Since February is almost over and Valentine’s Day has already passed I think it’s appropriate that I admit something. Not something necessarily shameful or worth hiding, but something that most people would not, in general, own up to. Are you ready for it?? Really ready for it??
I read romance novels. There, I said it. You know what? I enjoy reading romance novels. I’ve read hundreds. I own three bookshelves worth of the genre and will most likely accrue more as the years go by. I have romance novels to thank for my polysyllabic vocabulary. Why use the word walk when you can perambulate? Why, when describing a character, would you say he was inclined to fight when you can just call him pugnacious? I love that word. I’ve been waiting to use it in a sentence.
Most people have this impression that romance novels are all about bodice ripping, pirates pillaging (both towns and women), maiden damsels in distress. There are, of course, many, many books out there that can be described in the above manner. Those books that have Fabio on the front cover with windswept flaxen hair, his burly chest bared to the harsh elements with a brazen, half-dressed beauty grasping his muscular thigh as she gazes upwards at him with a look of wanton desperation… Can you tell that I’ve read this particular book?? I swear it was my sister’s.
What was my point?? I know I had one somewhere…
Many people have the impression that romance novels lack any redeeming qualities; that between the covers all you’ll find are characters connecting beneath the sheets. Many romance novels offer so much more than just two people engaged in the dirty tango. They have great characters, witty dialogue, and well-researched historical settings. I’ve learned more about regency era England from these trash novels than I have from any teacher in a classroom.
Romantic comedies are more socially palatable. TV shows that revolve around romantic relationships are award winning, and more mainstream, but is the story being told better than what can be read? “Grey’s Anatomy,” for example, is a glorified Harlequin romance- all sex and no substance, in which the plot is just a way of getting the characters from one bed to another. The major difference between a book and a show, or a movie, is that when you’re reading you don’t have to deal with bad acting, a point in favor of the written word in my opinion.
The great thing about novels in general is that they don’t have to be rewarding or offer any significant life lesson. They can be pure entertainment, an escape from the grind of daily life. Romance novels assure readers a happy ending, a good time, and a glimpse of what life can be like if, every once in a while, you leap before you look.
In the end it comes down to this- you can’t judge a book by its cover… unless Fabio makes an appearance, then of course the reader is just asking for some trouble.
