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philosophy

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Romance and the ‘Meaning of Life’

In response to last week’s guest post by Zoe Brouthers on feminine sacrifice in Romance, author Moriah Jovan wrote a very thoughtful comment on the role that faith plays in so many people’s lives, despite its marginalization in mainstream Romance not tagged as inspirational. What especially caught my attention was this part of her comment:

I find it really rather odd that romance protagonists mostly don’t have any driving philosophy or faith. They don’t talk about their deities or their engagement with their philosophies. And I find the lack of mention of a church as part of their daily lives (belief not being necessary) in historicals inexplicable.

So to use Kaetrin’s “accumulation effect,” to me, the lack of characters having either a faith or a driving life philosophy is a huge gaping maw I can’t ignore anymore.

I have lately been complaining to friends that much of the books I’ve tried to read suffer from what I’m calling a “lack of suspense.” But as soon as I read Jovan’s comment, I realized that what I was really missing was a sense of both purpose and purposefulness in the way people in Romance novels live – beyond, of course, the goal of ‘finding love’ or a generalized sense of happiness or ‘completion.’

A driving philosophy is often something we think of in religious or spiritual terms, but it doesn’t have to be. Professions that operate within a strict ethical structure (physicians, lawyers, judges, therapists, etc.) also provide opportunities to articulate a sense of purpose or meaning that goes beyond the physical or emotional attraction we see at the surface level of romantic attachment

However, in the US, particularly, we are seeing a powerful divisiveness when it comes to religion, where those who come from certain religious traditions (especially evangelical Christianity) feel marginalized by society as a whole, even as those who identify as non-religious, and especially non-Christian, feel the same way. This post on “open secularism” making the rounds is a good illustration of this phenomenon (the article plus the 400+ comment thread, that is).

One of the results of this divisiveness seems to be that religion has become a difficult subject in mainstream Romance outside inspirationals. There was a great discussion of the difficulties in rendering Christian themes in historical Romance in the comment thread to Sunita’s review of Piper Huguley’s The Preacher’s Promise. This series seemed to divide Romance readers, as I saw comments by some who would not touch the book for its religiosity, while others were drawn to both the historical accuracy of this element and the role spirituality played in the story and in the development of the characters and the romance. And it’s an interesting element of our discussions about historical accuracy that we so often seem to ignore the really central role that religion – or at least the church – played in many people’s lives. As Sunita pointed out in a discussion about this topic last night, for many people the Church as an institution was very much a locus of social exchange. So it wasn’t just about faith, but also about where people gathered and spent time and exchanged in a variety of activities that may or may not have been directly connected to the overtly religious aspect of the church.

At the same time, we have sheik novels where religion may play a central role, but there are legitimate concerns about the realism with which Islam, for example, is rendered. Often the religion in play isn’t even named. Ditto for novels featuring Native Americans, which may or may not (often not) portray realistic/fact-based religious and/or spiritual belief systems.

Taken together, I think this portrays a bunch of mixed signals in regard to how faith is represented in Romance, signals that suggest a desire for deeper meaning, as long as it’s not confined within certain religious dogmas or traditions. Similarly, so-called “issue” or “cause” books can divide readers, as well, and I just want to clarify that I’m not referring to these kinds of books when I talk about meaning and purpose.

Not so long ago, Jane had an acutely insightful take on the popularity of motorcycle Romances, comparing them to Scottish Highlander stories and Medievals, in part because of the culture of the “tribe.”

I’ve read a ton of MC books and frankly most of them are pretty bad but I believe that the reason it is so popular right now is because of the tribe based culture of the club. Tribes have a long history in literature and romance. The first tribe based romance books I ever read were Scottish Highlander stories. The structure of a Highlander novel is not unlike an MC book.

Both include a militaristic hierarchy with a leader, several strong wingmen, and others that live within the confines of the primary property whether it is hold, fief, or armory. Both types of stories feature warring clans vying for power. Often the head of the tribe is a male with a patriarchal power structure.  The concept of loyalty along with external signage (whether it be plaids–although those came much later in history than depicted in many romances–or cuts) is vital. Scottish stories could (and sometimes did) feature a female clan leader. Medievals often followed the same structure.

Pushing that concept a bit further knocks it right into Jovan’s insight about the lack of “driving philosophy or faith” in Romance protagonists and the desire for meaning without having it be explicitly religious or even spiritual. Whatever the sexual politics of these groups, they are, without question, organized around a kind of faith or dogma, and that belief system structures both the way they live their lives and the way any Romantic attachment will theoretically be carried out. Of course, when that philosophy comes into collision with another philosophy, the resulting conflict can be catalyze exactly the kind of melodrama that powers an emotionally rich Romance novel. You can have conflict between characters that, when it’s done well, forces each of them to question their own beliefs and sense of purpose, and perhaps come to a new, better, more synergistic understanding of themselves and each other.

Although I would never describe myself as religious, I do often enjoy Romance novels where faith is a factor (Barbara Samuel’s A Bed of Spices, Patricia Gaffney’s To Love and To Cherish, for example), because the romance between the protagonists must be built on multiple levels of character development in order to be successful. Attraction isn’t enough, nor is the general attractiveness of the characters. Love often isn’t even enough, especially if there is a clash of beliefs or the perception of unsuitability on the part of either protagonist within the belief system of the other. And often protagonists must consciously work through these obstacles, which allows the reader to be engaged by understanding and vicariously experiencing the characters’ struggle.

Thinking back to some of the military-themed books I’ve enjoyed, that sense of mission and idealism can provide depth and dimension to a Romance, even when I find myself in political conflict with certain aspects of the novels. Ditto for sports-themed books or even certain romantic suspense Romances. The more integrated the values of someone’s profession are into who they are on the page, the more likely I am to find them interesting, even when my own beliefs may not align with theirs. What this means is that these philosophies are not superficially or mindlessly executed, but rather that they are authentically enmeshed in the character’s sense of being to be meaningful in that person’s life, and therefore, in their relationships.

For a long time I did not understand the really focused attention that some historical Romance authors and readers trained on titles, social standing, and manners/rules. But if I think about it in these terms, those social structures can themselves operate as a kind of philosophy, one that provides both structure and boundaries to behavior, and thus, love, which is, as we all know, a most unruly and unstructured emotion, and one that can, when it comes into contact with strict social mores, give rise to delicious conflict and raised stakes for and in the relationship.

And one of the reasons I think I tend to give a pass to some of the historicals that Sunita critiqued in her recent post on ahistoricty, is that even though the issues tackled in the books may be displaced historically (and yes, that comes with some problematic implications), at least some of these books are actually driven by a sensibility that deepens the romantic relationship and grounds it in an issue that is bigger than the protagonists but simultaneously imposing itself on their chance at happiness together. In my hierarchy of tradeoffs, I’ll often choose a more global sense of purposefulness over historically authentic engagement, although certainly both would be ideal.

Although not everyone is driven by an overweening search for meaning, I do think our lives are very much structured by philosophical belief systems, even if those are the rituals and values we’ve inherited from our parents and never questioned or shed. Whether it’s a belief about how the universe is organized, about the existence and nature of a supreme being, or a sense of dedication to a social, political, or personal ideal, there’s an extent to which people thrive in an environment that coheres with their sense of self. And that environment is always built on one or more belief systems, even if they are not overtly articulated.

I do wonder, though, if there is more and more reluctance on the part of authors to engage with driving philosophies or belief systems, either from a fear of offending readers (perhaps with perceived religiosity), or from a sense of pressure to produce shorter books on a faster timeline. And so many Romance tropes have become shorthand for these philosophical systems – military Romances, biker club Romances, Scottish highlander Romances, etc. – that perhaps we’ve been lulled into a perception that only certain kinds of belief systems are fit for mainstream non-inspirational (and non-religious) Romance.

Still, I find myself yearning for more books with a “driving philosophy,” to use Jovan’s term, that isn’t necessarily religious. So much of what I enjoy about Romance is the way intimate engagement between protagonists forces them to contemplate issues and questions beyond those that sexual attraction and emotional attachment answer – questions like ‘how does this person fit into the world as I see it?’ or ‘what are this person’s values and how do they align with mine?’ or ‘what does this person believe about the world, and how do those beliefs challenge or clash with mine, and is that conflict significant to our future happiness?’ Questions, in other words, about how fundamental values affect and are affected by a romantic relationship.

Although I would love to see a more balanced approach to religion and spirituality within Romance, even more I’d like to see less reluctance to characters with “driving philosophies” of every kind. We often talk about Romance protagonists as “heroic,” which is an aspirational category in which something symbolically significant is making the lives of these characters interesting to readers. Is it merely the exercise of falling in love, or is it more than that, and if so, what, for you, makes the reading experience meaningful? By contrast, what do you actively avoid, and why?

Thursday News: Critics and novelists; Asian American masculinity; Voltaire and the mathematician; and Science Fiction’s lament

Thursday News: Critics and novelists; Asian American masculinity; Voltaire and the...

Do Critics Make Good Novelists? – This week’s Bookends column — between Daniel Mendelsohn and Leslie Jamison — is a pretty interesting contemplation of the relationship between literary critic and novelist. Mendelsohn seems to suggest that critics are unsuited to writing fiction, while Jamison suggests that the prejudice against critics who also write fiction predetermines a certain narrow reading of their prose. Given the nature of the debate, its irony only adds to the terms, although I think Jamison has a better handle on that than Mendelsohn.

We seem to have more patience for the novelist who writes criticism (Henry James, Virginia Woolf) than for the critic who writes novels (Susan Sontag, Lionel Trilling). This discrepancy suggests an implicit prejudice: The novelist who writes criticism is sending dispatches from inside the maelstrom — translating creativity into sense — while the critic who writes novels is learning to fly from a set of instructions, trying to conjure magic from recipes. The critic of the critic-novelist ratifies a certain Romantic notion of art: Creativity should rise from intuitive inspiration, not conceptual overdetermination. –New York Times

Books: Alex Tizon unearths “how to be a man” in new book on Asian masculinity – A really thoughtful piece by Joyce Chen on Alex Tizon’s Big Little Man: In Search of My Asian Self, which is itself an examination of Asian American masculinity from multiple perspectives — historical, cultural, national, artistic, etc. We talk so much about the construction of the feminine in Romance, but I think we tend to draw broader brush strokes when discussing constructions of masculinity, especially when race and sexuality are in play.

note: May is Asian-Pacific American Heritage Month. Exhibits, events, and other resources can be found here.

Tizon broaches topics ranging from stereotypes of physical inferiority to perceived submissiveness to issues of interracial dating (specifically, what has caused Asian American women to dismiss their male counterparts as simply not “man enough” to date seriously). What is particularly impressive is that what the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist-cum-professor achieves in breadth, he just as effortlessly presents in depth.

One particularly noteworthy attribute of Tizon’s work is that he interweaves these various threads of history into today’s media tapestry, finding ties between ancient ethics and Asian Americans in the media today. In a chapter titled “Tiny Men on the Big Screen,” for instance, Tizon discusses how the lack of strong Asian American male leads in movies is a kind of “symbolic annihilation.” In other words, he is addressing the damaging, totalizing effects of omission. –Hyphen Magazine

The Philosopher and the Prodigy: How Voltaire Fell in Love with a Remarkable Female Mathematician – Although the real story had a somewhat sad ending — both for the relationship and the lady in question — this account of the long-term love affair between the philosopher Voltaire and the married mathematician Émilie, Marquise du Châtelet, is a wonderful example of an unconventional romantic relationship between two very brilliant, influential, and independent people. One of my biggest complaints about historical Romance is that it too often forces its heroines into narrow roles that do not reflect the complexity and range of real women through history. Certainly a woman like Émilie could serve as broad inspiration for a very interesting historical Romance.

She invited him to her house in the country. He moved in. (The Marquis was often away on military campaigns.) With the essential assistance of Émilie, Voltaire would publish Elémens de la philosophie de Newton in 1738, a simplified guide to the famous scientist, which popularized his most advanced theories, including the gravity of planets, the proof of atoms, the refraction of light, and the uses of telescopes. Voltaire sincerely recognized the intellectual debt he owed his lover. The frontispiece of the work shows the philosopher touched by the divine light light of Newton, reflected down to earth by a heavenly muse, Madame du Châtelet. –Brain Pickings

Heinlein, Hugos, and Hogwash – So here’s what I find ironic about articles like this one, in which Science Fiction is excoriated for its “political correctness:” these are the folks who claim they want the focus on the WORK, and yet they spend hundreds and hundreds of words talking about the POLITICS. Dude, if you want people to focus on the work, TALK ABOUT THE WORK.

Still, I think it’s pretty amusing that there are people who actually believe that SFF is now some kind of paen to liberalism.

Heinlein’s two most famous novels are Starship Troopers and Stranger in a Strange Land. The first challenges the orthodoxy of the Left as much as the second does that of the Right. But in his day, few science fiction readers were offended by his or anyone’s ideas. Science fiction was proud to be a literature of the new and startling. A spirit of intellectual fearlessness was paramount.

A darker time followed. The lamps of the intellect were put out one by one, first in society at large, then in literature, then in our little corner called science fiction. What we have now instead is a smothering fog of caution, of silence, of an unwillingness to speak for fear of offending the perpetually hypersensitive. –Intercollegiate Review