The first time I read a Historical Romance novel, I had a weird reaction. I was late to the party so I must have been in my early twenties. Until that point, I had only explored contemporary fiction and romance — I really loved chic lit!
A friend was getting rid of her books and gave me a few new ones to try. Because of the book covers 🙄🙄🙄 I thought there was no chance in hell that I would enjoy them… except I did. There was something about the way the writing appealed to my fantasies… the phrases the characters used and the tenderness with which they expressed the simple desire to connect. I found that with historical romance, I was rooting for the couples to find each other, to resolve their conflicts, and to agree to let each other in…
Now if you’ve read these books, they’re very formulaic. They focus on the couples meeting, loving, conflict, then resolution of this conflict, and at last a satisfying or happy ending (usually they marry because this is often the goal). I didn’t expect to like this formula, but over time, I have relished and looked forward to discovering how these characters love, what makes them clash (and there’s a whole range of conflicts, I have found), and what makes them have faith that to love is to forgive, compromise, fight for the opportunity, etc., etc., etc.
For some reason this quest for love, in this particular format, also moves me the most. It is not unusual for me to feel sad when the couples fight or have my heart skip a beat when there is, at last, a confession of love. I am often frustrated when they just can’t get it together… all the near misses and unvoiced longings prolong the time to the confession and this is, of course, a highlight in this journey! So yeah… I am often very, very, invested.
Secretly too, if I have a love interest, I often think of them in these moments. My heart sighs with longing even as these characters move along their story line. I never would have thought that I can identify with the characters in these kind of books… but I guess the desire to be wanted and loved is “universal” in that sense. Maybe that’s really why I love all forms of romance.
In any case, reading a historical romance is today, one of the highest forms of indulgence for me. I savor and slow down the reading… only two to five pages at a time. I look forward to the next stage of conversation and to lovers finding love.
That’s not all. When I finish the book, if it’s not a Kindle purchase, I will lovingly shelf the copy and note the emotions I felt carefully. And then on a slow dusk evening or lonely day or weepy weather day, I will pull it back out and jump back to the places that made me feel, and reprise the emotions.
I love romance novels because of the possibilities, the words, and the tenderness they capture. It’s like a delightful box of written surprises.
Let me get back to my latest one… About a certain maidenly aunt and her beau, both in their fifties and looking at a second chance at love. I am about half way in… *Sigh* …
I have a silent ember of longing too… I need to feel the promise of finding true love for me. (I could also write a historical romance, too, huh?)… Let me see what side of hope they will push me towards.