No More Miss Mean Girl? Julianna Keyes' IN HER DEFENSE

It strikes me as funny that, in my review last week of Kristan Higgins' If You Only Knew, my commentary focused on the perils of women being too nice, and this week, I'm writing about the opposite issue: the problems faced by women who are perceived by others as being too mean...

As soon as I read Dear Author's review of Julianna Keyes latest contemporary, In Her Defense, I knew I had to read this contemporary romance. Jayne, the reviewer, opened her commentary with her fears that the novel's narrator and protagonist, Kaitlyn Dufresne, would not be welcomed with open arms by romance readers, given the decided preference said readers often express for heroines who are nice. And Kaitlyn, the top-billing lawyer at her Chicago law firm, is as about as far from nice as Pluto is from the sun. Intelligent, competitive, and hard-working, excelling at anything she sets her hand to, Kaitlyn loves being the first one into the office every morning, and the last one to leave every night. If she were a man, people might call her driven, or arrogant, but since she's a woman, she's known about the office by the charming nicknames "coldhearted bitch," "she-devil," "hell-on-heels." But Kaitlyn, who is from an economically privileged background (and is presumably white, too) doesn't give a shit about what others think; she knows she's "better than good. I'm the best," and isn't afraid to say so, to anyone, anywhere, anytime (Kindle Loc 256).

A feminist romance reader's heart tends to sink at this point in such stories; brash, self-confident, workaholic women far too often get "schooled" during the course of their romance story arcs, learning to dial down their outspokenness, to give up their workaholic ways, to above all, learn how to be nice, what every good woman should and must be (at least in romancelandia). That such schooling often takes the form of subjecting ambitious protagonists to embarrassment, shame, or out and out abjection, however, conveys not only the importance of connection and kindness, but also sends the gender-policing message that any woman who doesn't fit comfortably into the nice girl role needs to be humiliated, so she'll learn her proper place.

And cue the plot convention. Kaitlyn's just been given the prize position of head lawyer at the firm's soon-to-open new Los Angeles office. But at the opening of chapter 2, Kaitlyn wakes after falling asleep at her desk on a Saturday night to the news that she forgot to attach a promised document to a time-sensitive e-mail the night before. And gets called onto the carpet by the firm's three senior partners, not just for this lapse, but for a few other minor mistakes that have been cropping up in her work of late. Ugh, I thought, here we go again, yet another book set on punishing the ambitious career woman by making her look like an incompetent fool.

But Kaitlyn doesn't end up losing her job; she's not out on the street with no money and no friends, as happens in so many other romance novels bent on "nicening" powerful women I've read. Instead, the law firm partners (all male) tell her they worry that that she's overworking herself, something they know the office culture does little to discourage. Billing twenty-three hours a day on average is a little extreme, though, no matter the sex of the lawyer doing the billing. "We understand your position. We've all been there. That's why we know the signs," one tells her (301), and it doesn't seem like sexist placating, or bullshitting. Kaitlyn doesn't lose her job, nor her promotion; she's only forced to take a vacation, and, during her last weeks in Chicago before she moves to LA, while she'll be prepping lawyers to take over her cases, she'll only be allowed to work "holiday hours" (i.e., 7am to 7pm, Monday through Friday). The partners also encourage her to work on her leadership skills, particularly on team-building, skills which she's never much seen the use for, especially since they haven't been exactly encouraged in the cut-throat atmosphere of the law firm.

Kaitlyn's less than pleased with the partners, but she knows "when to play my cards and when to fold," so she seemingly accepts their terms. Because she's certain she can find a work-around on her ban on company network computer use outside of "holiday hours" by intimidating the head of IT. But after hearing Kaitlyn ream out the accountant who ratted her out to the boss about her excessive billing ("Let me spell it out for you. You're support staff. I pay for the house, you clean it. You say thank you, Caitlin. I say shut the fuck up. Is that clear?" [483]), said IT head does not shudder in fear. He just turns her down with a calm, straightforward "No."

Of course, said computer guy, one Eli Grant, turns out to be Kaitlyn's love interest. Not because he's tough enough to stand up to her (although he is), and not because he teaches her something about the effectiveness of kindness in building a team (although he does), but because they happen to end up in the same bar drowning their sorrows (his girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend), and their drunken flirting results in a hotter-than-hot car tryst. But more importantly, because he models for her the value of being just one thing, and being passionate about just one thing. Kaitlyn's family life (workaholic father lawyer; stay-at-home mom; older, workaholic doctor sister) and the atmosphere at her office tell Kaitlyn to be only one thing: a take-no-prisoners lawyer. The beauty of Keyes' romance is that Kaitlyn isn't forced to give up that aspect of her personality, by her bosses, by her lover, or especially by what she learns over her character arc.

Eli is immediately attracted to the brash, outspoken aspect of Kaitlyn ("I thought, Holy shit. She's the hottest, meanest woman I've ever seen," he recounts his first sight of her [672]). But he also wants her to value the other parts of herself, too, parts that he sees but that she doesn't seem to recognize, or value:

"I like the hell-on-heels lawyer that storms into the place very day like she's going to take it over. I like the woman who sits next to me to watch a baseball game, and the one who hangs out on the bleachers when I'm coaching softball. I like the woman who carried my groceries and sanded the crown molding, and the one who wore that gorgeous fucking dress and turned every head when we walked into Mache 42." (2973)

In Keyes' story, it's not just Kaitlyn, but also Eli, who makes mistakes in negotiating their tentative romance. And it's both Kaitlyn and Eli who have to cop to their shortcomings, as well as celebrate their strengths, in order for their relationship to flourish. Most importantly, Eli never insists that Kaitlyn be less, to be weak or incompetent so he can save or protect her, as so many romance novels tacitly suggest. Kaitlyn doesn't have to be nice and only nice in order for Eli to love her. Instead, Eli encourages Kaitlyn to be more.

A challenge at which Kaitlyn, overachiever that she is, can't help but excel.
   

Photo credits:
Overworked lawyer: Global Legal Post
Multiple passions (hearts in grass): Gare & Kitty, via I'm Not the Nanny

Julianna Keyes

In Her Defense

A Time Served Novel

Carina, 2015

Sex Roles in and out of Bed: Victoria Dahl's START ME UP

RNFF BOOK REVIEW






"Baby, that is one fine ass..."

So opens Victoria Dahl's provocative contemporary romance, Start Me Up. Hardly an auspicious beginning for a reader in search of feminism in her romance reading, a reader might be forgiven for assuming. But Dahl, sneaky writer that she is, has baited her readers only to switch the linguistic rug out from underneath them. For if you read past that offensive opening line, you discover that the  sexist language comes not from the mouth of an overbearing male, but from the raunchy lips of Molly, the best friend of the novel's protagonist, Lori. As the opeing scene progresses, and Molly's comments grow increasingly lewd, car mechanic Lori joins in, adding her own sexual double entendres to the mix. Molly and Lori thus use a technique common to traditionally oppressed groups: re-appropriating the language of the oppressor to undermine its power. Molly and Lori subvert the restrictions of sexist languge by making it an object of humor.

With her novel's opening scene, then, Dahl signals her book's feminist concerns: not just to laugh at, but to explore the limits and powers of conventional gender roles. In the novel that follows, Dahl proceeds to give readers not only a laugh-out-loud funny story, but also a thoughtful model of ways to undermine the power differentials that mark out "feminine" and "masculine" roles.

Estrogen, major contributor to female sex drive

One model Dahl provides is an acknowledgement that women have sexual desires separate from, and prior to, any particular male object. Conventional wisdom takes it for granted that heterosexual men desire sex, regardless of whether or not there is a particular woman to whom they are attracted. But it simultaneously implies that a woman's sexual desire appears only after a man steps onto the stage: not "I want," but "I want you." Romance novels all too often buy into this false belief about the differences between male and female desire. Women do not want sex, we're supposed to believe; they want a man. The man turns them on, makes them feel sexy, makes them want to engage in sexual activity, rather than some drive or desire inside them that exists separate from any particular partner.

Dahl openly questions such assumptions about female sexuality by having her protagonist, Lori, openly discuss her wish to "do someone" (42). When friend Molly eagerly asks which man Lori has in mind, Lori answers, "I don't know who I want to do. Just someone. Someone tall and strong and cute" (43). Lori's elaboration—"The point is I'm not looking for a relationship. I just want to use someone for sex" (52)—humorously turns traditional gender stereotypes on their ear. But it also makes it crystal clear that her sexual desire exists prior to, and separate form, any specific male object.

Dahl acknowledges, though, that the sexual double standard often makes it difficult for a woman to be so straightforward in discussing, never mind acting upon, her own sexual desires. After she mistakenly believes that Molly has told her brother, Quinn, about Lori's desire for a sexual fling, Lori backs off, claiming it was only a joke. Even after Quinn, a former nerd who has always been too absorbed in his work to be a good boyfriend, tells her he'd like to have meaningless sex with her, Lori, embarrassed, initially refuses. Finally, realizing that she's tired of being so passive, Lori takes the plunge and asks Quinn to be her friend with benefits.

During their subsequent affair, Lori often has difficulty telling Quinn just what she wants sexually, too shy or self-conscious to speak of her own desires:

     If this were one of her books, she'd put a stop to this dinner business. She'd unzip the back of her dress and strip down to her brand-new underwear and matching bra. Tell him all she wanted to eat was him. Tell him she wanted it hard and fast and now.
     But she was just Lori Love, girl mechanic, and she didn't have the guts to put what she wanted into words even if it was the whole point of this date. Pitiful. (95)

I, for one, somehow bought into the idea that because my desire had been created by a man, he should also be able to satisfy that desire without any direction from me. Such assumptions set me, and all women, up for disappointment, Dahl's novel argues. Dahl uses Lori's character development to move Lori, and through Lori, her readers, beyond the fear of speaking about what turns us on. Lori learns it is more than worth it to take an active role in expressing one's sexual desires, rather than passively waiting for a partner to magically intuit them. Like Lori, women need to grab the courage to tell their partners what they like in bed:

     Lori clenched her eyes shut. She couldn't possibly ask him [to speak Spanish during sex].
     "Please," he murmured.
     This was supposed to be her fantasy. If she couldn't ask for what she wanted from Quinn, right here, right now, she'd miss her chance to live a dream. Lori held her breath and gathered up her courage and whispered into his shirt. (182)

The most surprising lesson Dahl's book taught me is that the role one prefers in bed may be radically different than the role one prefers to take on in day-to-day life. Quinn reads Lori's book of short story erotica, taking special note of the ones she's marked as her favorites: "There'd been a clear common thread in the two stories she'd liked. Both heroes had been aggressive. Not rough, per se, but not the least bit tentative in getting what they wanted" (133). In fact, Quinn discovers, Lori fantasizes about being tied up during sex. Though Quinn, who's been a polite, considerate sexual partner in the past, is a bit nervous about taking on a more dominant role, he gamely gives it a try, and the resultant sex is explosive for them both.

But whenever Quinn tries to take on the "saving the damsel in distress" role in real life—acting overly protective of Lori, wanting to pay for her to travel as she's always dreamed of, asking her to give up her life to move in with him—Lori immediately takes offense. She may like a decisive, take-charge sexual partner, but that doesn't mean she's eager, or even the least bit willing, to cede her control over everyday decisions to him. Lori and Quinn's relationship can only move beyond being friends with benefits when Quinn can see that "there weren't any wussy heroes" in the erotic stories Lori likes, but "there weren't any damsels in distress," either. "Lori didn't need saving any more," Quinn realizes, "but maybe it wouldn't hurt to ride up on a stallion and ask if she wanted a ride" (251-52).

Many women believe that being a feminist means never being weak, always being in control, even in their fantasy lives. This is a message I for one internalized, even if it wasn't ever directly stated in any feminist theory I'd read. But Dahl's novel shook up my belief, arguing that while feminism may insist that women be given the opportunity to take on a role of power in their sexual and romantic relationships, it doesn't demand that every opportunity be taken. Particularly when it comes to the roles we choose to play in bed.

Victoria Dahl, Start Me Up. HQN 2009.






Photo/Illustration credits:
• Estrogen t-shirt: chemicalshirts
• Sexual Double Standard cartoon: Cartoons by Sheila © Sheila Hollingworth
• Heart book: Miss Erika

Next time: What can a feminist get from reading romance?