Click on the title to open the article in it's original location. |
|

This section contains articles on various topics by other authors. They have been added by permission of the writer.
By: Tiffany M. Davis
Black romance is nothing new, whether we’re living it, watching it, or reading it. Stories about black-on-black relationships first came to the mainstream when up-and-coming writers such as Donna Hill (The Other Woman) and Francis Ray (I Know Who Holds Tomorrow) had their earlier romance stories published in black pulp magazines such as Bronze Thrills, Black Romance, Jive and True Confessions. Years and hundreds of thousands of book copies later, black romance is a legitimate contender as a romantic subgenre, providing readers with romantic fantasies for all shades, all fades.
According to the governing body of the romance genre, Romance Writers of America (RWA, http://www.rwanational.org), 11% of romance readers identify themselves as African American. This is the second-largest group of romance readers (the majority being white women at 75%). The realizations of black women as an underrepresented audience has caused the number of black romance readers to steadily increase year after year. The latest statistics (released in October 2003) show that 62 black romance titles were distributed in 2002, up from 59 in 2000. Indeed, Arabesque/BET Books is among the top ten publishers of romance novels.
Gwendolyn Osborne, regarded as one of the foremost experts on black romance literature, noted in her article “How Black Romance—novels, that is—Came to Be� (Black Issues Book Review, January/February 2001) that Kensington Publishing founded the original Arabesque line in 1994, which was the first major publishing house to develop a line of African-American romances. It was sold to Black Entertainment Television in 1998. Black romance novels, however, were in existence long before that. In 1980, Elsie B. Washington, under the pseudonym Rosalind Welles, had her novel Entwined Destinies published under the Dell/Candlelight imprint. Vivian Stephens, one of the first black editors of romance fiction, was responsible for Ms. Washington’s success and went on to establish the framework for the Harlequin American Romance, Harlequin Intrigue, and Harlequin American Premiere series. Sandra Kitt trailblazed not only as the first author for the Arabesque line, but also as the author of the first black romance written by a black author for Harlequin Books. Today there are more black faces under the auspices of traditionally white imprints. For example, Brenda Jackson (A Little Dare, Thorn’s Challenge) and Rochelle Alers (A Younger Man, The Long Hot Summer) can also be found on the Silhouette Desire imprint, which is a division of Harlequin.
Why is romance, long considered fluff by traditional literary standards, so popular among women, especially black women? Margaret Moser, in her article “New Writers for the Purple Prose� (Austin Chronicle, December 18, 2002), stated that the escapism factor has a lot to do with its cult-like following. Black women have to deal with the pressures of being black, female, and educated in a society that encourages none of these characteristics; romances provide an opportunity for us to step back from the real world and the backbreaking responsibilities of keeping functional relationships of all types. We need books that make us feel good. Perhaps another reason is wishful thinking. The disintegration of black-on-black relationships and the alleged black male shortage has left a mating void that many women are aching to have filled. Romances provide a world where, as Beverly Bartlett in her article “Romance—and Respect� (Courier-Journal, February 11, 2002) inferred, black women receive what is lacking in their lives: respect, care, and nurturing by black men who are in touch with both their mate’s emotions and their own, and where the term “down low� is in reference to business deals or unrequited love for a woman. Once we enter those pages, we no longer have to bring home the bacon, fry it, and serve it to the kids before putting them to bed. It is a welcome respite from the rampant misogyny that rules the air and television waves.
While romance novelists are often demeaned for their chosen field of writing, their bank accounts are quite revered. Moser showed that these authors are paid anywhere from $15,000 to $25,000 per book for writing a “category� or “series� romance such as those published by Harlequin or Silhouette, more for single-title novels. Many romance authors can write two to four novels a year, especially series romances. RWA statistics demonstrate that 18% of romance readers read category romances, while 45% of readers read both category and single-title romances (such as Doris Johnson’s Midsummer Moon or Nothing but the Truth by Roberta Gayle). Romance comprises 18% of all books sold (not including children’s books) and 34.6% of all popular fiction sold. General fiction only counts for 24.1% and mystery/suspense for 23.1% of all fiction sold. Readers tend to read between one and five romance novels a year. The romance genre generated $1.63 billion (that’s nine zeroes) in sales in 2002, you can call these romance authors whatever you want. Just don’t call them broke.
Tiffany M. Davis is the editor in chief of the PhoenixBlue Review (http://www.phoenixbluereview.com) and the principal of PhoenixBlue Editing (http://www.phoenixblue.com). She lives in Maryland.
The cover of my first book, Chocolate Kisses, appears on the front of Romantic Times� January issue. It’s just a small corner, but I’d only seen it on the computer, so while I was at the bookstore the other evening, it really caught my eye. Grabbing the magazine, I ran my fingertips lovingly over the image.
I must have sighed or giggled, maybe even hugged it. Kissing it wouldn’t have been entirely out of the question. Whatever I did, it captured the attention of another woman browsing the nearby romance section, and she inquired over my reaction.
“It’s my cover,� I explained, showing the luscious lips and delectable chocolate heart.
A white woman, in her early 60’s, I’d guess, had a stack of romances cradled in her arms, but couldn’t help the furrow of her brow when she looked at the cover. “I haven’t read that type of romance. What’s it about?� she asked.
I went on to tell her a little synopsis of the book–An African American erotic tale of friends who love each other but fear risking their relationship by giving into their attraction.
She smiled. “So, it’s a regular romance, but their skin is brown?�
A regular romance? Hmm?
My defenses prickled. Regular?
Had there been a drop of racism in her tone, I’d have called her on it. But her question was asked with genuine interest. I wasn’t about to school her on the Civil Rights Movement for two reasons. First, she was twice my age and old enough to have been around then. I wasn’t. Secondly, answering what regular was would be different for everyone. It did, however, lead me to other questions.
Does color matter?
Is the difference between white contemporary romance and black merely the color of the skin on the characters?
Being from Northern California, brought up in middle class neighborhoods where liberals flourish and racism is minimal, my normal�regular–is going to be different than a woman who lives in an urban setting. Far different from the South.
But regardless of environment, I strongly believe you can’t slap some brown-sugar skin on any character and call them black.
The difference isn’t a skin shade one. It’s a culture thing. It’s deep. Rooted. Integral to how the hero and heroine will relate to one another. How they deal with life issues. Fears. Trust.
So fundamental, in fact, it effects how they love. I’m not talking the sexual act here(that’s a separate discussion), but the expression. The emotion. How the character’s love arcs grow and change.
My answer was twofold. Yes. There is something unique about (most) black romance. If you’re any shade but one considered black, then a black romance isn’t a regular one just with darker skin. It’d be culturally different.
But telling that to this nice, polite lady wouldn’t convince her to give a black romance a try. And I wanted her to, which leads to the second part of the answer.
No. Skin color doesn’t matter. At least, it shouldn’t.
Glancing quickly at her stack of books, I noticed the majority were historical. She’d given me fuel to back up my argument.
“Why haven’t you read an African American romance before?�
It didn’t take her long to reply. “Because I don’t think I could relate to the characters.� The response I’d hoped she’d give.
“But you can relate to dancing at a ball or marrying a duke?� I asked her.
Smart lady. She knew where she’d been led. Shifting her books to make room for more, she smiled at me and said, “Who do you recommend?� I spent the next hour showing her. She bought three.
Skin matters. Like the cover of a book (not all–an art department thing) skin hints at the substance within. True enough, the cultural differences are there. But well written love stories are well written love stories. Period.
If you’ve ever passed up reading a black book because you thought it’d be a story/characters you couldn’t relate to, I implore you to give one a try. While the variances in cultural remain, there’s a sisterhood that binds us. Not one of skin, but of gender. Across America and around the world, women share dreams of health, wealth, and happiness for their families.
And desire romance, love, tenderness, passion, commitment, loyalty, devotion…a man to sweep them off their feet.
Isn’t it well past time that differences are celebrated and common ground is found within the pages of a romance?
