I love romance novels. Lame? Don't care. I have not spent 31 sometimes agonizing years on this planet to be embarrassed about the things that bring me truly, unadulterated joy. Cats? Love 'em. Going around without underwear on? Love it. Ramen Noodles? THE GREATEST. If I want to quietly delude myself and make the questionable choice of reading a cheesy-ass tome entitled something like "The Wayward Wench and Sir Dudley's Dungeon" then I'm going to read it, and I'm going to like it, and I might even find the treacle to be AROUSING AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME! BWAAAHAHAHAHAHA!
Honestly, romance novels get a lot of hate, and only a marginal amount of it is deserved. Yes, the stories can be a bit hackneyed, and the abundant adjective usage is massively eye roll inducing – to some people. I would like to put forth the idea that whether or not you are able to just surrender to the epic cheese and enjoy these trashy books for the simple, pleasure-laden vessels of escapism they are is, in fact, a test of your ability to not take life so seriously and just enjoy something. Are you too cool to call a penis a "love tool"? I'm not. And I feel excellent about that.
You could even make the argument (watch me – it's what I'm about to do) that gettin' your romance readin' freak on is your prerogative as a feminist. It's all about choices, right? And our right to make them? Well, I choose to drink a liter or twelve of diet soda, and I choose to read a book where the phrase "her plundered quivering cleft of delicacies" is used earnestly. Here are 10 reasons why I'll never stop.
The man has been on the cover of more books than I can count for a reason. No, it isn't his dorky expression, or even his lustrous mane. It's DAT TORSO THO.
A cookie is just a cookie but Newtons? They're fruit and cake. The same can be said for the good ol' cock and balls. If every romance novel was full of lines like "and then she saw his dick, it seemed okay" they would be utter garbage. But they know better. Manhood? Rigid flesh-sword? Throbbing love organ? These bitches have mastered their thesaurus.
I like structure. I like routine. When I'm burned out I don't want to read some novel where I am sitting on the edge of my bed worried that things might not work out. In the world of the romance novel this is literally never even once a concern. Oh sure that dentist might hate that virginal candy-smith in chapter one. But by the end sweet love will be made all over both of their places of employment.
Because NOT REAL LIFE
Real life isn't romantic. And thank God for it. One time my boyfriend bought me a bag of candy, and another time he pointed out that my butt looked good in some pants. This is sweet and realistic romance. If my boyfriend were to abduct me from my home and ransom me for a large sum all the while bickering with me that wouldn't be sexy – he would be going to jail because fuck if I'm going to play along with that noise.
Do you know what a fichu is? Me either. What about stays? Yeah, no. But I BET THEY ARE CLASSY AS BALLS.
I am proud American. I love democracy, death to Kings, dictators can eat a dick, etc, etc, but let's be real: if I could be a princess for one day? I wouldn't say no. Bring on the tiaras, yo.
In real life pirates are mercenaries out for money and not above murder and mayhem. In romance novels those dudes are just dying for you to under their swashbuckle.
Boobs don't get enough respect on the regs. In romance novels they are cupped, fondled, eyed, worshipped, and even lapped with more reverence than a nun shows in church. I support this. Nipple play for everyone!
Y'all why can't we all just have horses? I WANT ONE.
Because JANE AUSTEN
We all love the Darcy and Eliza trope. Romance novels at their best are just like that! Minus, you know, any and all attempts at social satire. Which I mean, whatever, right?
Images: Getty; Amazon(10)