Teaching Feminism to the Younger Generation

Despite being a scholar of not only romance but also of children's literature, I'm not really all that keen on romance novels that feature kids as secondary characters. Romance novels are already inclined toward the emotional, and when kids appear on the scene, too often their emotion can slide into sentimentality (in the sense of emotion of the shallow, uncomplicated type). Kids put in danger in romantic suspense; kids used as comic relief in contemporary romance; sticky-sweet kids that urge us go "oooh" in all different subgenres—often the portrayal of children feels more like treating kids as objects, rather than as individual, unique characters. Thanks, but no thanks.

I was surprised, then, to find myself enjoying the interactions between the teen girl rugby players and the two adult romantic protagonists featured in Kat Latham's latest sports romance, Taming the Legend. In large part, I think, because both Camila Morales, the director of Camp Lake Sunshine, and Ash Trenton, retired rugby star turned temporary camp rugby coach, model feminist ideas and behaviors to their younger charges.

Such modeling isn't the point of the story, of course. Taming the Legend is a past-lovers torn apart only to reunite later tale, a staple romance novel trope, and the primary focus of the novel is on Ash and Camila's (re-)developing relationship. The fact that their modeling just happens, almost as if teaching kids about feminism is something both adults naturally take for granted, though, only makes it all the more appreciated.

Some examples of what I'm talking about:

During the first day of workouts, when Ash is introducing rugby to his rather reluctant female campers:

     Hannah raised her hand.
     "Yes?"
     "Running hurts my boobs."
     A couple girls snickered.
     "Yeah? I can't say it's all that comfortable for my bollocks either. I guess you'll have to get over it."
     ....
     "Let's get something straight." Ash said. "Being a girl is not a disability. Boobs, periods, cramps... I know you've got them, but I don't give a monkey's toss about them.... Look, I've spent my career training with men, but I don't care that your bits are different than theirs. They worked hard, and they've achieved great things. I expect the same from you, so I'm going to treat you the same." (Kindle Loc 1928)


And during the big rugby tournament, when one of the players spots Ash's former (hunky) teammate, whom she's been crushing on, with his girlfriend, Camila doesn't hesitate to call Tori on her sexism:

[Tori] glared at the petite woman Liam Callaghan had his arm around. "That bitch better get her hands off my man."
     "Tori. Language. And about a dozen other things, like he's clearly too old for you and already taken. And don't call other women bitches just because they have what you want. And did I mention too old?" [Camila said] (4370)


Small, brief moments in a much larger story, yes. But important, and exciting, nonetheless, such casual, taken-for-granted examples of everyday feminism being taught to the next generation. Something certainly worth noting, and even celebrating.


Can you recall any other romance novels that include such scenes of adults teaching, modeling, or enacting feminist ideals with or for child or teen characters?

Did You Tell Your Parents When You First Became Sexually Active?

Having a teenage daughter in the house, one who is just beginning the journey of discovering and exploring her own sexuality, is flooding me with memories my own first forays into the overwhelming, exhilarating, and often embarrassing shoals of sex. The unrequited crushes of my junior high and high school years, both the ones I had on boys who didn't like me, and the ones boys whom I didn't care for had on me. The fiery blush that raced over my face when my male pediatrician asked "Are you sexually active?" when I'd barely even been kissed. The even more awkward talk around the kitchen table, my parents telling (and showing) me and my two younger sisters the box of condoms they had bought, the one they'd be placing upstairs in the linen closet, just in case we ever found ourselves in need—not that they were recommending we have sex, no, not at all! 

I never talked much with my friends about sex (Catholic high school). And I didn't talk with my sisters about it either. They are both younger than me, and both began dating at a much younger age than I did; asking them for advice about sex, or inquiring about their own sexual experiences, felt awkward, even prurient, and was more than this shy, introverted geek could ever bring herself to do.

And I certainly didn't talk with my parents about sex. I didn't tell them anything about my sexual experiences with my first boyfriend (during freshman year in college), or about the first boyfriend with whom I engaged in sexual acts that required the use of birth control, not at the time nor in the years since. I wonder, now, though, how much they knew, or picked up from my behavior at the time? Or were they not at all interested in knowing?

Not something parents are likely to hear from their teens...

Given my own teenage reticence on the topic, I've been thinking a lot (and reading a lot) about how best, and how much, to talk with my daughter about her own sexual explorations. Would I have appreciated it if my parents had tried to talk with me more about sex in the abstract/general? About my relationships and experiences in particular? Or would I have simply melted into the floor in a puddle of agonized adolescent embarrassment? (Both, most likely). 

Given that in our culture, sex is most often regarded as a private act, is it an invasion of teens' privacy to try and talk with them about it? How can a parent balance these rights to privacy with the need to ensure that their teens are taking proper care to protect themselves and their partners against unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases? (Just came across this fascinating book—Not Under My Roof: Parents, Teens, and the Culture of Sex—which compares the ways parents in the United States and in the Netherlands treat teen sexuality; am looking forward to reading it!)

Did you talk with/tell your parents when you became sexually active? If not, did they know (or inadvertently find out) anyways? Did they engage you in conversation about it?

And are there any good romance novels out there that feature heroes and/or heroines who not only have to negotiate a new romantic and sexual relationship of their own, but who are also faced with the transformation of their own children from asexual to sexual beings? (The only one that's coming to mind is Pamela Morsi's The Lovesick Cure, which I reviewed here back in November of 2012, although it spends more time talking about why the teens shouldn't have sex than talking about it after they already have...).

Photo credits:

First time sex: Kathleen Hassen

Kids in Romance Novels

For the past several weeks, I've been researching and prepping to teach an online course about the history of children and childhood during the Regency period, for an audience of historical romance writers. I'm a research wonk, so digging into all this information about what kids wore, what they ate, where (and with whom) they slept has me in my element. But it's also been making me wonder about the uses of the child figure in romance fiction. As a romance typically focuses tightly around the two (or sometimes more) adults who are falling in love with one another, how, and perhaps more importantly, why does romance make room for secondary characters from the younger generation? And does the inclusion of a child character tend to push a romance toward feminist, or anti-feminist ideologies?

Here are some reasons I can think of to include a child or children in a romance, some neutral, some with feminist leanings, still others that work to contain or constrain female needs and desires:

• Because many of us idealize children and childhood, and regard children as innocent, including a child character can more easily allow an author to mobilize readers' emotions, pulling on those old heartstrings.

• Showing a hero or heroine acting kindly to a child can demonstrate said character's nature, and suitability for a romantic partnership, without having to have the narrator resort to telling us "s/he is a kind person."

• Likewise, because we often think of children (like animals/pets) as having an instinctual "feel" for other people. If a child warms to an unfamiliar adult, said child's instincts can help persuade the other half of the romantic couple that the potential mate is worthy.

• Children can bring lovers in conflict, or lovers who are estranged, back together: witness the ever-popular secret baby plot.

• Or children can foster conflict—a mother at odds with her son's coach; a father who disagrees with his daughter's governess—bringing people with heightened emotions together so that the romantic sparks can flash. When potential romantic partners do not share similar child-rearing philosophies, tensions can mount quickly...

• Kids can play the role of matchmakers, working to push a reluctant parent or relative into a romantic relationship.

• A kid continually interrupting before things get too steamy helps build up the sexual tension...

• Because kids are associated with the inability to suppress emotions, showing a hero interacting with a child can allow said hero to access and show emotions that otherwise would not be allowed under contemporary codes of masculinity.

• Because kids are often believed to be unable to lie socially (or at least, to keep quiet about things adults can more easily suppress), kids can point out how one protagonist is feeling towards the other.

• Interacting with a kid can force that ever-immature hero (or, far more rarely, heroine) to realize that he is ready to "grow up" and start taking on the adult responsibilities of caring for, and financially supporting, a family. For heroines, the trope seems to function more often as a curb upon work, rather than a push towards adulthood; seeing other women's babies or children can persuade a heroine to think that she, too, wants to abandon the working grind to have a child of her own.


Interesting side note: while looking for book covers to accompany this post, I discovered that stand-alone romances rarely seem to feature covers with babies or kids on them. In contrast, category romances seem to have little problem drawing on the "ah, how cute" factor. Why do you think this is?


What are your favorite romances that include babies and/or children? And to what ideological uses do the authors of said romances put their young secondary characters?

Next time on RNFF:

A pre-romance for teen readers: Erica Lorraine Scheidt's Uses for Boys