Lionheart

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I'm not a feminist.

Most of you are probably already aware of that; I kind of gave myself away with my post on Female Stereotypes back in October.  Apart from that, I think you will find my stance on the relationship of Man and Woman sprinkled through the romance in each of my novels - from The Soldier's Cross (which, in the main character's case, has little more than an undercurrent of romance), to Wordcrafter (where the quite modern main character struggles with the conservatism of Tera), to the Sea Fever novels (where Tip quite obviously takes the role of guardian to Marta). 

I have no patience with the flimsy cardboard women of old romantic literature, but neither have I the slightest interest in passing the time of day with such do-it-alls as inspired October's post.  I like happy mediums, and the romances in my novels thus far have reflected that.  Not by plan, certainly: to me as the writer, these relationships developed almost coincidentally.  "I can't take any credit for them," as Lucy Muir would say: "they just...happened!"  But develop that way they did.

Not so with Tempus Regina.  In so many ways this book has launched me out of my comfort zone, has, I hope, forced me to expand and expand some more.  I made a list several months ago of the things that are particularly tricky about it: the female main character, the span of time and research, the traveling the characters do.  One thing I did not write down was "romance."  At that time the romance between Regina and, well, Some Fellow was but the kernel of an idea, one I was fond of and longed to develop, but which had not yet come to life.

I've come quite a ways in the story since then: we seem to have gone to one end of the earth and are now headed for the other.  The chapter I am currently writing contains a scene I've been longing to write almost since Day One - you probably all know that feeling! - but the beginning has been slow, and so I've been thinking on this romance and wondering a little at it.  On the surface, these characters - and therefore this relationship - seem to depart so vastly from anything I have written to date.

Regina herself is a tough cookie.  She's not a steel magnolia - she's really just steel.  Having lived in London of 1849 for years, she has had some of its smoke, some of its colorlessness, some of its mercilessness ground into her.  Now she is the time queen, with a power and a persona that inspire fear.  Her strength and her dominance make her romance, not hard to write, but new.  Because if she is the power-figure, and if she terrifies those with whom she comes into contact, her romance could hardly be of the beaten-path variety.  She demands a man who can, in his own way, match her and surpass her in strength.

[because I'm pretty sure Tip would be thoroughly freaked out by her.]

That has been the joy of writing the romance of Tempus Regina.  At first blush, I suppose readers might think Regina is the dominant figure, that she is the one with all the brains and the chutzpah.  And at first blush, she is.  But down at the heart of the matter, in the things that count, the hero of Tempus Regina is more powerful still.  They're like Sophie and Howl, like Katherina and Petruchio.  They're a pair.

Yesterday I discovered the song King and Lionheart.  I had seen some of the lyrics elsewhere and liked them, and then when I listened to the song, I thought - naturally - of these two characters.

and when the world comes to an end

I'll be there to hold your hand

'cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart

But then I realized that matters are different in Tempus Regina.  Because Regina is a queen, but the man who stands beside her is her lionheart.  And for me, that's where the thrill and the joy of this story lie.

Going on for Years

Back in January (which seems ages ago) I wrote a post on romance - its prevalence in modern fiction, and how it can be, but does not necessarily have to be, incorporated into a story.  It was necessarily a cursory post and I didn't go down all the rabbit trails I would have liked to explore.  But among the comments, this one by Rachel captured a theme I had wanted but had not had time to look at.  Hitting the proverbial nail on its proverbial head, as usual, she wrote:

...Love is a different matter. Love has so many faces one can never get tired of it--simply peep in 1 Cor. 13 and you'll have enough to go on for years! I do like stories with a bit of that kind of romance in it...come to think of it, aren't all stories built off of relationships?

Aren't they?  The question is rhetorical and the answer seems obvious, and yet as I read Rachel's comment I wondered if many authors have not failed to realize it. Amid the overabundance of romance novels - some of which come out and say right up that they're romances, others of which masquerade as historical fiction, suspense, contemporary, you name it - it seems that there are fewer and fewer books looking at other kinds or avenues of love.  Relationships with parents, siblings, friends, and, oftentimes, God Himself are all trundled into the backseat so that the lovers can sit up front.  And I don't know about you, but it seems to me that this is a patently false interpretation of life.

Naturally, at this point I am forced to offer a caveat.  After all, the Bible does say that "for this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife"; the one spouse does hold a place of supremacy in the life of the other.  And, too, marriage and the marriage relationship is a picture of that great Love that God bears for His people.  But so are other "forms" of love - else why would we be told that He is our heavenly Father, Christ our Brother, the Church made up of our kindred?  Christ is indeed the Bridegroom, the Church the Bride; but He is also that Friend who sticks closer than a brother.

Analogies, if they can be called analogies (for we can hardly say that God is the one imitating us), between our relationships day to day and God's powerful relationship with His own people abound.  We love, as John states, because He first loved us.  And we love many different people in many different ways.  Romance is not the only form that provides something of a mirror of God's love, but its glorification in Christian fiction seems to say that many authors think it is.  I have many reviews or descriptions of novels that at some point state that the romance "is an allegory of God's pursuit of man."  This is all well and good, but in making such a parallel too distinct, do we not run the risk of obscuring other equally-valid parallels?  And not only do we run the risk, but the damage may already be done.

I've been toying with these thoughts for some time now - at least over the course of writing White Sail's, but also, I believe, while I was working on Wordcrafter.  I hope and trust that each story I write is a little more complex, mines a few more gems, brings up a little more truth than the preceding book.  The Soldier's Cross was a fairly straight-forward tale of a girl coming to grips with God, sin, and salvation.  Wordcrafter is a story of friendship, a novel (unconsciously) built around the narrative of David and Jonathan and that snatch of a quote from Jesus that so characterized His sacrifice: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."  The White Sail's Shaking goes, I hope, a little beyond even that.  It does have romance - heavens, don't think I'm denigrating romance!  It has friendship, and loyalty, and plain, unadorned respect.  Really, in the year and a half I have spent thus far in writing White Sail's, I think this captures, if not the whole story, one major theme:

"A good man can love in many different areas...and love well."

- the white sail's shaking, tip brighton

And it is in my mind that this should be our goal, not only or even primarily in our writing, but in our lives as well.

Romance

Romance. It takes up a large majority of the Christian book market, even those that are placed under a different genre (as you may have noticed if you've glanced at the novels labeled "historical fiction"). For those writers who find such books sappy or simply poor imitations of Jane Austen's classic works, it can be tempting to flee romance altogether and to scoff at the idea of writing it. But the fact of the matter is that most stories, particularly ones with female main characters, will end up having some degree of romance in them, and writers must take this into account.

Over on her blog, authoress Rachel Coker recently talked about her reasons for including romance in her novel Interrupted, due to release in February. And, interestingly enough, they were pretty much the reasons that prompted me to do the same with The Soldier's Cross. Originally I resisted the idea of having there be any romance connected with the main character; I didn't want my story to end up being just another romance under the Christian label. But in the end I did it - and not because I knew readers would want that element and that they would hate me if the book didn't have a happy ending. There was in fact one basic reason behind my decision: a writer cannot leave his or her main character at the same place in the end as they were in the beginning. This is especially true for female protagonists like Fiona, who start out the story alone and vulnerable - "uncovered" in the biblical sense of having no male protection. If you leave your character in this position at the end, you leave questions unanswered.

Perhaps one reason why some writers balk at the thought of bringing romance into their stories is that they think of it in its stereotypical form. The hero meets the heroine, there is immediate attraction but seemingly insurmountable obstacles, lots of tension and angst and butterflies in the stomach, the obstacles suddenly give way, hero marries heroine and they live happily ever after. This is the usual formula for romance novels (there are, after all, only six plots in the world) and it is no wonder that some writers shy away from it. I even read a novel a while ago where a character stated that it is impossible for anyone to be in love if they don't have the usual butterflies. But the fact of the matter is that this is not how romance has to play out, especially in novels where it is not the focus of the plot.

Take, for instance, Rosemary Sutcliff. Many or most of her novels deal primarily with themes of friendship, duty, and honor, and yet she also incorporates romance in a refreshing way. Instead of coming packed with angst and emotion, the romance between the young man and the young woman is often more implicit than explicit. The reader is given to understand that the characters love each other; no great show is needed. In Sutcliff's novel Simon, the protagonist only needs to be with the girl in a few scenes for it to be clear that there is an understanding between them, which Sutcliff then establishes in the end.

There are without a doubt wrong ways of bringing romance into a story - too many to list. But there is no one right way of doing it, as evidenced by Sutcliff's approach; she did not tread the well-worn path of romance, and in the end she produced a much more realistic take on love than is usually found in fiction. Every couple in real life is different, and couples in novels ought to be different as well. At the outset ignore, as best you can, the popular or classics romances of fiction, even such enjoyable ones as Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet or Mr. Rochester and Jane Eyre. Consider your hero and your heroine, who they are, how they think, and how they emote. Think about backstory and how it might affect the manner in which they love. Are they the type to love passionately or to love quietly? Does the romance need to be blatant, or can it be a quiet understanding? If you are writing historical fiction, don't dismiss the cultural norms or forget how the people would have acted. If you're writing fantasy, remember that every culture has those norms and try to incorporate them. There are so many variables to take into account, and these are what will make the romance unique.

There was an anxious strain in her voice, though she was evidently trying to conceal it, and it sent a warm, almost lazy contentment through Tip like the sunshine he had been dozing in. She did care, and though the thought did not thrill him as her kiss had, it pleased him—and somehow that was more satisfying.

- the white sail's shaking