We all started out simply reading what felt fun and engaging. Reading for school or work is one thing, but we never stopped there; we were always reading for pleasure as well. The thing is, when simply reading for pleasure, it’s easy to think of our genre fiction as “junk food” reading. Whatever angst may or may not be leading to the climactic moment, we can be assured that everything will turn out alright in the end, we get the dopamine hit of a story well ended, and we turn the last page feeling good about our reading experience.
Then we started analyzing.
To be fair, Ingrid and Holly started this way earlier than Erin. They both studied English and writing and are happy to nerd out about the technical components of writing and literary analysis. Erin was a history nerd, so she also read and analyzed text, but in a much different format. And yet, here we all are, decades later, thinking critically about a genre that is often derided as not much more than fluff.
Part of our journey as romance readers—especially once we began blogging and therefore reading and thinking more intentionally about genre romance—was noting patterns. It started with simply tracking tropes and archetypes: What is the deal with Christmas specials? Where are we seeing a governess/nanny-style story arc? But as we continued to read (and read more widely), we also noticed substantive changing patterns over time.
This is probably not surprising. It makes sense that as cultural practices and expectations shift, the relationships we see portrayed in fiction also shift. Genre romance on the whole, but especially contemporary romance (that is to say, romance set concurrently with its publication) provides a unique lens into tracking changes in social mores for one simple reason: romance speaks to feelings. This is very clear in the relationship between the protagonists in the story itself: the characters demonstrate that they love each other by seeing and choosing the whole person of their partner, in spite of their own struggles. But beyond that, the reader experiences emotions from following the protagonists on their journey to that uplifting moment of “I choose you.” Romance provides a mirror to the reader, reflecting back the deep desire to be seen and chosen and valued.
Furthermore, we argue that this shift is not only apparent in the romances that are “doing something”: those stand-out romances lauded by romance readers and critics alike for breaking ground in new and innovative ways. Rather, societal shifts are also apparent when reading romances generally seen as “fluff:” those romances that are pure escapism, exemplified by the category romance.
A Note on Terminology
We called our blog The Smut Report because when we started reading and sharing romance with each other (back when we were in high school, eep!), we just thought it was funny to refer to these books as “smuts.” At the time, we may have acknowledged that “smut” was not a particularly complimentary term for our reading, but we also didn’t care because we were in high school.
Now, we are aware of the degree to which disparaging or deprecatory terms continue to foster negative ideas about romance, sex, and the combination thereof. We want to be clear when we talk about genre romance as “smut” or “fluff” or even “filth,” we do so not to denigrate these books. To an extent, we use the term “smut” as we have always done: to reclaim without apology a genre that is rooted in intimacy, both emotional and physical. Beyond that, we acknowledge that words have meaning and there is power in the meaning of specific words. If we describe a book as “fluff” an expectation is set: this story will be low angst, will be easy to read and understand, will primarily seek to offer joy to the reader. If we are talking about something that is “absolutely filthy” we’re probably tapping into ideas about taboos, lustful appetites (think sweat and spit and messy sheets), and titillation. We (and others) might choose words intentionally to evoke specific ideas, but we have to acknowledge that at the same time those specific ideas might be holding on to, for example, shame about sex or apologies/excuses for our reading choices.
Sometimes, we may feel like we’re overthinking language or our interpretations of what’s happening in our smutty books. After all, these books are meant to entertain—something to read, enjoy, and forget—but they are still worthy of critical engagement, in no small part because there is so much to consider in the ways they are presented to us.
Romance Teaches Us About Desire
Some may think that we’re seeking to use romance novels as sex manuals, and we have found that thanks to our blog’s name, people expect us to be really into high heat books (an extremely subjective metric). And honestly, one thing we’ve learned from inviting romance readers (and writers!) to talk about their formative romance reading experiences with us is that many people have, in fact, used romance novels to recognize, name, and communicate what they’re looking for in a sexual experience.
But we’re also talking about something a lot deeper: at their core, romance novels are about relationships between people as they negotiate their deepest desires and their greatest fears. Romances are a space where our lived experiences converge with our fantasies. They tackle the questions of what it means to be human—and what we as humans want.
If we take as given the Romance Writers’ Association’s (RWA) definition of genre romance, it includes the following two things: a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending (also known as the happily ever after, or HEA). The HEA is a critical component of genre romance not because we’re a bunch of unrealistic cat ladies who can’t get a man of our own and have to live vicariously through the superficial ramblings of other cat ladies who also can’t get a man; rather, the HEA is critical to a romance because it creates a space of emotional optimism. No romance enthusiast is going to say that love stories (with sad endings a la Romeo and Juliet) shouldn’t be written or aren’t love stories with possibly sweeping romances. But we will say that they don’t belong in the genre romance space, and that is because the genre’s contract with the reader is that the protagonists will overcome their greatest fears and obstacles in order to achieve their greatest desires.
Over time, these greatest desires have shifted in the genre. Where once our social expectations were rooted in marriage and family and probably a single-income household in which the man was the breadwinner and the woman was chosen by him (think 1970s romance), now we see the main characters in (most) romance expecting an equal partnership based on mutual support and good communication (with a high EQ).
When we began our “Categorically 80s” contemporary category romance reading project, we didn’t know exactly what to expect, but we also weren’t optimistic about what we’d see. After all, we were reading the fluffiest of the fluffy romances, frequently derided in cheeky tales about those secret stashes of books under grandma’s bed. Category romances—a publishing term denoting books that are sold as part of a series or line—are known for their shorter length, descriptive titles, and adherence to generic tropes. (You know, like Marrying Her Greek Billionaire Baby Daddy, which we made up just now. This book does not yet exist, but both Marrying Her Greek Billionaire and The Greek Billionaire’s Baby Revenge are real books.) Category romance publishers release books at a fast pace of several per month in every line, which means that such books are ubiquitous—and largely derided. Because these lines also tend to follow expected generic formats and tropes, they are both a stand-out within the greater genre (there’s a lot more going on in romance than what you see in traditionally published category lines) and also a barometer for what is socially desirable to readers at a given moment in time.
What we found while delving into our 1980s category romances was a slight shift from that older “he chose me and now I can settle down to my wifely calling” narrative to a career woman who still gets chosen by the deeply desirable man. He might be a misogynist, but so is she (from a modern lens), and he’ll let her have her career (especially because it can never compete with his!), and she can have it all! Honestly, the mix of progressive, feminist thoughts (she deserves to have the career she wants and has worked hard for, and she deserves a partner who supports her) combined with plenty of internalized misogyny (she’s not that kind of girl to just jump into bed with a man, you know? So don’t read into this current behavior the wrong way! Plus his…everything…will still take priority over hers) was a strange, uncomfortable combination.
This tug between feminist ideas around women’s work and ingrained societal misogyny reflects the social milieu of the 1980s (in the UK and the US). Romance readers desired recognition for the work they were doing, and wanted to see women like them in the fiction they read. But at the same time, the dream of a stable nuclear family with husband and father as primary breadwinner was not only desirable, but seemed within reach. Readers were caught between the gains of Second Wave feminism, and the huge backlash against them (epitomized by the campaign against the Equal Rights Amendment).
When we read contemporary category romances published in the 2020s, we see new desires. Some contemporary category romance lines focus much more heavily on escapism with those Greek billionaires, reflecting the changing economic reality and greater precarity of romance readers today. But while we’ve got those specific category romance lines (Harlequin Presents, anyone?) that tap into those good old caveman hero vibes, there are more lines that have come to reflect other current desires—meaning not just desire in reading material, but reflecting the desire for personal fulfillment—and that is, broadly speaking, more sincere equality. Why does the heroine have to be the one who has the full-time career of her dreams but also manages all the mental labor for everyone around her? Well, her love interest will show up to pick up that load and balance things out.
The Social Movement of Romance Novels
Holly noted, after reading The Sleeping Soldier by Aster Glenn Gray, that historical romance reflects not history as it occurred but history projected by our current beliefs and desires. This is true not only of historical romance, but also of romance over time. Dukes and billionaires have the same power problem, and you’ll see both archetypes being played with in current publications in similar ways, which is to say authors are trying to make these guys ethical. So for every Greek billionaire who is steamrolling the assistant he impregnated with a bullied engagement and a life of ease on Santorini beaches, there is also an ethical billionaire who might be grumpy but who would never take advantage of wage laws and tax loopholes in order to maintain his status!
Actually, that 1:1 ratio isn’t true. There are more emotionally constipated, caveman billionaires (and dukes!) than any others, and not only because we have the publications over time to delve into for reading material. It’s because, in addition to attempting to portray the ethical billionaire/duke, many modern authors are avoiding those archetypes in the first place. Just as there are category romance lines that tap into the same pathos as crime dramas (such as Harlequin Intrigue), there are also authors who are looking at contemporary social movements and refusing to write a law enforcement romantic main character. Regardless of what anyone says, smut is political, and even if it’s not explicitly verbalized, politics are inherently present in the narratives that present themselves over time. It is, therefore, important to see the social moment in romance novels as we read.
This has been particularly apparent in the past decade—or even just the past five years—as readers, writers, and publishers have actively worked to highlight romances written by and about diverse people. Now it’s not just the by women for women (which, it must be noted, has never actually been true; Steve Ammidown’s work highlighting men who write romance at Romance Fiction Has a History underscores this point)—now it’s people with other marginalized identities having a voice in the conversation of what it means to desire and be desired. If the promise of the happy ending is extended to everyone, then every life is valuable. Different ways of loving are shown to be worth celebrating.
If we take LGBTQ romance as an example here, there’s nothing more thrilling than seeing Harlequin romances featuring queer leads in their mainstream lines, with titles like Tempted by the Bollywood Star or Secret Heir for Christmas that—unless you looked at the cover—you would assume feature standard, Harlequin, cis het protagonists. Remember: these Harlequin lines are not setting out to make a political statement with their books. These books are therefore a signal that LGBTQ love stories have proven to sell. These love stories aren’t trendy, but rather are simply a reflection of the world we live in.
Another example of romance presenting us with a narrative of historical change is in how sex is portrayed on the page. Now, not all romance includes explicit sex on page, but even acknowledging that, we are given specific cues to understand how to interpret our main characters based on how they present themselves, interact with others, and think about intimacy. (And yes, we mean that in all its senses, not only the physical.) Frankly, category romance is one space where the physical technicalities of sex are often obscured with purple prose or emotional language or other euphemisms (unless it’s a deliberately explicit line like Harlequin Blaze or Harlequin Dare). And yet there are plenty of opportunities to observe how authors presented sex, sexual interest, desire, and so on in order to cater to readers.
Going back to those 80s category romances we read, most of them did include on-page sex, though that euphemistic language was definitely heavily apparent. Many heroines were virgins. Non-virgin heroines often had sad romantic relationships in their pasts, where they have given up the goods thinking it was love, only to have been sadly deceived. Even the “maneater” heroines (and yes, there were a few of those) didn’t have a ton of notches on their bedposts, nor had they particularly enjoyed sex in the past. The heroes, on the other hand, were not sexual novices, but crucially, experienced their horniness for the heroine as a sign of love, rather than lust. For all parties, desire for sex is linked inextricably with the love story.
One element of romance that is often flagged is that it includes women experiencing sexual pleasure and not being punished for it (there’s that HEA again). While those older romances might have circumvented the—ahem—”problematic” issue of female desire by including rapey narratives (and we think that’s probably more evident in single-title romance like The Flame and the Flower and Whitney, My Love than in category romance, though to be fair we haven’t read a ton of 1970s categories), even in those 1980s category romances in which the heroines admit physical desire internally, there’s still a fair bit of coercion on the part of the romantic heroes (that pesky lust/love, you’ll recall), and there’s also plenty of worrying after the fact that he’ll think of her as one of those women. (Which is to say, one of those loose women.) Therefore, our early heroines, even those virgins, had to excuse their sexual attraction as an indicator of true love, even as sexual promiscuity was a hallmark of masculinity for our heroes.
Now, we’re not saying that’s changed in all romances, because it definitely hasn’t. Many, many contemporary romances written in the 2020s continue to link True Love and Fabulous Sex. One shift, however, is when that connection is made. In the 80s, it was horniness that showed love; now, it’s the romantic lead showing enough care and interest to ensure multiple orgasms. When we buddy read Judith McNaught’s Night Whispers, Holly noted that we would read the heroine’s lack of interest in men and sex in a 2022 publication as demisexuality or asexuality, but in the 1990s it indicated to the reader that her feelings for the hero were true love, and that is exactly the vibe in the vast majority of these older romances. Without the true love aspect, her desire for sex would be inappropriate. In current releases, we see sex positivity coming through in multiple components of the storytelling. The unashamed non-virgin characters. The romances built on tropes of fooling around (or: sex first, feelings second). The sex deals. The one night stands with Greek billionaires that result in all those secret babies.
It really doesn’t matter where you look at the narrative—it can be found in any aspect of the characterizations and the characters’ values—you will find a reflection of contemporary social expectations and values.
So, What DO Readers Want?
The question “what are we reading for?” is one that we frequently raise during our discussions about romance books. When we’re asking the question, we’re usually thinking about the literary merits of monster sex (or similar), but the question is much broader and more basic than “are we reading for fluff or are we reading for literary merit?” Especially when the primary purpose of most romance novels is simply to be enjoyed by a reader, it is easy to blow past the underlying significance of the stories being told.
The promise of the happy ending encompasses so much more than romantic love. Characters with disabilities, mental health struggles, challenging families, histories of trauma, and so on are seen as desirable and valued. Characters from almost any cultural background are represented. Just about any sexual identity you can imagine is represented in a romance somewhere (perhaps not yet all in a category line, but it’ll come). Every one of these characters embodies the promise of the happily ever after. And because of this promise, genre romance is a place where readers can enact their desires. Instead of answering the question, “What do I have in life that society is willing to give me?” romance allows us to share what we want…if only we take the time to listen.
Guest Contributor Bios
We are three thirty-somethings who have been swapping smut books for twenty years. So… we’ve read a lot of smut and love the genre. We’re (mostly) normal and (mostly) healthy, though we admit that there may be a cat or two lurking around our lives. Read more about us at The Smut Report.
The Bruja Professor, a witchy take on literature, the occult & pop culture, is the scholarly sister to Enchantment Learning & Living, an inspirational blog celebrating life’s simple pleasures, everyday mysticism, and delectable recipes that are guaranteed to stir the kitchen witch in you.
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