Confession time: Yes, I majored in English Lit (among other
things). And yes, I enjoy trashy novels.
Paranormal romance? Vampires? Werewolves? Weird demon hunters? I love that shit. Can't get enough of it.
There's just one problem.
I'm fucking picky about my trash. If at any point I start shouting
at a character, "Oh for GOD'S SAKE, SHUT UP," or starting making
motions to bitch-slap my Kindle, that's a clue that not all is well. If at any
point I stare with my mouth hanging open, and eventually manage to mutter,
"That? That's a plot? That's a
plot?", it's another clue that not all is well (this is why I will never
read Twilight).
I like complex characters. Given that it's trashy, depending on
how desperate I am for "happy ending comfort novel" (note: which is
directly related to whatever level of stress I'm under in other areas of my
life - because when my life is going very well, I tend to read more challenging
material, and just hope that I finish the book before life throws me another
one of those curve balls everyone else handles so well), I might pass a little
on the complex character issues.
I like metaphors. I like symbolism. I like people who use this
paranormal demon-hunting crap as a way of sorting out other social issues. And
I really appreciate people who can come into this genre, with a whole bunch of
really problematic pre-existing notions of "romance" (more on that
some other time), and untangle some of those problems, while still making the
whole thing daredevil, gripping, romantic, sexy fun.
I don't like
authors who use paranormal justifications for misogyny. I don't like authors
where the romantic heroes and heroines justify crappy behaviour to move the
plot forward when it would appear to be previously out of character (at the
moment I'm reading a book where I do want to smack the characters, but they're
lovable anyway. They do stupid, ill-considered things, but the author has quite
cleverly set up the fact that this is in
character - they are deeply flawed critters who obviously will do stupid things that make you
want to hit them. Makes me love them a bit more, honestly). I don't like the
"deus ex machina" to fix plot holes (*cough* Laurell K. Hamilton.
Yes, I stopped reading those a long time ago, but I spotted my first "I
couldn't be bothered setting this up properly so I invented a plot element in
this very paragraph" in the second book).
Alright. I've now set this up appropriately. I like my trash, and
I'm always on the lookout for new excellent trashy authors (my most beloved
idols are Nalini Singh, Ilona Andrews, Seanan Maguire, that ilk).
When you search for various authors on Amazon, often other authors come up from
the same genre, so I'd been seeing this "Vampire for Hire" by J.R.
Rain for several months now turning up in my search results. Cleverly, the
first book is free.
Of course I downloaded it. Free vampire trash? Hell yes. I found it kind of fun and
escapist, although a bit frustrating in ways that probably should have been a
warning signal, so I bought the omnibus of the first four books (for $9).
Bargain, I thought. I'm feeling crappy. I need escapism.
The fact is that I'm not sure I can say outright that the writing
is bad. I don't think it is. The plot moves forward. The characters are... if
not exactly complex, then occasionally unexpected.
Here's the backstory: Samantha Moon is a former FBI agent who, six
years ago, got attacked and turned into a vampire. Telling the world she
developed a rare skin disorder, she withdrew from the FBI and started work as a
private investigator. It also happens, however, that she's married with two
kids, and it turns out that becoming a blood-sucking creature of the night puts
a little strain on a marriage. She’s room temperature, which is apparently a
turn-off, and I guess blood breath is a bit distressing. From the start of the
book, it’s clear that her relationship with her husband is on the rocks, and it
deteriorates quickly.
Alright, I’m interested – I’m curious about a book that tries to
handle the vampiric transition in the presence of kidlets. I wanted to write a
short story about that myself at one point so this rang a bell with me.
Here’s the problem: I don’t think this author knows how to write a
female character. I feel like some of J.R. Rain's characterisation of women
says a lot more about his view of women than it says about his characters.
Firstly, the "paranormal romance" genre pays occasional lip service
to the notions of sex (some are what I outright call "horny books" -
others call it girly porn or vampire porn, but whatever. That's not a
criticism, by the way. It's a feature, not a bug, depending on the book.
Generally, if I want that feature, I specifically turn to books that aim for it
deliberately, rather than something with a plot where I will occasionally get distracted
by surprise ménage a trois. Yes, Ms
Hamilton, I’m looking at you again,
although the plots when south a while ago).
Our heroine spends a lot of time looking at “buns”. Now, that’s
all well and good. Perve away, my darlings, perve away. On the other hand, I
haven’t actually seen a group of heterosexual females pay such close and loud
attention to the concept an attractive male arse since high school. That’s
because high school is a period where you’re working out what you find sexually
attractive, and when you find out that other people share that notion, you can
discuss it endlessly. Well-written
sexy cis/het romances from the point of view of a female protagonist generally
involve an appreciation of multiple features. It feels like Samantha Moon only ever looks at arses (and
occasionally, stomachs. She likes a bit of chubby stomach. Apparently “a man
should have a belly”. Whut? Erm, yes, a complete digestive tract is
important). It feels like a strange sort of add-in that wasn’t part of the
original character.
What it feels like
is that Mr Rain thought, “I’m writing a sexy female protagonist – women look at
butts, right? I saw that on Melrose Place when I was a kid once. Okay, she
looks at butts!” And it’s almost all she
ever does and it feels as though her sexuality is honestly pasted on.
This clag-covered sexuality? Highly problematic. Sure, she’s in a rocky marriage, and she finds
herself looking at another fellow and finding him hot (or at least she likes
his butt, and gut. Butt-and-gut. There’s a joke in there somewhere, leave it
with me). That happens, and if she were jumping the guy with an eye to tying
him down and having her wicked way with him and his apparently awesome buns (I
hate that word. I like a decent arse, don’t get me wrong, but I also like buns,
as in baked goods, and I don’t think conflating the two is a good idea), then
sure, a little guilt is a fair response. Really, though, what she is constantly
saying to herself (and to her sister, by the way, who is eyeing off and
flirting with a guy she is not married to) is “A married woman shouldn’t be
looking at other men, or thinking about them.”
Erm, no. Sure, if you’re falling for the fellow, that’s a
problem; you’re in a monogamous relationship, even if it’s not going well, so
obviously a conversation is in order. Looking at other men? Fair play. I’m
married. I’m monogamous. I have no intention of jumping someone other than
Husband. However, exchanging vows at a delightful winery did not switch off my
ability to appreciate the attractiveness of others. I feel no conflict. I can
glance and think, “Hey, s/he’s a bit of alright,” and not feel any terrible
shame.
Also, she is deeply concerned about her sister flirting with
a cute bartender (and again, we note the buns. I’m partial to apple turnovers,
myself). Apparently “her husband should really be worried.” My god, Mrs Moon
(she is terribly offended whenever someone calls her “Ms”, apparently. To each
their own, again, I hate being called Mrs. I’d say it’s a personal preference
but when she meets a woman who claims “Ms”, she apparently finds it hilarious),
who made you the freaking thought police?
Next stop – and this is the one that maybe bothers me most
of all – is her attitude to other women. The minute she sees an attractive
woman, she wants to hate her. There’s a surprising and distressing amount of
this sort of thing: “…perfect alabaster skin. Bitch, I thought.” She has an
instinctive jealousy, and there’s no self-consciousness about this. And I can’t
help but wonder if this is how Mr Rain thinks women think about other women. It’s a repeated theme that makes me very
uncomfortable. Mrs Moon is petty.
Even worse – and it’s part of the same point – is how she
deals with revealing clothing. She actually uses the phrase “dress like a
slutty whore” when she shows skin in order to distract those foolish male desk
clerks (oh, those foolish male desk clerks, they don’t notice anything you do
as long as you show them boobs, amirite?). She commonly uses the phrase “like a
slut” to describe her outfits. She feels ashamed of showing skin.
Please tell me you don’t need me to tell you why this is a
problem, and why this upsets me enormously. I like my trashy novel protagonists
to enjoy their sexuality. I want them to be sex-positive. They don’t have to be
actually having sex, but they shouldn’t feel guilty about the fact that they’d
like to. They shouldn’t be feeling ashamed of wearing revealing clothing – or
if they are, there should be a reason for it (trauma, debilitating scars,
something worth actually discussing and dealing with). They shouldn’t be using
the word “slutty” as though it’s a perfectly normal and acceptable descriptor
for clothing. Remember that people who are reading romantic, sexy novels
probably like romance and sex
themselves; I would be surprised if many of these readers are able to connect
with a character who is ashamed of the very qualities the reader is actively seeking.
Let me put it another way: if I felt the same way about
sexual activity and attraction as Mrs Samantha Moon, I wouldn’t be reading
trashy vampire novels. I’d be reading Anna fucking Karenina*.
And if a character
presents these attitudes, it should be examined.
It should be something the author is untangling.
Mr Rain does not do this. Mr Rain seems
to think this is okay.
Look, as I said above, the romantic genre and the paranormal
romance subgenre are already both littered with problematic tropes. It takes a
certain class of author to rise above these – or, preferably, confront them – and
create strong, interesting, human characters that a feminist reader doesn’t
want to immediately turf off the nearest bridge (not to mention healthy
fictional relationships). I myself have a reasonable tolerance for some of these
problematic issues, as I appreciate the difference between an enjoyable fantasy
and what would actually piss me off in real life. Even so, I have a line.
I also have a certain amount of discomfort with, for want of
a better phrase, maternal biological essentialism. Samantha has kids. They’re
not real characters at this point – just tropes to highlight the traumatic
nature of her change and what she has to sacrifice, and in that sense they
function admirably. But by the end of the fourth book, I was heartily tired of
“I might be a vampire, but I’m a Mom”
being bludgeoned into my head like a rolled up catalogue created by the
unexpected corporate merger of Target and Victorian Gothic.
I don’t have kidlets. I like kidlets. I have one or two
friends with their own adorable offspring and I appreciate the enormous amount
of work and love that goes into taking care of mini-humans. I know that having
children does cause a shift in priorities (although not a personality change).
But Samantha’s intense momminess is portrayed in a bizarre fashion. It seems to
be something she switches off or on as the plot demands. When she’s in mom
mode, it’s all that matters. We are swept off on a tidal wave of parental
motivation – and that’s fine, it drives the plot quite well – until that wave
abruptly hits the wall of “arse-kicking paranormal romance”, and Samantha trots
off to, essentially, fight crime. It’s a minor quibble. From time to time I did
find the parent stuff quite convincing and it was one of the things that made me
keep reading, but at times I felt it was handled in a clumsy fashion, one that
did feel like biological essentialism. Of course you’re a mom. Of course you react that way! Because all vampire moms would
totally react that way! Yes… I think this implied uniformity is at the heart of
my discomfort.
It’s just that, for someone who worries about her kids as
much as she does, we don’t seem to know very much about them at all, apart from
a few token efforts at wedging some childlike personalities sideways into the
prose.
The final thing I really hated about this series is the
repetition of “Oh Lord, I’m a freak”, which if anything carried a more intense
blunt impact with a higher risk of cranial trauma than the mommy trope.
Samantha is a vampire. She’s unnaturally strong, and she doesn’t throw a
reflection (this plot hole is badly covered up at times by a belated “Of course
I was wearing make up at the time and I closed my eyes when the photo was
taken” which makes very little sense and shows a poor understanding of how
make-up is actually applied. Although I guess vampires don’t have to worry
about caking their pores with foundation, so perhaps it’s a moot point).
And every time she does something particularly impressive
with this strength – usually something that is useful, and advances the plot –
she pauses for a brief moment of self-loathing, a tortured, “Oh Lord, I’m a
freak!” directed at her woeful, vampiric situation.
Lady, you’ve got super powers. You’re a vampire. STFU. This
is a trashy novel here, not Anne Rice. A little identity confusion and perhaps
even a phase of self-loathing is fair enough – but honestly, a reader is going
to get sick of this repetitive “I’m such a freak!” and “What a monster I am!”
You don’t. Need. To. Belabour. The. Point.
Having said that, I got through four books because I needed
to know what happened. I skimmed towards the end, however, because there was
only so much I could take of the self-loathing, the shame about “slutty” clothing,
the guilt about sexual feelings, and the knee-jerk petty jealousy of all other
women.
I really couldn’t get past wondering if this is how J.R.
Rain honestly thinks that women think of themselves and other women; and if so,
I really hope he’s wrong.
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*This is not to imply that people reading Anna Karenina are not sex-positive.
