Regency

It will not stop raining here.

The weather, combined with the fact that my landlords have turned the heat off despite the temperature tanking, combined with the fact that I haven't actually had a hug in awhile, combined with the fact that I've been, uh, tense recently, combined with a zillion other things had me trawling the internet for good romance novel suggestions on Sunday afternoon.

Here's the thing. Ms. Proponent-of-Birth-Control, advocate for the Women's Economic Security Act, gets-into-weekly-fights-about-pay-equality has a secret shame.

I love Regency romance novels.

I'm completely unembarrassed by the fact that I occasionally indulge in a trashy book (this is why Kindles were invented, isn't it?). It's the Regency thing (and, ohmygod, the titles) that I find humiliating.

When it comes to romance novels I have intense author loyalty. Unfortunately, my favorite author seems to either be invoking radio silence while finishing a new book or has stopped writing (a thought that actually terrifies me), so I turned to the internet for suggestions. Given my intense mortification over the Regency thing, I read some reviews and decided on a contemporary romance.

Huge mistake.

Let's get past the fact that there were grammatical errors in the book (Yes, my blog is riddled with typos and incorrect grammar, but I'm not a published author. With an editor.) and the fact that the story was totally fucking preposterous (I'm not expecting an Octavia Butler level of plot development) and jump straight into the fact that the romance part of the gorram romance novel was completely unexciting, leaving me to wonder:

Is there anything more disappointing than a disappointing romance novel?

***

I've never received flowers from a boyfriend.  

In fact, the only man in my life to send me flowers has been my father. For years my mother would ask about the men she (with her crazy sixth sense) knew I was seeing. What we did, who paid, if they ever did anything nice for me, when was the last time one of them bought me flowers. 

She could hear me rolling my eyes over the phone. "Ma. I don't need that stuff." 

I could hear her rolling her eyes over the phone. "Yes, honey, but some day you're going to want it."

For most of my 20s I thought she meant that I was going to want those things because I was lady. As a lady, it was pre-determined that I would want my partner to send me flowers and give me Tiffany's. Retrospectively, of course, what she meant had less to do with the trappings and more to do with the idea that it's nice to see someone put forth a little effort, a lesson I only seem to have learned after never having had a date offer to pick up a check. A lesson that sunk in when I was laid up with strep and asked the guy I was dating if he could bring me some soup and he said "Sure, if I'm not too drunk. I'm going to go play poker first." A lesson that finally stayed with me after a paramour announced "Yeah, I know you didn't, but I did and I'm bored so I'm going to bed."

Is there anything more galling than having to admit, years down the line, that your mother was right?

***

As I said, Sunday's romance novel was disappointing for a lot of reasons. The part that gets me the most though is that the whole thing reads too much like an OkCupid date where you both know what the score is before you even leave the house.

I love Regency romance novels because, yeah, the smutty bits are there, but there's a bit of a build-up to it. It's one of the things I love about the constraints of setting the novels in the Regency period. Things are put on a slower timetable. There's lots of character development and because authors are taking cues from Idon'tknowJaneAusten there's lots of verbal sparring and sexy one-upsmanship. Yeah, they're not flowers or paying for a date at Cafe Barbette, but they're the sorts of things that make me swoon (among other things). The characters are putting in a bit of effort prior to taking a tumble. 

Yes, the fact that I read the novels, the fact that I find them so enjoyable is slightly mortifying, but dating can be unromantic and disappointing enough. I don't want to relive it in my romance novels.  So you'll forgive me, but I'm going to go try my luck with The Viscount Who Loved Me. 

Seriously. These titles.