Romance Novels Need More Gatekeeping, Not Less
This past week, I was supposed to recap my first romance book convention, Steamy Lit Con in Anaheim. That is, until I severely threw out my back and life came to a screeching halt. (I am much better now, but the FOMO was real.)
And while I may have avoided getting caught in Hurricane Hilary, I’ve had romance on my mind: what’s changed in the genre, for better or worse, and how I feel as both a reader and a writer within it.
I’m only 33, but the last decade has certainly seen a paradigm shift. It hasn’t felt like an overnight, life-altering change, but rather what I’d call annoyance by a thousand cuts. And at the risk of sounding like the Old Man Yells at Cloud meme, I’ve got Things To Say.
Because there are few things that grind my gears more than a book that’s marketed as a romance that shouldn’t be.
Let the gatekeeping begin.
A Call for More Rigid Romance Conventions
Romance Writers of America (RWA) defines a romance novel by two fundamental conventions: “a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending.”
A Central Love Story: The main plot centers around individuals falling in love and struggling to make the relationship work. A writer can include as many subplots as they want as long as the love story is the main focus of the novel.
An Emotionally Satisfying and Optimistic Ending: In a romance, the lovers who risk and struggle for each other and their relationship are rewarded with emotional justice and unconditional love.
Misinformed folks may find the genre predictable and formulaic, but as the RWA stipulates, there are only two hard-and-fast rules: (1) prioritize the romance above all else, and (2) end with a happily-ever-after (HEA) or a happy-for-now (HFN). The love interests don’t have to be married or have children on the last page, but there should be no doubts that they’re meant to be together.
And yet, even with the most basic of rules, the marketplace continues to bend them in order to capitalize on a lucrative readership. To that, I say absolutely not. You give the industry an inch, and it will take a mile of your hard-earned discretionary dollars.
So let’s break down each of these two genre conventions and why they’re non-negotiable in romance, starting with the fairytale ending.
HEA or GTFO
Experienced readers like me still get confused by genre conventions, so I sympathize with casual readers who don’t know any better. If half of all Americans read fewer than five books per year, it’s no wonder most don’t understand why the happily-ever-after (HEA) is such a sticking point to romance fans.
Here’s a great example of my growth as a reader: In 2010, when I was in grad school and first heard Nicholas Sparks describe the books he writes as “love stories” instead of romance, I thought he was being an arrogant, sexist pig. He sounded like a man who didn’t want to be associated with a genre written primarily by women.
His infamous USA Today interview with Miley Cyrus during the promotion of The Last Song is no longer available online, but this Forbes opinion includes a few highlights where he compares himself to Shakespeare, Austen, and Hemingway all in the same breath (okay, buddy).
I’d argue he’s still an arrogant, sexist pig, but he is correct in his point about love stories, which is the term used for books like his that don’t end with a HEA. If the lovers break up or die in the end, or even exist in a state of marital strife as seen in Netflix’s Queen Charlotte, that’s a love story, not a romance.
Unlike casual readers, diehard romance fans read hundreds of novels per year. They know exactly what they want, and authors who attempt to pull a bait-and-switch on them do so at their own peril.
Romance conventions aren’t tired, outdated, or restrictive. They’re protecting a sacred experience where good things happen to good people and love wins in the end. If an author can’t deliver on this promise, there are plenty of other genres to write.
A Court of Thorns and No Thank Yous
It’s when genre lines get blurred that this gets messy, and one of the biggest pain points is the rise of romantasy, popularized by Sarah J. Mass’ series A Court of Thorns and Roses.
As explained at this year’s San Diego Comic-Con, there’s a big difference between fantasy romance and romantic fantasy, and the second word is the one doing the heaviest lifting as the primary genre. Fantasy romance is a romance with fantastical elements, and romantic fantasy is a fantasy with a romantic subplot.
How do you know which is which? By determining whether the book follows the two romance conventions as defined by the RWA above. Unfortunately, fantasy fans care less about these conventions, as you can see with Tor’s recent launch of its Bramble imprint (emphasis mine):
From science fiction and fantasy to contemporary and family saga, romance belongs in every genre and every genre belongs in Bramble. Whether the last page holds happily ever after, to be continued, or an ending that isn’t so simple, Bramble books will take you on an extraordinary journey of love. With spice levels to suit all readers, with familiar tropes and uncharted territory, Bramble books will explore a love that’s tangled up, covered in thorns, and oh so sweet. Bramble is for everyone and everyone deserves a good love story.
For a romance reader, this is a giant, glaring red flag. Notice how Tor, a sci-fi & fantasy publisher, is using “love story” as a way to rid itself of the responsibility of following romance conventions. Frankly, there is a reason why I don’t read romantasy, and this is it.
Life is too short to get a box of chocolates you can’t stand. I’m not about to sift through the sea of A [BLANK] of [BLANK] and [BLANK]s to find a real fantasy romance, regardless of how much I may enjoy witches, fairies, and dragons. How would I classify Fourth Wing? I don’t know because I’m not going to bother finding out.
Bramble is right: romance belongs in every genre. But if that romance is not actually a Romance, that doesn’t mean I have to read it.
Decentralization Can Die
Thankfully, most authors interested in writing romance are more than willing to honor the HEA, especially when not doing so is likely to result in a flood of 1-star reviews.
This rule isn’t the one that causes the most confusion for readers, but rather the genre convention of having love be central to the book.
Take a look at this graphic, for instance.
These books were featured in my list from last year on the Top 8 Romance Authors I Still Need to Read. Three of them remain on my to-be-read (TBR), but I can now more accurately say that four are not genre Romance with a capital R:
It Ends With Us: I may only read this in preparation for the movie adaptation, but it’s clear this tale of domestic abuse is not a romance. I’ve read Marian Keyes’ This Charming Man, and based on It Ends With Us’ plot summary alone I would place it in the same category.
Beach Read: Holy backstory, Emily Henry. Many readers will disagree with me on this, but the love in this book takes a back seat to career struggles, family dynamics, and coping with grief. The banter is cute at times, but I can’t even call it a romantic comedy if I barely chuckled.
Seven Days in June: Like Henry, Tia Williams is lauded for her beautiful prose. And while this book is indeed exquisitely written, it doesn’t take away from the fact that the romance competes with past trauma and generational conflict. Many readers appreciate a fully fleshed-out family tree, but every time a chapter veered away from the actual relationship, I found myself skimming.
Dial A for Aunties: To be fair, this book repurposes the premise of the 1989 comedic film Weekend at Bernie’s, so I already had a hunch this book was going to be more com than rom, as I originally mentioned. With so many genres crammed into one book, I’ll be reading it more for the laughs than the love story.
If this is the case, then why the hell does half of this list in my blog post about romance authors include books that aren’t romances?
Because that’s how they’ve been marketed!
Blurring Lines, Breaking Hearts
It is incredibly frustrating as a romance reader when It Ends With Us, Beach Read, and Seven Days in June are all nominated for Goodreads Choice Awards for Best Romance when their top Amazon ranking is Women’s Fiction.
Now before I go any further in my rant, let’s get on the same page about these two genres. Here is the definition of Women’s Fiction (WF) according to the Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA):
What Is Women's Fiction?
Our stories may include romance, or they may not. They can be contemporary or historical and have magical, mystery, thriller, or other elements. Whereas the driving force of a romance novel is a love story, a mystery's is the exposure of an event, a thriller's is a fear-inducing chase or escape, etc., the driving force of women's fiction is the protagonist's journey toward a more fulfilled self.
Women’s Fiction isn’t beholden to romance genre conventions: Books aren’t required to have a happy ending, and love doesn’t have to be the star of the show.
But because the Goodreads Choice Awards doesn’t have a Women’s Fiction category, it has become a clusterfuck in recent years:
Every Summer After? Not a romance.
Verity? Not a romance.
In Five Years? Definitely. Not. A. Romance!
For the record, I deeply love both Romance and Women’s Fiction. I’m old enough to have lived through the “chick lit” era of the ‘90s and early aughts before the term went out of fashion in favor of WF.
To this day, Sophie Kinsella of Confessions of a Shopaholic fame is one of my all-time favorite authors, to the point where I’m photographed holding My Not-So-Perfect Life on my homepage.
But I’ve said it before, and I will continue saying it until the end of time. Romance and Women’s Fiction should NOT be marketed as one and the same.
I will die on this hill.
What Are the Alternatives Then?
Look, I hate gendered terms as much as the next feminist. After all, you don’t see John Grisham or Jonathan Franzen books branded as “men’s fiction.” Chick lit is catchy but sexist, and women’s fiction still relies heavily on the gender binary, thereby erasing the voices of nonbinary, intersex, and gender non-conforming folks.
But I am not down with the publishing industry’s insistence on blurring genres to line its pockets with unsuspecting readers’ dollars. The rise of terms like “upmarket romance” and “literary romance” is demeaning to romance readers and authors, as if being “more than romance” is somehow superior and more legitimate than traditional genre or category romance.
And every time I hear the term “romance-adjacent fiction,” I turn into Damian from Mean Girls.
I don’t have the perfect answer for what to call the amorphous space between contemporary Romance with a capital R and women’s fiction. But I desperately miss knowing how central a love story is going to be in a book the moment I pick it up.
Rather than give in to trends and let chaos reign, I advocate for greater categorization. Clear is kind, and more labels with neutral, inclusive language give readers back their ability to discern what types of books they want to buy.
This may be surprising to younger readers, but it used to be easier to tell Romance from WF—all because of something as simple as format.
Revive the Mass-Market Paperback
If I were to invent one more rule when it comes to romance conventions, it would be this:
If a book wouldn’t be given a mass-market paperback 10-20 years ago, it shouldn’t be called a romance today.
To snooty readers, mass-market paperbacks had a reputation for being pulp fiction, only meant for the grocery store aisle or airport newsstand. This perception is no coincidence when the format was used primarily for genre romance (thanks misogyny!).
Today, mass-market unit sales have declined by approx. 43% since 2017, which is a shame given their more affordable price point. Publishers can charge double for trade paperbacks, which means romance readers are now paying twice as much for the same stories in a larger trim size.
The real, tangible issue, as I’ve said, is a matter of categorization. In smaller indie bookstores, there usually won’t be a romance section, so genre romances are sharing the same shelves as all other commercial fiction. And if they’re all in trade paperback with a cute, illustrated cover, how are readers going to know if a story meets their expectations?
Certain subgenres, like historical romance or paranormal romance, don’t run into the same challenges as their contemporary counterparts because their subject matter is more explicitly defined.
This goes for the erotic end of the spectrum as well: I’ve never heard of someone being promised a mafia or monster romance and given a story of self-actualization instead of a steamy tryst with a mob boss or minotaur.
But I’m fixated on contemporary rom-coms, of course, because I write them, and they’re often caught in the murky middle between Romance and WF. Unlike with fantasy crossovers, there’s no such thing as “comedy romance” to differentiate from “romantic comedy.”
And I get it. For the sake of simplicity, I’ve certainly conflated Romance and WF in the past, so if I’m going to practice what I preach when it comes to gatekeeping romance novels, I have to start with me.
That means getting clearer in my book reviews and re-organizing my Goodreads shelves. Just because that site lumps the two genres together doesn’t mean I should too.
So, who’s with me?
Give Romance the Respect It Deserves
To end this outrageously long literary rant, I’ll conclude with this:
Romance is for everyone, but not every book has earned the right to be called a Romance.
Everybody on TikTok rails against gatekeeping, but I’m not withholding my beauty routine or career advice. I’m doing my part to preserve the integrity of the genre I hold most dear, by educating folks who may not be as familiar with the lines we draw and why we draw them.
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And don’t forget to let me know what you think. Do book genres need more gatekeeping, and what are your non-negotiables when reading? Sound off in the comments below!