How real is ‘Realistic Romance’?

By Gina Barreca

The Hartford Courant

Is the new designation for books — “Realistic Romance” — a contradiction in terms? Is it a classic oxymoron right up there with “free gift,” “business ethics” and “adult children”?

Or will “Realistic Romance” now forever (another lovely oxymoron) be known as the category designed for readers who seek plots focused on the wild, unstoppable and inevitable merging of two soul mates who, despite all odds, face the world more bravely because their love has made them strong and also really good-looking?

That sure sounds like romance. What it doesn’t sound is realistic.

I’m saying this not only as a happily married woman but also as a fan of impossibly unrealistic classics such as “Wuthering Heights,” “Gone with the Wind” and “The Princess Bride.”

It was a former student of mine who sent me the photo of a staggeringly large number of titles piled neatly at the end of a major bookstore chain’s aisle with the sign “Realistic Romance” placed above them.

I’d never seen the new designation before, despite knowing the subheadings by heart.

‘Bodice-rippers’

Historical romance? Sure. Otherwise known as “bodice-rippers,” these books can be recognized immediately by the young woman with a tangle of long hair whose dress — with its mandatory poufy sleeves and lace — is off one shoulder, indicating both defiance and availability. I devoured these by the dozen when I was a teenager and still keep Anya Seton’s books on my shelves.

Paranormal romance? Yep: same thing, but with vampires, werewolves, ghosts or leprechauns.

Sci-fi romance, otherwise polished up as “Speculative Fiction” (not an oxymoron but a redundancy, perhaps, since all fiction is speculative)? All of the above except with aliens and travelers from other galaxies.

Christian romance? Both popular and lucrative; all the courtship and none of the sex.

Erotic romance? All of the sex that was left out of the Christian romance books pulsing through every steamy sentence.

These are powerful books: don’t underestimate them. Their readers are legion and loyal. Romances books of every kind continue to be sold in supermarkets and drugstores, shelved right alongside aspirin, eggs and other necessities.

Don’t underestimate the craft that goes into writing any kind of romance novel, either. I did, many years ago, and I was humbled by the experience.

As an impoverished graduate student (another redundancy), I thought it would be easy and cool to write a romance novel. I submitted a plot outline, 10 pages and the required chapter summaries to one of the biggest publishers and was delighted — but arrogantly unsurprised — when they asked for another 50 pages. This imprint explained that they wanted some racy scenes but were equally adamant about the fact that the scenes could not include clinical language.

In other words, no naming of body parts.

Have you ever tried to write 10 pages of a steamy scene without naming anything? Good luck.

I’d written half my dissertation; my poetry had appeared in august publications. I thought I could write anything.

Boy, was I wrong.

Nightmare

Writing the sex scenes for this romance manuscript became a nightmare. It turned into a pervert’s version of Mad Libs. You can only use the word “manhood” or “throb” so many times in one paragraph, I discovered. After the third or fourth “heaving bosom” within the space of five pages, I was toast. I was defeated.

My respect for the writers who can produce these works, therefore, is sincere; it’s not easy to write a book, any book, and I give them admiration as well as credit.

It’s the “Realistic Romance” designation that gives me the fantods. After all, really “Realistic Romance” would include scenes on awkward sex, snoring and reflux — and fully half the works would have to end in divorce.

Books offering the promise of craven misery, psychological torment and emotional or intellectual degradation followed, usually within 20 pages of the climax, by sudden yet binding declarations of eternal love (often accompanied by the revelation of hitherto undisclosed fiscal stability) should come with the kinds of warning labels attached to clairvoyants: “For Entertainment Purposes Only.”

Real romance doesn’t rely on escaping from life; it depends on facing it together.

Gina Barreca is an English professor at the University of Connecticut, a feminist scholar who has written eight books, and a columnist for the Hartford Courant.