Ah, L'Amour

Romance.

Something of a dirty word in literary circles, not just because so much of what's published today under the category of "romance" is, well, smut. (Personally, I have a great deal more respect for those that publish graphically described sex under the unabashed title "erotica" but that's a separate point).

And that's a pity, because love, as a theme, has been popular since time immemorial, not just in women's literature but in legends, in mainstream novels and making some inroads in every other genre. I, personally, love romance, which is why I hate most romance novels I've been exposed to my last twenty years.

Why? Well, first there's the caliber of much of the writing. Just because the plot is basically pre-defined with only a few details to provide, doesn't mean everything else should be throwaway. Cardboard characters, substandard writing, implausible connections and plot devices make many of the assembly-line quality romances available as appealing as cleaning the bathroom the day after a major night of binge drinking. Nor is the caliber of such writing improved by use of a thesaurus (please, I'm begging you). If you don't know what the word means, the nuances of a word, don't bloody well use it. When I see someone riding over the "emerald verdant green grass" on the first page, it's the last page I'll be reading.

But the caliber of the writing is only part of the pain, because, as I've explained a few times in the past, what passes for romance tend to be three different things: (a) [least offensive but least interesting] two forgettable people thrown together in implausible circumstances who show no connection whatsoever but somehow end up as a couple, (b) two people who hate each other all the time, but who heat up the sheets like no one's business (a recipe for romantic disaster in my opinion) or (c) a variation on a or b where we "liven things up" by having the "hero" rape the heroine for spurious reasons. I find all of these the opposite of romance, with the last especially unadulterated misogyny, inflicted on women by other women.

It doesn't have to be that way. Georgette Heyer, still called the Queen of Regency Romance though she's been dead for forty years (and her books are still mostly in print, I might add) wrote engaging, historically believable, entertaining, hilarious love stories with characters of surpassing depth (yes, even her stock characters). Love stories because the people the heroes (and heroines) cared about were more important than themselves, were worth sacrifices, were precious and treated as such. Sex, naturally, was not much a part of these romances, in keeping with the times and the care with which our heroes guarded the virtue of their ladies - because that was one sign of respect and adoration. After all, if a girl was ruined, she suffered far more than the ruiner. I have to add that there's a sophistication to these stories, an appeal that's hard to describe but let me just say I've hooked more than one male friend on these books.

More recently, I've discovered Nora Roberts (who also writes under the name of J.D. Robb for some futuristic thrillers) who manages (at least in all the books I've read) to avoid falling into the trap of lifeless characters and hateful or raping protagonists. She's also quite humorous. However, from what I've been exposed to (and I haven't had the stomach the past decade or so to try many new romance authors for this very reason), she is very much the exception and not the rule.

That's how pervasive these attitudes are in our culture, not just men, but also women. So, why bring it up? I read something today that really got my mind thinking, something that surprised me. Now, as most of you who know me know, I tend toward liberal/feministic thinking. Not going to apologize, just a reminder for those of you who somehow missed that. Most of my friends on Facebook tend the same direction.

So, imagine my surprise when someone posts a link to an article about a young woman who chooses to stay celibate until marriage and how difficult this is to communicate with potential dating partners and how difficult it was to maintain a relationship. Among other things, she struggled with having the convey this message early enough in the relationship but not weird out potential partners on the first date. She she even dated a very conservative Christian who not only was the women-should-be-seen-and-not-heard type she found hard to stomach, but also put more sexual pressure on her than her other dating partners.

If you're confused why I was surprised, let me explain that I wasn't surprised this was posted. What surprised me were the attitudes of my liberal, anti-rape, pro-feminism friends who described her as a "fundamentally an extremely dishonest, disingenuous and manipulative individual" because she didn't tell guys on the first date. And not just one person or one gender piped in with more along the same lines: that "Physical intimacy is a normal and healthy expectation of romantic dating" or that she should limit her choices to those on a "Christian website" because "she should stop trying to date men that aren't part of her pretty circumscribed social set." She was categorized as a "conservative right-wing Republican" (not sure why that had to be so) and "drama queen." 

Whoa, wait, what? Since when is it wrong for a woman to decide when and to whom she wants to have sex? Or that she has to give her sexual history to guys (on the first date no less)? Or that she has to justify her position in any way? That sounded to me (and still does) like the "expectation" that dating involved sex was somehow an obligation on her part. And that many, otherwise liberal pro-women people considered the onus entirely on her to warn away potential partners from the get-go. My response (which I'll repeat here) is, why shouldn't someone who feels sex is an expectation say it on the first date: "If you don't put out in a reasonable time frame, I'm walking. I'm only interested in dating people willing to be my sexual partner." (I'm sure that would go over well)

Why is the freedom we've all fought for (and I also defend) for women to share their bodies as they choose to (for any reason they want) not apply to women who, hey, don't want to share their bodies with just anyone?

To be honest, I was appalled, not only that this attitude was so pervasive (both men and women: ""I think physical intimacy is a near given in romantic dating, otherwise it is a platonic friendship"), but how insulting it was to both men and women.  Men can't be passionate about someone, love someone without sex? Women can't find someone precious and charming, can't love to spend time and do things with someone she isn't copulating with? That argues that the freedom to have sex for pleasure mandates you must or you are somehow an aberration. And, even if that's the prevailing attitude, I think "majority rules" should have no bearing on what an individual wants to do with his or her body. Talk about the opposite of romance!

(What if your partner is parapalegic or otherwise physically incapable? Going to toss him/her to the scrap heap? Very "passionate!" Great love story!)

Now, don't get me wrong. I love sex. I also, however, see it inextricably linked to love. For me. I don't tell anyone else what motivation they have to have, but that's my motivation. I've had two sexual partners (total) who were also my two husbands. That's not a coincidence. I don't regret having sex with either (even the psycho) and I don't regret NOT having sex with all those people I chose not to have sex with. Someday, I'd like to have sex again, but I'd only be interested with someone I cared deeply about, someone who cared about me. For me, if someone told me they'd drop me if I didn't put out, I'd wave goodbye with a smile. I'm worth more than that. 

Here's the thing, guys (and girls), when people talk about removing the rape culture, we don't just mean brute force, we mean coercing girls into thinking they have to have sex to be loved. Girls (or guys, for that matter) pushed into sex before they're ready or for the wrong reasons often live with a crushed sense of self-worth every bit as painful as a rape victim's. And we need to stop pushing it if we want it to get better. 

I'm all for romance, real romance, where people learn to love each other and, when they're ready, when they both want it, finding love culminated in each others arms. 

But that's just my opinion (repeatedly documented in my own books, I might add). I'm open to hearing what you think. Feel free to chime in.

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Sunday Soapbox: Rapists and Punishment

*Steps on Soapbox*

Again, we're going for a short entry here partially because I'm very focused on my new novel (which I'm still in love with). Before the end of the day, I'll have 40K words in a little over three weeks. Woot! I'm loving this!

The other reason is because my soapbox is on a topic I've discussed before and at length. I hate rapists, I feel it should be a capital crime and, yes, I'm pro capital punishment. No sense ranting on it; clearly, I feel strongly just as many people (who are against capital punishment) feel very strongly. Most people won't admit to approving rape, but many have a tendency to dismiss it, which is just as bad in my opinion.

Part of the reason I feel the way I do is that I had a father who did his best to educate me on what I should be wary of. I know far more than the average person on some of the worst scum who ever lived (at least in the past century or so). I believe that rape should be a capital crime because, when they regress (and sexual crimes have some of the highest rates of recidivism), they often react to their previous involvement with the criminal justice system by eradicating the witnesses. Read about serial killers, and the pattern repeats over and over again.

Here are some stories about Anthony Sowell from earlier this week, here, and here. In a nutshell, in case you missed it or lost it because of the tragedy at Fort Hood, Sowell was a convicted rapist, served his time, lived as a registered sex offender and crossed all the t's he was supposed to. He also, apparently, spent the last four years killing at least ten women. He is a living poster child for whY I believe the way I do. Why? Because as much as we, as a society, would be responsible for his death if we put him to death, we are just as culpable for those no less than ten innocent women who were brutally murdered by someone we had the opportunity to stop once and for all.

10+ women who hadn't hurt anyone vs. one person who had. Either way, we're responsible.

Hanging one scoundrel, it appears, does not deter the next. Well, what of it? The first one is at least disposed of.
--H.L. Mencken

Just sayin'.

(I will, for brevity, spare you all my opinion of how repeated reports of awful smells went ignored by authorities, or how a woman reported rape on September 22, and the cops finally came to check it out [without warrants] more than a month later on October 30. Nice job there, guys.)

*Steps off soapbox*

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Thieving Thursday: EC and Polanski

First, let me tell you I appreciate the responses so far on yesterday’s blog, “What Is Love?” To be honest, I was expecting different answers than I’ve had so far, so it’s been a good experience for me. I’m learning. However, if you haven’t put in your two cents yet, there’s still plenty of opportunity. I really want to know what you think.

Normally, I pick a single comment I’ve made elsewhere and go with that. However, since one could affect those that frequent my blog, today I’m making an exception. So, first, Relax Max at Clarity 2009 clued me in to the latest headache at Entrecard. Now, I’ve been using EC since I got into blogging. I don’t hang out in forums or do anything clever, but I often use the toolbar to keep track of some blogs I’ve found interesting but wasn’t quite enamored with enough to put on my bloglist. But, for traffic building, I’m not too worried. My philosophy, from the first, for this blog has been quality rather than quantity and I mean that with regards to viewers, too. I don’t have advertising so the number of readers is largely immaterial. The interaction with those that comment (who are almost universally some of the smartest people ever) is what I really like about blogging and I don’t need hundreds of hits to get that interaction.

So, when I was told paid ads will be compulsory, I decided EC had done me all the good it was going to do. My widgets are gone and won’t be back. By all means, if you liked coming here, bookmark me. I'd love to see you. I love to have readers, but I’m not interesting in being strong-armed for advertising that buys me nothing in return.

Secondly, Roman Polanski. I don’t do celebrity gossip so, other than having vaguely heard the name before, the story headlines about Roman Polanski were brushed over. Why would I care what’s going on with a director I have barely heard of? Predator Press (and a few other sites) convinced me that this was more than I realized and I went looking for more information.

Sick.

Folks, I have no dog in this fight. If it had been my daughter, he would not have lived to stand trial (and I likely would have received the death penalty myself, but some things are worth dying for). I looked over his filmography and was entirely disinterested. The few of his films I’ve seen I have not enjoyed.

But the two have nothing to do with each other. What’s disgusting is not that he’s being dragged to court after wandering around free for thirty years, not that the judge decided to make him do actual jail time for the sexual crime he committed against a child despite the plea bargain, what’s disgusting is that this heinous crime was ever plea bargained in the first place or that no one has stepped up to see justice done in the past thirty years.

I don’t care if he’s made great films – he could be the Michelangelo or Mozart of films and it wouldn’t matter – no one has the right to do as he did. As a general rule, when a celebrity cheats on his/her spouse or gets a pocket of cellulite, has a political opinion I don’t agree with, I just couldn’t care less. If celebrities want to be stupid, I can’t stop them. And it’s none of my business. If they do something stupid to themselves and set a bad example, I don’t let that bother me. For instance, I don’t think Michael Phelps owed the world a squeaky clean image.

But someone who forces a child to have sex after ploying her with wine and drugs – that’s a monster. We lock them up for a reason. If there was real justice, he would never have had the opportunity to escape, he would have stood up for all the charges against him at the time instead of the most minor and no one would have sheltered him from justice. You folks who are defending him because of his “genius,” what the hell are you thinking?

He thinks it ought to be over? He should have taken his punishment when he had the chance and saved his victim several decades of scrutiny and pain. That’s just raping her over again.

Throw the book at the bastard.

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An Ugly Contrast

There is a reason I don't read much romance any more unless I really trust the author.

As you may have noticed, I've been on something of a writing/talking about writing kick for a while (and, no, I'm not done), but I'm going to take a little side trip because I'm just thoroughly disgusted and I need to purge it.

See, although I read a lot of books, my daughter has gotten me hooked on a wee bit of manga. I've mentioned this before. Actually, I was really only hooked on one series, Fruits Basket, by Natsuki Takaya. I was completely sucked in to this series, intended for teenage girls, loved the anime, but the manga thoroughly captured me. I am not an artist, by even the most generous measure and don't surround myself in "art" (or even get a lot of it), but I was thoroughly entranced by the artwork in this series, finding whole segments spoke to me in the pictures themselves. I've talked about Fruits Basket before, so I won't go into it again, but I'm a fan and own every single book.

Although I've liked several other anime, like Ouran Host Club, I hadn't found myself compelled by the manga. The artwork, not the same. Well, they've released some earlier work by my apparently favorite manga artist, Natsuki Takaya, two more series, Phantom Dream, which has lovely artwork but is so disjointed as to be very challenging to read - as a first work, it shows - and Tsubasa: Those With Wings, with which I'm completely captivated. Again.

I read and loved the first volume, finding the genius/expert Raimon completely charming (yes, he reminds me of my husband) despite his apparent disinterest in everyone but the warm-hearted and enthusiastic Kotobuki. Trite, but I love it. I got the second volume when I was in the midst of a rewrite of my second novel and promised myself I wouldn't read my new Tsubasa until I was done. Well, I finished it and was caught up all over again. Loved it. I was filled with romance and charm and excited and turned to one of my many many other writing projects brimming over with enthusiasm. And jumped my--sorry, TMI.

So, anyway, I got that reminder that comes to most married people once in a while that their spouses aren't quite the devoted love-you-no-matter-what types we all like to think they are, which was depressing. So, since it sucked my interest in writing away (that and preparing a query for an agent - I hate marketing), I decided to pick up one of the books my mother-in-law loaned me. Now, let me start by saying that I've never really been a Christine Feehan fan, but then the number of romance authors I can stomach is almost infinitesimally small, so I try to read with an open mind. Her work really hadn't stuck in my head, other than I know she does paranormal romances, which I like in principle, but haven't enjoyed in reality so much. In fact, the only exception I know of is Nora Roberts. I don't like this book I pick up, but I try to stick with it, give it a chance, only to run across the big thing that ruins more romances for me than any other thing. The brutalize-your-lover-in-the-name-of-romance thing.

Ick.

Sex is fine in a book; I'm not a prude. But to have a woman begging him to stop/slow down (to no avail), while he breathes "mine" and bites "marks of possession" all over her and pretend that's romantic, I have to go GAG. I'm sure some people find that romantic, but I am not one of them. (They make a big play about this is the side effect of being half "leopard" but that doesn't fly with me. In nature, females call the shots way more than males, much as we'd like to think differently or use it as an excuse. Primates are one of the only exceptions.)

Admittedly, this is a pet peeve of mine. I hate the prevalence of rape and sort of rape in fiction and, maybe you're a fan, but I'm not. And I worry about impressionable girls who think that's what love is about. Maybe it doesn't have that effect. Maybe no girl ends up miserable from sex she thought would be romantic but ended up being traumatized instead, blurring the line between date rape and volition because she thought being forced was somehow romantic. Maybe it's all in my head.

And I find it particularly irksome when women promote this kind of thinking. It's one thing to have men treat women like property in many parts of the world; it's another when the women in that environment aid and abet that thinking but they do. It's one thing to have female circumcision and beating considered part of life in many parts of the world; it's more frustrating to have women promote it but they do. It's bad enough that force and aggression in this country are prevalent; it absolutely sickens me that, in a supposed enlightened culture like ours, women are the number one provider of this propaganda to other women.

The contrast between the portrayal of protagonists in these two works (both penned by women) is all the more pronounced.

But I hate it. It sickens me. Call me a prude. Call me an old fogey. Call me anything you like, but you won't find ANY of my favorite characters doing anything like that, and rapists do not fare well in my own fiction. That's a conscious choice. And I will not be reading any more Christine Feehan. And I'll be more careful what romances I pick up.

But I can't wait for volume 3 of Tsubasa, Those with Wings. So there.

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