a short list of things that trouble me
- The general attitude in society that characteristics traditionally defined as “female” are so looked-down-upon. Things like nurturing, compassion, gentleness. God forbid a man ever be gentle–he must be a sissy if he is! Even many vocal feminists deride traditional female attributes, and as a feminist, I find this very disappointing. I’ve always had the opinion that being kind and gentle and supportive of people was the ideal, not something to be mocked. But then I’m a starry-eyed optimist. And a hippie. And various other labels.
- The attitude of the general reading public that a romance novel is the refuge of the semi-literate. Granted, some lines are geared towards a fifth-grade reading level. But most aren’t. And you do actually need more than half a brain to read a romance novel, let alone to write one. Romance novels are a form of escapism, just like, say, anything by Tom Clancy or John Grishom or any other popular novelist you’ll see at the local Barnes & Noble. I’m as guilty of it as any other person, I suppose: I call my books “little romance novels.” That’s all they are: they’re not going to change the world or start a revolution. But that’s not what they’re for: they’re just to pass a few hours in a pleasant way with a good (*knocks wood*) story. I have no pretensions about what I write. But at least I’m working on having no embarrassment about them, either.
- The attitude among many romance readers and publishers that m/m stories aren’t romance. Yeah . . . because men never fall in love, of course. *eyerolls* There used to be a “writer’s guide for the beginning slasher” by a fellow named Minotaur, and he had a section on why he liked slash fic: because you get to see men being romantic with each other, which at the time (I think he started the site in 1998 or so) you didn’t see in any other gay literature. And if you’ve ever checked out my own fanfiction, you can see I have a serious jones for the romantic. Everybody deserves some sweetness in their lives.
- That the only “great” love stories are the ones that end tragically. Okay, so “Brokeback Mountain” is held as the end-all-be-all of gay literature, but it’s a tragedy. There are love stories that end well: the complete works of Jane Austen, Maurice by E.M. Forster, “Moonstruck”, most musicals (including my favorite, “Guys and Dolls”), Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, “Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands.” Even Dickens has some happy endings, in between all the dying of tuberculosis and social injustices. Of course, the only difference between a romance and a tragedy is where the writer stopped, but still. I hate the notion that things are only deep if they’re sad.
It’s been a very irritating day. Makes me want to break out the pokin’ stick.