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Thinking about category romance

I haven’t read much category romance for several years, and I tend to think of category as an entirely separate form from single-title romance–as form distinct from any other, in fact. But I’m reexamining why I feel that way, and I’d welcome opinions. Is category romance really a different beast?

I’ve considered some of the more obvious features of category romance, and I can’t say that they’re truly unusual. For example, category romances are known for their short length and tight focus on two central characters; subplots and backstory may or may not feature large. The core of the story is the emotional relationship between the leads, and sometimes a provocative situation that brings the relationship to center stage.

But one could make similar statements about other genres, or at least individual books from other genres. Some forms of cozy mystery have an extremely narrow focus; sometimes all the character development is of one sleuth or narrator. And in terms of style and use of familiar archetypes, mysteries and fantasy can be just as stylized as genre romance. Perhaps I’m wrong to single out category romance as a special case.

For many years, I’ve thought that category romance’s nearest relative may be the short story. Robin recently called categories the amuse-bouche of romance:

Bite-sized, meant to stimulate the appetite for more, under-appreciated but often more difficult to pull off than a larger course, that’s the category at its best, IMO.

I find this description extremely apt. Reading a good category romance, like a good short story, can leave me delighted, satisfied, and yet eager for more. However, I can’t simply say that every category romance is a form of short story or novella. There’s more to the romance form than that.

Reviewing the category

I don’t generally have difficulty reviewing books from different genres, or book novels and short stories, but reviewing category romance is tricky for me.

As I said, I haven’t read much category romance for years–but in the last few weeks I’ve tried four. Two got hurled across the room: I found them unfinishable, with significant problems of both craft and originality. The third had an extraordinarily tired plot but made for a light, sweet “comfort read”. The fourth had a plot that made me shudder at first sight, but the story turned out to be tightly written with an enjoyable emotional tension between the main characters—no matter how unlikely the setting and events. That fourth novel had the magic that’s sometimes found in category romance: it made me willing to suspend disbelief and accept eye-rollingly well-used tropes, while the crisp pacing and emotional tension persuaded me to keep reading about a couple who might have been hatched in a laboratory, for all the background given.

Interestingly, I would find the first two books easy to review. A bad read is a bad read, regardless of form (and these two aren’t simply bad, they’re amateurish). The middlin’ comfort read would be somewhat challenging, because comfort reading is something I rarely seek in a book. Interestingly, I would find it far more difficult to review the fourth book–my favorite.

Why is that? I typically feel compelled to comment when the book is lacking in critical areas such as plot, backstory, or believable motivations, or uses heavy-handed archetypes rather than developing the characters. However, if the the book strikes an emotional chord while violating a number of my usual requirements, I’m stymied. The book spoke to me, enough to overcome my innate pickiness about craft, but can I sincerely recommend it?

The one thing I absolutely don’t want is to equivocate and create an aura of “For a category romance, it’s a good read” or “I’ll give it a free pass because it’s just a short category romance.” That type of commentary smacks of low expectations, and I’m reluctant to feed the prejudice held by some readers and authors against category romance. Category romance is all too often criticized even by those who defend romance as a whole as a varied, legitimate genre. But perhaps I simply haven’t come up with the right phrasing yet. Instead of “For a category romance, this is a good book”, perhaps I should turn it around and try “For a really engrossing read, this book has some surprising flaws”? I’ll think about it.

Thoughts? Anyone? If you’re a reader, tell me–do you think of category and single-title romance as very different? Do you recommend the two types equally to friends? Do you typically read all category, all single-title, or both?

2 Responses to “Thinking about category romance”

The one thing I absolutely don’t want is to equivocate and create an aura of “For a category romance, it’s a good read” or “I’ll give it a free pass because it’s just a short category romance.” That type of commentary smacks of low expectations, and I’m reluctant to feed the prejudice held by some readers and authors against category romance.

Let me preface my response with this: I believe that writing a category romance or a novella is often much harder than writing a full length single title or epic novel. Brevity being the soul of wit (must I attribute that?), conveying the same story in 80,000 words rather than 150,000 seems to me a difficult task. Of course, my writing is limited to blogging (I type with very little filtering) and professional work (where “less is more” is NOT the mantra), so my perspective may not be accurate.

I agree with you about low expectations, but I admit to judging category romances by a different standard than single-titles. Not a lower or lesser standard, just different. My expectations are different based on the format and length, and it does not seem appropriate to judge a category romance in the same way that I would a single title book. (The same with any novella or short story that I read in an anthology.) Given the brevity of the format and the strict imprint requirements, I anticipate either a compressed timeline or a greater reliance on some of romance’s shorthand; but my perspective on characterization and language never changes. Of course, some use of romance’s shorthand vs. too much of it can be a problem — it’s a fine line for me. In the back of my mind, I’m always asking myself, Is this author/story using this format to advantage or is the story being shoe-horned in to its detriment? Does this book belong elsewhere in the publishing schema?

I read a mix of category and single titles, though I read fewer categories than I used to. My category reading has diminished for a couple of reasons. First, I’m not interested in reading romance with kids — as a general rule, if a baby, pregnancy or child appears in the title, cover or blurb, I will put the book down. Second, the authors that I loved when I first started reading categories aren’t writing any longer, or aren’t writing as much, and I haven’t found newer authors to replace them. I do, however, binge at library sales — 10 for $1, usually older ones from the 80s and 90s from someone’s collection, is a bargain that I just cannot resist.

I tend to recommend more single-titles than categories, because most of my friends who read are resistant to any book with the Harlequin logo. (I don’t think they realize that Mira and Luna are Hqn imprints, because they suck those books up like water in the desert.) If I’ve broken them in to single titles, I’ll usually edge them toward older categories — Nora Roberts, Jennifer Crusie, Linda Howard — then give them the titles of a couple of smaller name authors.

by jmc on January 25th, 2008 at 10:42 am
I read mostly historical romance, but have read a range of categories, and am always looking for recs.

I think of categories as a sub-genre of Romance. Just as Romance has its requirements–happily-ever-after, focus on the romantic pair–I think category becomes more stringent in which elements must be included to result in a successful story.

Characters must be established quickly, so they’re more likely to have a dramatic problem revealed almost instantly, to hook the reader. I think this is the reason there are so many old flames in category; if a previous relationship is in backstory, the author need only drop a few telling details of that romance to give the reader a picture of what happened and how it affected those two characters. An “establishing shot” shows how those characters are now, then the bulk of the novel shows the characters changing in relation to each other. As the romance can’tbe drawn out too long, sub-plots have to remain basic, and the number of subsidiary characters reduced, but that doesn’t preclude the author from, again, hinting at a wider world of which her characters are a part. Also, we’re not likely to get a long epilogue in a category. It’s a slice taken out of the couple’s life, showing the largest turning point in their existence.

In structure, I feel categories are more like short stories than novels. This is not a bad thing. The form wouldn’t have survived this long, and evolved so much over time, if it weren’t answering a need.

by Victoria Janssen on January 25th, 2008 at 11:02 am

Thinking about category romance

2 Responses to “Thinking about category romance”

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