Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

I never really expected to find something like this on this particular blog, but the Huffington Post (the super-blog hosted by Arianna Huffington) provided this link to an article by the St. Louis Post-Dispatch: “Romance Novels Get Kinky.”

Pretty amusing read, though this bit here peeved me just a little:

After the session, Bright explained the difference between steamy, bodice-ripping romances and erotica.

“When people read a romance, they don’t want a surprise, they want to be put through the paces,” she said, explaining that those paces include a hero, a heroine, a conflict, a resolution and, most important, a happy ending.

“In an erotic novel, you don’t know what’s going to happen. It might not have a happy ending at all,” she said.

She compared it to watching “Law & Order” or “CSI” where the plot line could go in several directions, rather than a Western, which is more predictable because you have a cowboy, an Indian and a showdown.

Of course, the steamy parts are different, too. In romance novels, the mere touch of a man will often launch the heroine into waves of ecstasy. Not so in erotica, where those portrayals are more realistic. (Sorry, guys.)

Do you wish that people who talk about romance novels in the mass media have read books that were published in the last 10, 15 years instead of being stuck in Woodiwisslandia, circa 1975? Yeah, me too.

And in terms of erotica being more “surprising” than mainstream romance: I call bullshit. I don’t know what’s gonna happen? Fuck that, I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen: loads and loads of steamy sex, often with multiple partners. The HEA may not be guaranteed, but so what? A romance novel can be completely sex-free and still be considered a romance novel; you can’t say the same about erotica. Trying to tout one genre as more unpredictable because of its different constraints is pretty damn silly. Their example of CSI vs. Westerns kind of proves the point: I think crime shows operate under just as many constraints as Westerns (though what kind of Westerns ARE they talking about? I haven’t seen a whole lot, but I’ve seen plenty of Clint Eastwood Westerns and none of them feature Indian sidekicks that I can remember, though the showdown was de rigueur). Instead of a cowboy, an Indian and a showdown, you have a crazy-ass killer, some forensic pathologists flexing their studly bods (or in David Caruso’s case, taking his sunglasses on and off) while babbling about hydrogen peroxide concentrations in the plasma or what-have-you, and the bad guy is caught at the end. Or have the 10 or so episodes of CSI that I’ve watched been completely atypical of the series?

The comments on the Huffington Post about this article are also pretty amusing, by the way.

Ohhhh, I loves it when Mrs. Giggles goes on a tear and makes fun of romance novel conventions. This time she rips romantic suspense a new one. And it’s SO entertaining. If anything or anyone could ever induce me to use that throbbing heart animated GIF in an actual blog entry, I’m thinking Mrs. Giggles would probably be it.

You know what, personally, bugs me the most about romantic suspense? (And I mean in all its forms--book, TV and movie.) That the agents stand out so much from the general population. They practically scream “HEY LOOK AT ME! I’M A COVERT AGENT! AND I’M GOOOOOD IN BED! YEAH!” I’m thinking being so conspicuous would seriously fuck up your cover, and make you an easy target for enemy agents.

The lack of muscle tone in most of the women playing secret agents/assassins in movies and TV also bothers me. Yeah, I know, I’m one to talk, Miss Lacks-biceps-so-severely-her-arms-are-almost-concave, but all those anorexic women walking around throwing unconvincing punches bothers me a LOT. What, they can’t hire women who don’t deliberately yak the two leaves of lettuce they had for lunch to play secret agents? Oh wait, it’s Hollywood. Right.

Ditto all of these agents sashaying around and assassinatin’ fools in super-shiny PVC bodysuits and patent leather spiky boots. The perfect secret agent, in my opinion, looks pretty unobtrusive, wears sensible shoes (have you tried WALKING in 5-inch spiked heels, much less running full-tilt-boogie in those fuckers without having either the heel of the shoe or your ankle snap clean off?) and dresses in comfortable clothing that allows them a full range of motion without fear that delivering a roundhouse kick will rip the seams in embarrassing places.

Yes, yes, I know, it’s fiction, blah blah blah, and sexy is nice, but for once I’d like to read about or watch secret agents and assassins who look, or at least dress and work, like Jean Reno in The Professional. Because I remember watching that movie about ten years ago and thinking “Holy shit! It makes so much more sense for an assassin to dress like a normal person.”

Ahem. Sorry. Enough ranting. On to the next bit of link-whoring:

Meljean has come up with some roll-on-the-floor, piss-your-pants funny shit in her entries about re-visiting old romance novel favorites. So far, she’s covered her first romance novel and her first DIK. Go! Read! Plotz!

Meljean analyzes in detail why Teela and Prince Adam never got it on, with lots of pictures. And I mean LOTS of ‘em. See Cringer and Adam get caught in a compromising position! Ponder what lies under Skeletor’s loincloth! Speculate on who ultimately looks more gay: He-Man, or Prince Adam? (I still say He-Man takes the cake. You KNOW he has a Digweed and Sasha CD at home that he dances to all the time while using his sword as a glowstick, all the while wistfully wishing Man-At-Arms would take him away like Calgon.)

OK, I’m really, really late on this. I suck. But it’s such a cool little game; better late than never, no?

Anyway, the ever wondrously smart (and almost never bitchy) Maili instructs us to:

1. Take first five novels from your bookshelf.
2. Book 1—first sentence
3. Book 2—last sentence on page 50
4. Book 3—second sentence on page 100
5. Book 4—next to the last sentence on page 150
6. Book 5—final sentence of the book
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph.
8. Feel free to “cheat” to make it a better paragraph.
9. Name your sources
10.Post to your blog.

Ho-kay! Here are my results:

Della Mitchell clutched the steering wheel of her silver SUV and closed her eyes. Instead, after wrangling with accelerated motion such as the spinning bucket, Newton saw no option but to invoke some invisible background stuff with respect to which motion could be unambiguously defined. “I’m saying we choose what’s familiar, for good or ill.” If they had a normal marriage, he would kiss the delicate curve of her throat and find a way not to crumple her gown while he made them late for dinner. “All we know is the ghost is most likely to show himself when the moon is full and the B & B is hosting handsome young tourists.”

Yowch! Do I win some kind of prize for Most Schizophrenic Paragraph? I didn’t actually bother to go to my bookshelves (I mean, which bookcase should I have chosen? The HC bookcase? The one holding the paperbacks? What about the ones holding nothing but TBR books?) so I just grabbed five of the eight books currently littering my computer desk.

These here are the books I used:

The Sistahood of Shopaholics by Leslie Esdaile, Monica Jackson, Reon Laudat and Niqui Stanhope
The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene
The Royal Treatment by MaryJanice Davidson
The Bartered Bride by Mary Jo Putney
Pirate’s Price by Darlene Marshall

I meant to link to this yesterday, but what with thinking intently about schwanstuckers and hoohahs and euphemisms therewith, I plumb forgot.

Anyway, Christina Dodd, Connie Brockway, Elizabeth Bevarly, Teresa Medeiros, Eloisa James and (allegedly, though she has yet to post) Lisa Kleypas have banded together to create a blog called Squawk Radio. They’re smart and funny, and they have the most hilarious hen backgrounds. Sarah can’t stand Eloisa James, tee hee hee.

And now I present to you.....

By the Power of Greyskull.... I HAVE NOTHING TO SAYYYYY!

Random thought: Anyone else think He-Man shooting that “lightning” from his “sword” at poor Cringer who then turns into a raging beast looks somewhat homoerotic and bestial, well, just flat-out WRONG?