Last week, my Ethics and Fiction class (syllabus here) read Bet Me. I had prepared students the week before by assigning a chapter of Joanne Hollows (which I blogged about in 2009), and adding my own commentary and critique on the genre. I thought I’d share (with their permission) some of their reactions and some of my reactions to their reactions. Pardon me in advance for the scattershot nature of this post.
Long time readers might recall that the last time I taught this class, I attempted to teach Patricia Gaffney’s To Have and To Hold. It was a bit of a disaster. I wrote a post about it here. This time around, I deliberately chose a novel that might prove less strange, thanks to its contemporary setting and the “romcom” feel, and also because it more obviously thwarts some of the stereotypes of romance novels featured in the Hollows reading.
The class is an advanced undergrad course, crosslisted in English and Philosophy. Almost everyone in it was either a philosophy major, English major or both. Most of the students are avid readers, and many are creative writers as well. I had six women, two of whom dropped the course midsemester, and about ten men. It was a terrific semester with this group, overall.
In terms of liking Bet Me, there was a clear gender correlation at the extremes, but not for the majority of the group. That is, the two who liked it the most, and plan to read more Crusie or more romance fiction, were women, and the two who really hated it were men. The rest were mixed.
Teaching romance fiction, especially when it is just one item on a syllabus of literary fiction, is like teaching uphill. It reminds me a little bit of teaching feminist theory as part of an ethics class as opposed to a course in feminist theory. That is, unlike virtually every other text we have read this semester, students have already passed negative judgment on the book prior to opening it, and may not be as open to seeing good writing, deft plotting, or compelling characterization when it’s there. Even when they do see something aesthetically worthwhile, it has to come up through the haze of criticism, as when one student said that “despite the romance novel’s strict guidelines, good writing can shine through.” Surprisingly, at least one student’s dislike of romance novels came directly from a rather intense dislike of romantic films.
This is a very smart group, and in most cases their criticisms were backed up with textual evidence, as in the criticism of Cynthie, the hero’s psychologist ex-girlfriend, and David, the heroine’s ex-boyfriend, as shallow characters. These two came in for almost universal condemnation in my class as cardboard plot-movers. On the other hand, a student noted both that Crusie did not seem to simply dismiss out of hand Cynthie’s “psychological” approach to love, since Cynthie functioned as a kind of Greek chorus for the development of Cal and Min’s relationship, and also that there is a long history in literature of “hilariously ineffectual” antagonists. Other students noted that Cynthie is a foil for Min: they both start out seeing relationships in terms of their respective professions, but Min grows out of that and Cynthie doesn’t.
At times, however, the criticism seemed more based on expectations than what was in the text. It also tended to be framed as a critique of the genre, despite the fact that the student would, at the same time, protest this was the first, last and only romance novel s/he would ever read. I tried to keep us textually based, and tried to contrast the ease with which some students critiqued the entire romance genre, with the reluctance with which they had criticized other novels earlier in the semester. It occurred to me that next time I might have students read two shorter romances, but completely different ones, to short circuit this tendency.
Several students lamented the lack of gravity in the novel. They felt, not that the novel had to end tragically, but that more had to be at stake, in order to make it a great novel. They noted that the one time David’s hijinks actually work to pry Min and Cal apart, after Min’s sister’s disaster of a non-wedding, Cal goes home and his next door neighbor, Shanna, explains to him (correctly) exactly what happened why it happened, and what he must do to fix it. Cal believes her almost instantaneously, so there is never any real danger to the relationship. To give another concrete example, one student a female, noted the discussion about “fairy tales” Min had with her best friend Bonnie after The Black Moment was “kind of lame… I mean, she wants to be a soccer mom. You can have anything you want, and this is all you want?” Along these lines, one student lamented that “people would rather read a predictable ‘feel good’ story than a piece of writing that tries to say something new or expands on an idea.” Another referred to Bet Me in terms from an earlier essay, as an “emotional pep pill.”
Many students expressed dislike of the “lack of realism” in the novel. Looking back at my Gaffney post, I see this was a major issue for my students in 2009, and I hereby berate myself for not being more prepared for it. Among the unrealistic elements of the novel are (a) coincidences (too many to mention, but the one where Cal and Min end up together at the same late night showing of a film was singled out for special criticism, as well as Cal finding Min’s missing snow globe), (b) the feral cat that bonds to Min, attacks David, and bonds to Cal, while also knowing how to turn on the stereo and play Elvis tunes, (c) the sex (one set of fireworks was ok, but every single time they kiss? As one student put it, “no one’s success rate is that high.”)
One particular student happened to be wearing an Iron Man t-shirt as he criticized the lack of realism in the novel. I could not help but point this out. He, and some others, responded that (a) the Marvel universe is more realistic than a romance novel, especially the character interactions and dialogue, and (b) the stakes are so much higher in Marvel that the lack of realism is not as bad. I didn’t push them on it, but I was not convinced.
A couple of students deliberately read Bet Me through the lens of the fantasy genre. As one student put it, “Fantasy novels deal with our fantasies about adventure and magic, about slaying dragons and freeing kingdoms. Romance novels, from reading Bet Me, seem to deal with fantasies of the heart. They are almost as unrealistic, but also almost as harmless.” Another said, “The breakthrough for me was comparing it to the fantasy genre I love.”
Of the students who were complimentary, several said things along the lines of “this is not a romance novel.” Since I had given them three definitions of the romance novel the prior week (Cawelti, RWA, and Regis), any of which work for this novel, I found this type of comment surprising. What they were saying, I think, is that it was not what they expected. In particular, Min, being self-sufficient, smart, perhaps stronger than Cal, resistant (at first) to his charms, and determinedly child-free, surprised them. They also expected a “hot girl falling for a hot babe” narrative. One student said that the novel is “teaching girls to be unique”, while another said Crusie’s target audience is “people who feel marginalized by social image of the ideal woman.”
One thing that really took me by surprise was how much the students enjoyed the scenes with Cal’s family, and even Min’s to some extent. I always learn from my students, and I learned this time that Cal’s relationship with Bink was very important as it provided a counter-narrative to Cynthie’s explanation of his tendency to serially date. Students also really enjoyed the dinner scene at Cal’s house. For my part, I tend to find the parental dinner scenes, in this book, and in other Crusie novels like Strange Bedpersons, completely “unrealistic” set pieces Designed to Do Something. But my students really preferred the second half of the novel, and the development of Cal’s character.
There was universal agreement that Cal grew as a person, but the class was more mixed about Min. One student felt that Min was objectified, and ended up objectifying herself, for example, wearing the red lace her mother bought her when she first kissed Cal. Rather than seeing Cal’s attraction to Min as a triumph, this (male) student felt that Cal was constantly objectifying Min, and teaching her to objectify herself, conforming to her mother’s expectation that she dress up more to attract a handsome man and get married. We had a good long discussion about this point. On the issue of Min’s weight, some students (female) strongly identified with it, while others (male and female) felt that Min’s fat was fetishized in a way that made them uncomfortable. The scene at the picnic when Min exchanges bites of a Krispy Kreme donut for Cal’s lips, saying “more”, was singled out in this context. Another student wondered whether Min’s character arc had to be shorter because Crusie didn’t want to conform to stereotypes of the genre and start with a weak heroine.
Several students noted the high level of genre savviness of the characters. They introduced me to a term, lampshading, defined here by Tv Tropes:
Lampshade Hanging is the writers’ trick of dealing with any element of the story that threatens the audience’s willing suspension of disbelief — whether a very implausible plot development, or a particularly blatant use of a trope — by calling attention to it… and then moving on. In simple terms – the author points out the improbable subject through some medium (character, passerby, narration, etc.) and says it exists regardless of logic. The reason for this counter-intuitive strategy is two-fold. First, it assures the audience that the author is aware of the implausible plot development that just happened, and that they aren’t trying to slip something past the audience. Second, it assures the audience that the world of the story is like Real Life: what’s implausible for you or me is just as implausible for these characters, and just as likely to provoke an incredulous response.
Min and Cal’s dialogue after the lights come up and they find themselves in the same theater, Cal finding Min’s missing snow globe, and in general secondary characters’ tendency to say exactly what the reader might be thinking about the improbable events unfolding, are examples. In other cases, we had Playing with Tropes, such as the Discussed Trope, as when the Cinderella story is discussed.
Overall, I was really delighted with our class discussions, and felt students had a lot of interesting things to say about Bet Me. Some things I haven’t even had time to mention are the ethics concerns over the bet, and over Cynthie’s determination to write about her relationship with Cal. I think this worked much better than the Gaffney and will likely use it again next year.
There’s lots more I could say, but this post is already too long. One last comment I wanted to make about the discussion, and the class in general, was the way Twilight, the books and films, hung over the course. At one point I jokingly banned Twilight references. I may have to assign that one next time, too, just to get it out of everyone’s system. I’m kidding. Sort of.
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Interesting. I’ve never had a problem with the way weight is approached in Bet Me. Is Crusie really fetishizing Min’s weight, or is it that *any* positive portrayal of fat in our super weight conscious society is interpreted as fetish? Were there positive portrayals of overweight characters in any of the literary novels read this semester? If so, did you get similar reactions?
Interesting post! Thanks for sharing. And I hadn’t seen the term lampshading before.
The first thing that struck me (besides that I always enjoy your teaching posts and would happily read longer) is that I am pretty sure I have never had a class where men outnumbered women. It is not unusual for me now to have a class of 35 with maybe 5 male students (my college is about 60% female). In 2nd year, with 15-20 students, I often have only a couple of guys. I’m just imagining how differently I could/would need to approach some of the things I do if that were reversed.
I remember you talking about the realism question on Twitter. I wonder if your students bring the same expectation to literary fiction (that is, if they see lack of realism there as a “problem”). When this kind of question comes up I point out that high realist fiction (e.g. a George Eliot novel) often has “unrealistic” plot elements–missing wills, lost heirs, improbable conincidences. The effect of realism in 19th-century novels relies in part on the omniscient narrator, whose comments on characters’ interior lives create a sense of psychological depth and plausibility. But that’s a totally unrealistic technique (who is this narrator who can peer into everyone’s head?). Sometimes making those points can move us past realism=good, which is a pretty ridiculous position to take on literature, anyway.
Really interesting, Jessica. I would have liked to hear about the discussion on the ethics of the actual bet, as it’s a trope that can really backfire in romance. My feeling is that, as in any form of fiction (including movies and TV) the audience/reader will forgive certain things (e.g. coincidences, plot implausibilities) if the writer provides them with enough in return. It’s a kind of unwritten contract. The reader/audience says, “You give me a great story (breathtaking suspense, laugh-out-loud humor,razor-sharp insights, or whatever they’re looking for) and I’ll overlook some of the things you had to do to make it all happen.” If the story isn’t good enough, then the reader feels that the contract has broken down.
I clicked through to your previous post on teaching the Patrica Gaffney book. Your point there, about happy endings being the author’s choice to stop at a high point in life’s journey instead of a low one, is one I so agree with, and used myself in my women’s fiction novel CAFE DU JOUR.
The “lack of realism” problem is one of the biggest reasons I avoid straight contemporary romance. If I’m going to go contemporary, then I prefer to read suspense or erotica. Otherwise, I prefer historical romance. The irony is that of all of these, contemporary romance is the most true to life.
But fiction is inherently fantastical. Well, it’s fiction. And in romance, the main characters aren’t just protagonists, they’re heroes. So it’s not really supposed to be realistic. It could be, but that’s not the point – romance is inherently a fantasy. I think that when it’s contemporary, the fantasy aspect is really driven home to us. At least when we’re dealing in historicals or science fiction romance, it’s easier to suspend disbelief about convenient coincidences. With contemporary, since we live in this world, each unlikely even is glaring.
I wonder what a critical group such as that would think of something like Sherry Thomas’ Private Arrangements or LaVyrle Spencer’s Morning Glory. They still are romances, well, maybe Morning Glory is more like romance fiction, but it’s a romance to me, but they don’t feel like genre romance in the way that Crusie does.
I’m so glad this book work, especially since, if I recall, I was the one who suggested it.
I am fascinated by the comment that it didn’t seem like there was enough at stake in the book, but there is more at stake in the comic book world. This is a comment I want to gnaw on for a bit. My first gut reaction was, what could be more important than finding your life partner? But then I thought about criticisms of women for putting romantic relationships as a priority over work. Then I thought about how the personal is political, and how so much of women’s happiness depends on finding the right life partner (over on another blog where we regularly discuss working mom issues, we talk about how important it is to have a partner who truly shares in child rearing and housework, for example).
Not sure where I’m going with this, except off the computer to go do some grading.
Thanks for posting this!
I find it funny that some berated Bet Me for a lack of realism while others championed comic books as having higher stakes. How often in our reality do our actions have a direct impact on thwarting a super villain bent on world domination/destruction? Ultimately we are all selfish creatures and the highest stakes of all relate to our personal happiness and comfort and well being. Even in comic books the most heart-wrenching moments relate to personal loss/personal relationships (I don’t think anyone reading the Dark Phoenix saga in XMen felt more grief at the loss of an entire planet than at the deeply personal losses experienced by friends and lovers having to face the changes to Jean Grey). In the Iron Man comics it was often Tony Stark’s battles with alcoholism and betrayal from close friends that drove the hearts of the stories. The “high stakes” exist as a framework in the best comics and serve as counter-point and metaphor for the real struggles which are personal in nature. Now, I have to go take a shower and drink some coffee and since I wrote this comment prior to doing either please forgive any lack of coherence!
I’m also struck by the desire for a story to convey the gravity of whatever hangs in the balance. Finding “true love” might seem inconsequential to coeds, but I recall being enthralled by all forms of romance at a much younger age. So I don’t think it’s romance per se that’s at stake, but love/companionship/acceptance vs. loneliness/self-alienation. Ironically, that’s the theme in a lot of lit fic novels, only it’s the loneliness and alienation that win out.
I wonder if your students haven’t experienced a lot of loneliness or alienation (good for them if they haven’t), or is it more likely that they haven’t figured out yet that it’s a real thing to be struggled with, both in and outside of intimate relationships?
I just think it’s The Awesome that you teach about romance novels on occasion. I just love that you help legitimatize the genre.
I did get a kick for some reason out of this section of your post:
@Becky:
I’ll take option 2!
@Jorrie Spencer: Me neither. Those crazy kids. Always teaching me something!
@Liz Mc2:
Thanks for these suggestions. In class, I *did* point out that nobody had a problem with “unrealistic” elements in the literary fiction we had read this semester (Dorian Gray’s portrait being one obvious example, but his tendency to run into exactly who he needed to run into to get the plot moving was another). I think directly investigating the question you post at the end: why is realism — whatever it is — a good measure of quality in fiction — is something I will try next time.
@Lilian Darcy:
I agree with you. I think part of the issue here is that many readers went into the book unwilling to forgive anything, so negative was their impression of the genre. I almost wonder if I should stick the romance in the middle of the syllabus, unlabeled as such, and see what happens.
@Wendy:
I know…that was my reaction too, to question why some students did not think finding a partner was a significant journey in anyone’s life. But I remember how I felt at age 20: I was never going to have kids, wasn’t going to marry until 40, if ever, very focused on my love for philosophy, on my love of music, and my friends. I also felt like a bit of a noncomformist (I wasn’t) and was horrified at the thought that I’d end up married, with kids, bringing them to soccer practice, working some typical job, living in a middle class neighborhood. Today, at 42, I find those are my greatest accomplishments in life.
And thank you very much for suggesting this one. I think it worked really well.
@pamelia:
God, if this is how brilliant you are before coffee, I quake in the face of your intellect after some caffeine! This is so true! Perfect examples. Thank you.
@Magdalen:
This is a great point. It was funny… at one point I had a female student, who really enjoys romance novels, say that they are just fantasy, and nobody has a real HEA. It was the six men on the other side of the room who loudly protested.
As for not experiencing alienation, I am not sure. More and more, my students are open about their battles with a lot of different forms of mental illness, so I definitely think some may have experienced at least alienation relating to, for example, depression. But it’s a good point that it might not just be age, and that many people enjoy romantic narratives at an early age.
@KristieJ: I love it. I managed to work a Harlequin Presents into Contemporary Moral Problems this semester too! The real challenge will be getting a romance novel worked into my feminist theory course in the spring, lol.
I found Northrop Frye very useful for addressing the question of realism in fiction (as you may have noticed by now, if you’ve had a chance to read Chapter 1 of For Love and Money).
@Amber:
Amber, I’m sorry I missed your comment in my response above. This is a really interesting analysis of what’s going on, that the demand for realism is greater when we know the world being portrayed.
I don’t know what they’d think of Sherry Thomas, but she’s one of my favorite romance novelists, so any excuse to use her books would be welcome.
[...] on to the question of reading romance fiction in a generous spirit. Jessica of Read React Review read Jennifer Crusie’s Bet Me with her Ethics and Fiction class, and remarked that “many readers went into the book unwilling to forgive anything, so [...]
Thx for a fascinating post Jessica. I noted that one of your students thought that the fairy tale to be a ‘soccer mom’ was inadequate. “is that all she wants?” I’d say that for some people the answer is yes. I’m pretty sure you probably thought that too but it struck me when I was reading. Just because it wasn’t enough for the student in question doesn’t mean it has no value. It made sense in the context of the book and the character, at least, to me.