I had a revelation recently about why I like romance stories.
I was watching Penelope, one of my all-time favorites. (If you haven’t seen it . . . do so. ’Tis a delightful contemporary fantasy full of wit and whimsy, starring James McAvoy, Christina Ricci, Peter Dinklage, Catherine O’Hara, Richard E. Grant, and Reese Witherspoon. The cast alone merits investigation.) As it concluded, I realized the rush of feeling inside me was far stronger and more complex than mere satisfaction at seeing so-and-so finally get together with the other so-and-so.
I was MOVED – deeply, poignantly moved.
It was as if one tiny, broken piece of this broken world had been put back together again. Something wrong had been made right. What’s more, I felt hope surge within me that, someday, all the pieces might be put back together again. EVERYTHING wrong will be made right. I felt like I had another piece of evidence with which to answer Sam Gamgee’s famous question – “Is everything sad going to come untrue?” – with a resounding “YES!”
The hope was so strong – so uncomfortable – so poignant that it HURT. It is the feeling I usually associate with fantasy stories. C. S. Lewis called it “Joy”.
I call it “Wonder”.
It didn’t take much reflection to realize that all of my favorite romance stories make me feel this way – sometimes in reverse. Becoming Jane wrecks me Every. Single. Time. – not just because I’m sad that James McAvoy is sad (dear James), but because it seems like the broken world has won. Here is a wrong that cannot be put right.
Marriage Story destroyed me in similar fashion, but more sneakily; I was just watching, enjoying excellent performances and a well-written script, and then the last three minutes happened – and the credits started rolling – and I had to sit there, motionless, until my surprise attack of quiet sobbing had run its course. It was another piece of evidence about all that is sad – and still far too true – in the world.
Now, not every romance story is a gateway to Wonder for me, nor is the genre my primary path thither. In my next post, I will be sharing about why fantasy is still the primary vessel of Wonder for me, and the vessel with which I hope to convey Wonder to my readers. But, for now, I wanted to pay tribute to the romance genre – and offer an apology of sorts.
Two years ago, I wrote a blog entitled “Easy Rhymes and Trashy Romances”. It was a vision-casting post for me; I wanted to pledge that I would NOT be one of those formulaic writers who rattles off multiple books a year, all lucrative and all laden with tropes (and most sporting semi-nude gentlemen on the cover). In my fervor to set myself apart, I generalized and heaped scorn upon some of my fellow writers.
Then, over the past several months, I remembered/relearned a few things:
- Writing a book is hard. Always.
- Weaving tropes tricksily into your book in new, tricksy, interesting ways is hard. Always.
- Publishing a book is hard. Always.
- Marketing a book and getting it to sell is hard. ALWAYS.
Those who are successfully doing all of the above deserve congratulations. They are worthy of my support, however different our genres or styles.
Furthermore, perhaps many readers find the same upsurge of Wonder between these pages as I do at the end of Penelope (or North & South, or Jane Eyre, or Northanger Abbey, or Gaudy Night, or . . .). Far be it from me to decry a Wonder-seeker in the midst of their pursuit.
So, I apologize – and I give a hearty thanks to all my fellow writers who have made it out of the trenches and are forging a path through No-Man’s Land for the rest of us.
Gritty and gracious!! You do it well!
What Mom said.