When I entered my teens, Ma introduced me to the next level of "literature": Regency romances.
The authors were typically Joan Smith, Carola Dunn, Fiona Hill. Georgette Heyer here and there, but she used a lot of annoying exclamation points and was rather antisemitic. The books were usually about a mousey girl who for some unknown reason catches the fancy of a strapping, handsome marquis (he always had a title, rarely a mere Mr.), or about a spirited young woman of striking beauty but was too anticonvention for her own good who for some unknown reason catches the fancy of a strapping, handsome marquis.
I gobbled them up like tater tots. They were my main form of entertainment for years, until I branched out into medieval romances as well. Cough.
In the last decade or so, I've left them behind, preferring historical novels of other topics. But I still watch the Austen adaptations with glee.
My sister-in-law and I swap books, and she excitedly handed me "A Murder in Time" by Julie McElwain. It's about a female FBI agent who gets sucked into a vortex and ends up in Regency England.
However, she is not familiar with Austen's work, and finds the restrictions on women to be simply ridiculous. Seeing the era through her eyes, you do realize that she's right. The romance is gone. So while all the language of those books I once enjoyed are there, the limitations women faced, the hardscrabble existence of the other 99% of humanity that wasn't landed gentry, the misconceptions on science and medicine, has sort of removed the glow from those tales.
It's like when I read "Longbourn" by Jo Baker, and however considerate Lizzy is depicted in "Pride and Prejudice," maids were not granted that consideration. While most women believe they would have been Emma in another life, chances are they would have had the job of scrubbing her boots for a pittance.
When I was a teenager, "Ever After" was one of my favorite movies. Spirited girl wins heart of prince! Yay! Then I began to read Sharon Kay Penman's novels about the British monarchy, and it became quite clear that princes did not marry for love. They married for political reasons, and had mistresses for love. I think I read somewhere once that character of Danielle was actually based on a mistress of a royal Henri. Being a royal mistress was actually a great position so had Danielle been offered that, she would have been thrilled. All those scenes of Marguerite angling to become princess is all the more laughable because she would have known that's never. Ever. Gonna. Happen.
I can't rewatch "Ever After" again knowing that.
There are times in life when fantasies are fun and helpful. But then you grow out of them, finding you don't need them anymore.
But I still anthropomorphize toys. Hmm.
2 comments:
Once you outgrow them, it's kinda done.
I recently was casting around for some reading material and checked out a book by an author I used to read years ago--yep, a regency though none of those mentioned in your post. But I just couldn't slog my way thru it. I don't know if it's outgrowing the fantasy (I always knew I was suspending my belief whenever I cracked one open) or just becoming a more sophisticated reader.
I can still re-read a Jane Austen book on the rare occasion, when I'm in the mood. And there are a few authors who've taken a more modern twist on writing historical books, so even if they are romances they are less fantastical and more relatable. But I prefer a grittier more intense read as a whole. (I revisit L.M. Montgomery books when I need that escapist literary read. But she did have a few dark streaks hidden in her books. Plus a lot of humor. So they are saved from being too sappy or perfect.)
I suppose it's both - putting aside childish things and preferring more relatable reading material. I must give Montgomery another go!
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