by Maya Rodale
Take care
It isn’t a weakness to accept kindness. It isn’t a weakness to allow yourself to be cared for.
—What I Did for a Duke by Julie Anne Long
Take care of whom? It is accepted wisdom that women are the nurturing ones in most relationships. We make sure everyone is fed, have clean clothes, go to sleep on clean sheets, etc, etc. We’re the ones you cry to, the ones you turn to when you skin your knee or have a hard day at work. We are ever mindful of egos, feelings, and socks on the floor.
When women are encouraged to “take care” of themselves, it so often has to do with tending to their physical selves: manicures, pedicures, highlights, facials. But these serve a deep emotional need and are one of the few socially acceptable ways for a woman to pause from caring for others to have someone care for her. Even if it’s just caring for her cuticles.
In romance novels, a woman is able to experience heroes who nurture heroines long and hard and late into the night. Sometimes it can cross the line to “forced comfort” (such as every time Christian Grey commands Anastasia to eat) but often it’s a rake who knows how to give her that totally orgasmic experience, the billionaire hero who whisks her away on a private jet for an impromptu vacation, or the hero who plans a picnic.
Sometimes the nurturing can be less glamorous but even more profound. In the historical romance Captured by Beverly Jenkins, a mixed-race hero falls in love with a slave. When she is with him, he takes care of her. When she returns to captivity for the sake of her children, he wonders how she fares. “It was a given that no one had brought her breakfast, or drawn her a bath, or shown her how much she was loved.”
Interestingly, “nurturing” as a quality possessed by the heroines barely ranked with the readers who took my survey (14 percent said it mattered), reinforcing the idea that these books are as much an escape for women as they can be a reflection of their experiences. One reader wrote, “Doormat heroines who sacrifice themselves for family really annoy me.” After a long day of taking care of others, when a woman reads a romance novel, she is nurturing herself—especially if it features a hero who takes care of her. In a world where women are expected to care for everyone else, romance novels are the place where she gets taken care of.
Give us five minutes...we’ll make you pretty powerful
“I had to do something,” she said. “I couldn’t just sit and wait for life to happen to me any longer.”
—To Sir Phillip, With Love by Julia Quinn
A heroine should not be a doormat. Reader after reader wrote this when asked what they most disliked about heroines. For one thing, it’s boring to read about any character who lacks agency. Similarly, the doormat character is not one who inspires or delivers hope, which is what many people read romances for. Of course, there are beautiful stories of not-strong heroines discovering a backbone—Marissa in J. R. Ward’s Lover Revealed comes to mind as a perfect example of this type of story.
On the flip side are the beloved and laudable “strong female characters.” These can be interpreted as portrayals of women as superheroines out to save the world or fight wars (Katniss Everdeen of The Hunger Games or Beatrice Prior of the Divergent series), which can feel unrealistic, unattainable, or just plain exhausting to readers who are looking for a relaxing escape. “Too much emphasis has been put on ‘kick-ass’ heroines,” writes Chrissy, a reader. “Excuse me—many women are ‘kick ass’ because they manage to feed their kids, keep their houses relatively clean, and don’t drink themselves into a stupor while doing so.”
When most readers wrote about strong heroines, however, it was a different kind of strength than a warrior woman. “I don’t necessarily need my heroines to be sword-swinging, wholly self-sufficient people—this doesn't ring true with my real-life experience of people as generally social beings,” says one reader. “However, I do like it when heroines take some action in creating their lives and situations—like any real human being would.”
The taking of action is key. In an article called “We’re Losing All Our Strong Female Characters to Trinity Syndrome” by Tasha Robinson, the author, focusing on movies, notes that “strong female characters” is a phrase said sarcastically and is becoming pointless because, while this strong female character may be portrayed as nuanced, she’s pointless if she doesn’t do anything. The Trinity Syndrome (à la The Matrix) is defined as “the hugely capable woman who never once becomes as independent, significant, and exciting as she is in her introductory scene.”[142]
In a romance novel, the heroine does not become superfluous to the plot. She is the plot. She is not introduced and then set aside for a few hundred pages. The story is of her quest, her adventure, her battles to fight. While the genre has really expanded the hero’s role in recent years, these books still present female characters with a crucial role without diminishing them at the end. Robinson writes, “For the ordinary dude to be triumphant, the Strong Female Character has to entirely disappear into Subservient Trophy Character mode.” We generally don’t see this in romance novels, which are all about the union of a couple becoming stronger and more powerful together.
Readers want to see a heroine who has a sense of self and, as a reader named Mara says, “won’t get steam-rolled by the hero,” that is, won’t turn into a Subservient Trophy Character. Readers want to see heroines with “Strength. Resilience, the ability to overcome adversity.” When speaking of an author whose heroines she particularly liked, one reader said, “I like how her heroines aren’t damsels—they are smart, independent, funny, and wily, but still have normal vulnerabilities.” She doesn’t have to be perfect. Or flawless. She has to be real, and she has to be able to carry the story herself.
Readers also like to see heroines making choices for herself. “I hate push-over heroines, the ones that let their man make all the choices,” says one reader. But not all choices—or decisions—are created equal. Choosing to be a doormat or choosing to sublimate her happiness for others can be off-putting, because it often doesn’t come from a place of strength or create a strong foundation for a believable happily-ever-after relationship.
It’s not just about a strong female character but also about one who can maintain a sense of agency and self in a relationship, especially one with a strong hero. One reader points to 50 Shades of Grey: “Ana was a pushover; she didn't like saying no and agreed to whatever Christian wanted because she was scared of losing him or upsetting him.” It’s hard to believe that will be a strong basis for a lifetime of happiness together and ultimately, readers want to finish a book feeling that the couple is strong enough, individually and together, to weather any future storms that head their way.
It’s a refreshing suggestion that, in a genre about two people coming together in a relationship, we want to see heroines who are willing to piss off their hero in that they are not willing to “give up their smarts, their independence, their careers, etc.” We don’t want to see heroines “lose their common sense or values because they fall in lust with the hero.” The genre is at its best when a character can be herself and still exist in a satisfying relationship with another person. It’s not either/or, but both.
It comes down to valuing a heroine for herself—her mind, her decisions, her agency—and not just as a paper person to push around for the plot. “I like inner strength and resourcefulness. I like heroines who know who they are and won’t apologize for it,” says Jennifer, a reader. “Who demand a man love them for that, not in spite of it, who realize they deserve and demand the best.” And it comes down to lovers and family members who don’t expect her to throw herself on the bomb for them—though she very well may choose to do so. What readers really want to see is the story of a heroine who values herself (or learns to) and is valued by other characters, such as the hero or her family.
The ideal heroine is somewhere between the cliché damsel in distress and the kick-ass Katniss-type heroine. The strength doesn’t come from being flawless or from superpowers—it comes being an
active participant in the creation of your own happiness.
Maybe she’s born with it
“No one who had ever seen Catherine Moreland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be a heroine.” And so Jane Austen begins Northanger Abbey by toying with expectations (already established in 1803!) that heroines are creatures that somehow inherit their heroine-ness. But Jane Austen knew and romance readers today know that great heroines aren’t “born with it”—they are made. One of the most powerful things about the genre is that the heroine—or hero—on page one is not the same at the end of the book. It’s the narrative arc, basic character development, and readers want to see it. And yes, the romance novel is about two characters falling in love and overcoming obstacles, but romance novels are at their best when showing how love changes and transforms the individuals.
“I didn’t tick off confidence because that’s not a requirement when I start a romance novel, but I want to see both the hero and heroine grow in confidence, respect, etc., by the end—and that's not for a good romance, that's just good writing,” says Jenn, in a comment that was echoed by many. Similarly, romance author Hope Tarr writes, “I like to see heroines who grow as a result of the challenges they overcome in the course of the book, e.g., maybe the heroine doesn’t start out as all that confident but by the end, she has grown into her role.”
Many readers also griped about “Mary Sue” characters, which the blog Heroes and Heartbreakers describe as “a critical term reserved for badly written protagonists who are too perfect—they are simply good at everything, everyone except the Bad Guys who love them, and they have no discernable character flaws. Mary Sues are generally disliked because, since they have no problems of their own, the conflicts they confront tend to be contrived. As well, with no flaws or quirks, many of them are simply not interesting.”
Because the heroine doesn’t have to be perfect on page one—or at all—doors are opened for authors to showcase a wider variety of characters, with all kinds of foibles. Readers respond to this. “I don’t want a ‘well-rounded’ heroine with all the perfect qualities,” says a reader named Misty. What an awesome antidote to the has-it-all woman who is good at relationships, motherhood, marriage, and her career and still finds time to play tennis and volunteer for charity. Another reader, Stephanie, says “she needs to have serious flaws” and “clumsiness is not a flaw.” Seriously, this needs to be acknowledged. There is an entire sub-sub-genre of heroines who don’t have complete control over their limbs (I’m guilty of writing one).
An “imperfect” heroine allows for the possibility of transformation—and vice versa. Readers want to see that on her journey she is “honorable and strong” and “interested in becoming a better version of herself.” We want to see her take an active role in her journey. What does she transform to? She becomes a confident woman, who believes in her own worth and value. She becomes a woman who is loved, cherished, and protected, not just by the hero but by other members of her family and the society they live in. And she is a well-pleasured woman.
It’s interesting to note that in romance novels, this transformation often takes place without stuff; it’s deeper than what is shown on reality TV makeover specials or quick hair/makeup tutorials in glossy lady mags. Even with ugly duckling stories, we often see that there is as much internal character growth as external tweaks. When the hero falls in love with this type of heroine, it’s always because he’s finally looked past appearances or reputations to see the real woman. And it’s typically after she’s learned to love herself. Julia Quinn’s classic Romancing Mr. Bridgerton describes the perfect moment when the heroine realizes this:
“Isn't it nice,” the older lady said, leaning in so that only Penelope could hear her words, “to discover that we’re not exactly what we thought we were?”
And then she walked away, leaving Penelope wondering if maybe she wasn't quite what she’d thought she was.
Maybe—just maybe—she was something a little bit more.
The idea that a woman can grow stronger through her experiences, and that page-one heroine is not the-end heroine is a powerful one. This suggests to women who are unhappy or unsatisfied that 1) things needn’t be that way and 2) they have the power to change that.
Maddie Caldwell, the romance book group leader, sums up how this works, and why a genre written by women for women is the place to deliver it: “I think that female writers have a very good sense that you are not the circumstance that you are born into. And yes, we want a fantasy for you. We want to elevate you in our books. We all want to achieve a higher position.”
Avon: the company for women
There were 158 movies released in 2013.[143] There were over 9,000 romance novels published in 2013 (and that number may actually be higher, given that not all self-published manuscripts have ISBNs to make them trackable). That means there were over 9,000 romance heroines. It’s absurd to think all of them will appeal to all readers or will include all the favored traits of a particular reader.
Romance novels are certainly cheaper and easier to produce than a full-length feature film, which is why we have so many more. The power of romance is that because of its relative ease to produce (compared to a TV show or feature film) more people are able to write and publish a greater variety of characters.
In spite of the existence of publisher tip sheets, writing classes, and “conventional wisdom,” there is no checklist for how to write a heroine. Each one comes from the head and heart of a real life woman. The sheer number of heroines, written by thousands of authors with different interests and skill levels, means that there will be a wide range of women represented. The sheer volume of representations of women by women is what really sets the romance industry apart from other media representations.
REFORMED RAKES
AND THE RADICAL NOTION THAT MEN AND WOMEN ARE HUMAN
Oh, God. He was bonding with her. The bonding thing was happening.
—Lover Eternal by J. R. Ward
In the land of historical romance novels, particularly the Regencies, there is no line more quoted than this: Reformed rakes make the best husbands. It’s the sort of pithy one-liner a beloved character dashes off and everyone laughs a sparkling laugh, the heroine knits her brow, and the rogue in question scowls but we all know the truth: That bad boy will soon be reformed. And he will like it.
A rake, in this context, is not a type of garden implement but a kind of man. It’s old slang for a man prone to all manner of vices, particularly womanizing—and the kind of man your momma warned you about. But his appearance in romance novels is not limited to one historical time period; he’s the bad boy, the charmer, the seducer, in any era. Some are shape shifters and vampires; others are small town cops and English dukes. He’s a character with endless appeal.
He’s slightly different than the alpha male or alphHole in that his sexual prowess is his driving characteristic, rather than the tendency to take charge of everything the way alpha heroes do.
Reform, in this context, means transitioning from a life of freedom, vice, and many women, to a life of loving monogamy and matrimony with one woman.
This type of bad boy and rake is, by his actions and own admission, a horrible candidate for a lifelong monogamous relationship. This is because he loves women, plural. He loves women as creatures to flirt with, do wicked things with, and then leave in the morning. He is a master of seduction, and a woman is typically just another conquest. His relationships with women simply begin and end with sex. There are no tangled heartstrings here. He’s got a heart of stone if he has one at all.
Many rakes in the modern historical romance have strict standards: They like their women willing, and they’re always focused on her pleasure. The rake tends to avoid virgins, preferring to bed those more experienced in the sensual arts. And high-status virgins are especially to be avoided, since that might as well be an invitation to a wedding or a duel. Funny, since so many male-dominated cultures prize a woman’s virginity and �
�purity.” The rake wants none of that.
At first blush, the rake seems like the classic Darwinian male, interested only in sowing his wild oats with as many women as possible and avoiding any commitments of his resources. He would prefer to avoid entanglements like marriage or children—but not at the cost of keeping his pants buttoned up.
The typical reformed rake romance plot is this: Womanizing rogue sets sights on woman and vows to seduce her. Woman valiantly resists until her passions—stupid, newly awakened passions!—are so inflamed she is begging for the rogue to possess her. To hell with her future, her reputation, anything! The sex happens. It is Oh-My-God Amazing. In fact, it’s never been like that before—for either of them. Something has changed: On the way to the bedding, the rake has fallen in love.
And that changes everything.
He has, by previous measures, achieved his conquest. By all rights, he ought to be gone before dawn, but now he wants nothing more than to stay for breakfast and talk to her.
Now one night is no longer enough.
And one woman is enough.
* * *
He was the kind of guy that made a woman want to rip his shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions.
—Bared to You by Sylvia Day
In 1995 the book All the Rules: Time-Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right,[144] a self-help dating guide for women, became a cultural phenomenon by promoting such rules for marriage-minded woman as “don’t accept a date for Saturday if he asks after Wednesday” and “always end phone calls first.” I was recently perusing the updated version, Not Your Mother’s Rules,[145] (for, ahem, research) expecting to be revolted by the assumption implicit in the book that all women want to be married and would resort to nefarious tricks to get a ring on their finger.