American Romance Manga

I just read the prettiest, sweetest book. It was a Harlequin Ginger Blossom manga, an adaptation of a Debbie Macomber novel that first appeared in the US as part of their Silhouette Romance series, their sweetest and least overtly sexy line of romances. Such sweetness and lack of sexual detail has become so unpopular in the United States that the decades-old Silhouette Romance was finally discontinued and collapsed into Harlequin Romance. At about the same time that Harlequin was facing up to this market rejection, it was experimenting with manga (comic book) versions of the same material. Harlequin has a strong worldwide translation and adaptation program, so it’s not surprising that in Japan, where comic books are big, Harlequin novels have been adapted as manga for many years. Because of Japanese laws and conventions regarding sexual expression, even the Harlequin titles that were very hot for their day, ones by Charlotte Lamb and Penny Jordan, for instance (that included the main characters having very passionate sex before marriage), were turned into sweeter versions that emphasized the romance over the sex. In Japan, these stories became manga aimed at young teenage (under 16) girls and up. Manga have become big stuff in the US for that same market, and the female-oriented manga is mostly imported from Japan. Very little of it originates from American writers, or from American romance writers either for that matter, although that is changing. But meanwhile, perhaps it’s not surprising that when Harlequin stuck its toe in the water by trying out manga in this country, it simply brought over reprints from Japan. It had an American comic book company, Dark Horse, oversee adapting the previously Japanized material back to English for an American readership. The result has fairly obviously been a commercial failure. These books are almost impossible to locate in physical bookstores or in comic book shops, although they can still be ordered online. No American-published Harlequin line of books is so obscure. Soon after they began, the publication schedule was slowed down, the price point was dropped, and then Harlequin took back the rights from Dark Horse and produced some on their own. Except that no new titles have come out since January 2007. The Ginger Blossom website was still up and running a few months ago, clearly aimed at young teenage girls, not at adult romance readers. And no new Harlequin Violet, the portion of the Ginger Blossom series that contained premarital sex, were published during Harlequin’s tenure of the line. Now, that same website has nothing to do with any Harlequin manga, and they can’t be ordered directly from eHarlequin. Maybe the line has not been officially pronounced dead, or maybe it has and so few people care that nobody heard about it. This is a shame. The American public is missing a delightful extra dimension to a romance reading experience. It probably takes a little getting used to that the entire comic book is printed in pink ink. (The more adult line, Harlequin Violet, is printed in purple ink to indicate passion.) This is common practice in Japan. And the stylized artwork, with the male model, boyish hero, and the very girlish, ultra-sweet looking heroine, also takes some getting used to. In this country we no longer look to comics to be pretty, yet girl-oriented manga are very pretty indeed. That’s at least half of their charm, the delicacy of the ink line, the smoothness of the finish to how each character is drawn. These are qualities that American comic books and comic strips used to have. The acme of American comic art was such newspaper strips as “The Heart of Juliet Jones” by Stan Drake and “Mary Perkins On Stage” by Leonard Starr. And let’s not forget “Steve Canyon,” and “Terry and the Pirates,” both adventure strips by Milton Caniff whose high gloss made them major American hits for decades. John Romita and Gene Colan in the comic books gave the same kind of attractive polish to their artwork, whether in superhero or romance comics. American girls are used to pretty, so that’s all right. They’re even used to excessive femininity. This generation of girls was raised in pink, and wore a lot of Disney princess outfits through the years. It’s the satori of an otherwise forward-looking culture that we tell girls they can be anything, but now as never before in recent years we raise girls to be girly. So it’s a little surprising that the Harlequin manga seem to have tanked. On the other hand, it’s usually a mistake to start a new anything with old material, and that’s essentially what Harlequin did. Harlequin did not adapt brand new stories that today’s romance novel readers in America are reading right now and might want to see in comic book format. The newest was several years old and the oldest were over 20 years old. Worse, Harlequin took previously created adaptations meant for a different culture. Stories that were out of style here. Passé. No longer the mainstream of romance excitement. It’s too bad. I enjoyed the way the Ginger Blossom manga softened some of the worst Harlequin excesses of domineering males and cowering females (a style of story that Harlequin itself has mostly dropped, even though their book titles often suggest it anyway). The light and airy, dreamy manga art style gave a sense of rightness to even the most preposterous plots. Like the one with the Greek tycoon who manages to go through a marriage ceremony with the heroine and whisk her off to a Greek isle--while she’s in a coma! This is the stuff of fantasy, and the manga art style is a great complement to such stories because it revels in the fantastic. I hope some other American publisher will try to adapt current romances and use this beautiful art style in the future. I like manga but Japanese imports are very limited in scope because the position of women in Japan is subservient and the Japanese have this whole schoolgirl thing going. I’d love to read comic book style romances about adult women in believable American situations. Wait a minute. That’s exactly what MyRomanceStory.com is all about. Okay, we’re good.

Older Woman, Younger Man?

Romances in which the woman is the older-and-wiser character are beginning to be more frequently seen. Sometimes a romance hero is a few years younger than the heroine. Or a lot of years younger. Whatever, in these romances the power in a relationship that is based on age alone is definitely on the woman’s side. This is a fantasy that writers are only starting to explore as women’s roles in our society have expanded. A woman who earns more than many men her age do, a scenario that has become typical in many urban areas today, might also be dating younger men. And she might not care too much about either disparity. But the men might care a lot. Articles have already appeared about the perils of unequal dating when it’s the woman who has the good job and can afford the expensive entertainments, and the man doesn’t. There even is advice dished out by psychologists on how to cope with unequal income situations in a marriage. But first we have to get to a marriage, both in real life and in romance fiction. Both men and women marry for the first time at older ages than they used to. (Maybe that’s because it takes so long to read the enormous bride magazines and plan a Bridezilla wedding?) Yet a high proportion of first marriages end in divorce. So both men and women are still looking for lifelong partners at far older ages than they used to. In fact, second marriages these days are entered into with about as much hope and naiveté (and as much pomp and expense) as first marriages used to be. Mirroring real life, a romance heroine who is in her thirties and has never married is no longer cast as a repressed virgin who sacrificed her one chance at love to fetch and carry for a selfish parent. Instead, the thirtyish heroine is usually sexually and emotionally experienced. Which again can mean a difference in the balance of power in a relationship with a younger man if he happens to have less sexual or emotional experience. Or even if those are equal, but she feels the pressure of her biological clock. A recent take on the age difference was Keanu Reeves playing a youngish doctor going after Diane Keaton’s definitely middle-aged woman in the movie “Something’s Gotta Give.” Their romance doesn’t deal with financial or childbearing issues. And he’s a doctor and she’s a playwright whom he admires, so their respective areas of career success are sufficiently separate not to cause friction. But alas, Keanu is actually just there to be an ego-soother, since Diane is in love with Jack Nicholson’s character, who is her age and more. Keanu bows out gracefully and the older two end up together. To tell the truth, I was far more attracted to Keanu’s character; he’s a romantic ideal. The prospect of sharing the last years of a sick old ex-roue’s life is not as romantically appealing as sharing the best years of a young and healthy one-woman-man’s life. On the other hand, it can be far more comfortable and intellectually stimulating to be with a contemporary, someone who experienced similar world events at the same age, and who faces the same future issues at the same time as you. Plus, there is a certain amount of triumph involved when the older woman lands the older man. Keaton’s character and Nicholson’s are well matched. But I was talking about couples whom at first glance seem ill-suited because the woman is older than the man. What do we think of real-life pairings such as the marriage of actors Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore? She’s 15 years older than he is and has three children, one of whom is only ten years younger that he is. Typical high-publicity Hollywood behavior today is serial relationships and relatively short marriages, so is their three-year marriage then already a success by celebrity standards? And should it be compared at all to the search for lifelong love that the general population and romance heroines and heroes engage in? And in romances at least, a relationship, however seemingly unequal, still is supposed to last a lifetime. That’s perhaps more of a fantasy today than ever before. But it’s still the prevailing fantasy. A situation in which the heroine is less than ten years older than the hero is treated as a throwaway these days, a phony issue that gives the heroine pause but is easily shrugged off. A few years’ difference isn’t important in a society that doesn’t draw an arbitrary line between what is a marriagable age for a woman and what is over the hill. Especially what is still attractive in a woman. We aren’t presenting teenage debutantes much anymore, and a grown woman who has a career is a valuable asset to a man. Another issue that used to plague the older woman-younger man situation and still does is fertility. But modern medicine has extended female fertility well into what used to be middle age. So a fortyish woman who meets a twentyish man might still be able to give him children, if they both want them and are at the family-building stage of life. Or a significant age disparity can be the major conflict of the novel, when the heroine is done with being a mom regardless of her ability to have more babies. I read a story like that a long time ago, but I haven’t seen a lot of mention of it since. It’s still rare in our society. But then, so are childless-by-choice couples who marry young. At its core, the older woman-younger man romance involves the idea that we aren’t all moving on the same time track and it’s okay to be different. Late blooming women still have a shot at a full life, and early blooming men can grab for the older and more interesting women they want. There is also the idea that life has more than one stage, and that new loves can be found in maturity, but I don’t think it is essential to an older woman-younger man pairing. Have any of these become a staple in romances? Not yet. And depending on population curves, they never may. But they are no longer taboo. One style of relationship that isn’t showing up in romances is the older-woman younger-man romance that mimics the real life scandals in which female teachers seduce their very young male pupils. It’s not yet an acceptable fantasy for women to take advantage of the youth and inexperience of boys. And thank goodness for that, because it’s major ick. Worse even than the classic older man-young girl ick that always does take advantage of an innocent, powerless girl. But let’s not end this on a low note. Here’s hoping that Ashton and Demi are happy and will remain so for long enough to be able to look back and say “That was a good marriage.” And that the next romance you read has a heroine who doesn’t obsess over her age and a hero who honors her for the life she has lived before she met him.

Men of Iron

Men of Iron is writer-illustrator Howard Pyle’s popular tale about the adventures of knights in shining armor. Originally published in 1891, it’s full of colorful detail about the 15th century English system of attaining knighthood, a lengthy and often bloody process. It also contains a romance. The hero, Myles Falworth, woos and eventually wins Lady Alice, a resident at the noble house where he spends many months going through squirehood to become a knight. A tale of knighthood just wouldn’t be the complete without a highborn lady to whom the hero can aspire. Flash forward to today, and there is “Iron Man,” the movie made from the comic book. Superheroes are modern knights. They follow an implicit code of honor that requires them to do good, and of course to rescue damsels in distress. And they have power beyond that of the ordinary man with which to accomplish their noble deeds. Spoilers ahead, but not big ones. I like movies in which things blow up. And I’m a longtime comics fan. So I went to see “Iron Man.” Lots of things blew up, which made me happy. But something else occurred that made me happier. Pepper Potts, the devoted secretary to Tony Stark, the billionaire industrialist, may or may not be secretly in love with him. And they do flirt once and almost kiss. But it goes no farther, and when Tony tries to build on it another day, Pepper shuts him down. This is so refreshing. In the comic books on which this movie was based, Pepper Potts has a very longstanding professional relationship with Tony Stark, but it does not move into romance right away. In fact, she first has a funny romance with the comical ex-boxer chauffeur, Happy Hogan. The movie was true to the character’s origin story in that respect. And it was true to the needs of romance, because there was a bit of wooing, but no bedding of the heroine. Yes, Tony Stark does have a cheap one-night stand with another woman, à la “Jerry Maguire.” He does have a playboy jerk reputation to uphold. Still, “Iron Man” was romantic, despite all the things blowing up (and crashing, and shattering, and so on). Romance is about the development of a relationship. In this movie, we see the beginning of one, and no more. We are left with something to look forward to. Contrast that with those old Batman movies in which sex is merely dessert after a first date. No romance. No development of a relationship. Very disappointing. A friend of mine said he was disappointed because in the almost-kiss scene Pepper is the one who moves in for the kiss. He felt it broke with the characterization. And he also believes that as two people who have forged a longtime work relationship, the sex issue would have been resolved long ago. I thought it was credible that Pepper could be confused fleetingly, and follow her instincts. Anyway, thank goodness, the scene ends without anything more happening. I got very ticked off at the Michael Keaton Batman movies in which women would appear and would immediately have sex with Bruce Wayne. It demeaned them. But then, those were mean-spirited movies. How else to explain the one in which women kept being thrown off buildings? Of course times have changed since Howard Pyle was writing about knighthood, and since it even existed as a system in one small country for a short period of time. Still, in various eras, knighthood in one form or another has captured people’s imagination. The Iron Man movie is yet another version of these traditional tales. And no tale of a knight in shining armor is complete without a ladylove to be wooed. I’m so glad that Pepper is there (in ridiculously high heels) upholding her part of the tradition.

Mother’s Day

It’s Mother’s Day. Restaurants are packed, because the very first thing on people’s minds is to relieve mothers of the classic burden of cooking for their families today. Yesterday and earlier this week, stores were packed with desperate shoppers trying to find a gift that in some way measures up to all their mothers have given to them. It can’t be done. Girls and women dream of romance and of having babies and having big, happy families. If all goes well, by bearing children they become a part of the historical stream of humanity that links us physically both to the ancient past and to the far future. Of all the celebrations throughout the year, some spiritual, some completely temporal, this day is special because it’s about endless love of the human variety. Women expect to love their babies. But when they actually meet them, they fall in love with them, which is a very different thing. And it is very necessary, because the demands of motherhood are tremendous. It is love, not duty, that gets mothers through it. I always dislike Mother’s Day greeting cards that start out talking about the mother, but end up talking about the child instead. It’s about your mother today, not you. Could you manage to say something about her? But of course it’s about this woman being your mother, not about her other life achievements. Thus we easily fall into the trap of celebrating our mothers by celebrating ourselves. I guess we’re trying to prove to her that all her hard work and sacrifice was worth it, because she created and nurtured a functional human being. But it’s hopeless to believe that taking her out to lunch once a year, or sending her a bouquet, will do that. My mother hated Mother’s Day and always refused to celebrate it. Full stop. She didn’t want cards, she didn’t want gifts, and she didn’t want flowers. She said and I quote, “You should be good to your mother every day of the year, not just on Mother’s Day.” She had lost her own mother to an epidemic at a very young age, and celebrating Mother’s Day initially just made her feel her lack of a mother. But later, when she was a mother herself, she believed that the job description was far too cannibalistic. Children should not eat up their mothers’ lives. Children should learn to be unselfish, to become part of a family that pulls together, instead of being lazy and demanding and making work and worry for their mothers. Guess which kind of child I was? Both, my mother insisted. And that’s the miracle of being a mother. You can see your children quite realistically, be annoyed by their youthful errors, and love them anyway. You always remember the first moment you met that baby, the total helplessness and purity of that child. And your own fierce determination to protect your baby from all the woes of life. It can’t be done, but as a mother you try. To the degree that you fail, you also have to acknowledge that life is not perfectible. You are not the perfect mother and your child is not the perfect child. But close. As a child, the embrace from your mother is the one embrace in the world that demands nothing and accepts all. It is both hope and tolerance. When we look for adult love, in part we are looking for that same kind of all-encompassing acceptance we found in our mother’s embrace. Sometimes, if we are lucky, we find it. Sometimes we don’t. For various reasons, some women don’t become mothers. And for some children, mothers are the treacherous enemy. It happens. Still, the impulses of motherhood can be replicated in situations that aren’t directly maternal, such as mentoring, or creating art, or any number of other achievements. But today we celebrate a classic womanly achievement. Since I do listen to my mother, I try to celebrate Mother’s Day every day. I hope you do, too.

Stop Pulling Punches

I know someone who has nothing better to do in the morning than read a lot of newspapers in the Internet and then e-mail his friends all the articles relating to our shared interest in comic books. These days, there are a ton of them (which is definitely a change from when I was a kid and comics were clearly considered trashy reading. Come to think of it, romances still are). Even a hint of a new movie about a Marvel or DC Comics superhero merits an e-mail. Plus, everything that is written about the new Indiana Jones movie, about the new James Bond movie, or about the next movies or TV shows featuring comic book characters gets forwarded. Most recently, this has meant that I have received more than a half-dozen e-mails alone on the superhero costume exhibit at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. Just how interesting can such an exhibit be? My friend says he thinks it is the novelty that there is a comic book costume exhibit at all in such an august establishment, one that is famous for having extensive collections of elaborate ancient Egyptian and Greek artifacts. I guess he’s got a point. But not only has he become a willing part of the viral hype machine, but sometimes he’s sending me articles with spoilers. And I don’t know they contain spoilers until I open them. Just yesterday there was one about somebody managing to crack the Spielberg-Lucas dread security on the new Indiana Jones movie, and reveal the plot. Why do I want to know the plot in advance, for gosh sakes? I don’t. I want there to be some surprises left by the time I get to the theater. Today I was reading an old manuscript evaluation I did for an author in which I advised her to stop pulling her punches. She’d reveal something dramatic at an undramatic moment in the story. And then at a dramatic moment she’d tell it all over again in the same detail. By then it was no surprise to the reader and thus the impact of the emotional confession was lost. As a romance reader (or a movie viewer), I want some surprises. Not a lot of surprises, that’s why I read genre novels. I want to have a guaranteed happy ending in a romance, for instance, or see the murderer brought to justice in a mystery. Is this too much to ask? But there are some people who like genre stories, but still want to check out the details in advance. I might read a back cover blurb describing a romance or a mystery. They read the last few pages of the book itself. I couldn’t do that. It would spoil all the surprises. Of course once I know who the heroine and hero are, the happy ending isn’t really a surprise. But I want to go down every emotional and plot path the author leads me on along the way to that happy ending. Thus for me, even seeing a promo for a new movie is a problem. I don’t want to know about every pratfall in the movie in advance. (And don't let me get started on how difficult it is not to get blindsided by spoilers regarding upcoming plot twists on "Lost," the enigmatic TV show. That's a whole other area of frustration.) I certainly don’t want a romance cover to give away plot details. I try to pick up books based on less information than is available. Because even when the author isn’t pulling her punches, the publicity machine is. As I read the romance, it might take many chapters and many thousands of words for the author to develop the key conflict of the story. But the person who writes the back cover blurb summarizes it in 250 words or less. And sometimes reveals major surprises in the plot, too. I hate when that happens. And it is not necessary. A book (or a movie) can be enticingly described without every single clever moment being detailed in advance. But increasingly, that’s exactly what movie trailers do. Sometimes I’ve seen trailers so lengthy that there appears to be no point in actually returning to see the movie. When I read reviews of the movie later, they refer to those moments and precious little else. So because the movie ads pulled the punches, I walk away informed and with no compulsion to see more. Book covers haven’t gotten this bad, thank goodness. But inept amateur book reviewers make this mistake. There are a lot of romance reviews available on the Internet today, and most of them are poorly written. They usually detail the plot, when what they should do is allude to it and then critique the author’s execution of it. But then these reviews are also driven by the typical genre reader’s desire to read a certain kind of story. So the reviewers, by describing exactly what happens, do actually give the reader what she wants, a blueprint of the plot that reassures her that this is the kind of story she’ll want to read. Still, all these reviews and promotional trailers are kind of like somebody chewing my meat for me. The result of too many pulled punches is lack of tang.