- By Shivani
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I was in the depths of my undiagnosed depression when in March 2020 I picked up Beach Read by Emily Henry – a novel about a romance author dealing with grief and stumbling upon an old college rival who is now an award-winning literary fiction author. Both of them decide to switch their genres in order to get out of writer’s block, and as the story progresses, the main characters fall in love with each other and manage to come to terms with their respective grief and trauma.
As I was swirling around in Henry’s witty writing, I found myself relating the male character’s dry sense of humor, his introspective and inquisitive nature and his habit of shutting down when emotionally affected. I fell in love with his personality and since he reminded me so much of myself, I couldn’t help loving myself either. I had never experienced anything like that before. Never had I related to a character so much that it made me love myself. It particularly mattered so much back then because my brain would constantly be telling me I deserved the opposite of love. But after reading Beach Read, suddenly, living in my body, having my life, being me, didn’t feel too bad.
Henry was followed by another debut author – Sarah Hogle who wrote You Deserve Each Other, a novel about an engaged couple in a contentious relationship who go head-to-head in a battle of pranks and sabotage to push the other person into calling it quits first. The basic plot reeked of toxicity, but the actual story was a wonderful mix of characters dealing with self-esteem and trust issues.
Never had I related to a character so much that it made me love myself.
There was an absolute childishness and pettiness in the character’s regard towards one another that truly spoke to me at a time when I wanted to scream bloody mary for no reason. Tired of my existence, I related with the lead female character’s lack of self-confidence and her habit of shutting down (we’re seeing a pattern here, aren’t we?)
Hogle’s breezy comedic writing style also felt like a breath of fresh air when things around me felt stagnant. The biting dialogue and the characters full of personality brought some much-needed speed into my life. I suddenly started feeling like I was moving with the rest of the world and wasn’t stuck in my own morose time loop.
Depression has the tendency to take away one’s memories, but I still clearly remember that one month and the happiness I felt in those few days, and it was all because of the books I’d read. I can’t seem to forget my confident body language and my constant smile of those days. I hope I never forget that.
Depression has the tendency to take away one’s memories, but I still clearly remember that one month and the happiness I felt in those few days, and it was all because of the books I’d read.
It was two in the morning on December 30, 2017, when I discovered Alessandra Torre’s Hollywood Dirt, a romance about an A-list Hollywood actor and a Southern girl-next-door. As they shoot for his latest film, the two characters slowly fall in love. This is basically the entire plotline.
At the time, I was 2 years into my undiagnosed depression, had just passed Class 12 and was one by one, losing interest in things that used to bring me joy. I was starting to isolate myself, oscillating between extreme anger and extreme sadness, and was slowly losing energy for everyday tasks.
Reading was the last remaining hobby in my life that hadn’t yet completely left me. But what I’d slowly find is that I couldn’t gather the energy or interest to read literary fiction and young adult (my two preferred genres at the time).
Few weeks before that night, Puneet uncle, an old family friend came home. As he was inquiring about my sister and I’s life happenings, I brought up the fact that I haven’t been able to gather interest in books. How everyday I pick up a book and eventually put it down because it feels like too much work. He suggested that I read I Too Had A Love Story by Ravinder Singh. I viscerally remember making a disgusted face and then going on a rant about how much I hate romance, declaring it as non-serious fiction. I remember also secretly being offended by the idea that uncle may have suggested a romance book to me because I was a teenage girl and “that is what girls probably liked reading.” No, sir! I was a serious teenage girl who read literary fiction and understood big world problems.
For me, romance was a genre that was read only by people who didn’t have any depth, who didn’t understand nuance and were only ever talking about romantic love. It felt too sugary, like a mix of jalebi and donut. Too sweet.
Admittedly, the genre felt too girly to me, and since I was in my ‘not like other girls’ phase, it went against every single cell of my body to intentionally pick up a romance book. I was honestly surprised when Puneet uncle suggested a romance book to me because he was one of the smartest people I knew. How could a smart person enjoy romance, I wondered, completely missing the irony that I, a “serious” reader, couldn’t see nuance.
I viscerally remember making a disgusted face and then going on a rant about how much I hate romance, declaring it as non-serious fiction.
As my depression sunk its claws deeper, I found reading slipping away from my grip. The darkness was all consuming and the only light to be found was in the fictional worlds, crafted by writers who took me away from my reality. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t hold on to it. I couldn’t afford to let reading books go. It was the last truly joyous thing left in my life. If reading left me, there would be nothing else left.
A few days later, when I was again struggling to get back into reading, I decided to re-read Marked by P.C. & Kristin Cast – a young adult 2000s vampire classic – and found myself re-reading the romantic scenes in the middle of all vampire nonsense. I’d enjoy the sexual tension between characters a lot more in the entire series than anything else that was happening on the page. The giddiness I felt was unparalleled.
That is when I started searching for books entirely made up of those giddy scenes that brought me joy – the romance genre. As a newbie in the genre, in the beginning, I struggled to find the writers that suited my taste, but in the last days of the year 2017, I found Hollywood Dirt which had all the tropes to check my romance list.
I loved how the main leads clashed against each other; loved the Southern perspective of the story and even though Southern pride was a tad bit glorified, I liked extra information from the Civil War era. The classic tropes like enemies-to-lovers were in full bloom (that was also when I learnt about various different romance tropes and sub-genres) and even though the 2015 novel hasn’t been able to stand the test of time – there are multiple consent violations – I entered 2018 with a renewed interest in reading. I was on a new literary journey and was hungry for more.
The giddiness I felt was unparalleled.
That is when I started searching for books entirely made up of those giddy scenes that brought me joy – the romance genre.
In 2023, months after getting a formal diagnosis and starting my medication, I called Puneet uncle and asked him what he liked about the genre. For him, it was the normal interactions, the daily struggles of the characters. “Romance is more than the courtship period,” he said.
But he did find the genre’s tendency to put romance on a pedestal problematic. It created a very idealistic picture, set unrealistic expectations which could lead to disillusionment and heartbreak.
We discussed the stigma attached to the genre and how it is often considered as too girly or fluffy – stigmas I was a victim of, but Puneet uncle doesn’t feel that people, who don’t consider romance as serious fiction, have read true romance. In his eyes, Mills & Boons, and anything of that sort, isn’t romance. Many romance readers would disagree with him, but the beauty of the genre is that it is large enough to encompass a variety of readers. There’s truly something for everybody here.
But the stigma attached to the genre does feel unique because it brands it as unserious. Most writers and readers here are women, so there’s a definite hint of misogyny in the stigma. After all, historically, women’s interests have not been taken seriously by society, so this is just a reflection of that.
In the last few years, for me, contemporary romance has turned into a place of solace from the world. The genre feels like a warm hug on my toughest days. I’ve discovered many great writers through this genre, who I probably wouldn’t have found otherwise, and I can’t wait to discover more. It’s been my favorite literary journey so far.
Shivani Yadav is a fashion, media and culture writer. She’s currently studying Psychology and working as a translator at Chambal Media and Khabar Lahariya, India’s only grassroots feminist news organization. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @theshivaniyadav and read her weekly popculture newsletter on Substack.
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