Romance Novels: The addiction and the delusion
A few years ago my sister and I used to volunteer at a local bookstore. We helped for about two years, alphabetizing, clearing up shelves, and taking out repeats of books. The store was a horrendous mess. There were stacks of books everywhere, and even when we cleaned up a shelf, by the next week it would often be decimated again. It was dusty, hot, crowded with too many shelves in too narrow a space, and it smelled quite musty. Still, I loved it. Every Friday we would go for two hours and work and in return the owner, Sally was her name, would let us choose any book we liked for payment. She had some really wonderful books too, so I got quite a collection thanks to her. She would often have us work on a particular section, cleaning it up for a few weeks until it was finally finished. Then we would move on to another and eventually come full circle again. One section that we spent several weeks on was the romance section. This was one of her most extensive sections, and every shelf was jam packed with books. Every time we found repeats of a book we would exclaim with joy and take it from the shelf, grateful that we had found a little more room to put books on the shelf as it was really hard to find the space for them all. It was like some kind of odd treat to find repeats, and in a strange way, a lot more fun than it should have been. I think one of the reasons it took us so long to do the romance section is because we were always looking at the covers. They have marvelous covers on romance novels. Everyone has long flowing hair, often times even the men, and the clothing is always very artistic and colorful. The men usually are shirtless, or at the very least have their shirt ripped or unbuttoned, the women have huge round bosoms, and they both appear to be about to do something the viewer will have to leave the room for. For some reason looking at these covers was addicting. I think it was cause it was fun to see their funny expressions and read the little teasers on the cover that said things like, “Their hearts would stand the test of time,” or “He would be the conqueror of her heart.” We were always looking at the back covers, and then if it looked promising we’d look at the front inside cover which had an excerpt from the book, often one of the juicier parts. Upon reading this one of two things would happen: 1) We would gasp and shove the book back on the shelf, picking up another one a few minutes later. 2) It wouldn’t be that bad so we’d read the last page and THEN gasp and shove the book back on the shelf. It was all far too educational. I have no idea why we did it. I guess because we were hoping that one of them would be decent and we could actually find out if the Viking stranger married the Aztec princess. But alas, they were always too dirty to even think of purchasing one. After the fourth or fifth time of looking at the inside cover we determined that romance novels were lost causes and simply stuck to reading the backs and admiring the artwork. It was quite a shame really, because some of them were quite intriguing looking, but in the end I knew they were only about one thing. SMUT. The owner of the bookstore was trying to sell the place, and at one point a potential buyer was talking to her and was bragging about how they would fill the store with good literature, and only the best and most refined works would be sold. She said with an absolutely flat tone, “You know, people like the trash too.” She chose not to sell to that particular buyer. It was true though, that romance novels did sell. They were probably her most popular books, with true crime coming in at a close second. Women would come in and buy armloads of the romance novels sometimes on a weekly basis. They were perfectly nice seeming women too. Very friendly and mild mannered and cheerful and they were buying and reading books that I couldn’t even read the inside cover of. Armloads of them. It was really quite sad, especially since many of these women were older and single and very lonely looking. One reason that women go for these novels is because they are not satisfied with the real men in their life, or perhaps it was the lack of men in their life. My sister told me that romance novels are women’s porn, and I’d have to say she’s right. The men are always brooding, dangerous, haunted by inner demons and their own desire. Naturally they’re always gorgeous too, as are the women who always have creamy heaving bosoms, shiny silky locks, and eyes that sparkle like various sorts of precious gems. Often times they start out hating each other but having a secret passionate attraction which then makes itself known later in quite obvious ways that I’m not allowed to read about. There’s always drama and action and lots and lots of sex scenes. Or so I hear. I’ve never actually read one. I have however read regency romance novels which are pretty much exactly the same except without the sex thank heavens. I suppose I seem very silly for reading them, but frankly they make me laugh my head off and it’s worth it to me to read something so absolutely cheesy if it makes me laugh that much. Romance novels are so utterly cliché and cheesy that it’s an absolute cinch to write one. I started one just for laughs about a year ago but never finished. It was called, “My Abolitionist Lover” and so utterly corny that I’m sure it would actually sell if I ever finished it. It’s quite sad though, despite how fun it is to make fun of romance novels, that women actually seem to need them. So many times women are disappointed by the men in their lives whether through neglect, abuse, or just general insensitivity that they feel they have to turn to these in order to have any excitement in their lives. It is a fantasy that they immerse themselves in because their own lives are so unpleasant and because the men in them are so lacking, or often just absent. It’s very sad to me that women turn to these books instead of doing something about it. I suppose some read them just because they enjoy them, like me for instance, reading the tamer ones to laugh about them. But in my experience a lot of women read them because they are unhappy. Perhaps this is because men really do suck sometimes, or perhaps it’s because they expect too much of men. I don’t know. But I do know that some women are just plain addicted. I can understand that, I have an imagination and I can sympathize. But still, it’s not a good way to go about dealing with your disappointments. Also, it’s not exactly fair to expect men to be like they are in the novels. Men are human and they’re not going to say witty and charming things all the time, or know how to make the skin on the back of your neck tingle, or how to be the brave hero that women seem to want. It’s kinda the same way with chick flicks. In chick flicks men are always doing really sweet things and holding up stereos playing love songs outside your window as they look up at you with adoring eyes, or leaving hundreds of roses in your bedroom or saying things so absolutely sweet and wonderful that only a writer could have thought them up. Frankly, only about 7.5 people in this world are actually like that. If you think your life is going to be like a movie or a romance novel, then you’re going to be very sad when you finally realize that you’re way off. Real romance comes from little things that most people would think of as insignificant, like a dude opening a car door for you, or giving you the last French fry or letting you pick which movie to watch. You have to have realistic expectations because unlike books and movies, this is real. People do not speak witty scripted lines, people have flaws and failings, and most of all people are winging it as they go. I enjoy a decent romance novel (the clean kind) and chick flick as much as the next person. But I also put them in the same category as a fantasy novel. I don’t expect men to be like Aragorn and go chopping up all my enemies for me and then sing for me in elvish. I don’t expect Jack Sparrow to come out and be utterly funny and charming and roguishly dashing. I just expect someone who treats me well and tries to work through his mistakes. I suppose some women would say I was settling for less and wouldn’t have enough romance in my life, but I say they have the wrong definition of romance. You can certainly have lots of romance if you work at it and don’t expect it to just happen. Nothing ever just happens. At least nothing good. But I can guarantee you that I won’t be the one buying stacks and stacks of romance novels, trying to make my life more exciting. I’ll be making things interesting on my own. If you have a realistic expectation of how life is going to be, you’re not going to be disappointed because sometimes life is like a movie or a book. And when it is, it’s wonderful, and when it isn’t, it’s wonderful too!
A few years ago my sister and I used to volunteer at a local bookstore. We helped for about two years, alphabetizing, clearing up shelves, and taking out repeats of books. The store was a horrendous mess. There were stacks of books everywhere, and even when we cleaned up a shelf, by the next week it would often be decimated again. It was dusty, hot, crowded with too many shelves in too narrow a space, and it smelled quite musty. Still, I loved it. Every Friday we would go for two hours and work and in return the owner, Sally was her name, would let us choose any book we liked for payment. She had some really wonderful books too, so I got quite a collection thanks to her. She would often have us work on a particular section, cleaning it up for a few weeks until it was finally finished. Then we would move on to another and eventually come full circle again. One section that we spent several weeks on was the romance section. This was one of her most extensive sections, and every shelf was jam packed with books. Every time we found repeats of a book we would exclaim with joy and take it from the shelf, grateful that we had found a little more room to put books on the shelf as it was really hard to find the space for them all. It was like some kind of odd treat to find repeats, and in a strange way, a lot more fun than it should have been. I think one of the reasons it took us so long to do the romance section is because we were always looking at the covers. They have marvelous covers on romance novels. Everyone has long flowing hair, often times even the men, and the clothing is always very artistic and colorful. The men usually are shirtless, or at the very least have their shirt ripped or unbuttoned, the women have huge round bosoms, and they both appear to be about to do something the viewer will have to leave the room for. For some reason looking at these covers was addicting. I think it was cause it was fun to see their funny expressions and read the little teasers on the cover that said things like, “Their hearts would stand the test of time,” or “He would be the conqueror of her heart.” We were always looking at the back covers, and then if it looked promising we’d look at the front inside cover which had an excerpt from the book, often one of the juicier parts. Upon reading this one of two things would happen: 1) We would gasp and shove the book back on the shelf, picking up another one a few minutes later. 2) It wouldn’t be that bad so we’d read the last page and THEN gasp and shove the book back on the shelf. It was all far too educational. I have no idea why we did it. I guess because we were hoping that one of them would be decent and we could actually find out if the Viking stranger married the Aztec princess. But alas, they were always too dirty to even think of purchasing one. After the fourth or fifth time of looking at the inside cover we determined that romance novels were lost causes and simply stuck to reading the backs and admiring the artwork. It was quite a shame really, because some of them were quite intriguing looking, but in the end I knew they were only about one thing. SMUT. The owner of the bookstore was trying to sell the place, and at one point a potential buyer was talking to her and was bragging about how they would fill the store with good literature, and only the best and most refined works would be sold. She said with an absolutely flat tone, “You know, people like the trash too.” She chose not to sell to that particular buyer. It was true though, that romance novels did sell. They were probably her most popular books, with true crime coming in at a close second. Women would come in and buy armloads of the romance novels sometimes on a weekly basis. They were perfectly nice seeming women too. Very friendly and mild mannered and cheerful and they were buying and reading books that I couldn’t even read the inside cover of. Armloads of them. It was really quite sad, especially since many of these women were older and single and very lonely looking. One reason that women go for these novels is because they are not satisfied with the real men in their life, or perhaps it was the lack of men in their life. My sister told me that romance novels are women’s porn, and I’d have to say she’s right. The men are always brooding, dangerous, haunted by inner demons and their own desire. Naturally they’re always gorgeous too, as are the women who always have creamy heaving bosoms, shiny silky locks, and eyes that sparkle like various sorts of precious gems. Often times they start out hating each other but having a secret passionate attraction which then makes itself known later in quite obvious ways that I’m not allowed to read about. There’s always drama and action and lots and lots of sex scenes. Or so I hear. I’ve never actually read one. I have however read regency romance novels which are pretty much exactly the same except without the sex thank heavens. I suppose I seem very silly for reading them, but frankly they make me laugh my head off and it’s worth it to me to read something so absolutely cheesy if it makes me laugh that much. Romance novels are so utterly cliché and cheesy that it’s an absolute cinch to write one. I started one just for laughs about a year ago but never finished. It was called, “My Abolitionist Lover” and so utterly corny that I’m sure it would actually sell if I ever finished it. It’s quite sad though, despite how fun it is to make fun of romance novels, that women actually seem to need them. So many times women are disappointed by the men in their lives whether through neglect, abuse, or just general insensitivity that they feel they have to turn to these in order to have any excitement in their lives. It is a fantasy that they immerse themselves in because their own lives are so unpleasant and because the men in them are so lacking, or often just absent. It’s very sad to me that women turn to these books instead of doing something about it. I suppose some read them just because they enjoy them, like me for instance, reading the tamer ones to laugh about them. But in my experience a lot of women read them because they are unhappy. Perhaps this is because men really do suck sometimes, or perhaps it’s because they expect too much of men. I don’t know. But I do know that some women are just plain addicted. I can understand that, I have an imagination and I can sympathize. But still, it’s not a good way to go about dealing with your disappointments. Also, it’s not exactly fair to expect men to be like they are in the novels. Men are human and they’re not going to say witty and charming things all the time, or know how to make the skin on the back of your neck tingle, or how to be the brave hero that women seem to want. It’s kinda the same way with chick flicks. In chick flicks men are always doing really sweet things and holding up stereos playing love songs outside your window as they look up at you with adoring eyes, or leaving hundreds of roses in your bedroom or saying things so absolutely sweet and wonderful that only a writer could have thought them up. Frankly, only about 7.5 people in this world are actually like that. If you think your life is going to be like a movie or a romance novel, then you’re going to be very sad when you finally realize that you’re way off. Real romance comes from little things that most people would think of as insignificant, like a dude opening a car door for you, or giving you the last French fry or letting you pick which movie to watch. You have to have realistic expectations because unlike books and movies, this is real. People do not speak witty scripted lines, people have flaws and failings, and most of all people are winging it as they go. I enjoy a decent romance novel (the clean kind) and chick flick as much as the next person. But I also put them in the same category as a fantasy novel. I don’t expect men to be like Aragorn and go chopping up all my enemies for me and then sing for me in elvish. I don’t expect Jack Sparrow to come out and be utterly funny and charming and roguishly dashing. I just expect someone who treats me well and tries to work through his mistakes. I suppose some women would say I was settling for less and wouldn’t have enough romance in my life, but I say they have the wrong definition of romance. You can certainly have lots of romance if you work at it and don’t expect it to just happen. Nothing ever just happens. At least nothing good. But I can guarantee you that I won’t be the one buying stacks and stacks of romance novels, trying to make my life more exciting. I’ll be making things interesting on my own. If you have a realistic expectation of how life is going to be, you’re not going to be disappointed because sometimes life is like a movie or a book. And when it is, it’s wonderful, and when it isn’t, it’s wonderful too!
posted by Ezre at 9:24 PM
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