“Your virtue!” said the lady, recovering after a silence of two minutes; “I shall never survive it.
Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding
Academia puts a high value on the ability to read critically; to deny the text our heart and view it with an analytical, objective mind. From the early of the 20th Century onwards, we have made a practice of withholding our commitment to the narrative lure novel and called it an intellectual virtue. The subtext here is that really ‘bright’ people don’t suspend disbelief when they read. So it’s hardly surprising that literary theorists have, for the most part, looked down on the readers of genre fiction – especially romance – and it’s hardly surprising that they find little value in reading them. If they could ever drop their ultimately jaded eye and fully indulge in a well-written piece of erotic romance, what they’d find was that Barthes was not entirely correct in his assessment on the death of the author.
One thing I have learned from my recent research into how the happily ever after convention affects the reading experience is that, for erotic romance readers, the writer is very much there through the text. Not as a part of the narrative, but as a silent partner in the reading experience. Because it seems pretty clear that these readers feel, very strongly, that in picking up a novel, before they even start reading, they’ve made a deal with the writer: “I’m trusting you with my heart. Don’t let me down.”
To truly enjoy a good romance, you cannot read it with your head. You can’t be permanently on the lookout for lapses in political correctness or offensive gender role modeling. You can’t play spot the narrative devices or play Where’s Wally with the stock characters. Romance is about love and, in a way, it requires the reader to be willing to fall in love with this journey of love. Erotic romance readers commit very deeply to being emotionally open to the text. They give themselves over in a way that is spectacularly uncritical.
But they aren’t stupid. They won’t give over with no safety net. The Happily Ever After (or Happily For Now ending) is not just the way the story ends. It is there as a promise at the very beginning of the reading experience as a gesture of good intention on the part of the writer. Erotic romance readers have a very high tolerance for narrative conflict. Characters are routinely and gleefully put through horrific trials – both physical and emotional. And readers will sink into the story unflinchingly with the one sacred understanding that, no matter how rough the going gets, it will be worth all the suffering because, in the end, there will be happiness. The ending is not only redemption for the characters, but also for the reader and ultimately for the writer.
And when writers, for any number of reasons, are felt not to have kept up their part of the bargain – offering the reader a less that solid happy ending – romance readers get furious. They feel emotionally abused because, in a way, they have been emotionally abused. Yes, that abuse was consensual, but it also came with a solemn promise attached and that promise was not kept.
There was a time, at the height of the traditional modern romance boom, when the definition of what constituted a happy ending was extremely clear. The story had to end with a betrothal at the very least, if not a wedding. Sometimes stories offered postscript chapter of a portrait of wedded bliss that included babies. But in erotic romance, the definition of the ‘Happily Ever After’ closure has changed quite radically.
Most readers have not escaped the pressure to acknowledge that no believable story can ever end ‘Happily Ever After’. They acknowledge that they have no model for what that looks like because it doesn’t exist in the world. Consequently, the expectation of the level of the lovers’ commitment varies enormously. No readers I interviewed required a wedding. In fact, many of them scoffed at the proposition. Some only required that the couple mutually acknowledge their couplehood. Some required words or a gesture that signified a deep and unbreakable bond through life. What seems to be satisfying to almost everyone is that the story end with the couple having acknowledged their emotional commitment to each other and signaled their heartfelt intention to stay together.
This, it seems, makes the reader feel that whatever travails have happened through the story, it was worth it. Many of them remarked that the more harrowing the conflicts and hardships in the narrative, the more valuable the emotionally secure ending.
Learning these things, it’s hard for me not to find the metaphor of an S & M relationship appealing – with the writer as sadist, the text as scene and the reader as masochist. Erotic romance readers give their sadistic writers a lot of leeway to take them to incredibly painful places, but there must be aftercare in the form of the HEA. Any writer who withholds it is going to have a hard time finding playmates.
An excellent and thoughtful piece. I’ve been considering endings this morning and how they effect the reader – my son is playing through a game with an involved storyline and the hero (the character he plays as) makes the ultimate sacrifice at the end; something my son isn’t aware of. It’s a bold choice; but understandable in the action/thriller genre and I know it will have the emotional impact that the writer/creators wanted when my son reaches that point in the story.
As a writer I always accept a degree of responsibility for my readers and I like to leave them with a sense of closure and a desire for the story to continue. I want the words to stay with them after they’ve “turned the last page”.
Despite knowing that it rarely happens in life (because the story of life never truly ends) people are generally predisposed towards finding a “happy ending” more acceptable – especially in the context of romantic/erotic fiction. Maybe it’s from all the Disney films we watched as kids? Who knows – but in context quite a few of those Disney Princesses suffered some kind of ordeal – kidnapping, imprisonment, physical and mental abuse before reaching their stories conclusion.
Acknowledging that the reader is trusting you with their emotions for the journey through your story and then caring enough about them to take them through sometime dark and scary places before delivering them back to the light and a satisfactory conclusion should be every writers responsibility.
I do not feel the need or the responsibility to give my readers a happy ending. However, I am not writing romance nor do I ever pretend to.
One of the very valuable things this study has taught me is that, as a writer, it is important to be honest about what you are promising the reader. The genre you situate your writing in plays a very large part in what is expected of your stories. But I think most writers feel a level of individual responsibility and it’s not the same for every writer. I think this is a positive thing. Even among erotic romance writers, there is considerable variation in how they balance the responsibility between writing a well-crafted, believable story and the amount of comfort they owe their readers. That variation allows, I think, for readers to have new and sometimes surprising reading experiences.
As an individual, I’m not a comfortable or particularly comforting person. As a friend, I’m more likely to tell you what I feel is the truth rather than tell you something to make you feel better. I think I write that way, too. I try to ensure my stories contain a very high degree of emotional and psychological realism. This often prompts readers to be self-reflective. So the ride, with me, is seldom comfortable.
I’m pretty sure most people who read my stuff are aware of that. And yet strangely enough, a few still read my work.
*laughs with delight* that metaphor is absolutely knob on, and i love it!
in fact, the whole piece is knob on. this is really, really fascinating and enlightening stuff, RG – it’s a tiny corner of the vast experience of life, but one close to my heart. i’m glad you took this on, because your clear-headed examination of it has released me to love the HEA/HFN proudly, rather than being slightly ashamed of doing so, yet not knowing why.
thank you.
Well, if I’ve achieve that, then I’m incredibly proud. Because I don’t think any reader who gives themselves over so fully to engagement with a text should ever be anything but proud of their ability to take that emotional risk. Luckily, you have lots of very responsible writers, who are also avid readers, who understand the delight you take in the experience and share it.
Brilliant.
I think I’ll say that again. Brilliant.
You’ve done a distillation that both feels spot on and is intellectually satisfying.
Its simple RG, as I have told you before. You put me in each situation, watching from behind a sheer curtain. That, ultimately, is why I read erotic romance fiction. Thank you for your work.
Waterguy
I think you’ll find that a majority of erotic romance readers don’t ideate their relationship with the story with quite as much emotional distance as a you do. What you are describing is a very voyeuristic relationship with the story. It’s my impression that most erotic romance readers feel more of a union with one or both of the main characters than this.
I think Barthes was a very intuitive person, writer and reader. He wouldn’t look down his nose at erotic romance. Hell, he wrote essays about wrestling, adverts, pop culture.
But I think he was right about ‘death of the author’! The internet has kind of proved his point I believe, look, we are all collaborating in your writing. You are not in control of it, as the sole producer. If you were you wouldn’t be needing commenters on your blog.
Production is not meaning-making. Barthes spoke about the death of the AUTHOR, not the death of the writer. You need to re-read him.
yes miss! sorry miss!
I am re-reading him. We disagree in our interpretation.
Happy new year.
Yes, I gather we do.
I wrote a sort of response to our discussion, here:
http://deathatthemall.wordpress.com/2012/01/01/death-of-the-author-death-of-the-writer-death-of-the-reader/
Happy new year everyone!
There is so much food for thought in this!
Early on in my course we read an article (written in the late 19th Century, I think) about keeping women from reading novels because they would be too carried away by the narrative, unable to employ a critical eye, and they would wind up with romantic, unrealistic notions of life. In our seminars the discussion was all about how women have the same faculties as men and the idea that we wouldn’t be able to employ a more analytical view is ridiculous. But reading your article has made me think that perhaps we missed a trick…
In this world where reading with a critical eye is so highly esteemed, is there, perhaps some other, forgotten merit in losing yourself in the narrative? Trust? The soul-nourishing effect of immersing yourself in literature? I’m not sure, but it bears thinking about.
Also, I love your idea of writer as sadist, text as scene, and reader as masochist. I think subconsciously I have already been attempting to do this to my readers; but I don’t provide a safety net… And I think the same could be said for your writing, no? Any thoughts?
Interesting question. I hope my writing is somewhat didactic, so although I don’t offer aftercare in the order of an HEA, I still hope that readers feel like the journey was valuable to them and worth whatever discomfort they might experience.
In terms of the act of reading uncritically, I think it is probably fair to say that many people use different types of writing for different reasons, and conscious choose emotionally ‘safe’ places, like romance, to immerse a less critical mode of reading. It’s interesting to consider how much ‘suspension of disbelief’ and critical reading are related.
I was very interested along each post to read your thoughts & research into HEA.
This is a very compelling read for me as I have to admit I’ve read extremely dark & emotionally painful erotica/romance that have the HEA ending.
Personally I need the HEA not only to know what I went through emotionally while reading is ‘rewarded’ but to know what I have go e through in my life doesn’t make me unlovable. I know this makes HEA a crutch of sorts. I’m well aware that reality isn’t a HEA nor any fictional story no matter how much it resonates. But I’m aware of all this after I’ve finished my book. Then I feel embarrassed about reading it & hide it. The description you used of s&m is damn near perfect as I’m not terribly open about my kinks either. 😉
Your stories RG are probably the first non-HEA that I’ve read & enjoyed almost all of them. Then I found monacle through your site who is another delightful read. Your stories are gritty, painful & paint reality a little starlet than I’m use to. However I keep coming back for more because the pay off in your stories isn’t the HEA but the self-reflection which I admittedly try to avoid. So thank you for posting & sharing.
I enjoy coming here to see what views are posted & see what portions of my psychie I am going to be reviewing this time. I also want to take this opportunity to thank you for the warnings you place on the stories as I fear I wouldn’t of gotten through them without the chance to brace myself.