When we found out that Borders was shortly going out of business, a good friend and I hurried to our local mall to check out the deals. So much of their stock was gone at this point – it was startling and actually rather disturbing to see the barren shelves where so many books had been just a few weeks before – what remained included reference books; cookbooks; loads of Jane Austen fan fiction with titles like the juicy “Nights and Days at Pemberley,” the poetic “Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One” or the forthright “Only Mr. Darcy Will Do.” There were mysteries, YA fiction and, of course, the romance novels. Oh, the romance novels.
That was the section my friend and I started out in, spent, perhaps, the longest time in and when it came time to actually pay for the books – which actually weren’t all that cheap – I shamefacedly put aside my more literary selections from the likes of Ursula LeGuin and James Baldwin in order to afford the Elizabeth George mysteries and, yes, two trashy romance novels. The sales associate just smiled and said, “I’m not judging you the escapist literature, I like crime procedurals.”
Though I’m not a regular romance novel reader, I do love the genre in all its forms: romantic comedies on Netflix; romantic, women-oriented dramas on television (ABC, I’m looking at you); and, yes, of course dear old Jane Austen. What can I say? I’m a sucker for happily ever after. I also like the safe haven that the romance/chick-lit genres have traditionally provided women, as an outlet for fantasies and emotions of all sorts. So when I got home, I cracked open Catherine Coulter’s “Warrior Song”, ready to be transported away. Instead, within twenty pages a rape was taking place.
It was not particularly violent but it was, for sure, a rape: a man forced a woman to have sex with him. There were tears, pain and even a few pleas for mercy. The fact that the man and woman involved were not the hero and heroine (apparently an important distinction) did not really change the fact that this was, quite simply, downright disturbing. And it got me thinking about this so-called sugary, sappy genre we call romance.
According to my internet search, the romance novel as we now know it came to fruition in the ’70s and ’80s; the books of the time tended to feature historical settings, monogamous relationships between alpha males and helpless yet feisty females, and, yes, “forced seduction.” As in rape. As the genre – and sexual mores – evolved over time, forced seductions and rapist heroes fell by the wayside – so that when they do pop up these days, it’s quite shocking.
Needless to say, the discussion regarding forced seduction in romance novels is not a new one. Jezebel gave another Catherine Coulter novel their usual snarky treatment here. A fantastic blog dedicated to dissecting and reviewing romance novels posted an entire discussion of rape in romance way back in the ancient days of 2005. Across academia and the blogosphere, excellent points have been raised by women much more intelligent and thoughtful than I. In my opinion, some of the most thought-provoking include:
1) The idea that while romance tends to be a genre for women, by women the publishing industry itself is run by men. It may have taken the industry a while to catch on to the desires of their customers but the fact that rape has now virtually disappeared from modern romance novels is proof that they finally have. This, however, does not explain the rather sizable minority of women (estimated as up to 20% of romance readers) who enjoy dominating heroes and miss the forced seduction stories.
2) Or what about the idea that forced seduction is a way for women to “take back” rape? Following on the heels of African Americans and the N-word or gays and the F-word, one might see forced seduction – written by women, for women’s consumption and, dare I say it, enjoyment – as a form of taking back all the violence and indignity that has been heaped upon our gender for ages. Sure, it’s an appealing possibility but it’s also important to recognize that, no matter what, all this nonsense about her “forbidden pleasure” as he employs his superior strength and “overbearing will” is problematic to feminists of all stripes.
3) However, as women and feminists we would be foolish to ignore the emotions at play in forced seduction, rape fantasies, nonconsent/reluctance or whatever you want to call it. Not only the fantasy of being conquered but the fantasy of conquering the alpha male with the sheer force of your beauty, of your singular personality. The fantasy of driving a man to the brink of his very sanity and control (note the heroine of Johanna Lindsey’s “Hearts Aflame” who, in fact, staged her own “forced” seduction as a way to prove to herself that she held the reins in the relationship).
Clearly, forced seduction is heady, heady stuff. As I mull it all over in my head, though, I can’t help but remember the words of the Borders cashier: I’m not judging you. As we all know, sexuality is complicated. And as the genre that follows characters into the bedroom, romance is also complicated. As one Amazon commenter neatly pointed out, authors like Catherine Coulter and Johanna Lindsey represent “the rougher side of romance” – and judging from their books’ ratings, they clearly appeal to a wide swathe of readers. So we can argue over the place of forced seduction in the romance genre (as opposed to, say, erotica) but, like it or not, it’s here to stay.
