There have been several extremely good blogs posted in the last few days related to the lack of respect romance gets and what we should or shouldn’t do about it. This is another of those topics I’ve learned to stay away from, not because I don’t believe romance novels get a bum rap overall. I do. It’s just that after reading an almost infinite number of these discussions over the years I tend to shake my head more over how we all tend to get outraged for the wrong reasons at times than feel compelled to comment.
So what I normally do instead of posting is go back and reread something I posted six years ago after someone on a romance list attempted to lecture me on my reading habits. Yes, another romance reader was doing the lecturing and, newbie to the web that I was then, I didn’t realize I was supposed to accept it meekly. (BG) Rereading my response each time the topic comes up always makes me smile and this time I thought I’d share the smiles instead of hording them for myself. (G)
A little warning, though, this is longer than anything I would normally post here but I couldn’t decide what to choose for an except and what to hold back because it all still pretty much expresses how I feel about reading romances, how not respecting ourselves gets me a lot more worked up than the genre not being respected and how repeated attempts to “redefine” the romance genre itself just leave me shaking my head because they seem so unnecessary. It is what it is and what “it is” is pretty amazing. How does one redefine a title wave or an avalanche?
So, read on at your own peril.
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I have to admit that I’m fascinated by the suggestion that anyone could reach an assumption that I only read for pleasure based on my not wanting to finish a romance novel I didn’t like. Fascinated and appalled. So much so that I’m not even going to make the obvious response and say whether I ever read anything else other than romance. For anything other than pleasure. I think I’ll just let each of you figure it out on your own.
However, I admit that I have never implied that I read romance novels for any reason other than for personal pleasure. Nor am I about to. I suppose that’s also why I don’t review them, either. For me to have to make that evaluation would ruin the fun of simply enjoying the story. But what really bothers me about this whole ‘we should try to better ourselves and the genre’ attitude is that, much to my consternation, it appears that I should also feel apologetic about solely reading romance novels for the pleasure they give. Years ago, that concept might have made it past my internal sensors, but now? It ain’t gonna happen. I make no apologies for that.
The entire history of the romance genre has been filled with people telling lovers of the genre what we should or should not be reading. And why. Usually, they tell us that we should be reading something else to improve our minds, not reading THAT trash. Informing us of what we’re supposed to like and not like. And why. Educating us on what we’re supposed to believe. Or not believe. Implying that we are somehow not quite as intelligent as the rest of the population when we simply enjoy reading romance novels for the pleasure they bring. So, forgive me if I stubbornly maintain that I simply want to read a book for the pure joy of doing so and refuse to call it anything else but that on general principle.
In point of fact, I probably wouldn’t be reading romance at all if those oh-so lofty reasons were why I did. That’s not a put-down of romance by any means. On the contrary, I believe it’s the greatest compliment I can give the books in this genre. Unlike quite a lot of things in life, romance novels generally deliver what they promise. I’m forty-one years old. I’ve read romance for almost thirty of those years. During that time, I’ve been told many times that I shouldn’t be reading these books. Instead, I keep acquiring new examples of these fabulous love stories all the time. Over the years, they and their wonderfully misguided, pleasure-seeking authors have provided the most consistent entertainment value for the time and money spent of any other activity I can compare them to. That is not a crime. That is quite an achievement.
Along the way, I’ve learned quite a lot about life. I’ve learned more about history from reading romance novels than I would ever learn in a classroom. (I hated history so much in school that I’m constantly amazed at how much I enjoy it in romances.) I’ve learned about careers that I didn’t even realize existed, much less that women were working in them. And I’ve gotten a glimpse into women actually working in those careers on a day-to-day basis. I’ve learned about art, music, and just about any other subject one can mention.
Oh, yes, sex is one of those subjects. But not just the more physical or erotic aspects of sex itself. I’ve learned about relationships. Between men and women. Between women and families. Between women and other women. I’ve learned about emotions, good and bad, and how we can and should deal with those feelings. About how to separate pure fantasy from hard-edged reality. About how to live with the consequences of the choices we make in life.
And about myself.
During the times in my life that were the toughest, romance novels and the women (and men) who write them were always there to remind me that I wasn’t alone in feeling the things I felt. That there were others in the world who at least understood the emotions I knew where churning underneath the surface even when I didn’t know what to do about them. That somewhere, somehow, things would get better, if I only believed in myself and hung in there. And then there were the times when life was simply crazy, not bad – just nuts, and these wonderful novels were again there to let me know that other people also saw the humor and joy in just being alive when the world was somehow out-of-kilter in every other way.
Read romance novels to broaden my mind instead of simply for the pleasure of reading them in their infinite variety and astonishing complexity? I think not. Why should I? When I get one with the other for twice the fun and half the pain, what IS the point?
Read romance novels in order to see and understand the reality of the underside of life and human nature? No thank you. I’ve seen it already and haven’t been impressed. I much prefer to read about something else. Like the good things life has to offer. So, if I pass on novels that are heavier and more depressing in favor of one that is much more uplifting and cheerful throughout, that’s my choice and I don’t have to justify that choice to anyone.
Read romance novels in an attempt to prove to the world that they have merit, when I’ve always thought they were the best examples of storytelling in the first place? Isn’t that going about things backwards? I’ve never cared whether the rest of the world liked them or not. Why start now? Instead, the rest of the world should occasionally read a romance novel, just to put life and love into perspective. We might have fewer wars. Less crime. Better basic relationships. All the way around.
Yes, I read romance novels for my own personal pleasure and only for that. And at this point in my life, if they don’t please me, I won’t read them. And if they do, I will. I’m certainly not ashamed to admit that.
I absolutely will NOT apologize for it, either way.
That’s putting it about as mildly as I can.
Nor will I feel comfortable allowing anyone else to think they’re expected to apologize for enjoying that pleasure without challenging any attitude which implies that they should.