Romance is Dead

I've been thinking about the romance genre lately, and here's my observation.

I'm going to use a food analogy, since I love food. And analogies.

You can't clump all food books together into one category. Some food books are cookbooks, some are travel journals, some are fiction and some are non-fiction. Some are about baking bread and some are about restaurant life and some are about making sushi in Japan.

And if you insisted that EVERY book about food had to be categorized under the same umbrella term--FOOD--it would be confusing and ineffective and make no sense.

Some folks are looking for cookbooks about French food. And some folks want to read about Anthony Bourdain's experience as a sous-chef. And some want to read culinary cozy mysteries.

And so we have sub-categories, created by publishers and booksellers to facilitate sales and help customers identify the correct book for their "taste."

So what does this have to do with the romance genre?

At some point we need to realize that romance doesn't actually exist. There is no romance genre. You could argue that it must have a central love story and a happy ending, but even those parameters are no longer applicable.

The thing is...every reader has a very personal idea about what "romance" is--in general terms, and for the genre itself.

Some folks think books with criminal motorcycle club dudes who humiliate their "women" are romance.

Some folks think books with abduction, torture, and rape should be categorized as romance.

Should erotica and romance be clumped together under the same umbrella? Christian inspirational books with stepbrothers and stepfathers deflowering the new virgin in the family?

Just because these books have relationship arcs does not mean they belong in the same group. If your book has more than one person in it, it includes relationships. These relationships may or may not include love stories and/or sex.

Some "romance" novels have no sex.

Some "romance" novels have graphic orgies.

Honestly, erotica, erotic romance, and romance have no business being clumped together.

But it gets even dicier than that. Because the core concept of "romance" is now blurry.

This group is fragmented for a reason.

Simple, really.

BECAUSE WE DON'T BELONG TOGETHER.

We just don't.

Just like the reader who is obsessed with baking bread could give two shits about Anthony Bourdain's chef experience, the Christian inspirational "romance" reader is appalled by books with stepbrother orgies.

And the person who loves "edgy" NA books thinks the squeaky clean Harlequins are for fuddy-duds.

We don't belong together.

But the publishing industry knows one thing. ROMANCE SELLS.

Romance novels sell...A LOT.

And so, if you slap "romance" on a book description--with a generic cover and title and blurb--your sales will rise.

What does this mean?

It means that the term "romance" as a publishing tool is meaningless. It could be used on a porno book just as easily as an inspirational.

It means that readers have a more difficult time finding books, unless you're sticking with tried-and-true authors you trust.

I think arguing about what "real" romance is--as a genre--is a pointless task. Romance is a personal thing, conceptually and genre-related as well. There are readers who still point to Nora Roberts and Julie Garwood historicals and say "that's what real romance is supposed to be."

And there are new romance readers who have never heard of these authors. Their ideas about romance are totally different.

Trying to fit all these books into one category is ridiculous. It's not helpful for the reader searching for the right book, and it's certainly not helpful for the authors who are trying to find appropriate readers.

But I don't think the industry cares. It cares about making money. And "ROMANCE" sells.

So who cares if your romance novel doesn't actually include a hero or a happy ending?

I care, cried the dinosaur.

How Romance Is Like Lacrosse

How Romance Is Like Lacrosse

Bear with me. I know these two things seem totally unrelated, but based on my personal history, they're actually quite similar.

I coached girl's lacrosse for fifteen years. It was my favorite sport in high school, I started the club team in college, and then after I graduated I coached. When I started playing we had wooden sticks, no headgear, no sidelines, and set offense and defense. It was an elegant, skilled, exciting game.

I coached "old-school." I taught the girls that "cradling" (a motion where you cradle the stick back and forth to keep the ball secure) was the most important skill.

And then something happened. The sport started to change. The wooden sticks were replaced with plastic. Then, they instituted sidelines, and offsides on the field, the positions disappeared as the game turned into a fast-break for the whole team and zone defense replaced man-to-man. It got more physical, like the boy's game, and the girls were required to wear headgear. Cradling sort of disappeared, as it turned, more or less, into the boy's sport.

Fast, physical, structured.

So, what happened? I stopped coaching. This was NOT my lacrosse anymore. It was new, it was like men's lacrosse, and it wasn't fun for me anymore. I was sad, but I figured it was time to move on.

About fifteen years ago I started reading romance. My son was one, we had just adopted him from the Philippines, and I was an exhausted new mom. I needed some light-hearted entertainment that would make me feel good. I discovered romance novels! Happy endings! Real heroes! Lusty sex! Romance!

Yipppppeeeeeee!

I devoured Julie Garwood historicals, Amanda Quick, vintage Julia Quinn. I fell in love with the Carpathian world of Christine Feehan with the super romantic notion of one mate for eternity. The stories were fresh and new, the writing was excellent. I didn't love contemporary romance--too much like real life. I stuck with mostly historical and paranormal, which had that added element of creativity or historical detail which transported me to another world.

I loved it.

And then something happened.

It started to change.

Contemporary romance and erotica began to take over the market. Real heroes--men who had integrity, loyalty, protective qualities--were replaced with abusive motorcycle guys who passed their girlfriends around to their buds.

The old-fashioned romance was replaced with BDSM, orgies, and cheating.

As paranormals/historicals fell from popularity, books catering to a younger crowd--YA and NA--surged. And books with violent behavior toward women became commonplace.

The excellent writing became something special, not the norm, as typos/grammatical errors, and generally piss poor writing started to crop up frequently.

Instead of fresh, new, creative ideas, copycat books sprouted up like weeds. 50 Shades is popular? Great, let's crank out 100 books with the same cover and concept.

Here I am, 15 years later, wondering what the hell happened to my romance novels.

I'm sad. But the truth is the best books I've read recently are mysteries, horror, humor, literary fiction.

I spend a lot of time doing re-reads. My Julie Garwood books are falling apart.

If this is the "new" world of romance: copycat books, degrading behavior, sloppy writing, and a distinct lack of romance, then maybe it's time to cut my losses. Just like I did with lacrosse.

The game has changed, and I'm not sure I want to hang out here anymore.

There are still some wonderful authors and books coming out, but they are lost in a sea of mediocrity and flat-out porn.

And I wonder if the whole concept of "romance" the way I see it is so hopelessly old-fashioned that it no longer exists.

That sort of breaks my heart.

I hope the romance genre circles back and a renaissance occurs. I'm not sure if that's going to happen or not.

In the meantime, I have my old copies of Julie Garwood and Amanda Quick, and I'll keep taping the pages back in.

Old-school and proud,
Penny