Unromantic Confessions

by Stephanie Black

When Sariah's Secrets in Zarahemla is released next month, I can’t wait to read it. Her historical romance is a departure from the norm for me. I tend to stick closely to the mystery/suspense genre (as my like-minded sister remarked the other day, “I just don’t have the patience for the plot to be about how the hero and heroine are going to get together. I want them to meet over a dead body.”)

Before I get blacklisted by the RWA, let me say I do realize there’s a lot more to romance novels than just the build-up to the kissy-kissy. Sariah’s book looks fascinating, and I’ve heard great things about lots of romance novels (recently, Michele Ashman Bell’s Perfect Timing and Marnie Pehrson’s Angel and the Enemy. And I love Kerry Blair's romantic suspense—oh man, she writes good books. I adore her new release, Ghost of a Chance. I love detective Samantha Shade and her pining for handsome, Shakespeare-quoting cop Thom. That budding romance feels both beautiful and credible, which brings me to my problem with some fictional romance.

I have a practicality problem, probably inherited from my mother. We all loved The Music Man, but my mother couldn’t help observing that the chances of Marian the Librarian and Harold Hill making it work over the long-term were nil. Fast-talking con artist Harold is going to get bored with River City life before you can say seventy-six trombones. I know, I know, I’m missing the point. This is supposed to be a love conquers all changeover miracle and Harold is reformed now, but come on, it’s a one in a million shot.

Sorry. I know that’s so unromantic of me, and I am willing to suspend my disbelief in order to enjoy the movie. I had a bigger problem with a novel that I read recently. It was well-written and fascinating, but the heroine was just dumb. I can’t get swept away in the romance if I know the behavior of the romantic parties is—well, it brings to mind President Hinckley’s quote from the recent New Year’s Eve fireside: “You can be wise and happy, or stupid and miserable.” This heroine was a card-carrying member of the latter category. My sister was discussing this particular romance at a book club and one of her questions for the readers was along the lines of, “Do you think the main characters are really in love?” “Oh yes, oh yes,” was the consensus, and my sister was thinking they don’t even know each other beyond the physical attraction. Okay, so we’re freaks. Between my practical mother (who also pointed out the wrongness of the line in the song from West Side Story where it says, “When love comes so strong, there is no right or wrong”) and a bishop father who witnessed way too much misery from people with messed up ideas about romance, I got too thoroughly taught about how real relationships work to swoon over the overwhelming-passion-sweeps-away-all-common-sense theme. I like a romance I can believe in and applaud, like the blossoming of a relationship between Kerry’s Samantha and Thom, or Rob’s Rebecca and Eric.

Boy, I’m going to get in trouble with the RWA after all. But I am totally looking forward to Sariah’s novel. With Nephites and Lamanites and evil conspiracies and intrigue and such, I figure I can count on a few dead bodies along the way.