In Defense of Romance First
Hawke placed a hand on the hilt of his broadsword and bowed slightly, his gaze never once leaving mine. “With my sword and with my life, I vow to keep you safe, Penellaphe,” he spoke, voice deep and smooth, reminding me of rich, decadent chocolate. “From this moment until the last moment, I am yours.”
From Blood and Ash - Jennifer L. Armentrout
Are you prepared for a weird review? I hope so, because I have some things to say about Jennifer L. Armentrout’s Blood and Ash series. Let’s start with the cons, a standard beginning in a book review so perhaps this won’t be as weird as I feared. Except there’s this minor caveat: I’ll write the cons down, sure, but I care not one whit about them.
1. Is our main character not-like-other-girls, scarred-but-beautiful, a Mary Sue, and a MacGuffin all at once? Yeah, but I don’t care.
2. Is there a profound lack of magic- and world-building for an “epic fantasy?” Yep, I really don’t care.
3. Is plot often set aside for romance’s sake? Absolutely, but I definitely don’t care.
Okay, now onto a little spoiler-free synopsis. At its core, we have a made-up world featuring names like Solis and Atlantia. Throw in a couple rival kingdoms, some vampire-zombie-creatures, a virgin protagonist literally titled the Maiden, and the lurking, mysterious figure of the Dark One, and you’ve got a recipe for that delicious friends-to-enemies-to-lovers goodness.
Now I can continue with even more cons. There are tonal issues and inconsistent vernacular. The lore is confusing and lacks detail to solidify the world we’re immersed in. You get it: I’m not describing masterpieces. But they are so. Fucking. Charming. Seriously, I cannot stress how engrossing this series is. I’ve devoured the first two (From Blood and Ash and A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire), and I’m currently sustaining my soul on the third, The Crown of Gilded Bones. What I’m trying – pretty poorly – to convey is that Armentrout has written romance first.
Romance first is not a new concept. Bodice-rippers written in the 1970s and 80s (many of which I’ve whole-heartedly consumed) cared less about the dire consequences of said bodice-ripping to a Regency-era aristocratic woman than the hulking, tastefully hairy Fabio doing the bodice-ripping. The shelves of paranormal romances, suspense romances, historical romances all have that thing in common – they put romance first.
Often, because of this “romance first” concept, these books are vilified. They’re a punchline and even more so their customer base of mostly middle-class, suburban, white moms. But screw that academia-centered, holier-than-thou attitude.
I’ve got some lofty reading goals (every Pulitzer winner, every Man Booker Prize winner, etc.), and in theory I’m wasting my time with Armentrout’s series. Honestly, though, I can be just as proud of myself for reading a literary giant like Ulysses as I am self-satisfied to have experienced the Dark One himself, Casteel Da’Neer. Truly, they are equal in my mind, when works like Ulysses take more from me than they give back but works like From Blood and Ash are their own reward.
So yeah, J. R. R. Tolkien would be horrified at Armentrout’s lack of descriptions of trees, and C. S. Lewis would blanch at the excessive coitus (for multiple reasons probably). But, if I haven’t said this enough yet, I just don’t care.
