Destiny’s Destination

Since we’re on the subject of books . . .

When we moved into this villa, the furnishings included more than a few pulpy paperbacks, with terrible titles  and thin plots.  I ignored my initial (and immediate)  inclination to donate them all to Goodwill, because  periodically wading through badly written books reinforces my desire to write something actually worth reading. 

So, how bad are these books?  Harlequin Romance bad. 

We meet the heroine (in each) on page one and she is always physical perfection personified ~ gorgeous body, lustrous hair, and dressed to the nines.  

Despite Destiny’s alluring looks and demure demeanor, she has, thus far, failed at love ~ but that is about to change . . . 

As we turn the page, we meet the hero of the story ~ always an Adonis who takes our heroine’s breath away to the point that she can do nothing but think, obsessively and compulsively, about this man – nay, this god – who is “her destiny.”

For the next one hundred and seventy-five pages, we hear over and over and over and over again how, despite his various and sundry faults, like being domineering to the point that Castro could take a few pointers from him,  Destiny knows, in her trembling heart, that she cannot live without this man in her life. 

They argue, fuss and fight with each other, due to a series of painfully contrived misunderstandings, but always end up back in each other’s arms where the passion ignited between them at first glance overwhelms them to the point that they do not have sufficient strength and will power to resist falling into bed, yet again, to exchange tender words and magical embraces. 

Readers are regaled with countless quarrels, and sophomoric spats, as  Destiny and her Adonis spend each and every out-of-bed conversation arguing with each other like tomcats, while tossing witty barbs and snipes back and forth like rubber daggers.

But, and this is key, no matter how much they cause the other to worry, wonder, and wander, and no matter how embarrassing their actions toward each other, they are destined to end each chapter (or so) back in each other’s arms, with smoldering (or sizzling) looks and flaming  touches.  Ouch!

The settings are different, but generally opulent:  a thousand acre ranch in Australia; a penthouse apartment in London or New York; a five hundred year old estate in Tuscany; a castle in Scotland. 

The heroines are often rich, as are their knights in shining armor.  There is no reason for Destiny to worry about work, or buying groceries, or fixing meals ~ those mundane tasks are left to servants hovering in the background, their characters barely fleshed out and often left unnamed. 

As a result, Destiny has all the more time to go sit in the garden, crying over the latest lovers’ spat and realizing (for the 99th time!) that she cannot live without this man.  

Sometimes a third character looms large ~ a gorgeous show stopper determined to get her hooks into Adonis, not for love (the realm of love belongs only to Destiny), but for  some selfish motivation, such as power, privilege, or financial gain. 

(Or just because Adonis is a good lay).  

If a femme fatale makes an appearance in these formulaic books, she is used to add fuel to the flames whenever a misunderstanding heats up between  Destiny and Adonis.

She is a jungle cat on the prowl with sharp claws, a wicked tongue, and matrimony on the mind. 

Often the women have successful careers – not because they need the money, since most are independently wealthy – but because they are interested in using their allegedly superior intelligence to become captains of commerce. 

Despite having climbed the rungs of the corporate ladder, ostensibly based on innate brain power, Destiny often is stupid-to-the-third-power.  

Her inability to pierce through even the slightest of  misunderstandings, before page one hundred and seventy-five, is re-known in the world of Harlequin.  

Destiny’s ability to misread every cue tossed out to readers about the true motivation and intent behind the “inexplicable” and “inexcusable” behavior of Adonis toward Destiny is laughable.  

She has the collective intelligence and street smarts of Homer Simpson and a box of jelly donuts. 

“Mmm . . . donuts.”

When read in rapid succession, the characters in these books meld together into one homogeneous mass, because the stories are not driven by believable characters residing in the real world. 

Instead, the stories focus on a single unifying message which does not vary from book to book:  women (at least young, good looking, rich ones) have a soul-mate out there, somewhere, riding around on the range, who is gorgeous, wealthy, sophisticated, and, best of all,  phenomenal in bed ~ a tender lover; a ferocious lover; a well-endowed lover (complete with six-pack abs and sinewy muscles).   

“Mmm . . . muscles.”

Women reading these fairy tales are told that their purpose in life is to fall in love-at-first-glance with  their knight in shining armor, scrape off the residual  rust from previous ill-fated relationships, clear up the clouds of confusion and misunderstandings designed to test their true love, and finally, upon reaching Destiny’s Destination, on page one hundred and eighty-four, to cleave to Adonis for eternity.  

If you’ve never read a Harlequin Romance, stop by your favorite used book store and grab one – it makes no difference which one – and use it as a reminder that your destination, your destiny, is not nearly as stereotypical as Harlequin Romance would have you believe.

Related posts: Andrew Zimmern’s Picks Don’t Appeal * The Clean (Book)Plate Club * Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland * A Writer’s Life For Me * Austen & Dickens Had It Easy * Eavesdropping on the Rooftop Literati * The Power Of Awesome