I Have a Beef With Romantasy
Here’s the beef: That it exists.
If you enjoy this mixed-breed genre, and you’re loving its current explosion on the market, then please take this entire post with a grain of salt.
Personally, I am not.
I’ve read plenty of straight-up romance. I’ve read plenty of straight-up fantasy. I have even read fantasy that included romance — including graphic intimacy scenes. I don’t have an issue with any of it. Yes, you read that right.
Why, then, you might be inquiring of this moth, am I so opposed to romantasy? Very simply, because it is threatening to kill a genre I love — for no reason other than money. And it sucks.
Fantasy has worked hard to be taken seriously as a literary category. For decades, people who enjoyed reading (and writing) fantasy novels were deemed “basement dwellers,” and “non-adults who can’t deal with reality.” It took the rise of a boy wizard, sparkly vampires, and spicy reimagined fairytales to change that. But what did it change into? The idea that it was acceptable for grown-ups to read YA, that YA could get explicit, and interspecies relationships are okay (on paper), and that mythical creatures make fun pets. The notion that invented worlds with magic systems were actually legit forms of entertainment still wasn’t accepted by the majority of readers. Many fans of Harry Potter, Twilight, and authors like Sara J. Maas are more about the discussions on surviving trauma, and the relationship angst — and they like the portrayal of dragons as basically dogs you can ride. This does not mean these people truly appreciate the impact Lord of the Rings and Wheel of Time and Brandon Sanderson have had — as solid fantasy work.
So, now, we’re here, in the land of dozens of new romantasy titles being released every quarter, and it feels like the integrity of the genre is getting stripped away. Because, for those of you who aren’t aware, romantasy is the equivalent of Harlequin bodice-rippers — easy on the worldbuilding, heavy on the s-e-x. Want some vampire-human porn? Publishing’s got your back. Feel like wizards comparing more than just their wand lengths (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)? Yup, try the next shelf down. In the mood for some mermaid-centaur smut? They’ve got it alllllll!
And, yes, these books are selling like hotcakes.
And it is becoming ridiculous.
Again, I’m not against a romance plot in a fantasy-based world. After all, one of my favorite series ever is Maggie Stiefvater’s The Wolves of Mercy Falls, which is about werewolves falling in love. But a big part of the reason I like this story is because it takes its premise seriously. The major themes are about losing your human life, possibly your humanity, and what happens if paired wolves don’t shift at the same time, how that could affect them as a couple and individually; and how falling for a wolf when you’re not one changes your perspectives and the way you choose to live. It absolutely tackles the questions of how to explain away the times you can’t be at work/school/with your family because you’ve shifted into a huge furry creature and run into the woods; of how to deal with which humans you can trust, which ones to avoid, and trying to make sure you don’t eat anybody. Being a werewolf is not merely a sexy punchline in this tale.
And, no, we don’t have to take everything deadly seriously in a genre that’s designed to poke fun at itself — I mean, we’d all secretly like to ride dragons to work, and date some buff and witty immortal hottie, and have a more exciting life than paying bills and getting groceries and folding the laundry. But this is part of what’s sacred about fantasy — we want to strive after something less expected, more magical than the everyday; and that shouldn’t just be turned into an escapist double entendre.
Am I possibly thinking too hard about this? Yeah, maybe. But I also feel like there’s precedence for this discussion. For example, I do believe historical fiction authors and readers were initially concerned about bodice-rippers ruining serious literary forays into the past. Many parents are, rightly, worried that “YA” being marketed to 27-year-olds will expose their tweens to content they’re not ready for. Just like many other industries, publishing capitalizes on trends, and when a niche market takes over (and for how long?), it can be very difficult to return to a broader sales strategy. So, what happens to the now-floundering actually-for-kids magic-and-mysterious-beasts books (that struggled to get a foothold among parents and librarians to begin with)?
Many devoted fantasy fans are already starting to complain that BookTok and Bookstagram are ruining spoiler-free TBR curation for them — because they’ve been burned so many times by a popular impending release turning out to be romantasy — when they were after more worldbuilding, more plot, less smut — that they feel they have to do a deep dive into the summaries of all new titles marketed as “fantasy.” They don’t even feel they can trust the label anymore: they’re starting to feel betrayed by publishers, who apparently no longer understand the difference between a faerie bodice-ripper and a genuine fantastical adventure.
This whole situation is probably going to have additional unintended consequences as well. I wonder how many hopeful authors will, in the next couple of years, submit manuscripts along the veins of Percy Jackson and Mistborn, only to be told it’s a no, unless characters take off all their clothes at least 5 times in 420 pages. And then, what if this bubble bursts, publishers find they don’t have enough Actual Fantasy Authors on contract? What if the people they rejected have given up writing to become psychologists and IT specialists and cafe managers?
I’m going to stand on my beef. This doesn’t feel like an irritating phase; it feels like the tip of an iceberg.
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