book is to denounce your own work. And we’ll admit: authors have it pretty tough when it comes to promoting one another. It’s next to impossible to give any public criticism of a fellow author without damaging your own public image. Few authors bash one another in any genre; when they do, it’s rather startling.

  That said, it blows us away how often some authors in romance act as if they’re members of a social club rather than as individual small business owners operating a monetary enterprise. Nowhere is this more evident than with the rise and fall of some e-publishers. Rumors began popping up months before a few e-publishers like Triskelion, Lady Aibell, and Mardi Gras went out of business, with authors telling of bounced checks, ignored e-mail, and delays on publication of books. When rumors began to appear on blogs like ours and Dear Author, well, imagine a giant kiddie pool filled with pink sand. Then imagine authors shoving their heads in it, saying, “I love my publisher! My publisher is the best! They are so great and I get paid and I don’t know what you’re talking about! Nyah, nyah, I can’t hear you!” In any other industry, rumors of financial instability would usually mean people pay attention, or at least ask questions. But in Romancelandia, it means falling on one’s sword as quickly as possible, in dramatic fashion. Public loyalty means everything, especially if an e-pub makes decisions on who gets published and who gets published in paper based on author participation in e-mail loops and whether an author has defended the publisher in public on message boards and blogs.*