An Unfortunate Romancelandia Truth

If you’ve been out on these romancelandia streets long enough, you might have noticed a truly infuriating thing about us as readers: there is a vast differential between what we will judge as “acceptable” behavior from a character depending on their gender. It’s a fact so true that it’s simply uninteresting to explain, akin to providing evidence that Chicago winters are cold. Just take yourself off to Goodreads to look for examples.

The real people on the front line of this problem are romance authors, any of whom could probably share hair-raising stories about readers who praised and fawned over the worst behavior from a hero while turning up their noses at imperfect heroines, no matter how carefully crafted. This double standard is especially stark when reading a book where the main characters are a straight, cis couple.

I’m not too interested in why readers make these snap judgments. For that, I can just share my favorite meme.

I certainly don’t blame authors for tempering themselves when it comes to how they portray women in romance books. It’s a logical response; in genre fiction, the whole point is to sell books to the masses. But as a result, it’s easy to identify the boundaries of “acceptable behavior” for women in the genre: she can be clumsy but not aggressive; she can be smart but not scheming; she can be beautiful but not vain. She can never be bossy, bitchy, or greedy. The list goes on and on. It’s honestly refreshing to come across an unlikable romance heroine, but it doesn’t seem to happen all that often. (Unless you, like me, are deep in the Susan Elizabeth Phillips archives.)

All this is to say, I’m not interested in exploring why readers don’t like imperfect women, but I am deeply interested in authors who write difficult women on purpose. This is a craft question I’m interesting in exploring: How can an author build a deeply sympathetic character while playing in the sandbox of toxic traits? And what does it tell us about who “deserves” to be loved in romance? At least theoretically, I envision this as a kind of series: here’s a character trait that readers would call unlikable, and now here’s a book wholly embraces said trait to great effect. [Why theoretically a series? Well, because I first hatched this idea back in March and here it is 3 months later and I’m finally writing about it. I don’t want to overpromise. Heh.]

Sloane Baxter in Amelia Shea’s The Rulebreaker

Amelia Shea’s Ghosttown East series is one of my favorite MC (motorcycle club) series in romance. Before we talk about the characters, it’s worth going into a few relevant particulars of the subgenre. As a shorthand, I’m going to define MC romance as “criminals in a small town, where the main characters are usually middle- or lower-class white people” as compared to mafia romance which is “criminals in a big city, where the main characters are usually rich, white people.” (I’m not sure it’s important in this case, but these mafia books are almost always ethnically coded in some varietal of European white: Irish, Italian, Russian, etc.) I’m noting the whiteness of the subgenre here not only because it’s true, but also relevant the success of this particular character.

The second book in the series is The Rulebreaker, the heroine is Sloane Baxter and her love interest is Adam “Blade” Cody, a member of Ghosttown East. You don’t need much background for the plot, but it’s important to know that the club is expanding. This includes buying up property in a small, dying town called Grove Mill with plans to convert into the abandoned mill into a profitable private venture. The club clashes with Sloane in a few ways: she lives next door to the property they’re developing, she has a tragic and mysterious past that might be tied to criminal elements in the town, and she’s a notorious busybody and know-it-all. In fact, she might be the busiest busybody I’ve ever read as a main character in the pages of a romance novel.

I think the busybody-ness of it all works for a couple of reasons, and maybe these elements can be broadly applied to any number of other qualities or traits.

1. No one is more aware that she has this trait than Sloane herself, and it’s something she’s been working on controlling.

2. It’s a core character trait, explained but not excused by her past.

3. She doesn’t hold herself to different standards than other people.

4. She doesn’t punch down, she’s at her most intractable with people that are either equal or more powerful.

5. This trait is used to fuel scenes that run the emotional gamut.

There are two scenes in particular that show how these factors make a difficult trait work on page.

The book opens with Sloane walking down the street when she notices a group of men about her age ogling some motorcycles parked on the street. Sloane herself rides a snappy green moped, and she considers herself a rider, someone who has something in common with the men who must own these bikes, even if they are out of sight. When the 4 men approach and touch the bikes, Sloane’s urge to enforce the rules kicks in.

Unfortunately, she just can’t stop herself and her advice to these men turns into an altercation. Sloane figures that the Ghosttown MC, the owners of the bikes, must be in a nearby bar and goes and…tattles. Truly, it’s the only word for it.

It’s a scene that is effective at showing Sloane as her own worst enemy. She knows she shouldn’t get involved, but she can’t help herself. There’s enough background information to make the reader aware of why she’s so attached to the rules, while setting the stage for a book where Sloane’s beliefs about the rules are challenged by those of the new world she finds herself in, the world of Ghosttown East.

Sloane’s next interaction with the club is more of a clash where they are on opposite sides of a dispute over a shared property line. She spoils the goodwill she created, and now her relationship with the club is characterized by tension and dislike. Things are at a tense stalemate when she arrives home from work, completely exhausted. The club is having a party next door, and a few women block her driveway. Sloane demands they move their car, and when they refuse, she calls the police to have the car ticketed and towed. In the meantime, Sloane doesn’t have anywhere to put her own car, so she blocks the exit to the club’s property in retaliation.

Listen, she’s being SO STUBBORN and difficult here. No one can talk her down, not herself and not Blade. When the cops arrive, they essentially threaten her, “If I give her one, I have to give you one.” Sloane doesn’t hesitate, agreeing that she also deserves a ticket. The only reason the scene works is because everyone sees that she cares about what is fair, even if it means she is also punished. If she was punching down, if it was just being nosy and terrible out of a sense of privilege or entitlement, she’d be Misty in Adriana Herrera’s American Dreamer. In other words, the scene also works because of the homogeneity of the people in the scene. Shea isn’t afraid to show that Sloane is a negative light, or as her own worst enemy.

By the end of the book, Sloane goes from rule-enforcer to rule-breaker. Entering a new world, learning the truth about her background, becoming Blade’s lover, being betrayed by a cop, seeing the emotional devastation she accidentally creates—the combination of all these forces changes her. The unlikeable quality isn’t gone, but it’s changed, it’s a key part of her arc. She’s still the same Sloane, but with a far more expansive view of which rules should be followed.

** sorry for the typos. I’m trying not to let the perfect be the enemy of the good, or whatever that saying is.