Back in the 1980s, novels like Judith McNaught’s historicals ranked at the top of the charts. They had intrigue, they had excitement, they had heroines in gorgeous (albeit historically-suspect) gowns, as well as heaps and heaps of drama.
They also had extremely aggressive and dominating heroes who often were, for the lack of a better word, misogynists. Take some of McNaught’s most popular novels—Until You, Whitney My Love, and Something Wonderful. Stephen, Clayton, and Jordan are wealthy, handsome, and powerful; but they dismiss women as grasping chits who care only for money, status, and frivolous finery. They continually suspect the intentions of their own heroines on the basis of their femininity, resulting in Big Misunderstandings that fuel much of their novels’ drama.
No one can say that McNaught’s novels are boring—whether you are reading or hate-reading them, they are impossible to put down until the final page. But the virtues of McNaught’s heroes have been hotly contested in romance circles ever since. Hate-readers often cite the heroes’ misogyny as the novels’ main drawback. But fans assert that, despite their misogyny, McNaught’s heroes are still compelling, interesting and entertaining characters—even though some readers do add the apologetic footnote of “these books were written in a different time.”
But does that mean that heroes written in today’s “more enlightened” cultural climate cannot be misogynists? Is it impossible to have a sexist hero without a sexist novel? Or without the novel supporting sexist ideas?
During one of the earlier episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, young surgeon Meredith Grey asks herself, “Why do I keep hitting myself in the hand with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.”
Greetings, and welcome to the first edition of Dr. Lovinkind’s Guide to Common Romance Medicine. I studied for seven years (three of those disguised as a footman!) at Woodiwiss University’s Romantic Medical School and earned my residency at New York’s famous St. Kinsale’s Secret Baby Research Hospital. I’ve since opened my own practice to offer exemplary medical care to plucky orphans, bluestockings with secret pasts, and scarred Dukes with limps. While I wish to remain anonymous in order to protect the identity of my own patients, I am more than willing to share my medical expertise on the unique nature of Romance Medicine.
While romance novels can be written in a variety of ways, with countless combinations of settings, time periods, cultures, and conflicts, the genre is generally bound by two ironclad rules.
With Chelsea Mueller’s recent Heroes and Heartbreakers article on 
As loyal readers of romance know, formulas exist for a reason—because they are highly effective. One of the most bang-for-your-buck formulas in romance is the tortured hero, the man spiritually broken by fate, circumstance or the foolishness of his own actions, who is remade and brought into the light by the perseverance of the heroine.
When one thinks of The Wizard of Oz, one of the first lines that comes to mind is when Good Witch Glinda proclaims, “Only bad witches are ugly” (right after she asks Dorothy if she’s a good witch or a bad witch, in one of the most subtly hilarious burns in cinematic history). A simplistic concept that was popular in folktales, fairy tales, and older Disney films, it established the metaphor of an ugly heart seeping into a person’s outward appearance.
A few years ago, when I first starting reading romance, I could envision a life of reading nothing but romances (with a smattering of fantasy, YA, and fiction). But like when you eat nothing but dessert, after a couple of years I started feeling annoyed. Then frustrated.
I have a problem with a certain type of romance. The type where, whenever an AlphHole hero is being a misogynist idiot to the heroine, the heroine will conveniently discover something about the hero that renders her more sympathetic and receptive to his advances, without the hero actually changing or improving his brutish behaviour.
While reading paranormal romances, I’ve come to notice that the vast majority of heroes in paranormals are alphas—but not just alphas. The alpha males in paranormals seem more alpha. Alpha-ier? Possessed of above-average alpha-ness? Due to the worldbuilding, narrative constructs, and tropes of the subgenre, paranormal heroes can get away with behavior that would not be permitted with contemporary or historical romance heroes—or at least, not to the same extent.
The question of whitewashing in publishing and the presence of people of color in fiction has been bubbling to the forefront of people’s minds within the last couple of years. Most recently, the debate has blazed up within the YA community, with several scandals involving white models on the covers of books with non-white protagonists.
On the plate of the media’s coverage of Popular Entertainment, books have always been the vegetables. Everyone knows that books are healthy and good for you, and that everyone really should consume more of them—especially children and young adults. But, much like vegetables, books often get pushed to the side of the plate in favor of Film (the delicious juicy cheeseburger) and Television (the salty, greasy fries). And whenever the media does mention books, it’s almost always in relation to how Good they are for society, how Artistic, How Intellectually Stimulating, instead of how fun and entertaining they can be. Eat that spinach, kids! It’s full of vitamins and nutrients! However, genre books like romance and erotica are viewed as little more than the wilted, greasy lettuce beneath the onion rings.
Alpha-Beta, or opposites-attract stories are a common and winning formula in romances today. Fire and ice. Action and reaction. Passion versus logic.
Given the recent success of ABC’s romantic soap, Revenge, it seems like a good time to discuss one of the most narratively interesting of romance plots: the revenge romance. The storylines tend to follow a basic pattern—one of the protagonists seeks to revenge him or herself for a perceived offense by initiating a romantic relationship with the other protagonist, with the intention of using it to harm/humiliate/defeat the other, only to fall in love, realize they were wrong, reveal their true intentions, and stride off into the Happily Ever After Sunset.
Every community has its own particular language, parlance, or lingo, developed through shared experiences and ideas. But sometimes that lingo can be a little hard to decipher for those newer to the group. Such is the case with romance readers who have just started to read the wealth of reviewer blogs, or those who have been here for a while, but have been afraid to ask about a particular term. Well, here is a neat little dictionary of reviewer and romance terms to help you get familiar. Feel free to contribute your own terms and definitions in the comments!
The Klingons have always said that revenge is best served cold—and in the case of ABC’s gloriously entertaining new hit, Revenge, it’s better to serve it chilled, in a martini glass, in the Hamptons during one fateful summer.
My encounter with Judith McNaught’s polarizing classic Whitney, My Love began in a way quite familiar with many plucky Regency heroines: one of my blogger friends told me never to read it, as it was a terrible and scandalous book, which of course meant that I had to read it to see how wretched or misunderstood this novel really was.
Ever have one of those couples you invite to an open house party, who are incredibly witty and entertaining for the first two to three hours, but grow less tolerable the longer they stay, and who continue to follow you around and butt in when you try to start conversations with other people?
In romance, the dominating and powerful Alpha Male Hero is as beloved to readers as the misogynist and abusive Cave Man Hero is despised. The Alpha Male is overprotective, take-charge, and possessive. The Cave Man hero is, well, also overprotective, take-charge, and possessive.
