In Search of. . . Romance Novel Readers

A fellowship more secret then the Illuminati with members more invisible than, well, anything you can actually see.  For centuries rumors have floated around that there were people, women mostly, who do a thing no right thinking individual would ever openly admit to. And yet there is evidence that this fellowship has numbers in the hundred thousands. Millions even.

Maybe I exaggerated a little about the “centuries” part. It was 1908 when Gerald Mills and Charles Boon created Mills & Boon Ltd in England.  The first book they published was a romance. Although they were a general interest publisher, they soon became well known for their “little brown books” (secret code in 1930’s United Kingdom for “romance novel”.

Meanwhile in Canada,  Richard Bonnycastle founded Harlequin books. He too pretended not to be part of the romance book -secret cabal connection. But money talks and bullshit also likes to read romances but won’t admit it. Soon Bonnycastle was listening to his wife’s advice about those English Doctor/Nurse romance and buying North American reprint rights. By 1964 Harlequin was reprinting all of Mills & Boon’s romances.

And then, in 1972, Kathleen Woodiwiss ripped her first bodice. The Flame and the Flower (followed closely by Rosemary Roger’s Sweet Savage Love) completely rocked the paperback publishing world. Everyone complained --in fact everyone still complains—about the new super sexed, alpha male dominated historical romances. Nobody read them because they were nothing but trash. But the secret fellowship somehow managed to buy 4,634,000 copies of it and send it to 74 printings.

There may be some of you out there who are skeptical. You’re probably thinking that actual romance readers are nothing but urban legends. I mean, nobody actually reads these things. Reports of romance reading are always second or third hand--a friend of a friend.  And you may wonder how I, a fairly literate, somewhat intelligent person can know so many of the invisible sorority’s dark secrets. It’s because I got the goods from the inside. I am one of the invisible sisters.

Yes, I confess. Those pagan lust-meisters got their clutches into me real early.  I was an innocent library-frequenting seven year old the day my eye fell upon the brightly painted picture of a man and a woman in courtly dress alighting a hansom carriage. It was a book written by no less a personage than Princess Diana’s step grandmother, Dame Barbara Cartland (Yes, the royal family is in on it too!). And the name of the book was . . . umm . . .The Rakish Duke or The Dukish Earl or maybe The Maddening Marquis—who can remember since Dame Barbara Cartland wrote 723 of them earning herself a place in the Guinness Book of World Records.  And ever single one of them was perfect for recruiting an unsuspecting seven year old girl.

I remember fondly those dashing, rakish aristocrat heroes,  the intrigue of the ton and the regency court, the  wide-eyed innocent heroines who. . . always spoke. . .so. . .haltingly and .  .elliptically. . ..

Tales full of chaste kisses and meaningful glances was enough to hold a seven year old in enthralled silence, but not a twelve year old. So I was provided contemporary stories with girls who talk back and rich tycoons with lots and lots of money. Enough money to jet from L.A. to Scotland at a moments notice. Sometimes the hero pretended to be butlers but in the end they always ended up with huge piles of money. I really liked that when I was twelve.

Still, as I got older I got pretty bored with the “kissing”. Chaste kissing, passionate kissing—didn’t these people do anything but kiss? These are supposed to be love stories, where in the hell is all the love making?

And then they got out the big guns. The bodice-ripping, mistaken-for-a-hooker-by-the captain-of-an-American-trading-ship-after-stabbing-your-lecherous-benefactor-with-a-pair-of-scissors type big guns. I was fourteen when I read The Flame and The Flower. I’ve been a member of the secret sorority ever since.

They’re out there somewhere. I have numbers to prove it. I’ve gained access to their secret files through one of their “organizations”. They were cleverly hiding in plain sight.  The Romance Writers of America has compiled these shocking figures: In the year 2000 $1.37 billion dollars was spent on romance novels. 37.2% of all popular books sold and 55.9% of popular paperbacks sold were romance novels in 2000. They even claim that 9% of romance readers are men!

“Impossible!”  you say. “Unfeasible! Irrealizable! Inconceivable!” you continue before I wrestle the thesaurus away from you. But it is true. It could be your girlfriend or your mother.  That guy who you think is going to the bathroom every five minutes to wank off could actually be in there—reading romance novels!