Those of us bitching about the dearth of real men on covers can now rest secure in the knowledge that the Foremost Defender of Truthiness is taking matters into his own hands.
Thanks to assorted members of the Bitchery for sending us the link.
Edited to add: Also, thanks to Laura Vivanco, who in turn got the link from AAR, you can view the entire video clip here.
Once again, thanks to Lady Rhian this batch of cover snarkage. Really, it’s a cush deal--she inflicts a world of pain on us, we thank her for the privilege.
Candy: Why, yes, dashing around half-dressed (one might even be tempted to say “half-cocked") like that while sporting such a deathly pallor is dangerous--especially in the age before sunscreen. Holy melanoma risk, Batman!
Sarah: Dear GOD, it’s the unholy foursome! Wavy mullet-esque hair + open shirt yet still tucked in + Very Symbolic Sword clutched manfully in a stroking grip + overabundance of Man-Titty = something bad is about to happen to my digestion.
Candy: Look, the combination of shirtlessness, satin-lined Dracula cape, purple pants and wide belt may perhaps indicate a fondness for a little bit of what what in the butt, but it doesn’t mean he’s Satan, no matter what the Church Lady says.
Sarah: Given his height, I’m sure he got the nickname “The Devil” because when you dance with his shirtless self, you lose an eye on his sharp pointed mantitties. That many debutants wearing eye patches isn’t a trend. It’s a social disaster.
Candy: Yes, well, apparently the illegal motion has left him semi-paralyzed, dazed and sporting a wet mullet. Let this be a warning to you: illegal motions are totally not worth it.
Sarah: I bet that illegal motion involved a tight end, or possibly a wide receiver, if you know what I’m saying, and I think you do.
Candy: Folks, I think we have our first case of somebody spontaneously farting himself into existence, startling and astounding all nearby wildlife.
Sarah: Oooh, that smell. Can’t you smell that smell? The smell that’s around you?
Based on a hugely scientific sample of two books, yes, TWO, I have the following question: has erotica influenced the writing of historical novels to the point where there’s more sexual description of arousal? Both of the books I’ve read recently, both historicals set in the Regency period or shortly thereafter, used the word “cock” with a greater frequency than I’m used to seeing in a historical novel, but more importantly, the context in which said cock was discussed made me pause.
Both times the hero was remarking on his own state of arousal, and describing it, either aloud to the heroine (to shock her) or internally to himself (in surprise that he was affected thusly) in these very specific terms.
Now, I know, etymologically speaking, the word “cock” certainly existed in Regency England and thereafter, and it would make sense for a male to potentially speak to himself in baser terms when remarking upon the tent located in his trousers. I can’t think of many men in any time period who would start referring to a state of priapism as a “hardened member,” “rearing stalling stallion,” or “firm arousal.” So it makes sense both in terms of the potential basic descriptive powers of the male brain (especially once all the blood has left the cerebrum to head to parts southward in a hurry) and in terms of historic accuracy to use the term “cock,” out loud or in a character’s internal ruminations.
But the fact is, I’m just not used to seeing the word “cock” in, for example, an Avon historic novel, or a Regency, especially as part of the hero’s speech of thought process. It almost jars in contrast to the way the hero speaks otherwise, to the heroine, his friends, or in his own internal monologues. I’m more than accustomed to cock- centered ruminations in erotic novels, both from the hero and the heroine. But historicals? Not so much. And yet, twice now - like I said, HUGELY VAST SAMPLE at work here - I’ve been slapped out of the past by the hero’s cock.
Just kidding. Everyone knows you absolutely should not because panty hose are the devil. (Hey - that’s an idea for a book: paranormal with proof of evil’s existence offered via control-top panty hose and bikini waxing. Where’s my Golden Heart™?!)
A hearty Smart Bitch congratulations to the finalists - since controversy aside, recognition feels good in any and every form. And since we’re attending the Dallas convention this year, we’ll be there in person to watch the ceremony and compliment your shoes. No really, Ms. Smith-Ready, your shoes are faaabulous. And it goes without saying that Ms. Robb/erts always has fantastic footwear.
“Some of the heroes are captains of industry, billionaires,” said Deborah Peterson, a Harlequin creative designer and a judge at the audition. “A lot of the models were too young, men in their twenties ... and our audience likes men a little bit older, a bit bigger, than the runway models.”
Look, I’m all for accurate depictions of characters in the books. At the very least, I’d like their hair colors to match, y’know? But accurate depictions of what billionaires look like? Why don’t they ask real-life billionaires to model for them?
I’m just sayin’.
I’m also going to reveal myself to be an utterly humorless bitch and say right out that this bit of rhetoric bothers me quite a bit:
“We want real men ... exactly what you think in your mind when you’re fantasizing or imagining that ideal man.”
Well, y’know, the guys who make my ovaries growl tend to be skinny, on the pretty side of androgynous and kinda goofy. Not unlike Damian Kulash:
Bonus points for dudes who aren’t afraid to put on make-up and/or a skirt when the occasion calls for it, and extra super bonus points for the ones who can talk about quantum entanglement intelligently, or explain the differences between a dactyl, a spondee and a trochee, or switch between arguing with me about Kant’s categorical imperative and the best way to brine a turkey without missing a beat. And those guys? Every bit as real as the middle-aged pumped-up gym monkeys Harlequin is apparently searching for. At least, I’d hope so. A few of my friends would be distressingly incorporeal, in that case.
All of this did bring to mind a totally awesome picture reader Elizabeth M. forwarded to me today, though:
But perhaps they should see if Günther is available for a modeling gig. He does, after all, want you to touch his tra-la-la (and also, his ding ding dong), and his manly mullet is quite in line with any number of romance novel covers we’ve seen.
(Warning: For those of you who haven’t seen this yet, it’s not quite work safe.)
(Thanks to Emily B. for reminding me of the existence of this video.)
Also, pretend I’ve said a goodly number of cutting things about the condescending tone of the article in general. It’s late, I’m kinda tired and loopy, and really, both Sarah and I have hopped all over this issue in the past.
by SB Sarah • Wednesday, March 21, 2007 at 07:52 PM
Sheena asks:
Out of curiosity, are there romantic films that you would unhesitatingly recommend, besides Sense and Sensibility? Is that a post for another day? Two of my favourite films are The Scarlet Pimpernel (the Jane Seymour, Anthony Andrews version) and Moulin Rouge.
We discussed this back in 2005 when I revealed in a multitude of ways how uncool I am in my love of movies and television shows. But I will say that for Hanukkah this past year, Hubby got me a set of the entire season of Cupid PLUS unaired episodes from some bootleg DVD vendor overseas. *le sigh* Jeremy Piven. What a lovely Hanukkah gift.
But it’s never a problem to come back to a topic - particularly almost two years later, when we have more readers with certainly more opinions - many many more opinions!
Candy: Have you noticed that people, from loved ones to strangers on the Internet, will say things to you like, “Oh, you’ll like [X movie or Y book], it has a romance in it,” or make a disclaimer like “You might like this book, but it’s not really a romance.” It’s as if Romance as a genre has defined my media consumption patterns in many people’s heads, and they assume either that romances are all I like, or that I won’t enjoy something unless it features a love story.
Which is far, far, far from the truth. I enjoy reading love stories, yes, and I don’t have the spontaneous allergic reaction to girl cooties that seems to plague many people whenever a moment of tenderness rears its head in movies or books, but I can’t abide love stories that don’t fit.
Two recent examples that come to mind:
1. Silver and Leo in Lois McMaster Bujold’s Falling Free. The premise for the story was fantastic, the book as a whole was so-so, but the romantic sub-plot made me go “Buh?” It appeared out of nowhere, kind of toddled along half-assed, and then the curtains came down before we got to see the two of them actually interact in any substantial, romantically meaningful way.
2. Evie and V in the movie version of V for Vendetta. Now, I really, really like the movie, despite some of the incredibly muddled messages it sent and its lack of critical examination of V and his methods, but having Evie fall for V so abruptly and after all he’d put her through was unexpected and completely unnecessary--and not just that, it was CREEPY.
I don’t like romances that feel tacked on. If the arc and characters would’ve been fundamentally unchanged or actually improved if the romance hadn’t taken place, odds are good I’ll feel cranky, because I’ll feel manipulated. It’s as if the storytellers wanted to yank me around emotionally and went for one of the guaranteed cheap shots (the other major one being cute kids/animals in danger).
It’s not that I mind being manipulated--I’d argue that art attempts to manipulate very specific reaction from its viewers/consumers--but it peeves me when the storytellers are so unsubtle that I catch them in the process. This is why I don’t, as a general rule, like romantic comedies unless they’re kind of oddball, like Harold and Maude or The Royal Tannenbaums, or unless they’re really, really well-written and acted, like Say Anything.
In short: I’m perfectly happy enjoying stories that don’t feature romantic sub-plots. And it intrigues me that once people find out I like romance novels, they’re all “Oh, she must like X, Y or Z, because it has a romance in it.” Enjoying a good romance doesn’t mean I’ve lost all sense of discernment, and it certainly doesn’t mean that I won’t like something unless it’s heavy on the romance.
(Wow, I had to go back and count the negatives in that last clause to make sure I had it right. Hee.)
What do you think?
Sarah: I’ve been mulling your question for a few minutes and it’s odd. I rarely GET recommendations because people assume all I like is romance. My mother used to buy them by predominant color on the cover, ostensibly because they’re all the same and there’s no variation in quality (oh, for that to be true!) so they’re interchangeable. And really, if you read the cover copy, they do sound pretty much identical: There’s love! And hot sexx0ring! But there’s a problem! Will it survive? Of course it will but that’s not the point.
I agree with you, though, that love stories that Do Not Fit make me seethe with rage and ire. The example that stomps to the front of my brain is the shitfully awful Kate Beckinsale movie Underworld, which was so bad we call it ‘Underwear,’ where there was so much potential for coolness and it just sucked sucking suckyness. Vampire hunters, werewolves, war on the streets - and a love scene wedged in with one of those wood blocks you hold the door open with. The whole theatre groaned, and man did it bother me. I was kind of insulted as a fan of romance (even though this wasn’t your original point, bear with me) because you can just tack the lovey-dovey on expecting that it’ll fit, like all romance is, as I said, interchangeable (and as an overly-sensitive corollary, all us romance fans are too dumb to know the difference).
I agree with the “cheap shots” idea - like wedging a romance in with the elephants in the funny car won’t make a difference because romance sells in movies and books and tv (see above about how romance fans = too stoopid to know the difference between good and bad romance - hence the existence of our site).
And I’m with you that I’m perfectly happy to enjoy stories that aren’t romance. I have a love of crime dramas and forensic shows - this is because I can eat spaghetti and meatballs while watching an autopsy on tv - and I’m perfectly happy to watch them without the unneccessary and often stupid addition of workplace romance between the characters. (That said, I’m pleasantly surprised by the secrecy and low-key revelations of Grissom and Sara on CSI and I find myself praying the writers don’t wonk it all up. )
But is the over-addition and shoehorning of romance into any plot a question of attitude that romance is dumb and romance fans are dumb ergo it makes no nevermind to toss it in like a spice that makes little difference except in huge quantities? A question of potential profit, like romance + action = sex + gunfire and explosions = Big Money No Whammies?
Candy: I think it’s a bit of both, honestly. A shoehorned romantic subplot is often an attempt to appeal to a wider audience (usually the female portion), and let’s be honest here, most purveyors of mass media don’t tend to over-estimate the intelligence of their audiences, romance readers or not--think of all the gratuitous explosions and T&A they stick into action movies to draw the guys in. But I think there are two other aspects:
1. Laziness. The storytellers need to pad the story for 50 more pages (or 50 more minutes), so they stick in a romance.
2. Like I said before, it’s shorthand, an attempt to draw forth a familiar response from people, because awww, who HASN’T been in love before? And lookit the wacky lovers! Aren’t they sweet?
I think my negative reaction is so strong because my gag threshold is really low, which tends to surprise people who know how much I enjoy romance.
Also, while I can totally understand why people who write to me because of this website make mostly romance recommendations, I wonder why people who have actually looked at my bookshelves (which hold a whole lot of romance, true, but they also hold a whole lot of Other Stuff), still insist on having the romance genre predominate their assumptions of what I’ll enjoy. Some people don’t fall into this trap and twig onto other things that I’ll love, like Nina Merill, who gave me a book on pathoparasitology, bless her heart. Frankly, in terms of out-of-the-blue “Hey, you gotta read THIS!” sorts of recommendations, I’d much rather that people point me to SF or literary fiction, because I’m picky about my romance. It’s as if being a Romance Reader is napalm of sorts: once it gets on you, it sticks, and it burrrrrns, oh, it burrrrrrrns, and it ends up consuming your identity.
Sarah: The idea of shoehorning romance makes me think of the movie Jerry Maguire. A friend of mine said to her boyfriend and his friends while they were in line waiting for tickets (at the theatre - given the cost of tickets they must have REALLY wanted to see it) that she was so amazed they’d all be so into the idea of seeing a romance movie.
They said she was nuts, that it was a sports movie.
Some reviews at the time said it was a hybrid, but when I saw it, I never bought the romance between Cruise and Zellweger. I thought it was klutzy and too filled with cliches - cute kid! single mom! that weird face Zellweger makes when she’s trying to emote something - and didn’t really make it for me as a romance in the slightest. I wondered at the time if it had been an afterthought to make it more appealing to a much wider audience.
Or maybe the story was meant to be that way and the movie just did the rendition poorly. Either way, I thought the romance was glued on to what would otherwise have been a good transformation story.
But then, consider the Bond series - EVERY Bond movie has a heroine “Bond Girl,” and that’s never really a romance. More like added sex to go with all the gadgetry and violence and explosions (and hot Bond actors, depending on the movie you’re watching). Is that decorative romance? Is that somehow ok? With Bond, I just take the added sexual figure as part of the formula, and never really invest that much in it anyway. It’s Bond, for heaven’s sake.
However, you are totally right that once you’re “outed” as a fan of romance, it’s tough to get recommendations for anything else. But I’ve noticed a flip side corollary to that - I’m pretty up front that when I’m hormonal (like I am now, boy howdy) all I want is romance. Seriously? I can’t even watch the news without bursting into sobby tears. I want a Happy Ending and I want it NOW GODDAMMIT and PASS ME A GLAZED DONUT TOO!
So various people I know have said, “Oh, I know a book you’ll like- “ and they’ll recommend a serious heart-string-yanker like Jodi Picoult. Now, no knocks to Picoult in the slightest. For one thing I haven’t read her books and for another, anyone who attempts fictional examinations of school shooting has big big balls. But just because something is hyper-emotional in subject matter doesn’t mean that it’s (a) like a romance, or (b) going to appeal to a romance fan [ or (c) something you should offer a very very overemotional pregnant lady]. Some people just don’t get what romance IS, and why it’s good in and of itself.
Candy: Awww, Sarah, Jerry didn’t have you at hello? *snrk*
Also, Bond Girls make sense once you understand that all of James Bond’s paraphernalia basically serve as penis accessories. Nifty high-tech gadgets? Penis accessory. Sleek new car? Penis accessory. Gun? Major penis accessory. Bond girl? ULTIMATE penis accessory.
Oh oh oh! And that’s an excellent point regarding how people who don’t read the genre just don’t get that many things that are conflated with romance novels really aren’t romance. I get cheesed off when people think “romances are all the same” and start recommending all sorts of sort-of-but-not-really romance titles to me, too--Danielle Steel and Nicholas Sparks recommendations, in particular, drive me batty. Just because it’s maudlin tripe doesn’t mean it’s romance.
And then these outsiders see me making fun of Danielle Steel books, glance my Fabio-titty-beladen bookshelves, and look at me with cocked brow, and I stammer helplessly “I know it looks really bad, but...but...I swear...no, really...they’re...ARGH.”
Sarah: I completely agree with Bond girls: No one expects a romance. They expect sex and more penis-y satisfaction, even though there’s always a hint the Bond is “falling for her” and sometimes you see her get killed off in the beginning of the next movie (or am I, as usual, misremembering?) - which of course he gets over VERY quickly after a few solemn looks. It’s totally an accessory. With breasts. None of Q’s Bond gadgets have breasts.
The other thing about romance from outsiders is that not only do they assume that Danielle Steel is to Nicholas Sparks is to Cassie Edwards… is to Susan Elizabeth Phillips is to Jennifer Crusie is to Nora Roberts but there’s no acknowledgment that there’s any subgenres. Vampire romance is just like historical is just like contemporary slapstick romance, right? Sure. It’s all the same - and really, the fact that folks outside the genre don’t recognize that there’s variations in quality just like there’s variations in quality in any other mega-popular genre drives me nuts.
And moreover, just because a novel has a great deal of emotional draw and seeks a heavy emotional reaction from the reader does NOT mean it’s a romance. Just because a book is described as “tugging on the heartstrings” does not mean that I, as a fan of romance, am going to love it. It’s not the same thing. I can’t figure out if the emotional impact recommendations are sent my way because as a fan of romance I must be after any and all emotional payoff in my reading, or if people really don’t see the intricacies of the difference between such books and a romance novel.
This week’s cover snark brought to you by Insanely Rich Dead White Broads Who Liked Feather Boas a WHOLE LOT. That’s right, bitches! Barbara Cartland time! Thanks to the fabulous and immaculately-groomed Lady Rhian for providing us with these covers.
Candy: Wow, Cartland wrote sexploitation novels about pimps and hookers. Who knew?
Also, what would the Regency equivalent of “Bitch, where my money?” be? “Harlot, render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s”? Post your guesses in the comments.
Sarah: I’d suggest, “Lud, wench. Hand me my blunt from the depths of your chemise.”
And really, is it my fault that I’m picturing a re-release of this title with the cover from Eyes of the Leopard: Vengeance? Loathsome, indeed. Except completely AWESOME.
Candy: Very Naughty Angels...wear lederhosen. Because apparently, they’re Satanic. Note to Lucifer: demons who look like they’re named Engelbert or Hans aren’t particularly terrifying.
Also, dude, is that chick a centaur in disguise? Seriously, look at that red skirt. Either that, or her ass is so big that its gravity is warping space-time and bending light in really wacky ways. Which: respek. My ass is big, but it’s not nearly big enough to create a gravity lensing effect.
Sarah: High on a hill Mr. Leiderhosen
Lay ee ode lay ee ode lay hee hoo
Put a red dress on a goat he’d chosen
Lay ee ode lay ee ode-oo
A Barbie on top made her look amazing
Lay ee ode lay ee ode lay hee hoo
But that big red ass is what he’s chasing
Lay ee ode lay ee ode-oo
Candy: I will quash all temptation to make jokes about RITA committees and this book’s title.
QUASH THEM, YOU HEAR ME?
I will, instead, make a tasteless joke about how “love” for this dude seems to involve forcing chicks with puffy hair into giving him humjobs. I suppose it makes for a spiffier title, since “Vote for Coerced Cocksucking” doesn’t have quite the same romantic ring.
Sarah: I vote for feeding the pastel wench, for the Love of God, because Mr. “I’m on my Lunch Break wearing These Pants?!” Cover Model is having to hold her up - badly - while she wastes away. Either that, or he’s going to use her as a Swiffer once she loses consciousness. That place is a mess.
The threads to the mondo-discussion in the previous entry that have caught my attention are: how would you revamp the RITA to solve your problems with it, and is there room for a reader-determined award, either from RWA or from another entity?
If readers are interested enough in the RITA and in the question of awarding the “best of” a year’s romance to titles they enjoyed, how do you accurately measure that? It seems to be as impossible as peer-judged awards.
Speaking solely on reader awards, we tried that last year with the BWAHA, a reader-nominated and reader-voted award. And based on our teeny-tiny sample, I have a feeling that word went out to more than one author’s rather rabid fanbase because two books got far and away more votes, and those votes were coming from email addresses and names I did not recognize as regular participants on our site. Plus, our referrals revealed more than a few links from those fanbase discussion boards. Coincidence? Hmm. And I don’t have a problem with fans awarding their favorite author. I just noticed the pattern.
If, for example, the SBTB BWAHA award (and really, I’m not proposing Candy and I start taking ourselves too seriously, here. I’m speaking purely in the hypothetical situation of trying to build a reader-determined award) voting was restricted to only SBTB members, then we’d be excluding those who participate regularly (and at length) but have not registered themselves with our site for whatever reason.
But if we leave it open, we run the risk of an author with an organized fanbase peppering the voting tally once the call goes out that Their Author is up for An Award. It becomes less of a competition between books and more of a competition between organized voter fanbases surrounding a particular author. And thus the judging process comes into question.
So really, how do we do it? And for that matter, how would the RWA do it, if a reader-driven award were to be added to the annual ceremony? Would that address the difference in opinions revealed in our comments? I don’t think so. I think it would create more problems than solutions. Moreover, there’s plenty of venues from which to gauge what readers think.
As for addressing changes to the RITA, first and foremost: there needs to be an erotica/romantica award, and there needs to be a gay/lesbian award. Period. I’ll volunteer right now to do whatever needs to be done, and to judge it, too, though I’m not a published writer (except for every time I hit “SUBMIT” on this here site). I’ll put my available time where my (big) mouth is.
But beyond that, how does one address the apparent disconnect between the RITA and the readers? Altering the categories? Changing the voting pool to include booksellers and others involved in the publication and marketing of a book, much like the Oscars™ solicit consideration from various professions involved in the process of making and delivering a movie?
(I think it’s time for the comparison to the Oscars to stop, though the RWA makes the comparison on the page that describes the RITA so I doubt it will end soon.)
I’m looking for a logical place to start addressing why there are audibly dissatisfied readers grumbling about the quality of those books winning the RITA each year. There are enough of the grumbling folks, even here, that it seems a large issue. Add to that the fact that, as many have pointed out, the RITA does not garner the same attention or respect that other awards receive, from cover stickers to prominent bookseller reshelving, and it seems that there is room to ask, in practical terms, what to do? Certainly I’m not the first to ask that question.
My first preference would be for the criterion, or the judging rubric in general, to be made public. What are the guidelines used for judging the categories? Is it up to each judge, and is each judge expected to know what constitutes a good romance in that category? Is that a reasonable expectation? Apparently not.
Candy is right in her statement that readers, though not published authors, do understand the genre’s expectations and requirements and aren’t necessarily “outsiders.”
If readers’ understanding of those genre standards is markedly different the standards revealed by the RITA-winning books, then then somewhere inside the chasm between them is a potential answer to a good many of our questions. Perhaps revealing the judging rules and standards is a good place to start finding out how to at least narrow the divide.
Candy’s Note: Edited a couple of things for clarity. Bad blogger! No cookie!
Robin mentioned that one of my favorite authors, Barbara Samuel, posted an entry on Romancing the Blog about why readers should care about the RITAs. One of the reasons given is that “the RITA is the Oscar or Pulitzer Prize of romances novels.”
My immediate reaction was “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” closely followed by “What. The. Fuck.”
I don’t take the RITAs seriously. In fact, I don’t take ANY of the romance awards seriously. While the RWA has awarded the RITA to some books that were actually good, those works are few and far between. Of the books I’ve read from the complete list of RITA winners, I can count maaaaaybe ten books that actually deserved to win in their categories, most of them going to Barbara Samuel/Ruth Wind, Laura Kinsale and Jennifer Crusie.
And before y’all get all het up about how I’m being unfair, because “good” is entirely subjective, I’d like to point out there are plenty of objective standards to writing, which Beth pointed out with great verve and eloquence a little while back, and which I then expanded on in a much more silly manner. But if you don’t want to wade through those two long-ish pieces, here it is in short: I separate craft from personal preference. There’s what I think is genuinely good, and there’s what I enjoy reading, and sometimes the two don’t intersect, and that’s OK--not loving something that was technically perfect doesn’t make me a cretin, and neither does enjoying something that was sloppily made.
The RITAs? Like I said to Robin, the motto for the vast majority of the winners seems to be “Hi, we’re mostly competent. Mostly.” Even authors who have written genuinely good books, like Lisa Kleypas and Connie Brockway, end up winning for books that were sub-par.
I don’t treat the other awards in such a dismissive fashion. The winners of the the Pulitzer, Booker, Guardian, Whitbread, Hugo and Nebula awards have quite reliably provided me with excellent, entertaining reads. But most of these awards tend to skew towards the more literary end of the spectrum, which might make these rather unfair comparisons for the RITAs. That leaves the Hugos and Nebulas, which are genre fiction awards. So why do I perk up and take notice when I hear a book has been awarded the Hugo or the Nebula?
The only reason I can think of is the Geek Factor. My tastes are a lot more in sync with the average geek than they are the average romance reader, and geeks are more plentifully found in SF than romance, and geeks are the ones to vote on the Nebulas and Hugos. To be honest, the average SF/F novel isn’t written that much more skillfully than the average romance novel; however, I tend to find the ideas and plots in SF/F a lot more interesting, and I will forgive a lot of clunkiness if the story grabs me. Neal Stephenson is an example who immediately comes to mind; he does some absolutely maddening things with his prose and characters, but his stories are so compelling that they drag me along. I even find his massive infodumps fascinating, God help me.
So until mainstream romance tastes begin to align themselves more closely to mine (unlikely), or until romance novels start playing with prose, structure and medium in the same interesting ways that literary fiction does (even more unlikely, and frankly, not necessarily desirable), or until the RITAs stop awarding most of their prizes to the literary equivalent of Thomas Kinkade paintings (unlikely, but very highly desirable), I’m going to keep on blithely ignoring the RITAs as a source of good reads while keeping an eye out for recommendations by people whose tastes I tend to trust a bit more, like Beth, or Robin, or Evil Auntie Peril.
Title: The Empress' New Clothes Author: Jaid Black Publication Info: Ellora's Cave 2002, ISBN: 0972437703 Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy
This has to be one of the most campy erotica novels I’ve read, and after I agreed to suspend reality and go along with the absolute outrageousness - and the nonstop sex scenes and moist channels, I mostly enjoyed it. Kyra Simmons, a mild-mannered accountant, brings her best friend Geris to a meditation retreat - one of the funniest opening chapters I’ve read in awhile - and as they exit, two mammoth 7-foot-tall men in leather appear in the parking lot. Zor Q’an Tal, High King of Tryston, Emperor of Trek Mi Q’an galaxy, Keeper of the Large Cock and Many Apostrophes, has been told he’ll find his Sacred Mate in the “first dimension” (aka earth) and lo and behold, he can rip the clothing from Kyra’s body telepathically. She is his Sacred Mate!
L’et us go t’hrough the d’imension’al portal to Tryston, emphasis on the ‘tryst’, and let the campy humpity hump begin! On Tryston, the warriors are large, well-endowed, and constantly horny for sex. With formal speech that recalls a overly-stylistic historical novel, Tor and his brother bring Kyra to Tryston, where Tor finds that (a) he really really really REALLY wants to hump Kyra and bind her to him as his Sacred Mate already, (b) Kyra is not at all accustomed to the shall we say forceful and directorial method of mate management employed by Trystani warriors, and (c) as much as she’d like to do the trysty with him, she’s got some other bones to pick first, not the least of which is her own kidnapping.
But oh, this is campy erotica, and soon the fine, fine 10 inches of fizznuckin’ put to rest Kyra’s concerns about her career, her life on earth, and her newfound subjugation at the hands (and other parts) of Tor because that fizznuckin’? Damn fine, apparently.
As I said, once I agreed to be entertained by the campy aspects, the more nitpicky plot points - why does Kyra let go of her worries, her homesickness, and her old life so easily? - were answered by a mental shrug on my part, mostly because I began to not only enjoy the utterly over-the-top sexuality and society of Tryston (or as I called it, Planet Nooki’e!) but consider the story on the whole as an exploration of female fantasies of sexual subjugation. There are some women who would get mighty turned on at the idea of being attentively cared for by multiple warriors who are not permitted penetration, or at the idea of a mate who is bound on a profound level to their sexual gratification and fulfillment, even if that mate was frequently heard to ask, “Who owns you? Who is your master? Whose cock do you wish to fill your moist channel? Who is the sole possessor of the remote control?” Ok, not that last one but you get the point. Even the over-possessive masterful sexx0r talk certainly could corner many fantasies for female readers, and I have to give Black credit for creating a vehicle in Kyra for discovering that domination can be sexually liberating. Kyra has to adjust to a very male-dominated culture, not just in language and habit but in dress - her official garb as Empress and High Queen is a see-through boob scarf and skirt and just about every warrior she encounters is expected socially to admire her openly with blatantly lustful expressions and comments on her “woman’s pelt” and “fire-berry nipples.”
Of course, within that subjugation of women is a bit of female control - a camp-inflated version of the All Controlling and Healing Vagina, if you will. Once a warrior finds his Sacred Mate, his appetite for bound slaves and kefahs (enchanted sand women whose purpose is bringing men and women to their peak. Repeatedly) just about disappears and he becomes manfully fixated on making his wee woman happy, sated, and solely his. By the time Kyra accepts her new position as mate, empress, and often-humped object of Tor’s sexual desire, she realizes that she wields some influence over Tor - though not enough influence to prevent a large misunderstanding & misadventure that constitutes the climax of the story. That said, if scenes that are not bondage-related but do involve verbal domination and female subjugation are not your thing, this will not likely sexually titillate or interest you.
What dropped this book in my ratings was the villain. Candy and I have often joked and grumbled that the easiest way to create a villain is to make him pure evil: Ugly. Mean. Greasy, even. And an abuser of animals. It’s usually the scene animal abuse that serves as the first clue to a villain. In this case, it’s not animal abuse but sexual abuse and murder of children. What jarred me to badly was that the villain and the conflict arrived very late in the story - at times I was wondering if there was going to BE a conflict or if the bulk of the story was Kyra’s adjusting to life on Planet Nooki’e - and when the villainy arrived, it was sweepingly awful and left me nauseated. The insurgent leader, Ty, decimates a sector, and when Tor and his brothers arrive, he finds the leader’s name scrawled in blood, and observes in detail young boys who were sodomized and left to die from their injuries, young women raped and strangled, and older women and men left in various states of massacre. It yanked me out of the campy “anything goes” attitude with which I’d been enjoying the book, and left me angry and sick. It seemed too easy a way to create a villain, even so late in the story. Ty himself doesn’t appear at all, except through holograms and in the aftermath of his evilness, and he’s not scary enough or enough of a threat to the protagonists. And the resolution that solves the problem of his insurrection happens off-stage, leaving only his actions to resonate in the reader’s mind, and not nearly enough retribution for their pain and fallout. After page following page of nonstop horny happy sex and voyeurism and lots of humping and oral sex in the bathing chambers, to be yanked out of the goofy over-the-top sexuality into child rape and murder seemed like a quick and shabby - and overly simple and unnecessary - way to create a villain, or emphasize his evilness.
Moreover, I didn’t understand the reason for the contrast between sexually explicit exploration of female domination and the use of sex as a tool of violent domination over children. I get it - sexual domination isn’t always good or always bad but has a place within consensual activities - but no need to hit me over the head with it.
Further, because the villain makes his awful appearance 3/4 of the way through the story, the conflict presented by his insurrection seems an afterthought and not at all a required development to the protagonists’ story. His removal and the resolution of his story line do equally little to change anything or advance any depth to the relationship between the protagonists, and the experience of that particular turn to the novel’s plot left me far less pleased with the overall experience of having read it.
Yet my disappointment will not stop me from finding the sequels and reading them as well. Credit goes to Black for creating secondary characters who are multi-dimensional and interesting enough in their individual motivations and personalities that I want to find out what happens to them and to revisit Kyra and Tor as their siblings’ stories continue.
What what? Not in the butt! Sarah remembered to do an ad for Friday Lonely Hearts. Srsly, looketh ye for the star in the east, because Sarah doth not remember whereth she putteth her keyths, but she remembereth the Friday ad!
So you know the drill: Give me the title of the book, the author’s name, and the heroine’s name, and I’ll giveth you the Smart Bitch Title™ of unparalleled awesomeness.
In & Out Other Dimensional Burger
Mild mannered accountant seeks green-eyed multi-organed alien Emperor dude to sweep me off to another dimension and have a lot of dominant sex with me. No, really, a LOT. Seriously, a TON of SEX. Apparently in your dimension, women are multi-orgasmic into the double digits, and creatures made of sand can make you orgasm in the bathtub any time you want. Sign me up for that trans-dimensional portal, pronto. Gifts of jewelry required.
And behold, the finalists of the 2007 RITA™ awards - and the 2007 Golden Heart™ - were announced this morning. And there was much rejoicing yesterday as people got phone calls saying their books or manuscripts were finalists, giving them each even MORE reason to ponder that endless question: do I wear panty hose to the RITA™ awards ceremony?
