This just might be summer love…
A literature grad critically analyses a genre she’s always been critical of over the course of 10 bestsellers in one summer. Will it be love?
Hi!
My name is Nishtha, and I don’t really know how to introduce myself other than with the label “lifelong reader.” Truly, that’s what I am. Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved being a part of stories that inspired me, tugged at my heartstrings, and just completely expanded my world. Now, in my 20s, armed with a fancy degree in English literature and a job in content marketing, I can claim that I spend a large chunk of my life telling stories as well. It’s pretty cool, really.
Today, however, I come to you not with a story but with a confession, and by the end of this loooong tirade, a promise. Here it is: I’ve been a snob. I haven’t been welcoming and inclusive of all stories. In fact, I’ve denied and jeered at an entire genre of beloved stories. And that is romance. Ugh.
The romance novel is the great ideological behemoth I’ve never been able to scale. I’ve looked down upon and turned my nose up at (a physical impossibility that I metaphorically aced to prove a point) the entire genre for many years. In my mind, the reason was plain as day. Romance novels are tacky. They don’t depict real people or real emotions. They are designed to titillate without inspiring any authentic feelings, and quite honestly, the writing was just…bad. I made all these powerful deductions without ever being able to make it past two pages of these novels. And stuck to them vehemently, even as many close friends and other kind acquaintances maintained how much the genre truly enriched their lives and time. I stuck to my opposition even in the face of a growing industry that was gaining fans by the second. And it’s only now that I’m willing to see their point. There’s a very good reason for that.
Growing up.
Growing up feels like everything that once made perfect sense no longer does and yet finds itself falling into place magically, without you ever finding out exactly how or why. Growing up feels like stepping out on your own while making your strides blindfolded, sure that you’re on your way but without a clear destination in sight. Growing up feels like a million things that can’t be explained but are fascinating all the same. Growing up is pain and inexplicable fear rolled into a neat package of self-doubt. And yet, growing up means knowing everything will be okay anyway. As long as you have an open heart and a curious mind, wonderful things are sure to find you.
Long story short, there’s a romance to growing up. And I’m finally ready to find it.
I’m Nishtha. I’m in my 20s, and everything I know is different now — in good ways and completely terrifying ways. This summer, I’m going to find out where my cherished punching bag of literary genres lies on that spectrum, and I’m inviting people to join me on this quest.
Welcome to Nishtha’s Summer of Love, where I will attempt to read 10 books of the romance variety, review them, and measure how I survived or thrived against these stories and how they’re told. I’m ready to be curious, non-judgmental, completely truthful, and to question why the hell I’m doing this experiment in the first place.
Oh well. Stay tuned for some literary analyses on paperback darlings. It’s going to be fun.
To love…or something like it!
