On the Matter of Romance

 

On the Matter of Romance

Following on from the month of Sad-Singles-Sod-Off day (otherwise known as Valentine’s Day to the masses, though quite what a Roman bishop ministering to persecuted Christians would make of what’s become of his day is an interesting thought), I thought I might address my own feelings on the matter of romantic entanglement in fiction. As I suspect may be obvious from the previous sentence, I think it’s fair to say I am not, and never will be, one of life’s hopeless romantics. In fact, I verge on not being a romantic at all and it is certainly not my favoured genre.

I mean, I have written romance. I wrote a number of couple-based fanfics around my favourite characters in the Harry Potter series, though they were definitely more character pieces than anything, and of course, there’s Dullard and Pleasance. And I did to write a purely passion-based attraction in a previous novel attempt that will probably never see the light of day now, but it was mostly to prove to the heroine what a terrible idea basing her feelings on said attraction was when he turned out to be an absolute bastard and she moved on to the much nicer, more considerate man I had lined up for her in later books that remain incomplete.

But it does seem very much that my idea of what a romance should be seems to differ greatly from what society believes a romance should be. I don’t, for example, write sex scenes as I believe such matters are best left to the preferences and imaginations of the reader. I very rarely write anything that could even be classed as passion. And the simple reason is this.

More often than not, passionate romances make me cross. Because everyone just behaves so stupidly.

Allow me to explain. The simple fact is I seem to be too level headed and cynical to get lost in the feelings of romantic passion in fiction. I have always been of the view, as I believe I mentioned in my previous blog about my shipping choices, that lust-based romance between two people who barely know each other and more often than not don’t like each other is a very short trip to a very unhappily ever after – after all, passion won’t last forever and what will be left when it’s gone other than a person you don’t like? I can’t bring myself to enjoy passionate, desperate, yearning I-must-be-with-them-or-I-will-expire-forthwith Twilightesque daftness in a couple – I just find myself thinking all involved are being really silly.

Take Exhibit A, the greatest romance of the ages, Romeo and Juliet. The story of two barely acquainted teenagers who develop a raging crush on each other that gets both of them and several other people killed. And then there’s Exhibit B, the great romantic film of modern times, Titanic. A film where a young woman causes the death of her lover by jumping off a lifeboat (and also sacrificing the chance for some other person to have her seat and escape) onto a sinking ship as she can’t bear to be parted from a beloved who would have stood a much better chance of survival without her. In fact, with her safe on the lifeboat, he could have climbed on that piece of wood, been out of the water and probably survived to be picked up on the lifeboat and be reunited with her on the Carpathia. But that’s not romantic, is it?

Because if I am anything, I am, like Flirt, a practical romantic. I like characters who think and consider what is best rather than plunging in headfirst based on ephemeral passions. I like romance that is based around friendship and enjoying each other’s company, things in common and shared jokes and knowing a person inside and out and loving what you find. For me, Dullard and Pleasance worked because they saw in each other things no one else really bothered to see and grew attracted to each other based on these things and not on what the other looked like. And perhaps that doesn’t make for surging passion and groaning lust and desperate longing – but I bet it does make for a relationship that lasts. And that is true romance to me.

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