For the Love of Romance

I've been meaning to do this post for years. I kid you not. I really do mean: YEARS. Because that's how long I've been reading romance novels. Most of the time, I want to write about it when I hear another woman tell me with a sneer, "Ugh! Romance. I never read THOSE kind of books." The only thing that calms me down then is a good romance novel - and I never get around to writing it. I don't bother about what a man thinks about this.

It all started in my teens with the Sweet Valley High Series, which then progressed to Danielle Steele, a few Barbara Cartland, hundreds of Mills & Boon/Harlequin, and the cream of the crop - Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (Tell me Darcy is not your literary hero?). Yes. I know. It seems like sacrilege to even mention them all under one breath, but who am I to judge? Every one of these writers moved me in some way or the other with their story-telling, and the fault lies not with their stories, but with the negative connotation that clouds what's collectively defined as "chick lit". I'm a Piscean - so all things romantic are especially close to my heart, but I've known women of ALL star signs be swept away by a dashing hero in a well-written witty novel. What many fail to realize is that it's not all about the descriptive nights of passion, but the events and circumstances that lead up to it. It's more than just "boy meets girl, drama ensues, boy marries girl". It's the interesting way a character's personality is revealed through situations, the exotic locations (if you don't live there, it's exotic!), the friends and family that play a role in the story, the intense chemistry that the couple initially fight against before succumbing to it, and the list goes on and on. For many readers, a Mills &Boon, is about a woman being able to take charge of her life. They're independent, hard-working women (even the waif-like 18-year-old virgins with eyes-as-wide-as-saucers by Ms Cartland) and their life is all about new adventures.

As a young, first generation immigrant girl I grew up in a conflicting environment - the Indian home versus the South African world. Whilst my parents raised my brother and I as equally as they knew how, I was always told what my future would be - maths and science-based academics in which I would excel, followed by an excellent job and finally, a marriage that would support a brilliant career. I saw no evidence of it actually happening to my own mother or any of her friends though. There wasn't any question of "doing what I want", and being the obedient child that I was, I never rebelled - I feared my parents' disappointment. Indeed, even though the idea of an arranged marriage terrified me, I never once saw myself going against my parents' desires and marrying for love. In such circumstances, a romance novel is a wonderful boon (excuse the pun). By losing myself in them, I could be the woman I wanted to be, without suffering the wrath of family and society. I hated confrontations of any sort. In fact, one may argue (like my Dad did) that it was the books that put foolish romantic notions in my head. But I believe that my personality was predestined, and I was just pretending to uphold the values of my society even though I never really believed in them, and these books helped me to retain my sanity in all that pretense. Of course, I couldn't read any of these books around my parents and for the most part they didn't know. We had our washing machine in our bathroom (because flats in those days were not designed for a washing machine's outlet) and it also functioned as a laundry basket. I used to hide my novels in there between the clothes. I think my Dad may have discovered them once because he said to me, whilst shaving - so there was no eye contact as he had to look in the mirror," Ee Danielle Steele-um Barbara Cartland-um vaikunne penkuttygal-ke buddhi onnum illa." (Translation: Girls who read romance novels are brainless.) But that never stopped me and my frenzy for reading (all kinds of books) at times went to extremes. Normally, because we're restricted to no more than 2 books a week at the school library, we'd swap books with friends mid-week. How ever, on one of those swaps with my best friends during a social visit, my folks decided to go to church instead of going straight home. I had the books on lock-down under my arms but inside my jacket and I panicked. Normally I would race ahead of them into the house and hide them but now we were headed straight to church, with books in my not-so-innocent teen hands that had covers with couples in the throes of passion. I thought of throwing them under the car seat but I had a bratty brother who would surely tell on me. There was no time to over think matters. I slowly slid the two novels from my under my arm and slipped it into the waistband of my skirt. I kept them side by side so it wouldn't look like there was a bulge. When I stepped out of the car I could feel them slip out of the waistband and I panicked again. I then had to join my hands as if in prayer and place them gently over my tummy where the books were. I may have also had a very pious look on my face, possibly leading to my parents thanking the Lord for my God-fearing ways. I am ashamed to say, I even had to accept the holy communion like this. There was no question of NOT taking communion with my mother. The teen brat that I was to her, I could float in a sea of communion wafers and not be forgiven. If only she knew...

If you read "Infidel" by Ayaan Hirsi Ali (not a romance), you'd see that a Mills & Boon is loved by women of ALL nationalities (provided they can read English that is) - it doesn't discriminate against class (though some would disagree), creed, colour or character (I'm impatient with those who like to be high-n-mighty moralistic about it). I did my degree in English in a convent-run college, and there was a floor-to-ceiling Mills & Boon cupboard set apart in the non-fiction section of the library - all books entirely donated by one person, judging by the signature in every one of them. The librarian, Sister Josephine, never once made any of us feel "dirty" for wanting to read them, despite the raunchy covers. I could finish one in a day, much to the annoyance of my roommates, and still didn't manage to read them all. I won't lie. It wouldn't be the first time I've lost friends over books. 

Whilst many love stories do stand out in my head, not all of them are romantic, and while many are romantic, not ALL of them reflect the fervour of a deep, undying love. But I love both kinds either ways. Of the top of my head, I love:

•  Jane Eyre (my namesake) by Charlotte Bronte
• The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough
• Tess of the d'Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy (loved Hardy ever since my maternal grandfather introduced me to "The Mayor of Casterbridge" when I was 10 years old - abridged version, of course)
• Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
• A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute
• Love Story - Erich Segal (yes, yes, I know)

I wish I had read Gone with the Wind and The Bridges of Madison County - but the movie adaptations were superb and ruined them both for me. I did not at ALL, enjoy Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H.Lawrence. For all the hype around it for its time, it was really disappointing. Same goes for the Fifty Shades series. I won't lie - it's horny as hell and I did read all three books along with my two girlfriends P & D, who are on two different continents. But it's still not something I'd recommend to any one despite the fun we had WhatsApping over it.

When it comes to the M&B type romances, my memory fades because it's been a while:

• Sweet as My Revenge by Susan Napier
• Sheikh by Connie Mason (Historical)
• Prisoner of my Desire by Johanna Lindsay (Historical)

I was a teen when I read them and I don't know how I'd feel reading them today. More than the titles, I remember the authors VERY well - and I'd choose them because they rarely disappoint me. I especially like the M&Bs from the 70s to 90s, when the covers were painted/drawn on and not photographs. I always wondered what happened to those artists when they were told their work would no longer be required. The modern romances have real-life models posing on the covers and has put me off ever reading them. Some of my favourite authors from back then:

• Emma Darcy
• Carole Mortimer
• Sally Wentworth
• Violet Winspear
• Penny Jordan
• Anne Mather
• Charlotte Lamb

A 2008 statistic from The Guardian:
"A Mills & Boon paperback is sold in a UK bookshop on average every 6.6 seconds."

Of course, just because it's popular doesn't make it good, as the adage goes, else every Bollywood box office hit would be deemed a "classic". But for the shy, mostly isolated teen that I was, Mills&Boon instilled in me a love of adventure, a desire to learn a new language, an appetite for exotic food, the ability to detect a Greek name when I hear one, the courage to submit when I finally find "The One" (I really was a "gutless wonder" - name that movie), a confidence in myself to actually progress to lovely lacy lingerie from my granny undies, and the belief that true love can and will conquer all the sorrows that life will throw your way.

This post is dedicated to R - thank you for believing in me, and in Us. You are, and always will be, my hero.