Its A Not Like A Romance Novel

I know many women bemoan the fact that real life just doesn’t work out like it does in romance novels. You know, like its actually supposed to or something. I mean obviously no one puts their hand up and says I’d like to experience some seemingly insurmountable adversities and go through hell for a while please, but given half a chance, I think most of us would take the happy ending and be off like a shot. I have a sneaking suspicion that I have said as much myself on occasion. Given the example of something I read recently however, I’m actually kind of glad that life doesn’t work out like it does in books. As life is largely about the journey, there are some things that I feel I could definitely do without.

Normally I quite enjoy this genre. I got into it due to a previous job and discovered a partiality for the paranormal. I’d like to point out that its not the only thing I read (and nor is it all Mills and Boon either) but it is good for escapism and facilitating procrastination. What was not good was half a short story I had the privilege of suffering through a while ago. I got so frustrated that I couldn’t even make myself finish it. I was quite disappointed really. Especially since I had previously enjoyed the author. Unfortunately though, this was not one of her better works (in my humble opinion) and I’d have to say that it was one of the most patronising examples of literature (and I use that term loosely) that I have read in a long while.

Perhaps it was a byproduct of trying to portray a romance with an obvious age difference. Whether it’s the old teaching the young or the young ultimately teaching the old, someone has to be the ‘experienced’ one. In this case it seemed to be all about the poor young girl who was practiced enough to not be an innocent (this means that they can jump into bed without too much preamble) but ultimately naïve as she hadn’t experienced the loving of a real man yet (so it was just like the first time…ughh). She had that idealistic exuberance going for her and an eagerness to please that was almost embarrassing but was therefore the prime candidate for the gentle guiding hand of an older man. Oh puh-lease!

When I read something I want to be able to empathise with the central character. I don’t want to feel the urge to slap her upside the head and shove the love interest out the door for being a conceited prat. There were several things that annoyed the crap out of me in this story but I think the straw that broke the camels back was when the potential lover (I didn’t even last till the sex bit) admonished the chick for spritzing perfume on herself when she realized she was going to get some. I understand the romantic sentiment that he wants to smell her and not her perfume but he may as well have come out and said ‘you just did the wrong thing and I don’t like it so don’t ever do it again’ or perhaps ‘this will go a lot easier in future if you learn to do only as you’re told’. It ticked me off.

Now the story may have ended brilliantly. Usually I have enough blind faith to see me through the bad spots, reciting the mantra ‘its just gotta get better than this’ but on this occasion I don’t think I will ever know. And I’m not particularly bothered by that. I think I’m bothered that some women would read this and lack enough self confidence to think the hero was fantastic.