When perusing through the romance book and movie recommendations, the suggested sections seem to advertise eerily similar love confession quotes, parroting the same theatrical attempts at heart-wrenching lines where the sad sap, usually just some common man, expresses all the pent up emotions from the moments before leading up to this pinnacle of drama…all for it to fall incredibly flat, leaving much to be desired.
It’s no coincidence that almost every love confession in the current circulating romance sphere includes the same variations of the tired use of stars, light, storms, universe, lifetimes–you get the idea.
The Few Examples in Recent Years:
“Twisted Love” by Ana Huang: “If you wanted, I would burn down the world for you.”
“You are the light to my dark, Sunshine, ….Without you, I’m lost.”
“The Deal” by Elle Kennedy: “You’re my brightest star, the one thing in my universe that never fades. Even when everything else goes dark, you’re still shining, still pulling me back to you.”
“Better Than the Movies” by Lynn Painter: “You’re like my own personal sun–too bright, too warm, too impossible to ignore.”
It is so peculiar that all of these popular novels of the recent years have loyalists quoting them with such idolization as if they’re full of depth. Huang’s love interest is this billionaire with questionable, borderline illegal ties, and so his words could very well be plausible, but the latter two characters are college and high school students, respectively. With such vast differences in settings and ages, it’s almost silly to the casual reader how similar all of their attempts at verbalizing the supposed world-moving love they seem to feel are.
The gaping hole in confessions like these are the performative nature of such exaggerated metaphors: unrelated and impersonalized words that feel like they could come from just any blanket love interest as long as he fits the mold of masculinity.
The confessions then start feeling like vain attempts at a moment of great monologue that fans can quote in their reviews, and unfortunately for me…they do–which is how I had the misfortune of coming across this epidemic of clones.
The only way my mind can even attempt to understand such a choice is that the authors are seeking the highs of their predecessor in the romance genre: Jane Austen. Specifically, the infamous “Pride and Prejudice” line where Darcy has two moments of dramatic confessions and for the sake of comparison, it is his last proposal to Elizabeth where he proclaims, “You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. And wish from this day forth never to be parted from you.”
And for the language and context of this period in time, a confession like this does not come across as blood-chilling to read as it would if some ordinary man from the 21st century spouted this to his girlfriend of three months. But the valiant effort to incorporate the same dramatic lines in more casual settings are still taken up by the modern romance writers. Their priorities seem to be misplaced in the idea that extremity wins over sincerity. It seems one wants to outdo the other in however many ways they can compare their hypothetical pain of loving to some out-of-world experience. They think saying some extreme things would make the confession more impactful.
This is not to say that all of these attempts are made in vain or that they are cringe-worthy. They make for fun and easily understood comparisons to casual viewers, but this can’t be all that there is to offer the romantics.
In recent years, however, there has been hope for the hopeless romantics with writing that had not fallen victim to this cliche formula: Waymond’s confession in the film “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”
At the high point of Evelyn’s life, when she is a famous actress, glamoured up, paid attention to, adored and recognized, she turns and sees her husband. Waymond has somehow made it to in that world, as she can never seem to really shake him from her world even in the periphery. They talk, and he hits the scene with the most tear-jerking moment with the single delivery of the line: “In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.” With one look back, he walks off, not standing in this moment where he has shocked her with something he knows to be crazily impactful as if he’s some great thinker but speaking to her in the most sincerest, simple way and not expecting a response.
His confession was not done with the annoying shout of inflated hurt ego, where you can see them feeling themselves like they’re giving some great big monologue, but is dejected and resigned.
It makes sense with the context of who he is, who she is, and the concept of the moving being an exploration of timelines in which the heroine deals with her frustrations of failed dreams and unrealized desires for more, discontent with the monotony of her life. Her husband punches through at the core with his words where viewers are left sucker-punched.
The romance genre is not doomed nor is it as predictable as the romance novels and movies that rise to the top lists of Goodreads and (where movie-viewers) go to rope in optimistic souls.
Along with these light jests, there are definitely more niche criticisms to be said with the variety of content these books possess that are just glossed over as romance, and this isn’t some scathingly vindictive point. The question that lurks in many people’s minds when reading these published works that hold titles like “New York Times Bestseller” is why moments of emotional vulnerability are lacking so heavily and the romance is unromantic.
The final takeaway is not that writing is dead in romance but that romance persists in good writing and honestly deserves a chance at succeeding without the cliches.
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