Romance

Once upon a time, Jane Austen would have been regarded as the sine qua non of romance. Her writing had all the elements we’ve come to know and love: the shy unassuming heroine, the distant, abrupt hero who was once wounded in love, the meeting, instant distaste, separation, difficulties and at long last, love.

Cinderella would feel right at home in any romance.

Modern romance writers still need all those pieces, but in the last twenty years or so, something has changed. Graphic sex that was once the exclusive domain of hardcore pornography has become the price of admission. Throbbing members must bulge through every chapter.

I suppose women aren’t getting what they want between the sheets, so they look between the pages of their reading. More power to them.

Romance is probably the most popular of all fiction genres. Many women head home from bookstores, libraries and used book sales with shopping bags full of paperbacks, every cover awash with broad-shouldered heroes, torn bodices and heaving bosoms. I’ve known women who consume a dozen or more titles a week. It’s a wonder they have time to eat.

The success of romance has spawned myriad subcategories. Many writers have settled into the Regency, a period in English history just before Victoria. Britannia ruled the waves and swashbuckling was in full swing.

Eighteenth and nineteenth England has a lasting appeal as a historical setting, but the time period has gotten awfully crowded. More recently science fiction, fantasy and time travel formulas have elbowed onto the scene. The particular appeal of these forms is that the physical limitations of human anatomy can be enlarged upon with impunity. I have seen the work of the unnamed wife of a retired auto executive. She deals in tigerish men with great, prehensile … well, you get the picture.

There can be some graphic sex in crime and thriller literature, but I suspect that male writers lack the imagination to sustain a complex emotional relationship across chapters or even books. Besides, men describe all the women as if they have a Barbie Doll next to the computer. Every new female character is tall and statuesque, with exceptional proportions, fiery emerald eyes, and perfect, fluffy hair. Even after being hauled, half-drowned from the sea.

At least all Jane Austen’s women each looked different.