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

There’s been a pretty interesting discussion on The Lipstick Chronicles about the girl ghetto in mystery fiction. Of the four responses, I have to say Harlan Coben’s interested me the most, especially this bit here:

TLC: Do you think male readers want a different type of story than women (i.e., gun-toting loner vs. something more relationship-oriented and emotional), or is it all about perception?

HARLAN: I think female readers may be more open than male readers. A female reader will be more apt to read, say, a Tom Clancy than a man would be to read a Danielle Steel. The female audience is also larger. That said, I hate generalizations, so maybe I should just ignore this.

I think Harlan is right: generally speaking, women tend to read more, and more diversely, than men do. However, forget the comparison to Danielle Steel. Hell, Danielle Steel books aren’t ghettoized solely because they’re women’s fiction. Let’s face it: her books just tend to be god-fucking-awful. Let’s try another author, an author who’s even more successful, one whose works are extremely well-regarded by pretty much everyone in the fiction-by-women-for-women community (barring infidels like myself, of course): Nora Roberts.

Would the average guy be caught dead reading, say, Jewels of the Sun or Irish Thoroughbred? Not on your fucking life. On the other hand, most women wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen reading books by Tom Clancy, Lawrence Block, Robert Ludlum, Clive Cussler, Harlan Ellison, etc. Hell, a significant number of women read lad lit penned by the likes of Nick Hornby et al, or gritty urban tales with a distinct masculine bent like those written by Irvine Welsh and Chuck Palahniuk, but I’m willing to bet that the numbers aren’t reversed for Helen Fielding, Jennifer Weiner or Maeve Binchy. In fact, I’m willing to bet that a woman who reads mostly male-oriented fiction, fiction that’s considered gritty and dark, is seen as exponentially cooler than a woman who reads mostly female-oriented fiction about relationships and (god forbid) squishy emotions like love and grief. The former is one of the boys. She’s cool. She’s not squeamish. She gets it. She’s not into all that girly shit.

It all boils down to the stigma of effeminacy. To be called “girly” is rarely a compliment. “You throw like a girl.” “Stop being such a girl.” “You write like a girl.”

And God forbid that a man, well, read like a girl.

I know there’s a lot of theories about who the reader identifies with, the hero or the heroine. Some of these covers, with the hero looking right at the reader - yeesh - make me wonder if the theory of heroine-identification is driving some art departments in their cover selections. All I can say is, these dudes? Not romantic. Not even close. More like...creepy.

Sarah: 1. Sir, are you holding your kilt closed?

2. Sir, are you aware that you have No Ass?

3. Sir, are you also aware that you have a mullet?!

Candy: Behold, the true reason why Adam and Eve were thrown out of Paradise: It wasn’t because of no damn apple. That was just an excuse. Not even God could condone a mullet.

Sarah: First of all, what is it about this guy that makes him look so stupid? Is it the vacant expression, or the slack-jawed lips? Is it me or does he look dumber than dirt?

And how bout those helmet horns! WHOO EE! Gotta love authentic costuming that not only says, “This Man is a Viking!” but also suggests that he has an enormous horn somewhere else! Thanks for spelling that out for us, art department. He’s a horny dude.

Maybe that’s why he’s looking so stupid. He’s lost all his blood to his enormous trouser horn.

Candy: Look, I’m not a historian. To call me a history dilletante would be to mortally insult dielletantes everywhere. But even I know that Vikings didn’t really wear horned helmets.

What’s next, a romance novel about Pilgrims in which the people eat apple pie and sit around singing “The Star-Spangled Banner”?

I also like how in every Viking cover I’ve seen thus far--and in our dedication to bring you the best (I use the term very, very loosely), I’m afraid I’ve exposed my poor retinas to more Viking fug than deemed safe by NASA, which specifies no more than 2 Viking cover exposures per month or risk infertility, cerebral hemmorhaging and/or a really itchy case of scabies--the men look like the dumbest, no-neck, steroid-guzzling gym monkeys around.

*scratches self*

Sarah: I’m not sure if this might be the most offensive cover ever. Not only is he looking like she has a penis and just goosed him in the ass while he was giving her a piggyback ride, but is that...a church? Is he holding a bible? Is he a priest and is the piggyback hussy tempting him away from his vows?

Y’all. It’s the Thornbirds. Only with a really vacant looking hero with too-long sideburns.

Sarah’s Hubby: Wait, is that Ross from Friends?

Candy: Preacher’s gotta make enough money to pay the billz, and hey, if some horny redhead decides to stuff dollars down his shirt while riding him *koff*.... the Lord understands, I’m sure.

Sarah: This cover isn’t so much bad as it is just...dumb. A big head and fireworks? He’s a trickster? Where, at a carnival? Carnie love stories?

And what is this cover trying to say, he’s got a big head and will make you see stars?

Candy: Sorry, when I hear words like “Trickster,” I don’t think “Romance!” I think Anansi, the west African spider-God.

Well, I guess half-men, half-spiders can be sexy. Hey, think of what he can do with those eight limbs! HOT! Move over, werewolves, there’s a new kid on the romance block, and he has a segmented body, multiple pairs of eyes and (depending on what region he’s from) urticating hairs! HOTTTT!

Sarah: The following bets have been placed with the Vegas bookies:

1. This man is not a natural blond.
2. He will cut himself or his pants severely tucking his long sword into this belt like that. I mean, really, if you’re going to carry a sword like that, you get a scabbard at least.
3. With that hair, that sword, and that vacant, staring-just-past-you expression, “virtual desire” is about the only satisfaction you’ll get out of that stud.

Candy, didn’t I once send you a cover card of a different cover version of this title? Some dude standing in the woods with a giant staff right between his legs?

Candy: Yes, yes you did, Sarah. It was for the first book, Virtual Heaven, which also features a wonderfully blank-looking model on the cover. I need to dig that sumbitch up....

Seeing as the book is about RPG video game characters come to life, here are some of this guy’s attributes:

Dexterity: +15
Magic: +10
Strength: +20
Charisma: +10
Man-Boobies of Great Crushing Power: +25
Intimidation via Implication of Massive Wanger: +40
Ability to “Rock Your Body Right”: +5
Pained Pout of Power: +25
Intelligence: -500

It’s funny how the books I most frequently re-read are not necessarily the books I count among my all-time favorites. For instance, I’ve re-read For My Lady’s Heart and The Shadow and The Star only once, and some favorites, like Hyperion and Fall of Hyperion, have never been re-read. On the other hand, some Lisa Kleypas books that I wouldn’t rate above a B or B- are frequently re-read. And one particular comfort read of mine is a book that I should hate, by all rights.

I’m talking about Morning Song by Karen Robards.

I don’t know why I love this book so much, but I do. It’s really not a guilty pleasure the way Dara Joy’s campy novels are a guilty pleasure. Morning Song is quite well-written, despite the heroine’s breasts’ tendency to swell and throb when the hero fondles them. But this book is seriously flawed in many ways, and contains several plot devices that tend to squick me all to fuck in a romance novel. Below are a few reasons why I should hate the book:

(Be warned, there are going to be some pretty big spoilers, so don’t read if you’re the sort who can’t stand ‘em.)

Behold, Darlene, for your most speedy and most correct reply, The Smart Bitches Dub Thee:

You know the drill - give us the title, author, and heroine’s name and we shall bestow upon you a spiffy Smart Bitch title.

Raider of my Lost Heart

Heiress to family fortune, born to shop but stifled by parental oversight, seeks young man from the wrong side of the tracks to start a hot, passionate, and impossible-to-resist romance. Must be willing to wade through 300+ pages of big, little, mid-size and Escalade-sized misunderstandings disguised as corporate intrigue thrown in the way of our happily ever after.