I See London, But Not So Much of France
Historical Romance Novels, Escapism, and Political Unrest.
Dear Reader,
There’s a story, often told, about a little girl finding her mother’s stash of romance novels and getting hooked for life. This is how many romance readers are made. I was not that little girl. The only book of my mom’s that I remember finding and reading as a kid was Gilda Radner’s memoir (and yes, I was hooked for life). As an adult, I’ve always liked funny contemporary romances, and I don’t remember any particular one that made me a romance reader. But I only started reading historical romances a few years ago when Shonda Rhimes, who I trust implicitly, showed me the way. My first—and perhaps the first for many historical romance readers—was The Duke and I by Julia Quinn. Once I started, I couldn’t put that book down. I sat in my chair and smiled the whole time I was reading it. If you’ve never read a historical romance novel, then it is truly the perfect starting point. The kind of book that can make you a fan.
Because that’s the thing about reading something different—what if you pick the wrong one and don’t like it? And because there are so many historical romances—not to be confused with historical fiction, which is different—I had no idea where to start. The release of Bridgerton gave me the perfect reason to read a historical romance and the perfect starting point. As a reader, there is no feeling like finding a new genre in which to devour. Anyway, I’ve been into historical romances ever since—not only as something to read, but as a fascinating cultural phenomenon as well.
The romance genre is about escapism. The stories are largely nonviolent. Everything works out great in the end. Love wins. Even in the realism subgenres, there is fantasy. Sometimes it’s a twenty-something copywriter with a penthouse apartment and a new car; sometimes it’s a ridiculously high number of dukes per capita. It’s not a romance novel if it doesn’t end happily ever after or happy for now. One of my favorite aspects of historical romances in particular is they recast history in a fun way that centers on female concerns.
Of course, there have been pulp fiction and romances written and read all over the world since the invention of the printing press. But what’s interesting to me is how the genre as we define it today is written largely by American women in the fashion of one British one: Jane Austen.
Jane Austen’s books are so good and continue to inspire writers today. There isn’t a French version of her, at least not one whose work has been translated and persists today. Because the language barrier is another reason. If American women are writing most of the romances, it’s safe to say most of them only know English. And therefore there isn’t a large body of work from any other writers or countries to read and draw from, so Regency and Victorian-era romances (the most popular historical romance subgenres) perpetuate. The world already exists, and so creating it on the page is that much easier.
What’s also kind of cool is that the Anglophile nature of the genre also relates to the political climate of the setting. The Regency and Victorian eras are popular because these were peaceful times in Britain. And because of Queen Victoria, the era was also inherently feminist in a way that Napoleonic France or early 1800s America, for example, weren’t. While the British were drinking tea in quiet civilization, America had slavery and France had political unrest, neither of which lends itself so easily to escapism.
I love Jane Austen, but the Anglophile in me is considerably smaller than the Francophile. So I started looking for historical romances set in France, which was how I realized just how Anglocentric the genre is. I have not been there to fully investigate for myself, for example, but I’ve read that France doesn’t even really have a romance genre the way we define it. So does this mean that the French don’t write or read romances unless they’re translated from English? Fascinating. Although France—especially Paris—is a very popular setting in other genres, it’s not a popular setting in historical romance.
I also have a theory warming up about French women being harder for us to write. Strict social codes about purity and a woman’s reputation are part of what make many historical romances work. Two people are caught in a compromising situation and forced to marry, for example. So what kind of reputation do French women have? Perhaps not one that fits so easily into our tropes.
They intimidate us, don’t they? They’re sexier. Thinner. Effortlessly fashionable. And French culture has a reputation for hedonism. Adultery is coincidentally one of the few situations that romance readers agree is off-limits and unredeemable. And I have read ten books so far this year. Only one of them was particularly French. Without counting that book, and without even trying, I found references to French women in two others.
In Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas, which takes place in 1840s London, there’s a scene where the heroine and hero are discussing whether or not it’s appropriate for women to play billiards, and they have this little exchange:
“‘They do in France.’
‘From what Annabelle says,’ Evie said, ‘women do many things in France that they don’t do here.’
‘Yes. A very forward-thinking race, the French. Whereas we English tend to view pleasure with deep suspicion.’”
And in Edith Wharton’s The Custom of the Country, which is set primarily in early 1900s New York and Paris, there’s a scene where the protagonist and her friend are gossiping about a mutual acquaintance who believes that divorce is vulgar.
“‘Vulgar?’ Indiana flamed. ‘If that isn’t just too much. A woman who’s in love with another woman’s husband? What does she think refined, I’d like to know? Having a lover, I suppose—like the women in these nasty French plays. I’ve told Mr. Rolliver I won’t go to the theatre with him again in Paris—it’s utterly too low. And the swell society’s just as bad; it’s simply rotten. Thank goodness I was brought up in a place where there’s some sense of decency left.’”
The French are not all slutty hedonists. But they are different. The puritanical moral codes that command so many historical romance plots didn’t rule the day in France. And because we don’t have a French version of Jane Austen or a body of work by her imitators, it’s maybe easier for romance authors to imagine life from the perspective of a British character than a French one.
Closer to the twentieth century, technological advancements made traveling across the Atlantic less arduous. America was more established, and lots of people had money. The Gilded Age in the United States corresponds with the Belle Epoque in France, a time of wealth and relative political stability for both countries. This is one of my favorite settings to read about. And it was when the American in Paris trope was born. If it weren’t for Henry James, we probably wouldn’t have Emily in Paris, but that’s another essay.
In any case, if, like me, you love reading a historical romance novel set in France, Joanna Bourne’s romantic suspense novels are the classics. The Forbidden Rose is set during the reign of terror, and let me tell you, the guillotine dropping in the background definitely adds some suspense! Another in the same series, The Spymaster’s Lady, takes place during Napoleon’s wars. I haven’t read this one yet. I also recently learned that Loretta Chase has a series about French dressmakers, and Shana Galen has a series set in Revolutionary France, both of which I found on Kindle. Amanda McCabe writes historical romances set in France. My favorite is her most recent one, An Manhattan Heiress in Paris, about two American musicians who come to Paris in the 1920s and flourish. Adriana Herrera’s Las Leonas series is about Caribbean women who travel to Paris for the Exposition Universelle in 1889. There are two books so far in the series, and I hope she writes more because the setting she creates—Paris, filled with people from all over the world—is so perfect.
The romance genre is purposefully light entertainment. It doesn’t take itself too seriously. But like any story, romance novels can reflect society’s morals and reveal our obsessions (Hello, Mr. Darcy!). And even if I have to search for ones set in my beloved France, the fact that the historical romance genre revolves around Jane Austen is so great because it represents a long, direct line of women making money by writing about women’s lives.
Happy Valentine’s Day, friends.
Melinda
P.S. I wrote a historical romance novel set in France! Telling you about it like this increases the chances that it will see the light of day.