To equate submission with emasculation would be mean that everytime one submits, they lose control or power, in whatever situation they are in. If you think about it, a male submissive should be every woman’s dream because he truly is the embodiment of the concept of the alpha male.

Although I don’t think it’s logical, I think there’s a sort of inconsistent appreciation of Romance alphas (I use that term since they so rarely bear any resemblance to rl alpha animals). I have this theory about Lori Foster’s heroes, for example, that they’re basically women with a package and a high testosterone level. They cook for the heroine, they bathe her, they massage her, they want commitment first and often say “I love you” first, but in the bedroom they’re completely dominant and expert. I think that model — to greater or lesser degree — is the Romance alpha “type” (not that authors don’t diverge from it). So while I totally agree with your analysis, Jane, I don’t think it’s an automatic sell, at least to the Romance crowd. Just like heroines who have slept with more than one man aren’t acceptable to some Romance readers who equate a heroine’s value with her virginity. Some things aren’t necessarily logically explained but are powerful in the genre, nonetheless (and I think there’s perhaps some crossover with erotica).

The submission argument is fascinating, too, because IMO the fact that men have so much social dominance makes their *empowered submission* all the more possible. I have sometimes heard the submission argument applied to women, too, although not strictly in the BDSM sense (where the rules of the relationship are insulated to some degree, IMO, from outside authority issues), and I wonder if the dynamic is the same. In other words, when a woman chooses to submit sexually, is it the same sense of empowerment as when a man does? Or is there something in a man’s submission, his willingness to take on a position of vulnerability, that is safely empowering because of the dominant psychology of patriarchy?

Submission is like a dirty word, a powerless word. Doesn’t the submissive have the real power? Aren’t they the ones who control, ultimately, how far the sexual acts go? By choice, they submit. By choice, they allow themselves the emotional and physical release of being controlled and directed.

In the VQS, as in Natural Law, there was simply no doubt as to the masculinity of the hero. He was strong and capable but choose the submissive route for a purpose.

To equate submission with emasculation would be mean that everytime one submits, they lose control or power, in whatever situation they are in. If you think about it, a male submissive should be every woman’s dream because he truly is the embodiment of the concept of the alpha male.

The alpha male concept is that, for that one woman, the male would do anything. He desires no one else. He loves no one else. He puts her above all others and is hers, to the exclusion of all else.

Isn’t that really the submissive role? To be that other partner’s love, sexual partner, to the exclusion of all others?

That’s the message that was sent to me in reading The Vampire Queen’s Servant. The hero had wanted nothing else but to serve the Vampire Queen. To see that her desires were satiated. To stand guard for her. To be the one to provide her surcease. He is secure in himself to understand that allowing him to be directed in sexual manner does not, in any way, lessen his will power (remember the initial floor scene with Mac? – tremendous will power) or his status as a male with a capital M. In the way that he is sure of his sexuality and his masculinity, we, the reader, are assured as well.

I think many readers might not because alpha heroes are so popular. Not that a man can’t be alpha and submissive both, but I think that misconception exists.

Which is so interesting when you think about all the ways Romance, for example, domesticates the alpha male through True Love. But perhaps it’s the sexual submission that is objectionable? Also, I think there is a real resistance to heroines who are perceived as too dominant or aggressive, sexually or otherwise. I read a historical Romance recently and one of the things readers complained about was the unlikeability of the heroine — she was shrewish, she was ungrateful, she was cold to the hero. While I ended up finding myriad problems with the book, my take on the heroine was completely different; I completely understood her resentment and thought she was more than due such feelings. So maybe it’s a double whammy — sexually submissive male and any kind of dominant female.

Perhaps the reason femdom romances (I would enjoy reading them, too) aren’t considered marketable is because the heterosexual ones at least require a submisssive hero. I could enjoy that but I think many readers might not because alpha heroes are so popular. Not that a man can’t be alpha and submissive both, but I think that misconception exists.

I wish femdomme romances were more marketable, too. I have a strong preference for them but I very RARELY find any. Believe me I’m constantly searching, too. I’m fairly sure that I’ve read all the ones published so far.

And, heaven’s above, I hope Joey Hill doesn’t turn her Vampire Queen into a sub. Somebody please tell me she stays as a dom. Please? Hill seems to be the one who can get away with a femdom, although she switched the woman in Ice Queen and Mirror of My Soul which is why I still haven’t been able to read them, despite buying them the day it came out. It’s a shame that femdom isn’t deemed marketable, because I know a lot of people who would buy it. (Can’t WAIT for Hill’s gay male D/s book!)

As for welts, doms are fascinated by them too. Trust me. If you’re into giving or receiving pain, then the marks of those pain should be beautiful, if you think about it. Welts, redness, and if that’s your thing, blood and cuts, are stunning and are viewed with pride, honor, and awe by doms and subs, tops and bottoms alike. They’re physical representations of the trust and beauty of a BDSM relationship, even if it’s just playing for an hour or a full 24/7 “lifestyle” (and how I hate that word — for some of us, BDSM is no more a “lifestyle choice” than homosexuality is for gay people).

I like BDSM romances, but it’s rare indeed to find a domme, and rarer still to find one who’s still a domme by the end of the story.

This is one of the best things, IMO, about Joey Hill’s Natural Law — watching Mac understand his true submissive nature was absolutely fascinating to me. As someone who is not personally into the BDSM lifestyle, I depend on a psychological understanding of the characters and their pain play to connect me with that element of the story, and what I liked about Hill’s book was that IMO she really drew me into the dynamics between these two people who had a different sexual “orientation” than I do (if I can use that term without the same sex connotations) but were not simply objects of curiosity, tokens for titillation, or psycho-sexual symbols. As the story proceeded, they became a couple who simply had their own issues to work out and their own language of emotional and physical connection to develop — in other words, they were “normal,” “real,” people regardless of what seems to me like a pretty extreme sexual lifestyle. As central as the BDSM was to Natural Law, it also seemed secondary, IMO, to the larger emotional and psychological issues that drive any romantic relationship. I don’t know if I’m explaining what I mean clearly, but I do know I liked the book.

You’ll have to get The Vampire Queen’s Servant.

Yes, I’ll be reading that one, definitely.

Far too many authors use a history of abuse or trauma as the reason why their characters become involved in the BDSM lifestyle, which is one of many commonly generalized misconceptions.

I haven’t read your book, but I appreciate your intention here in not wanting to turn BDSM into an emotionally masochistic expression for Rowan. And I certainly agree with you that everyone has different ideas of what constitutes abuse.

One thing I have noticed across Romance and erotica is a tendency to portray very troubled and unhappy relationships between mothers and daughters, with more often than not the daughter-heroine feeling judged, unloved, and un-nurtured by her mother. I don’t see that as having anything to do with BDSM or not, but the dynamic interests me, because of the woman on woman dynamics. On the one hand, the neglected daughter has the opportunity to develop her independence, her own sense of self, and a healthy intimate relationship with her romantic partner. On the other hand, though, what does it mean when so much women’s fiction pits these heroines against the primary female figure in their life? Why do these relationships have to be so emotionally whacked, so unfulfilling? Is it simply a reflection of the authentically complex real-life mother-daughter relationships, or is something else going on, something that is particularly linked to the way women see and imaginatively portray other women? It’s really an interesting trend in both Romance and erotica, IMO, regardless of the particular sexual lifestyle of the heroine.

it just sounded like an abusive situation to me.

The passages you quoted, Janine, especially the first, read to me like Rowan really suffered emotionally under her mother. Whether or not that’s abusive is up to the individual to decide, I guess, but I assumed you were referring in your review to an emotional situation, not a physical one, if that makes any difference to Ms. Bradley’s objection to your characterization of the mother – daughter relationship.

I like BDSM romances, but it’s rare indeed to find a domme, and rarer still to find one who’s still a domme by the end of the story.

Sarah, thanks for the ardent defense. I too thought that “aversion” was a bit strong, but I appreciated very much that Ms. Bradley thanked me for reviewing the book and was glad that I enjoyed some aspects of it.

To clarify my feelings on pain play, it doesn’t horrify, shock or disgust me. I would not read BDSM books if it did. It would be more accurate to say that it sometimes makes go “ouch” and that therefore I’m somewhat puzzled by it. For example there was a line in the book where one character was pleased at the sight of welts on another. That was puzzling to me, because I don’t particularly think of welts as sexy. On the other hand I do think that bondage and bossiness can be quite sexy to read about.

I’m not bringing this up as a criticism of the book, but rather, so that readers can judge whether they are likely to enjoy the book based on the review. Since I found the love scenes steamy, I expect that readers who enjoy reading about pain play might find it even more so.

And I’m not sure that Christian Thorne is any better than Christian Throne! Very symbolic! ;)

And, Jane, you got the Joey Hill ARC? I hate you. I got Jenny Crusie’s Agnes, but what I wouldn’t give for Joey Hill!!! ;)

And I just have to comment on Bradley’s comment: I don’t think Janine expressed an “aversion” to pain play. She said “squeamishness.” “Aversion” means getting out the pitchforks and torches, which is a common reaction to BDSM, and NOT what Janine did here. “Squeamishness” means “Well, I guess that could be hot, but it’s not my kink.” That’s a big difference and I think implying that the less than brilliant review (although still good) comes from Janine’s “unfamiliarity” with the lifestyle is slightly–no, I’m going to amend that to say completely–disingenuous. Many reviewers adored Joey Hill’s Natural Law because it’s brilliantly written and psychologically rich, even though they were incredibly squicked by the BDSM play. It’s possible to separate an appreciation of craft from “not my thing,” and I think Janine did a really good job.

I drew the conclusion that Rowan’s mother was emotionally abusive from the way she was described. For example on p.98, in reference to Rowan’s experience with her college boyfriend, it says: “What little sense of self she’d managed to build up after leaving her mother’s house had crumbled beneath the strain.” The fact that Rowan could not build much sense of self while living with her mother is to me indicative of emotional abusive.

Rowan also says of her mother, “My mother is the kind of woman who has utter control over everything around her, and of course that included me.” To me that sounds abusive, but someone else’s mileage might be different.

I can see, too, that authors might not want to imply that BDSM stems from abusive childhood or that it’s a dysfunctional choice. But still, I felt that once the abusive mother (and in Christian’s case, the father who abandoned the family) were brought up, the implications of these upbringings should have been investigated more thoroughly.

As it was, I felt these were mostly devices to explain Rowan’s past and to make the characters look strong (and in Christian’s case, protective, since he took over his father’s role in his family).

In two books right off the bat I can think of — Karin Tabke’s Good Girl Gone Bad and Lind Howard’s Raintree: Inferno — the hero is super super dominant, too. Hmm, that’s sort of interesting now that I think about it, especially since I personally found both “heroes� abusive.

I didn’t feel that Christian was abusive or even super dominant. Obviously he was dominant in BDSM play, but outside of it he wasn’t a caveman type. I just want to clarify that point for readers.

Rowan never, for example, questioned whether her preference for extreme sex stemmed from this childhood, and I found that curious.

I wonder if some authors avoid this because they don’t want to give rise to the idea that BDSM is the sexual choice for formerly abused children. But then, if you don’t want to go down that road, why make the mother abusive in the first place? Abusive parents are such a Romance stereotype, though, and it seems I’ve read several contemporaries lately that used the unloving and abusive mother, that I wonder if it’s just become the new hot character device. In two books right off the bat I can think of — Karin Tabke’s Good Girl Gone Bad and Lind Howard’s Raintree: Inferno — the hero is super super dominant, too. Hmm, that’s sort of interesting now that I think about it, especially since I personally found both “heroes” abusive.