by Hannah Lauder

Created on: June 04, 2009   Last Updated: June 06, 2009

I used to work at a university library, the sort overrun with bedraggled undergrads, harried graduate students, and the odd retired professor with yet another dusty tome or another for some mysterious project that could only be speculated at. In the midst of all this, one woman, a staff member, approached the circulation desk.

"You have some ILLs for me" she said, handing her ID card over. I scanned it and went to the back, emerging a minute or two later with a stack of fifteen small, paperback volumes. Upon checking each one out I gave notice to the

titles: "The Greek Tycoon's Forbidden Mistress." "The Italian Magnate's Pregnant Secretary." "The Texan's Unbridled Mare" or some such. The woman stood there, a soft smile plastered onto her face, fidgeting with perhaps a touch of embarrassment. No, she didn't want a bag. She gathered them into her arms, held them close and waddled out of the library. I stared after her awhile and of course made a comment about it to a co-worker. So many Harlequin romance novels...

I suppose it amused me that one would actually take the trouble to order the ubiquitous glossy little books through InterLibrary Loan. Indeed, even taking the trouble to look them up by title individually and order them seemed ridiculous. They are hardly unique. Then again, they're hardly worth buying new. They're easily obtained at library book sales for a dollar a bag or box. You can trade them in for others at used bookstores. Women unload their old ones at garage sales for merely a few cents each. They're disposable little books and yet women come back for more.

Oh, as much as I would like to I can't be incredibly elitist. I've read a few, offered them at the tender age of eleven when surveying racier fare. Enjoyed them curled up in bed strewn with crumbs. My own mother, who is extraordinarily well-read, has boxes of them in the attic. And although something (sheer vanity, actually) makes me embarrassed to even stare at the Harlequin display at the bookstore for more than two seconds, they do hold an undeniable appeal: they are shamelessly formulaic.

A trip to eHarlequin.com displays the writer's guidelines for each and every one of their imprints, and they are incredibly specific. For example, when submitting a manuscript for Silhouette Desire, writers are told:

"The Desire heroine is complex and flawed. She is strong-willed and smart though capable of making terrible mistakes when it comes to matters of the heart. This is primarily her story so much of the book should be from her point-of-view. There is room for the hero's perspective as long as his thoughts are centered on the heroine and their conflict. Instead of dividing the novel equally between both protagonists' points-of-view, Desires should be more 60% heroine and 40% hero." (Source)

You know exactly what to expect with each brand, the position and status of the heroine and hero, the proportion of heroine to hero in any given book, and so on. This also ensures that there is something for everyone: shy but strong-willed virginal heroines and Texas cattle ranchers. Secretaries and CEOs. Tired businesswomen and nice country boys from the past. It is a meticulously crafted formula, to ensure that when you bring your Harlequin romance home, you get precisely the fantasy you want. No thought and just enough complications involved. Each one is the same as the last. It brings us some control over the romantic lives we just don't have. And always, there is a happy ending.

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