I’ll talk about the book pictured above in a minute, but can we first talk about how it’s also a photo of a housewife reading a tawdry romance novel?

One of the hunks I’ve bitten off in the past year is shame. I want to look at how it’s showing up and how I’m dealing with it. One of the most recent examples is that I went from reading mostly historical fiction for much of my adult life, to this year reading a LOT of nonfiction, especially spirituality books.

I wasn’t giving myself a break from this type of reading and was feeling overwhelmed with my reading list and also a little burnt out. When I gave romance a try this spring as a way of giving my brain a break from the nonfiction, I felt a certain amount of shame.

I am picky about what I read, so I didn’t just choose any old romance from the shelf (although two out of the three I’ve read so far look EXACTLY like every romance novel I’ve ever seen). I requested recommended titles from my library. This meant that I wasn’t just setting them on the counter to check out. The librarian had to retrieve them from the interlibrary loan shelf for me first.

Which “should” mean that they are special, high brow reading choices. But in this case, it didn’t. They are formulaic, cheesy, and at times ridiculous. They are also in turns hilarious, and great foreplay for the anxious (real-life) lady. And for the first time in recent memory, I was feeling ashamed about what I was reading.

I squirmed the most with this particular romance novel partly because of its inconsistent message regarding morality. The period romances I’ve read love to play with and against the rules governing proper conduct of, in this case, early 1800’s England. One moment, “We were accidentally caught alone together! It looks indecent! We must be wed to protect the reputation of the lady!” And not long after, “Until we are wed, we will shag – which we hadn’t done to begin with – every time we can sneak into each other’s rooms! Or to a secluded outdoor area! Or to a storage closet! *eye roll*

These historical romances play with the idea that we as humans act like overgrown teenagers and pretend that generations before us obeyed the Rules of Morality better than we have and Never Had Sex except to Procreate, and Always Within Marriage. Anything else would be Gross (not to mention Sinful). (Life Lesson? Moral High Ground is a Lie. To be human is to wallow in the same muck as everyone else.)

Shame is taught. Formative experiences as a kid teach us what what to feel ashamed about. It isn’t necessarily your conscience talking. Case in point? Married sex. But that is another post. In trying to tease out shame vs. conscience (and it’s starting to feel like they aren’t super connected), I’ve found underneath the cheese and unbuttoning of multiple layers of period clothing, romance contains some valuable ideas about how men and women deal with their feelings and conflict in relationship.

Do You Want to Start a Scandal, by Tessa Dare, was surprisingly similar to both the other romance novels I read. Different characters and setting, but same idea. I’m getting to know romance as a genre. Like the other romance novels, this book showed me the universality of some of the key struggles and conflicts in relationship. Three books into my romance inquiry, it’s still a bit jarring to read a passage where characters are arguing about or experiencing something strikingly similar to what I’ve dealt with in my own relationship.

In our individualistic culture, we don’t talk to each other about our relationships. You are having marital trouble, having the same fight with your partner again and again. You’re dealing with the same (damn) feelings over and over. You can feel isolated and alone, as though you haven’t experienced any personal growth since the day you said “I Do.” Dare’s book gave me a peek at a completely fabricated world where the human beings at least, were relatable and had some of the very same issues I’ve dealt with myself. Just knowing you are not alone in the human condition is a tremendous gift. It’s a gift we have to be given multiple times, because we can forget its import and truth all too quickly.

I didn’t laugh as much as I did with the first Dare novel I read, but I did find Do You Want to Start a Scandal to be well written and amusing. Despite its moral vacillations, there were universal truths to be had, a kind nudge in the ribs to reassure you that you are not alone. But the cover? Completely scandalous.