Hey Ellen,
Book editors traditionally do not review romance novels. Aside from the fact that most critics consider happy endings to be anti-intellectual (hey, life doesn’t usually have them, so why should fiction?), we have always defended our shunning on the grounds that they all read pretty much alike. And yet, last year this vast market accounted for more than half of all paperback sales and one-third of popular fiction sales in the United States.
Now, according to Edward Wyatt’s report in The New York Times this week, it seems even readers are turning away from traditional romance — or at least the company whose very name has meant romance fiction. After three quarters of plummeting profits, Harlequin Enterprises is regrouping, dropping three of its romance lines and scaling back on two others.
Of course, Harlequin, ever the optimist like its happily-ever-after heroines, insists that the slide is only temporary. It blames the downturn on the recent successes of more expensive hardcovers like “The Da Vinci Code” and political tomes. (What, like women are buying Tommy Franks’ memoir instead of a Harlequin Temptation paperback?) But they may be in for a rude awakening.
No, the truth is women’s taste in romance has been changing for some time — and society’s attitude toward acceptable reading material has, too. Turning away from bodice-ripper books, women now are embracing all sorts of genres usually associated with men — thrillers, suspense, and science fiction — as well as a new romantic genre that definitely drops the old formula of weak heroine and strong hero: chick lit. Even Harlequin sensed that shift long ago, creating a number of more modern romance lines that move away from the old formula of weak heroine and strong hero. In 2001, the company even launched its own version of Chick Lit: Red Dress Ink.
But it hasn’t had nearly as much success as Random House’s Delta imprint, which publishes the super-popular (and funny in a goofy kind of way) Shopaholic series by Sophie Kinsella, nor Pocket Books’ Downtown Press, which snagged the more edgy “Maneater” by Gigi Levangie Grazer.
Should we book editors be taking a look at this large and changing area of books? And, if so, how can we begin to cover this market?
Hi Margo,It’s not only Harlequin that has been broadsided by marketplace trends, but also a range of publishers, editors, and writers. Earlier this month I had coffee with George Gibson, who leads Walker & Co., a respected independent press that publishes 55 to 60 books a year. Over the past decade, Walker has tied its wagon to narrative non-fiction with an emphasis on science and history. But the past year has been tough for that category as readers flocked to political books. A presidential election, divisiveness within the electorate, and concerns about security have resulted in “the politicizing of America,” as Gibson calls it. Besides that, he says, “When people are stressed or anxious — whether it’s about their jobs or terrorism — that’s not conducive to expanding your mind.”
Gibson expects that his company’s strong suit will get stronger again, but he isn’t just waiting out the dry season. In hopes of luring another reader base, this fall Walker is re-issuing in hardcover John Le Carre’s first two George Smiley books — “Call for the Dead,” with a foreword by P.D. James, and “A Murder of Quality,” with the foreword written by Otto Penzler.
Editors offer a different spin on the same tale: The bar is being set higher for fiction manuscripts. A tighter economy is partly to blame, but reading tastes are changing, too: Everyone has an eye out for the next new thing because the hot categories, religion and politics, are beginning to feel really, really saturated.
Meanwhile, the so-called “literary” writers — spewed out in ever-increasing numbers by creative writing programs and often touting MFAs that have no currency without an added dollop of talent — are hep to the fact that there’s more supply than demand for the character-driven novel. Clearly this group is thrashing about for new ways to attract readers, and sometimes that means borrowing the conventions of popular fiction, with an emphasis on action and suspense.
This emphasis has yielded some strange bedfellows. An example that comes to mind is Janette Turner Hospital’s “Due Preparations for the Plague,” with its Camus-like references and a blow-’em-up plot. Existentialist angst and a heart-thumper, between the same covers. It’s not that it can’t be done, but I think most readers need some guideposts to let them know what they’re getting into. And — getting back to the subject you raised — publishers know this, which is why they develop marketing handles for like-minded books, such as “chick lit.”
Harlequin owns the romance brand, of course. But it has no prior claim on ones that diverge from the tried-and-true, including those that seem to appeal particularly to the younger generation — stories with enough winks and nods to admit that Prince Charming doesn’t look so good before he showers and shaves. The originals in this group deserved the critical attention they received (“Bridget Jones’ Diary” etc.). However, as the “form” matures, it becomes more formulaic and doesn’t have much to offer candidates for review. Readers will find them without review help. Ditto the romance genre. These categories have been and should remain under the purview of Faith Popcorn, not Michael Dirda.
Hey Ellen,
I wouldn’t be so fast to count out chick lit.
The fact that the genre doesn’t demand an automatic happy ending like romance novels serves it well. It makes it more flexible and potentially inventive. There’s now talk of “break-out” chick lit, books influenced by the shopping mall aesthetics but moving away from that formulaic feel you talk about. Look at “Bling” by 31-year-old New Yorker Erica Kennedy.
Kennedy writes for celebrity magazines and was definitely influenced by books like “The Devil Wears Prada.” Her main character loves designer clothes and jewelry, as the title suggests, but Kennedy sets the novel in the world of hip-hop, and it has a far grittier feel than your usual pink-covered chick lit. The cover of “Bling,” in fact, is totally black. And don’t look for a white knight (or a black knight, for that matter) to come and save our heroine in the end.
With newspapers trying so frantically to draw in fans of Britney Spears, perhaps book editors — and features editors who cover the world of books — should consider taking a harder look at what women readers are picking up these days.
We need to get over our old antipathy for the romance genre. A constantly evolving market, much of it is not the anti-feminist throwback we imagine. Today’s romance fiction is not your mother’s bodice rippers: Heaving bosoms have been replaced by Bergdorf blondes.
