In all truth, I've actually read a total of zero romance novels from beginning to end. However, I have sampled various authors and styles at times, in some sort of desperate attempt to convince myself that there is hope in today's literary market. And because I know that sooner or later, there will be sex. Often multiple times. Always with better results than any of us reading this have ever gotten. But move aside from such crude considerations for a minute, and consider:
-is it really necessary for the female main character to have wavy bronze locks, burnished firegold by the light of the dying sun, which curve tantalizingly about her slim marble-white shoulders?
-must she be a paragon of chasteness and femininity, except when she's not, and then a former paragon driven to unsavory practices by hard times? (it matters not; either way she will be "redeemed" by the male lead as soon as he appears on the scene)
-how many Irish warrior-maids, genteel country girls, and wanton noblewomen did the Old Country have?
-how are you supposed to tell one woman apart from another?
-how are you supposed to tell one man apart from another?
...also, I've been googling "romance novel", and am now slightly disturbed by what I'm finding. Especially the below site.
http://www.yournovel.com/
Several templates. Your and your lover's name. Juicy details about the relationship. A fantasy experience customized just for you for about 50 bucks.
I would not be averse to someone writing a story about me. I would, however, balk at the idea that any human relationship can be thus packaged in a template of the most stereotypically romantic drivel, especially when it is entirely fantasized and unrealistic. What romance is there in having a complete stranger creating fictitious events about your relationship? What literary value does such a chimera have? More to the point, what exactly does this say about the entire genre of romantic novels? That they are customizeable, and thus forgettable? That characterization is negligible, as long as the action is packed into a desert oasis, Oahu, an outer space adventure, a jarring brush with corsairs, and an avalanche, all in the course of seeking love?
I am vaguely amused, of course, that Orwell predicted something exactly of this sort.
