Reader as heroine?
Dec. 18th, 2006 07:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jmc_bks'Tis Monday. Thus, I must attempt to be a Smart Bitch one last time this year.
I've been thinking about myself as a reader and my expectations of the heroine, because of a couple of posts and/or questions I've seen floating around the net.
I posted the other day about Janet Evanovich's upcoming between the numbers Stephanie Plum novel, saying that I think Plum is pathetic. Jennie asked if I really think that. My off the cuff answer was yes, because she's stuck in a rut and makes no effort to get out of it. (Judgmental much?) As I think about it, I wonder if I should have used the word "pitiful" instead, because I don't have much sympathy for Stephanie Plum. As a reader of a series, I expect (in addition to whatever mystery or suspense that drives the plot) a certain amount of growth or change in the protagonist-hero(ine). Because I'm reading the series in part because of the external plot, and in part because of the internal/character development. Stephanie lost my sympathy and/or interest because she never changed, or made a significant effort to become better at her job. Even knowing that time is static in Plum-world doesn't help.
The conversation that follows Monica Jackson's review of the Unleashed anthology made me think even more about how I approach heroines. One commenter mentioned that most romance readers insert themselves into the heroine role. Which may be true, but I don't think I do it. Truly, I cannot imagine myself as a debutante running around Napoleonic France, or as a superspy a la Sidney Bristow, jumping out of planes and risking my life. The ruler by which I measure a heroine is whether her choices and actions are consistent with her world and the character established by the author.
So, bouncing back to Stephanie Plum, I find her pitiful because she complains about her life and the risks inherent in her job, but makes no effort to change her life or her job or to become better prepared.
And Adriana from Barbara Samuel's The Black Angel -- I could respect the choices she made, even if they were not conventional. But I didn't respect how blinkered she was to her own social situation, especially in light of how aware she was of social inequality for her half-siblings. Her subsequent realization was the foundation of her character's change and capacity for an HEA.
Really, would the In Death series still be going strong if Eve had remained the isolated, closed person she was in Naked? No, I don't think so.
I'm not sure what my original point was. Maybe that static characters aren't interesting to me? Especially in series.
Afterthought and tangent: Monica also pointed out how very fluffy and sweet white romances are; as well as how prudish mainstream romance is, and that erotic romance is very much focused on BDSM and D/S, which most black women aren't interested in. I'll take her word for the last, as I am not a black woman, however I know of at least one D/S erotic romance featuring a black heroine, written I believe by a black woman. I kind of agree with a lot of her points, though. There are darker, more edgy romances to be found in white romance, but they aren't the majority. But why not? Is it that vicious circle -- readers don't want them so publishers don't buy them, or is it that readers don't say they want them, so publishers don't buy them? Or is it just the PC, Avonization of romance, where nothing heavy or weighty or pushing the envelope is going to be addressed? I also think it is sad that romance, a genre written primarily by women for women, presents such stereotypical, conservative, double standard images of women's sexuality. We've all read about many more virgin heroines (or heroines who have only had sex once and it was awful so they never try again) than heroines who are comfortable with their bodies and the amazing things they can do and feel with their bodies. I think this last may be why I keep trying different erotic romance writers -- I'm looking for romance where the heroine isn't afraid of her body and doesn't feel the need to stay home alone waiting for Mr. Right....and I'm never going to find that in mainstream romance, because the heroine isn't supposed to like sex in MR until she encounters the hero's magic penis.
Er, again, not sure what my point was. Sorry about that.
I've been thinking about myself as a reader and my expectations of the heroine, because of a couple of posts and/or questions I've seen floating around the net.
I posted the other day about Janet Evanovich's upcoming between the numbers Stephanie Plum novel, saying that I think Plum is pathetic. Jennie asked if I really think that. My off the cuff answer was yes, because she's stuck in a rut and makes no effort to get out of it. (Judgmental much?) As I think about it, I wonder if I should have used the word "pitiful" instead, because I don't have much sympathy for Stephanie Plum. As a reader of a series, I expect (in addition to whatever mystery or suspense that drives the plot) a certain amount of growth or change in the protagonist-hero(ine). Because I'm reading the series in part because of the external plot, and in part because of the internal/character development. Stephanie lost my sympathy and/or interest because she never changed, or made a significant effort to become better at her job. Even knowing that time is static in Plum-world doesn't help.
The conversation that follows Monica Jackson's review of the Unleashed anthology made me think even more about how I approach heroines. One commenter mentioned that most romance readers insert themselves into the heroine role. Which may be true, but I don't think I do it. Truly, I cannot imagine myself as a debutante running around Napoleonic France, or as a superspy a la Sidney Bristow, jumping out of planes and risking my life. The ruler by which I measure a heroine is whether her choices and actions are consistent with her world and the character established by the author.
So, bouncing back to Stephanie Plum, I find her pitiful because she complains about her life and the risks inherent in her job, but makes no effort to change her life or her job or to become better prepared.
And Adriana from Barbara Samuel's The Black Angel -- I could respect the choices she made, even if they were not conventional. But I didn't respect how blinkered she was to her own social situation, especially in light of how aware she was of social inequality for her half-siblings. Her subsequent realization was the foundation of her character's change and capacity for an HEA.
Really, would the In Death series still be going strong if Eve had remained the isolated, closed person she was in Naked? No, I don't think so.
I'm not sure what my original point was. Maybe that static characters aren't interesting to me? Especially in series.
Afterthought and tangent: Monica also pointed out how very fluffy and sweet white romances are; as well as how prudish mainstream romance is, and that erotic romance is very much focused on BDSM and D/S, which most black women aren't interested in. I'll take her word for the last, as I am not a black woman, however I know of at least one D/S erotic romance featuring a black heroine, written I believe by a black woman. I kind of agree with a lot of her points, though. There are darker, more edgy romances to be found in white romance, but they aren't the majority. But why not? Is it that vicious circle -- readers don't want them so publishers don't buy them, or is it that readers don't say they want them, so publishers don't buy them? Or is it just the PC, Avonization of romance, where nothing heavy or weighty or pushing the envelope is going to be addressed? I also think it is sad that romance, a genre written primarily by women for women, presents such stereotypical, conservative, double standard images of women's sexuality. We've all read about many more virgin heroines (or heroines who have only had sex once and it was awful so they never try again) than heroines who are comfortable with their bodies and the amazing things they can do and feel with their bodies. I think this last may be why I keep trying different erotic romance writers -- I'm looking for romance where the heroine isn't afraid of her body and doesn't feel the need to stay home alone waiting for Mr. Right....and I'm never going to find that in mainstream romance, because the heroine isn't supposed to like sex in MR until she encounters the hero's magic penis.
Er, again, not sure what my point was. Sorry about that.
