Uncreated Conscience

Last night, in a fit of insomnia, I rewatched most of Nostalgia Chick‘s videos, which probably isn’t the most helpful in getting the brain to shut off, because I spent more time thinking about the questions she brings up than trying to get back to sleep.

If you aren’t familiar with Nostalgia Chick, I suggest you all remedy this immediately, especially if you were born between the years of 1980 and 1990. She is the Distaff Counterpart to the Nostalgia Critic, who examines the media of our formative years (e.g. Transformers, Animaniacs, etc.) without the rosy-colored nostalgia glasses.

Of course, I’m fonder of the Nostalgia Chick (who doesn’t update often enough, grrr!) because she tends to analyse and ask questions from a feminist perspective. In the video I posted, the Nostalgia Chick looks at several cartoons from the late 80s and early 90s and ends with a very, very important question: why is it that we believe that everyone can relate to a male protagonist, but only females can relate to female protagonists?

To that end, why is it that when a girl is awesome, she’s labeled a “strong female character” and not a “strong character” period? Or worse, why is it that the notion of a “strong female character” necessarily requires that she be “kickass” or “strong in a typical masculine fashion”?

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This book transformed me in so many ways.

I’ve been pondering about YA these days, mostly because I’m at the point where I just can’t read another one. Why? I’m not sure. I have been nothing but staunch in my support of children’s fiction, but lately it’s been like pulling teeth to get me to crack one open. Like anything that’s popular, oversaturation in the market can lead to a diluting of genre, but I don’t think that’s it. I never read YA because it was trendy; I read YA because I have always loved it.

Perhaps I am fond of YA because it was the age when I first became transformed by reading, but then again, maybe I’m remembering it wrong. I don’t remember any particular age when I wasn’t reading for pleasure; after all, I was the sort of child my parents had to remind to “put the book away at the dinner table, please” and “for heaven’s sake, stop reading in the car; you know it makes you sick!”

In college, when reading had become both a joy and an agony (reading JANE EYRE for the millionth time? Yay! Slogging through CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER? Nay!), I returned to the books I had loved and cherished as a child for comfort. It wasn’t that they were all children’s books–my copy of LE FANTÔME DE L’OPERA is pretty much destroyed from being read so often–but they were familiar stories, something in which I could take unalloyed pleasure without having to worry overmuch about critical analysis. (I do subject everything I read to critical analysis–the English major, she is hard to turn off.) I think a large part of my affection is colored by nostalgia.

But recently I’ve been troubled by a sense of disconnect in my YA reading; that is, what I held dear about children’s fiction is missing from most of the YA I see now. Warning: Mostly my musings beneath the cut. May offend or infuriate some. Or not. Just my thoughts, people, no judgment.

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This seal is pleased. So am I.

And I’m back! Seriously, looking at my blog was starting to make me feel guilty. It was looking at me with beseeching eyes, wondering if I still loved it anymore. (Or maybe that was the baby harp seal.) I do, I do! I do still love you! It’s just…a lot of work to maintain this relationship.

Anyway, a while back, I wrote a post on what constitutes dealbreakers for me in fiction. This is the flip side of it: what makes me fall head over heels in love with a book. I’m pretty flexible, really, when it comes to loving books. I mean, they’re books; I’m already predisposed to liking them. But if they have any of the following, the chances of me calling them for a second date increase exponentially. (What is it with me and dating metaphors?)

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This seal does not want. I do not want either.

This is going to be one of those personal opinions posts that I’m sure will probably enrage a lot of people, but lately I’ve been getting a little frustrated with my reading, both for work and pleasure, so I’m going to make a very general, very broad statement.

I can’t stand books that have FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS.

You know the sort, I’m sure. Books are about That Hot Guy! And This Ordinary Girl! Who Fall in Love! And it is Tormented and Be-Obstacled (me and Sarah Palin–who’s apparently the new Shakespeare–makin’ up words) with so much Conflict (internal or external) that I must know if they get together by the end!

Seriously, it’s gotten so bad lately that the instant any hint of FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS crosses the page, I drop it like I’ve just been burned. And I have been burned. Figuratively.

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So previously this week I’ve discussed real characters with real flaws and convincing antagonists. I thought I’d tackle the subject of romance and characters falling in love. Now, romance is a little tricky because what floats my boat might sink your ship, but I think we could all agree that a really well-executed romance between two (or more or whatever) really well-developed characters is pretty satisfying.

I love you so much. Once again, photo credit to Color Me Katie.

I am, at heart, a total romantic (or as Wicked Cool Riley says, I have a strong inner Marianne Dashwood). I love love stories! I love closing a book and feeling the little fluttery butterflies in my stomach that signal a really great romance. I’m such a girl, aren’t I?

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Beyond Heaving Bosoms by the Smart Bitches

Last night I was rereading the Smart Bitches‘ BEYOND HEAVING BOSOMS because I was in the mood for nonfiction and a few laughs. I cannot recommend this book enough to people for their interesting and well-read insights on the genre, as well as their snarky-yet-intelligent examination of romance, feminism, and fiction.

The other reason I reread was to reassure myself I wasn’t alone.

Alone in what, you ask? You don’t even read romance! True, but tropes that occur in romance novels also occur in romantic storylines and I just wanted to make sure other women found the overbearing alpha male just as obnoxious as I do. Okay, so maybe no one else finds the alpha as obnoxious as I do, but it’s gratifying to know that THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE who find this hero problematic.

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One of the most iconic Bad Boys ever.

I’ve never been a fan of the Bad Boy in fiction, but lately I’ve become even more fed up with him. Mostly because he swaggers onto the page and expects me to find him sexy by virtue of the fact that he’s “bad”. Or something. Maybe “mysterious”?

What is it that’s so appealing about the Bad Boy that he now seems to be the default romantic hero? Tell me, because I would really like to know what it is that people love about him. Admittedly I’m not his type because if I ever fell for a boy in high school, it was the Class Clown. (But since I went to an all-girls prep school, the point is moot.) I like a man who can make me laugh.

I understand (I think) why the Bad Boy is appealing on an archetypal level. Danger is sexy. It is; I’m not gonna lie. Mystery is intriguing. I get that because I’m susceptible to those charms. I have an, um, inappropriate crush on Benjamin Linus (I’m…working on it.) Han Solo has my space-pirate-rogue-lovin’ heart forever. I adore Edward Fairfax Rochester and his manipulative, dickish, bigamist ways! So why do most Bad Boys turn me off?

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Me and Bear and White-Harp.

Thsee days I seem to be on a romance/feminist kick, so why not continue in that vein today?

Lately in my leisure time, I’ve been coming upon some incredible reading fatigue. This is pretty rare for me (and somewhat fatal in this business) as, like Hannah Green in WONDERBOYS, I read all the time because it’s compulsive. I’ll read the nutrition panels of cereal boxes at the breakfast table, the ingredients of shampoo bottles in the shower, the backs of people’s newspapers on the subway, etc. More and more I’ve been turning to comfort rereads instead of actively searching for something new and this is a bit troubling.

What do I want in a book? I want really wonderful, three-dimensional female characters, a great story, and a great romance. A lot of books I read deliver on two of the three, but rarely on all points. Many books deliver on a great story, but it’s where ladies and love are concerned that I’m feeling a certain wariness.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about romance lately, for no particular reason, but partly due to the fact that I have a strange relationship with the romance genre. I adore love stories, admire the readership, but have not yet read a romance novel I’ve liked. In fact, I haven’t read too many love stories I’ve liked either.

Photo credit to Color Me Katie, whose blog you should all put on your readers immediately.

I am, at heart, an incurable romantic, although it may not be very obvious to those who don’t know me well. I am moved to emotion quite easily and often cry at movies. You wouldn’t believe how much I SOBBED during Wall·E. SOBBED. And the first 10 minutes of Up. Hell, I think every Pixar film has made me cry at some point. But I digress.

I’m less sentimental when it comes to books, but it’s not like they won’t bring tears to my eyes. It’s just that I think it’s a little harder to portray earnest emotion with words than in images. Not impossible, but it’s harder for me to buy it.

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Because I am sappy and because I have the most adorable Teddy Bear in the world who needs to be told he’s loved with similar levels of cuteness.

I love you, Teddy Bear.