IN THE MOOD – NOT!
A Widow Bit – Aug. 21, 2011
By Mary Koch

            Plainly said, I’m not interested in romance. Every once in a while, someone asks me if I’m dating, and I just roll my eyes. Nothing against men, but you get to a certain stage in widowhood, a comfortable stage, when you cringe at the thought of making even the tiniest adjustment to accommodate another human being at close quarters. So why then, all in one week, did I read an historical romance and a chick lit novel?

            Curiosity, that’s why. After recently attending a writers’ conference and learning that the most popular books by far (55 percent of sales!) are romance novels, I wanted to find out why. I remember reading a romance years ago and haven’t dipped into the category since. It isn’t the writing I object to – romance writers are professional craftswomen. After all, the generally acknowledged queen of romance was Jane Austen.

            It’s the formula that stops me. She and he meet. He inevitably has a chiseled jaw, bulging biceps, rock-hard abs, and, well, let’s stop there. They lustfully yearn for each other while all manner of obstacles threaten to keep them from living happily ever after. They overcome said obstacles and live happily, lustily ever after. A friend, who dismisses them as “smut books,” devours them as hungrily as I devour popcorn at the movies.

            At the writers’ conference, I happened to sit next to TJ Bennett, who writes historical romance. She outlined the premise of her first novel, and I knew I had to read it. Bennett explained that when she learned Martin Luther had helped a group of nuns escape from their convent and eventually married one (true story!), she wondered what happened to the other nuns. Hence her fictional saga, “The Legacy.”

            Clearly, Bennett exhaustively researched the politics, peasant revolts and lifestyle of the early 1500s. What I wasn’t ready for was her ability to move seamlessly from theology to steamy, bodice-ripping erotica. Holy moly!

            After quieting my breathing, I picked up the next book. The author, Jane Porter, was a featured speaker at the conference. Her novel, “Flirting With Forty,” was made into a Lifetime movie. I’m thinking she could write a series: “Fighting With Fifty,” “Sagging With Sixty.”

            I am told that chick lit books have more humor and less lust than mainstream romance. Porter’s writing was clever, even insightful in places, and I was hoping against hope we wouldn’t have the formula ending, which would be so unrealistic. My hopes were quashed, and I remembered that the duty of a romance reader is to suspend disbelief. Romance novels require a happy ending just as murder mysteries – my favorite escape literature -- require revelation of whodunnit.

            I’m reminded of Jimmy Durante’s ironic ditty: “I'll never forget the day I read a book … I can’t remember when, But one o’ these days, I’m gonna do it again.” I’ll never forget the week I read romances, and maybe I’ll do it again, but for now it’s back to mysteries. Poison, anyone?