Alpha Males

Romance novels and pickup artists have something in common:

They both tend to simplify complex sociological forces about attraction and mate fitness into really easy sets (I'm sorry, A Beka, for the upsetting theories). The most common sets are 'alpha males' and all other men. What are alpha males? Well, depends who you ask. Pickup artists think one thing, romance novel enthusiasts think others, but the term comes from ethology. It is not a concept that is historically or anthropologically relevant to humans, but it is easy shorthand.

What's it shorthand for, though?

Well, judging from what I know of the protagonists of this list, mostly it's shorthand for white (American, Russian, or English, for preference), tall, confident, securely employed, intelligent, physically competent, and handsome. Oh! Also able-bodied and with no crippling mental illness. Alpha male is just a much shorter term, and less problematic to say in public.

The term also connotes leadership, and speaks to people's desire for clear hierarchy as opposed to the complicated morass of actual human interaction. Werewolf romance novels are probably the most explicit in this. They break everything down so the reader gets both clear hierarchy and clear happily ever after, because simple and straightforward and forever is in dire short supply.

Binary Politics and the lure of Historical Romance

Many of my Canadian friends don't understand how American politics can be so polarizing that discussing politics at all at family events is considered a bit of a taboo. Part of that, theorizes one friend, is that we have not had a viable third party in elections in 90 years.

To paraphrase one of my favourite authors, we tend to see zebras. Us versus them is a really easy conflict, even more so when we frame it as good versus evil.

Jedi versus Sith, practically everyone versus Nazis, British versus French in the Napoleonic Wars: these are conflicts easily understood as binaries. The only exception is the second world war, which was actually quite complex politically. Most of the stories we tell about it,* though, are ones about one aspect of conflict, with one enemy, easily identified. One possible explanation for this is that real life is complex enough, and fiction is an escape from that. Those stories with grand conflicts tend to be geared more towards entertainment than the elevation of society, because they provide that escape. Thrillers, military historical fiction, and a great deal of speculative fiction tend to all focus on the binary conflict.

Another genre that focuses on simpler conflicts is historical romance. One of the great tools of the romance genre is throwing together two adults and keeping them together through some plot device, and then having them fall in love through repeated exposure. One of the favourites of the romance genre as a whole is having two people married on a slim premise and fall in love afterwards. In historical fiction, we have a great many plausible options to force a marriage, from alliance to scandal. We have divorce as an awful scandal to be avoided at all costs, and heirs as the goal of all marriage, both of which encourage the wedded to get along with each other.

I know I go for simplicity sometimes in my reading material, because historical romance is like chicken soup for the mind when I am sick, and sometimes I just want the good guys to beat up the bad guys. But when I'm all here, I want more. I want the speculative fiction I read to give me something more than 'us', the living, versus all 'them' zombies,** unless the zombies have no fewer than three levels of social commentary.

Two requests stem from this:

1. I would very much appreciate recommendations for fluffy historical fiction.
2. If you're a writer, don't give me a binary! Find more nuanced ways to make great plots.

*Harry Turtledove's In The Balance series is a notable exception, in which aliens arrive and it's everyone versus everyone in an ever-shifting tessellation.

**Heinlein jokes are a thing that happen and I am not sorry

Romance Woes

I can't tell if the book I'm reading is self-published or not.

This could be considered a great stride in self-publishing: a book put together by someone who respects their work enough to hire a good editor and a good designer, someone who has been paying attention and decided to do it on their own and doesn't see any reason there should be any qualitative difference from something put out with the totality of A. A. Knopf's editorial team behind it.

In some cases, it would be.

But this is a romance novel.

So the cover's pretty okay, and the layout's pretty darned good, but the editing . . .

To be fair, if the editor did what I would have been tempted to do and took a shot for every sentence fragment, they'd have been dead of alcohol poisoning by Chapter 3 and none of this would be their fault.

The plot revolves around two lovers separated before they had closure, and their reunion and presumed eventual resumption of relations (I haven't read that far). She is in a non-threatening caring profession (she's not a cardiac surgeon or a Special Education teacher, but somewhere in between where the audience can nod along that yes, she has obvious nurturing qualities and no, we don't need to think about anything too difficult). He is in a highly-paid and highly-respected field that leaves him feeling somewhat isolated (sports star, business tycoon, whatever: that's not important either except for props). Her son is in the requisite 6-10 age range, smart and quiet (quiet because we can't have one of the obstacles to their relationship taking up too much dialogue).

This plot, with these characters, are practically a genre unto themselves. If I kept track, I could probably name a dozen with the same setup. Most of them are probably put out by some imprint of Harlequin. To give credit where it's due, Harlequin romances are often well-written. Rather, actually, comprehensibly written, because I am quite aware of the literary merit of cotton candy nailed to a page.

But with other romance publishers, I have encountered nightmarishly bad editing. The rub of it is, I wasn't particularly scandalized. If a sci-fi novel had been published with a similar startlingly vast array of problems, I'd have politely tweeted to the author that they had gone insane. But these are romance novels. So I take the warm-fuzzies of the inevitable happy ending, go to the next one, and forget I ever read it.

This time, I'll try to include a note to self that just because it's free from the Kobo bookstore does not mean I  am obliged to download it and read it.

Sex Scenes with EC Sheedy

"The two most powerful words in our vocabulary are love and hate. The most loaded word is sex."

Tonight Edna "E.C." Sheedy spoke to the Victoria Writers' Society about 'the warmer side of romance.' An author of romantic suspense, Edna had sharp and funny insights to share about the adventure of writing sex scenes.

One of the first things Edna addressed was the difference between sex scenes and love scenes: many writers in her genre prefer to call them love scenes, as they're stops on the path to two people falling in love. Sex scenes can happen in any kind of writing, and the Victoria Writers society has creative non-fiction and short fiction and novel and speculative fiction writers amongst it, who might not necessarily be writing about love when they write sex.

Audience is one of the primary things to keep in mind when writing a sex scene. Harlequin publishes 30 different lines a month, each appealing to a slightly different demographic, so "it's worth knowing that even with the diehard romance fans . . . warm, warmer, and warmest are always still in play."

In fabulous fashion, Edna broke down an approach to writing romance into simple steps. First, the rules:

Rule 1 - You never. ever, ever have to write a sex scene.

Rule 2 - If you do write a sex scene, never ever ever go beyond your personal level of comfort. It'll be hard to write, and awkward, and it'll be awkward to your readers.

Rule 3 - It is a far better thing you do not to write a love scene than to write an egregiously bad one.

She talked about Rowan Somerville's adventures after getting the award for 'worst sex scene in fiction,' and read the offending line. It was quite, quite deserving of the award, though I was too busy horrifiedly picturing it to capture the quote accurately.

Then, if you do decide to write a sex scene, it's time to ask yourself some questions;

1. What do you want the scene to show the reader other than sex?

If a sex scene doesn't contribute to the book, moving the story ahead in some way, ask yourself if you really need to do it. Sex shows character. It's about as intimate as two people get. Sex can be a powerful plot device in almost any genre. This gives the sex scene, the love scene, a purpose.

2. What kind of sex scene does the tone of your book require?

"Tone sets up expectations, so if you jump from light and frothy to dark and dirty like a kangaroo on steroids, it's going to jar the reader."

3. What kind of sex scene fits your characters?

4. Have you strewn enough rose petals and have you thrown enough curves? Have you built enough sexual tension?

Sexual tension is the compelling force in fictional romantic relationships.

"What keeps your characters apart is more important than what brings them together."

The group had fun listing off pairs with great sexual tension - the iconic Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, Booth and Bones, even Edward and Bella.

Edna's tips:

1. Watch your words - language matters.

2. Watch your body parts - remember so far that no limb or appendage can be in two places at one time.

3. Use sensory writing. Avoid clinical description. Engage any and all of the five senses.

This is sometimes where comfort level comes into play.

4. Set the scene. Show enough detail so your reader is in that scene.

5. Choosing your point of view with some degree of care. Choose the character that has the most to get out of the love scene or the most to lose. Point of view is hard for a lot of writers; Nora Roberts, the queen of romance, slides rather sloppily from one character to another in the middle of a scene in some of her earlier works. Jacqueline Carey, on the other hand, has excellently consistent point of view throughout.

6. Don't forget the dialog.

Near the end of her talk, Edna mentioned something that's been coming up consistently for the last year and a bit in the circles I frequent: that publishers don't want to fix anything these days. You want your manuscript as perfect as possible before sending it in. She addressed this in part by taking classes in grammar.

Overall, a very informative talk, and hugely engaging. I need to go find some of her books, now.