Mills and Fur

Home , Erotic literature, Feminine beauty ideal, Supernatural (season 13)

Mills and Fur

Feminism and Femininity in the

Supernatural Romance

Nicola Burke

A thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Western Sydney University 2020 ©Nicola Burke

Acknowledgements

To my parents, Barbara and Stephen, thank you for over thirty years of unwavering support and encouragement, from pre-school to postgrad. Thank you also to Dominic and Bernice, the cat cousins, and Miss Baby Yoda.

I am eternally grateful for Ella and The Committee for carrying me into 2020 with the massive outpouring of love and support I needed to help me finish.

I would also like to thank my supervisory panel Dr. Dianne Dickenson, Dr. Penelope Rossiter and Dr. Christopher Conti for their guidance and support through this (long) process.

For Wendy, as promised. And for Marie.

Until the end of the line

Statement of Authentication

The work presented in this thesis is, to the best of my knowledge and belief, original except as acknowledged in the text. I hereby declare that I have not submitted this material, either in full or in part, for a degree at this or any other institution.

Table of Contents Abstract ...... 1 Introduction ...... 3 Reading the Supernatural Romance...... 9 Transitional Girls: Girlhood in the Late Twentieth and Early Twenty-First Centuries ...... 16 ‘Slippery and Amorphous’: Adolescent and Young Adult Literature ...... 25 Outline of Chapters ...... 28 Chapter 1: From Medieval Chivalry to Chick lit: The History of the Romance Novel ...... 38 The Development of the Genre: From the Medieval Romance to the Twentieth Century ...... 40 Tales of Chivalry and Enchantment: The Medieval Romance ...... 42 The Literary Salon, French Fairy Tale and Amatory and Sensation Fiction ...... 44 Pamela and Pride and Prejudice: Step-Parents of the Romance ...... 52 Heaving Bosoms and Ripped Bodices: The Twentieth Century Romance ...... 62 The Early Twentieth Century ...... 63 Harlequin, Mills & Boon and the Fabio Bodice Rippers ...... 66 Sex and the Single Girl in the City’s Diary: The Rise of Chick lit ...... 73 Conclusion ...... 79 Chapter 2: Sexy Byronic Werewolves: The Contemporary Supernatural Romance ...... 82 Sexy Werewolves and the Byronic Vampire: The Gothic Novel, Sensation Fiction and the Supernatural ...... 84 Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know: Rochester, Heathcliff and the Byronic Hero ...... 89 The Twentieth-Century Supernatural Romance ...... 95 Twilight, Mummy Porn and the Romance ...... 101 Bodice Rippers and Mummy Porn: Female Sexuality and the Feminine Text ...... 106 Conclusion ...... 108 Chapter 3: Beautiful/Beastly: Female Sexuality, the Supernatural and Animal Bridegroom Tales ...... 110 Beauty and the Wolf: The Supernatural Romance as Animal Bridegroom Tale ...... 113 Erotic lycanthropy and psychic sexuality: Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon ...... 116 Sisters Red and Red Riding Hood: Sex and Lycanthropic Discovery ...... 124 Forever Love: The Supernatural Pseudo-marriage ...... 133 Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon: The Supernatural, Psychic Connection ...... 135 Shared Secrets: Red Riding Hood and Sisters Red ...... 139 Conclusion ...... 144 Chapter Four: How to be a Contemporary Domestic Goddess: Femininity and Domesticity ...... 147 Family and Femininity are Produced in the Kitchen...... 150 Grace Brisbane, Isabel Culpeper and the Kitchen as Commentary ...... 151 The Monetisation of Domesticity: Low Red Moon and Debby Hood ...... 157 Cooking versus Hunting: Sisters Red and Femininity ...... 160 Domestic Femininity, Criticism and Red Riding Hood ...... 166 How to Domesticate your Werewolf ...... 171 Conclusion ...... 178 Chapter 5: All the Better to Smell You With: Scent, Gender and Sexuality...... 180

Food and Forests: Gender, Scent and Domesticity ...... 183 Sickly Sweet: Perfumes and Inauthentic Femininity ...... 191 All the Better to Smell you With: Scent, Sex and Lycanthropy ...... 198 Malodour and Monstrosity: Werewolves, Villainy and the Female Creature...... 203 Female Lycanthropy and Illness in Wolves of Mercy Falls...... 203 Something Smells Off: Scent and Villainy ...... 209 Conclusion ...... 213 Chapter 6: Juicy Morsels: Food, Sex and Gender ...... 215 Doing Domesticity: Femininity, Baking and Nostalgia ...... 218 Low Red Moon and Sisters Red: Baking and Family ...... 219 The Complicated Domesticity of Wolves of Mercy Falls and Red Riding Hood ...... 224 The Skinny-Glutton and the Double bind ...... 229 Food, Sex and the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ Fairy Tale ...... 237 All the Better to Eat You With: The Edible Adolescent ...... 239 Abominable Appetites: Sex, Hunger and Shelby ...... 248 Conclusion ...... 251 Conclusion ...... 254 Avenues for Further Research ...... 268 Reference List ...... 272

Abstract

The contemporary supernatural romance genre is frequently dismissed as one dimensional and low quality; a genre for an undiscerning adolescent female audience that reproduces traditional and conservative ideologies of gender and sexuality. In this thesis I contest this dismissal of the supernatural romance, arguing that the genre contains multiple representations of femininity and female sexuality. These representations expose and rehearse the complex attitudes surrounding and held by adolescent girls regarding sexuality, femininity and romantic relationships in the early twenty-first century. My research focuses on analysis of Sisters Red by Jackson Pearce

(2010), Low Red Moon by Ivy Devlin (2009), Red Riding Hood by Sarah Blakley-

Cartwright (2011) and the Wolves of Mercy Falls series, Shiver, Linger, Forever and

Sinner, by Maggie Stiefvater (2009, 2010, 2011, 2014). I argue that the texts feature progressive representations of adolescent female sexuality, presenting female sexual desire and pleasure as positive elements of adolescent girlhood. Simultaneously, however, traditional and repressive ideologies of femininity are reproduced, specifically the construction of women as inherently domestic as well as contemporary discourses on beauty, authenticity and effort. In doing so, the texts reveal contemporary ambiguity within attitudes surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood.

My analysis is organised around four main themes common to the texts: the representations of the supernatural, domesticity, scent and smell and food and feasting.

I argue that these representations are determined by the contemporary supernatural romance’s location between or within not only the romance genre, but Young Adult

(YA) fiction and the fairy tale tradition. Each of these genres explores liminal spaces that complicate binaries such as human/animal, masculine/feminine and

real/supernatural. Within the texts studied, the influence of these genres on the four themes allows for complexity and contradictions within representations of femininity, female sexuality and (heterosexual) relationships. In conducting this research, I not only analyse the contemporary ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood as it is represented within the texts but emphasise the importance of popular literature as a site in which these attitudes and anxieties can be explored, resisted and reproduced.

Introduction

In the mid-2000s to early 2010s, the contemporary supernatural romance genre took popular culture by storm, temporarily saturating mainstream media. This popularity was in part due to the rapid and unanticipated fame of Stephenie Meyer's (2005-2008)

Twilight series (Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn) a vampire/human romance aimed at an adolescent female audience. Twilight’s temporary dominance of mainstream media influenced the popularity and success of the contemporary supernatural romance genre. In 2009, for example, the supernatural romance accounted for 17% of all book sales in America, in comparison to 2% in 2007 (Keyser

2010). Despite this popularity and impact, the genre encountered what Joseph

Crawford (2014, p. 3) identified as 'virtually omnipresent' hostility in both mainstream and academic discussion. While Crawford (2014) expressed surprise at this hostility, it is perhaps less surprising when the connection of the supernatural romance to and location within the greater romance genre is taken into consideration.

The romance genre is one of the best-selling and innovative contemporary literary genres (Romance Writers of America 2015). Defined by the Romance Writers of

America (RWA) as a text that centres a romantic relationship and features an optimistic or emotionally uplifting ending, the ‘romance’ encompasses a wide variety of categories or sub-genres. These include the regency, inspirational (or Christian), erotic, and supernatural or paranormal romances.1 The romance genre has a rich history that embraces the medieval chivalric romance, the literary fairy tale, amatory fiction, the Gothic novel (especially the Brontës) the 'Fabio books' of the twentieth

1 In this thesis I exclusively use the term ‘supernatural romance’ as I believe it to be a more accurate representation of the texts studied.

century, and contemporary supernatural romances such as Twilight (Crawford 2014;

Rodale 2015; Tan & Wendell 2009). Catherine Roach (2016, p. 3) classifies the romance narrative as a 'central storyline of human culture' if not one of the 'guiding text[s]' for how (heterosexual) men and women relate. While the cultural and social significance of the romance genre is recognised in its classic phases, it is rarely accorded the same status in contemporary ones despite its popular origins.

Despite its cultural significance, the romance and its sub-genres are regularly criticised and dismissed as poor quality, mass market texts with superficial plots that reinforce conservative ideologies of gender and sexuality. The depth and breadth of the genre is ignored in favour of 'pearl-clutching and awkward titters' about 'bodice rippers' or

'Fabio books' (Higgs 2017, n.p). The contemporary supernatural romance is similarly dismissed and ridiculed. Criticism of Twilight (and by extension the supernatural romance as a whole) is characterised by accusations of poor writing, misogyny, outdated gender roles and ‘being simply, straightforwardly, perniciously, self- evidently bad’ (Crawford 2014, p. 2).

Throughout this thesis, I dispute these stereotypes, arguing that the genre is a site for multiple and diverse examinations of adolescent girls and contemporary girlhood. I conduct a genre study of the romance, and then a literary close reading of several

American supernatural romance texts published during the late 2000s and early 2010s:

Low Red Moon by Ivy Devlin (2009), Sisters Red by Jackson Pearce (2010), Red

Riding Hood by Sarah Blakley-Cartwright (2011) and the Wolves of Mercy Falls series, Shiver, Linger, Forever and Sinner by Maggie Stiefvater (2009, 2010, 2011,

2014).2 My analysis reveals that the texts chosen for this study, as part of the

2 Wolves of Mercy Falls is also referred to as the Shiver series. In this thesis, I use Wolves of Mercy Falls to refer to the series, to differentiate between the series as a whole and the first novel, Shiver.

contemporary supernatural romance genre, are not mere reproductions of well- established ideologies of adolescent femininity and female sexuality. Rather, they contain examination, criticism, adaptation and at times reproductions of these ideologies. The texts move beyond contemporary stereotypes of the romance novel, and the supernatural romance, as poorly written frothy entertainment for the undiscerning adolescent female audience.

The corpus embodies a specific time period within Western society and, as a result, a specific incarnation of girlhood. Girlhood is not an essential or concrete phase, instead being negotiated in relation to its social and cultural context. The 2000s and 2010s saw the negotiation of three distinct forms of girlhood, what Marion Brown (2004, p. 107) refers to as the ‘sad girl’, the ‘mad grrrl’ and the ‘bad girl’. Or, the girl at risk figure, the riot grrrl figure and the mean girl figure (Brown 2010; Gonick 2006; Harris 2004).

The growing mainstream interest in the supernatural romance led to greater analytical focus on popular feminine culture both within and outside of the academy. This analytical focus explored the ways in which popular culture moved beyond stereotypes of being superficial, unoriginal and one dimensional. Representations of adolescent female sexuality and femininity within the texts are at times conflicted, at once presenting a criticism and overhaul of well-established gender norms while ultimately reproducing them. The texts draw on the conflict surrounding adolescent femininity and female sexuality, particularly in relation to adolescent girls’ pursuit of sexual pleasure and their negotiation of the rigid expectations of femininity, presenting female characters who at times resist traditional constructions of gender and sexuality, and at times reproduce them. In doing so, I uncover the contemporary instability regarding what it means to be an adolescent girl that pervades the supernatural romance.

Despite the regular and consistent popularity of the romance genre as a whole, its classification as popular literature and its identity as a feminine text has led to the emergence of stereotypes, derision and criticism.3 Sarah Frantz and Eric Selinger

(2014, pp. 2-3) argue that popular romance fiction is frequently considered ‘triply shameful’ as it is ‘overwhelmingly written and read by women […] dedicated to the exploration of emotion, including sentiment’ and has ‘embraced the mass-culture marketplace, eschewing literary difficulty’. These attitudes can be seen throughout mainstream discussion of the genre. In his discussion of contemporary romances in the

New York Times Book Review (the first time romance novels were the focus of a front- page article) Robert Gottlieb (2017, n.p) reduced the genre to formulaic renditions of two categories, the regency romance and the ‘contemporary young-woman-finding- her-way’ story. The romance is also often reduced to a caricature of one specific sub- category, the historical romance. These stereotypes include dismissal of the genre as

‘Fabio Books’ or ‘bodice rippers’, drawing on the sexual content and ostentatious cover art that are (or were, in the case of cover art) frequently present in the historical romance.

These stereotypes are seen both in relation to the romance genre overall, as well as its specific sub-genres, including the supernatural romance. The contemporary supernatural romance is generally defined as a romance novel which features supernatural elements, such as enchantment, supernatural characters or specific supernatural worlds (Crawford 2014; Kaveney 2012; Pulliam 2014; Romance Writers of America). The central relationship in the supernatural romance is invariably between a human and supernatural character, with the narrative focusing on tension

3 In this thesis I draw on Tania Modleski’s (1982) definition of the feminine text as a text produced for, aimed at and read by a predominantly female audience. This includes texts such as the romance genre, chick-lit, soap operas and gossip magazines.

between the ‘real’ and supernatural worlds of the characters (Crawford 2014; Romance

Writers of America). In the past decade and a half, the supernatural romance sub-genre has experienced the sort of popularity and notoriety that recalls the criticism levelled at the broader romance genre.

If the contemporary romance is ‘triply shameful’ (Frantz & Selinger 2014, pp. 2-3) due to its female authorship and popular readership, then the contemporary supernatural romance is regarded as ‘quadruply’ so, due to its association with an adolescent female audience. As Lisa Bode (2010, p.712) argues, ‘for defenders of legitimate culture, the lower stratum of culture is constructed as gendered and infantilized’. The Young Adult (YA) audience is considered therefore as the ‘lower stratum’, further delineating masculine ‘high art’ from feminine ‘mass culture’

(Huyssen 1986). The adolescent girl fan has long been a source of ridicule and criticism. In 1918, for example, the American film journal Motography mocked the young female film fan for ‘indulg[ing] in various temperamental whims’ (Harris, cited in Anselmo-Sequeira 2015, p. 1) regarding their consumption of movies. Hannah

Ewens (2017, ‘Teen Girl Fans’, n.p.) argues that adolescent girls and adolescent girl fans are dismissed as ‘hysterical’, ‘unintelligent’ and ‘ultimately, silly’ as a matter of course. Bode (2010) contends that reviews of the first Twilight film used the adolescent female audience and their affective responses to the film (including sighing, shrieking and gasping) to criticise it. Ewens (2017, ‘Teen Girl Fan’) and Bode (2010) both go on to argue against this stereotype, presenting the adolescent female fan as self-aware, intelligent and discriminating.

The criticism and attitudes surrounding the supernatural romance and the adolescent girl fan are present in mainstream discussion of the contemporary supernatural romance, particularly in reactions to and discourse on Twilight, both the novels

themselves and the 2008-2012 film series. Journalist Sam Jordison (2012, n.p.), for example, noted that the prospect of reading Twilight inspired ‘terror’ in him, due to his belief that the series contained ‘bad prose and cliché’. On the respected romance blog

Smart Bitches, Trashy Books Sarah Wendell (2008, n.p.) described how she struggled to finish Twilight but wanted to know ‘why so many people absolutely adore[d] this book’. In reviewing the first Twilight film, Frank Ochieng (cited in Bode 2010, p. 707) noted that, while Twilight ‘sparkles for its intended audience of indiscriminate adolescent females’, it is ‘a softened, hackneyed horror show of synthetic affection for the rest of us’.

When the supernatural romance is dismissed as little more than the reproduction of shallow and harmful clichés, the genre is reduced to bad writing and misogyny. This reduction dismisses the ways in which the genre negotiates the multiple and conflicting conventions of femininity and sexuality present in contemporary society. Maya Rodale

(2015, pp. 12-13) identifies this dismissal in her discussion of the romance:

We laugh at Fabio’s very fitted breeches instead of asking who is watching

the children or cooking dinner while a woman reads privately for pleasure

[…] It’s easier to laugh about the bodice ripping Fabio than to have an honest

discussion about women’s sexual pleasure or to even acknowledge sexual

desire.

Presenting the genre solely as a source of titillation for predominantly female readers overlooks the ways in which the romance novel acts as a space in which sexual pleasure is interrogated by both author and reader. Similarly, critics who reduce the contemporary supernatural romance to harmful clichés or hackneyed and ‘synthetic affection’ (Ochieng cited in Bode 2010, p. 707) overlook the ways in which the genre

reveals contemporary anxieties and attitudes held by and about adolescent girls. This thesis contests this reduction, arguing instead that the contemporary supernatural romance is a site for complicated, multifaceted and at times contradictory representations of adolescent girls and girlhood.

Reading the Supernatural Romance

The texts studied in this thesis can be considered representative of the contemporary supernatural romance sub-genre, particularly its location within what Natalie Wilson

(2011, p. xiv) refers to as a ‘Post-Twilight world’. Each text features a romantic relationship between a human female heroine and supernatural male creature, are aimed at an adolescent female audience and feature the contemporary, contested ideologies surrounding femininity and adolescent girlhood. The narratives, character representations and intertextual references to the fairy tale tradition reveal the genre’s location within the broader romance web, which connects the supernatural romance to the gothic, horror and romance genres, as well as the fairy tale tradition. In regard to the latter, this specifically includes the animal bridegroom tradition and the ‘Little Red

Riding Hood’ tale.4 This location of both the texts studied and the contemporary supernatural romance within and between genres therefore requires an approach to research and analysis that similarly cuts across methodologies.

Within this thesis, then, my analytical approach combines aspects of genre theory with narrative analysis, establishing a thorough genre study of the supernatural romance, including my conceptualisation of the ‘romance web’ as a means of reconnecting the

4 The texts can be considered as re-versions of the animal bridegroom and ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tales, rather than retellings. A re-versioning of a text, or a ‘a narrative which has taken apart its pre-texts and reassembled them as a version which is a new textual and ideological configuration’ (Stephens & McCallum 1998, p. 4) is common within the fairy tale tradition.

contemporary supernatural romance with (and situating it within) its literary history, before conducting close literary analysis of the texts. This romance web was inspired by the ‘fairy tale web’, a concept developed by Christina Bacchilega (2013, 2015),

Donald Haase (2006) and Christine A. Jones and Jennifer Schacker (2012). I can repair the link between the contemporary supernatural romance and the venerated tradition of ‘literature’, a link previously severed through discourse regarding popular and high culture, through situating the texts within the broader romance web. Simultaneously, literary analysis of the corpus uncovers the instability surrounding contemporary constructions of adolescent girlhood through the identification of contradictory and contested ideologies within the narratives. In doing so, this thesis uncovers the unstable meaning of what it means to be an adolescent girl in the early twenty-first century western world.

The corpus belongs to what Bode (2012, p. 712) identifies as the ‘lower stratum’ of culture, detached from their literary history and connection to ‘Literature’ such as the

Gothic or courtship novel. Both Peter Hunt (2003) and Crawford (2014) argue, however, that this distinction from ‘Literature’ can allow for movement between readers, genres and disciplines. This movement or malleability can lead to a space in which unique critical reflection can take place, where social and cultural conventions that may be otherwise overlooked within ‘Literature’ can be explored. This argument is not new, Andreas Huyssen (1986, 2002) has argued that mass and popular culture texts regularly transgress boundaries between audiences, genres and disciplinary approaches. Similarly, Herbert Gans (2008) argues for the recognition of not just cultural divergence but convergence. This malleability and boundary transgression,

Huyssen (1986, 2002) asserts, reveals the constructed binaries of literature/fiction and high art/low culture. I argue that the contemporary supernatural romance novel

similarly reveals these binaries and transgresses these boundaries, with the genre’s location within the fairy tale web emphasising its connection to both ‘High Literature’ and popular culture.

The discussion and debate surrounding ‘literature’ versus ‘fiction’, in which the latter is presented as superficial entertainment in comparison to the former’s depth and social commentary, is well-established and ongoing. The debate occurs ‘against the backdrop of continuing disputes about the categories of "low" and "high" culture’ (Schneider-

Mayerson 2010, p. 22). Integral to this discussion, however, is the acknowledgement that this divide is not a ‘static binary’ but a ‘much more complex set of relations’

(Huyssen 2002, p. 366, 364). Huyssen (2002, p. 366) argues that, since the nineteenth century, there has been ‘a powerful imaginary insisting on the divide [between high art and mass culture] while time and time again violating that categorical separation in practice’. Gans (2008) similarly argues that the differences between high and popular culture have been exaggerated, while their similarities have been overlooked. These claims echo Northrop Frye’s (1976, p. 23) argument that ‘popular literature has been the object of a constant bombardment of social anxieties’ for millennia, and ‘nearly the whole of the established critical tradition has stood out against it’. Simultaneously, however, ‘[t]he greater part of the reading and listening public has ignored the critics and censors for exactly the same length of time’ (Frye 1976, p. 26). The contemporary supernatural romance and the larger romance genre are regularly dismissed, mocked and criticised. At the same time, both are also extremely popular, and have permeated

(and permeate) contemporary popular culture, despite the opinions of critics and the academy.

The relationship between text and culture should not be considered entirely one- directional, however, particularly in relation to popular, children’s and YA literature.

Kimberley Reynolds (2007), Roberta Trites (1997, 2000) and Angela McRobbie

(2007), for example, have all emphasised that popular culture and literature are not merely reflections of contemporary culture, but inform, adapt and construct it.

Similarly, Beatrice Frasl (2018, p. 342) contends that popular culture (including popular literature) ‘plays a huge part’ in the creation of, as well as resistance to, contemporary understandings of gender, sexuality, religion, relationships and class.

More broadly, in their analyses of genre, Bazerman (2010), and Bawarshi and Reiff

(2010) contend that the relationship between genre and its historical, social and cultural contexts is collaborative. As Bawarshi and Reiff (2010, p. 107) note, research into genre (and genres) investigate ‘how genres evolve and change, and how genres function as discursive actions within particular social, historical and cultural contexts’.

In doing so, Bawarshi and Reiff (2010) contend that this allows for the intersection of literary and cultural studies.

Analysis of popular literature should therefore include acknowledgement and examination of the texts as sites for cultural commentary and criticism. To restrict the study of the contemporary supernatural romance to one discipline would restrict analysis. Matthew Schneider-Mayerson (2010, p. 22-23), for example, notes that early examination of popular literature ‘merely applied traditional methodologies of literary criticism to more widely read fiction’, an approach that ‘limits the potential’ of analysis. Similarly, Jonathan Culler (1997, p. 46) argues that ‘there need not be conflict between literary and cultural studies’, as ‘literary studies is not committed to a conception of the literary object that cultural studies must repudiate’. Paul Jay (2014, p. 118) likewise maintains that the separation of literary studies from cultural studies and symptomatic interpretation does not work, as the close reading and analysis of a

text will ‘lead inevitably to resituating literature in the larger matrix of cultural and social processes’.

This intersection, and acknowledgement of the interaction between a genre and its contexts is the starting point of this thesis. As noted, the texts studied are considered not only literary texts but cultural products, due in part to attitudes surrounding popular literature. One of the ways in which I support this claim is through the conceptualisation of the ‘romance web’ as a means of examining the contemporary supernatural romance as both part of the larger romance genre (and, by extension, the romance genre’s own location within broader literary history) and as evidence of the intersection of literature and culture within the genre. The contemporary romance novel, and the romance genre itself, does not have a simple and linear history. As noted, the genre has connections to literary categories and genres as diverse as medieval ‘pulp fictions’, Victorian ghost stories, ‘classic’ literature and contemporary romance novels, or Fabio books. The history of the romance can be seen as part of, and alongside, the history of the novel, and of popular literature. Discussion of the supernatural romance, then, such as that undertaken in this thesis, should be considered within a larger literary and cultural history, as part of a ‘web’, rather than a linear chronology. As noted, I draw on the fairy tale web as a basis for my conceptualisation of the romance web.

The fairy tale web refers to a conceptualisation of the history of the oral and literary fairy tale that acknowledges the multiple influences on the genre, the ways in which it developed in various countries and cultures and the frequent lack of an ‘original version’ of a tale. Through this acknowledgement of the multiple threads of a tale’s history, Haase (2006) contends, the folk and fairy tale traditions are located within a

'web', rather than a linear chronology. Jones and Schacker (2012, p. 37) similarly

identify the fairy tale tradition and history as a web, noting that this history is 'tangled', with 'many tendrils [that] interlock' and patterns that 'change depending on the vantage point from which one looks at them'. This echoes Haase's (2006) argument that, in viewing the fairy tale tradition as a 'web', the multiple layers and voices present within the retellings are highlighted.5

For Bacchilega (2013, 2015), the fairy tale web is not just a way of identifying the multilinear histories of the fairy and folk tale traditions, but an analytical space in which multiple retellings can be considered, with no true 'original'. By identifying connecting ‘threads’ that link multiple fairy tale retellings and tale types, the intertextuality of the tales, their location within specific societies and cultures and the ways in which each variant and tale resists and reproduces the cultural norms and ideals of their time are revealed. In doing so, Bacchilega (2013) argues that the tales are not in the complete control of one specific group or individual, rather, they are able to be adopted and adapted by the individual teller. Bacchilega’s web 'reaches back in history and across space' to acknowledge the 'multiple traditions and voices' that were involved in the creation of contemporary fairy tales (Bacchilega 2013, p. 443/6168,

457/6168). Bacchilega (2013) argues that in examining the fairy tale genre, and individual fairy tales themselves, from within a web, multiple adaptations and traditions can be discussed. Furthermore, these adaptations 'contest the hegemony of a colonizing, Orientalizing, heteronormative, and commercialized poetics of magic'

(Bacchilega 2015, p. 31), and can be found in sources as varied as independent films, participatory culture, visual arts, online media and genre fiction, including the romance. Bacchilega (2013, p. 410/6168) notes that her conceptualisation of a fairy

5 Haase (2004, 2006) also acknowledges that this argument was supported by early feminist scholarship within the fairy tale tradition, and that his findings should not be considered as seminal or individual.

tale ‘web’ ‘is more a methodological field than a state as affairs’, a ‘general site of critical inquiry’. In this thesis, however, I consider the romance web as a way to situate the contemporary supernatural romance within a larger social, cultural and literary context, and in doing so, highlight its connections to other genres.

The conceptualisation of the romance genre as a web of texts and genres is a useful approach for the discussion of the supernatural romance. Like the fairy tale web, this romance web spans genres, cultures and historical periods. In placing the supernatural romance within a larger romance web, I can acknowledge the multiple and foundational literary traditions and voices that contributed to the creation of the genre.

Furthermore, in examining the genre in this way (connecting it to a broader history and providing discussion of those histories as a foundation) the importance of social and cultural analysis within literary discussion is emphasised.

As part of the romance web, the texts studied are influenced by the literary history of the romance, including the genre’s relationship with and connection to the larger romance history, gothic fiction, the literary fairy tale and children’s literature and the contemporary context of supernatural romance. Each of these genres has at times been considered low or mass culture, superficial and lacking nuance, constructed as feminine and infantilised. Their association with femininity and youthfulness have led to the less rigorous ‘policing’ of content, and they were (and in some cases still are) cultural sites ripe for examination and criticism. In the texts studied, these literary connections and allusions merge to create a distinct space for the examination of attitudes towards adolescent girls, femininity and female sexuality in the 2000s and

2010s.

Transitional Girls: Girlhood in the Late Twentieth and Early

Twenty-First Centuries

The contemporary supernatural romance has a strong association with both the YA audience and the adolescent female reader. This incarnation of the genre solidified and reached its peak during the mid to late 2000s, a time Fleur Diamond (2010, p. 43) contends was ‘at best ambivalent on the question of female sexual agency’. Extending

Diamond’s (2011) statement, I argue that this time period was similarly ambivalent towards femininity and adolescent girlhood. This can be seen in the mainstream discourses that surround girls and girlhood in the first decade of the 2000s.

Girls and girlhood are not universal, biological elements of female experience, unchanged by their social and cultural context. Rather, as Marnina Gonick (2006, p.

3) argues, girlhood is ‘produced within shifting sociohistorical, material, and discursive contexts’. Anita Harris (2004, p. 14) makes a similar argument regarding twenty-first century girlhood specifically, arguing that constructions of and anxieties surrounding girls that emerged in the early twenty-first century should be ‘deemed new and specific to their historical location’. This historical location includes changes to the labour market, the development of tertiary education opportunities, and the increase in globalisation and neoliberal and postfeminist influences on female identity and femininity, which have created a unique social and cultural environment for the development of the contemporary girl figure (Gonick 2006; Harris 2004; Projansky

2014).

Late twentieth and early twenty-first century discourses on and anxieties surrounding girls and girlhood led to particular constructions of the girl subject. Harris (2004) and

Gonick (2006) both argue that two of these constructions—the girl as a figure in

power, and the girl as a figure in danger—were particularly popular and widespread.

Harris (2004, p. 13) refers to these figures as the ‘can-do girl’ and the ‘at-risk girl’, while Gonick (2006, p. 1) labels them as the ‘Girl Power’ girl and the ‘Ophelia’ girl

(a term Sarah Projansky (2014, p. 4) also uses, referring to the latter discourse as the

‘Ophelia Thesis’).6 These constructions of the girl appear at first as opposing: the ‘can- do girl’ or the girl power subject is empowered, confident and ‘unbound from the constraints of passive femininity’ (Gonick 2006, p. 2), while the Ophelia or at-risk girl is emotionally and physically vulnerable and ‘voiceless’, unable to elucidate her needs and desires. As both Gonick (2006) and Projansky (2014) contend, however, these two narratives of girlhood should not be considered in opposition to each other. Projansky

(2004, p. 4) argues that the girl in power and the Ophelia figure ‘circulate simultaneously in contemporary media culture, and in fact support each other’.7 This circulation reveals the ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls, who are constructed as at once empowered and imperilled.

These constructions of girls as active, confident subjects and vulnerable at-risk

‘Ophelias’ provide multi-stranded understandings of both the child and adolescent female subject and should be considered the foundation on which contemporary discourse surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood draw. They should not, however, be considered rigid and universal classifications, or entirely accurate representations of the experience of real adolescent girls. The texts studied in this thesis, for example, feature representations of adolescent girls that draw on, reproduce, adapt and contest

6 Brown (2010) divides the can-do girl figure into two distinct categories, based on the riot grrrls of the 1990s and the ‘mean girls’ of the early 2000s. 7 Projansky (2014, p. 4) also argues that interaction between the can-do and at-risk girl figure can also lead to the ‘crash-and-burn girl’; ‘the can-do girl who has it all but who […] makes a mistake, and therefore faces a spectacular descent into at-risk status’. Projansky (2014) notes that this is a common narrative for adolescent female celebrities, citing Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus and Demi Lovato as examples from the early 2000s.

the multiple ‘strands’ from both the can-do/Girl Power and the Ophelia/at-risk girl figures.

The contemporary Ophelia discourse is frequently associated with the work of psychologist Mary Pipher. Pipher’s (1994, p. 19) study of adolescent girlhood,

Reviving Ophelia, constructed the adolescent girl as at risk of losing her ‘authentic self’ in the ‘social and developmental Bermuda triangle’ of 1990s adolescence. In discussing adolescence and girlhood in this way, Pipher (1994) constructs the adolescent girl as a helpless victim of biology and puberty, and adolescence itself as a time of (negative) disruption and upheaval that ends with the development of the concrete and stable ‘self’ of adulthood (Pipher 1994).8 Peggy Orenstein’s (1994, p. xvi) Schoolgirls, released almost simultaneously with Reviving Ophelia, similarly identified puberty as a time of crisis for the adolescent girl, ‘marked by a loss of confidence in herself and her abilities’. As Michael Farady (2010, p. 44) notes, however, the ‘seeds of the girl-crisis movement’ were sown prior to these texts. The construction of the girl as a figure in danger or at risk is entrenched within Western society. Furthermore, as Gonick (2006, p. 13) argues, ‘the foundation for rendering girls intelligible’ through psychological analysis was laid in earlier studies by Carol

Gilligan (1982, 1990) and Lyn Mikel Brown and Gilligan (1992).

This construction of the adolescent girl as vulnerable, both physically and emotionally, has been critiqued by scholars such as Gonick (2006), Harris (2004) and Projansky

(2014). Gonick (2006 p. 14), for example, argues that, while this creation of the at-risk girl figure did initiate discussion of and focus on the girl as a separate subject for

8 Although Pipher (1994) specifically cites the character of Ophelia from Shakespeare’s Hamlet as an inspiration in her analysis of adolescent girls, the Ophelia discourse or narrative of girlhood is distinct from literary analysis and discourse on the character.

investigation and analysis, it led to ‘vulnerability discourse’ permeating disciplines and, at times, reinforcing essentialised notions of gender and sexuality.

This permeation of vulnerability discourse contributed in part to the rise of ‘purity culture’ in late twentieth and early twenty-first century discourses surrounding adolescent girls. Mainstream ‘purity culture’ is a uniquely North American phenomenon; as Sarah Moslener (2015, p. 1) argues, it is ‘firmly situated at the intersection of evangelical political activism, [American] nationalism, and millennialist theology’. Moslener (2015) argues that contemporary purity culture should be considered not exclusively as a moral or religious movement, but as part of the American political landscape, due to the interactions between the American

Republican party and Evangelical Christians.

Contemporary American purity culture emphasised bodily purity through pre-marital sexual abstinence (with sexual intercourse classified as heterosexual penetrative sexual activity) (Moslener 2015; Valenti 2009). Purity culture became mainstream in

North America in the late 1990s and early 2000s, with federally funded abstinence only sex education beginning in public schools in 1998 (Moslener 2015; Valenti

2008).9 There was particular emphasis on adolescent female sexuality; adolescent girls were constructed as vulnerable and at risk of suffering physical and emotional negative consequences of pre-marital sex such as teenage pregnancy, guilt or shame and sexual assault (Moslener 2012, 2015; Valenti 2009).

By the time the first of the Twilight novels was published in 2005, purity culture was part of mainstream American pop culture. Abstinence only sex education had been in schools for almost a decade. Celebrities such as Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez and the

9 The program was defunded in 2008 during the Obama administration.

Jonas Brothers spoke publicly about their abstinence pledges, purity rings and

Christianity (Moslener 2015; Orenstein 2011).10 Contemporary purity culture and the at-risk girl subject coalesced in both Twilight itself and discussion of the series. Main character Bella Swan’s pre-marital abstinence and her relationship with Edward

Cullen were central and, as Diamond (2011) and Kokkola (2010) argued, eroticised, parts of the narrative. Meyer’s Mormon beliefs are frequently cited as contributing to her books as evidence of the pervasiveness of purity culture. Roz Kaveney (2012, p.

220), for example, argues that the books in the series are, ‘more or less explicitly, platforms for the author’s strong religious views about sexual abstinence', and labels them ‘abstinence propaganda’. As Kokkola (2010) points out, however, Meyer herself has not publicly discussed her religion or opinions on adolescent sexuality.

Despite the superficial ‘success’ of purity culture (as seen in the popularity of the movement and celebrity associations), it is often considered largely ‘unsuccessful’ in its aims. In a study of young married Southern Baptists (the denomination which True

Love Waits is associated with) Janet Rosenbaum and Byron Weathersbee (2013) found that over 70% of participants had engaged in pre-marital sex. More broadly, demographic research conducted by Chandra et. al (2005) found that 67% of American girls had engaged in sexual intercourse before the age of 18. Furthermore, as Heather

Cills (2018) notes, many of the celebrities who had publicly supported pre-marital abstinence and worn purity rings had discreetly removed themselves from the purity culture narrative. Celebrities such as Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers removed

10 Purity rings are silver rings worn on the ring finger of the left hand, acting as a physical representation of abstinence pledges, and were popularised and sold by the evangelical Christian organisations such as Silver Ring Thing and True Love Waits.

their purity rings and later discussed how purity culture (alongside morality clauses in their Disney contracts) influenced their sexuality and sexual activity.11

While the Ophelia and at-risk girl narratives present the girl subject as passive and vulnerable, Gonick (2006) and Harris (2006) argue that the Girl Power subject or can- do girl is active, empowered and confident. Gonick (2006, p. 2) describes the Girl

Power figure as an ‘idealized form of the self-determining individual’ who successfully navigates contemporary constructions of femininity, female sexuality and individuality. This discourse is explicitly connected to the consumer market, a neoliberal provocation to transform the self, and the commercialisation of underground cultures (Gonick 2006; Gill & Scharff 2011; Kearney 2009). The term

‘Girl Power’ is generally understood to have emerged from the North American Riot

Grrrl movement, which focused on DIY cultural production and female independence and empowerment within the Washington punk music scene (Driscoll 1999; Gonick

2006; Kaeh Garrison 2000).

As the movement was picked up by mainstream culture, aspects such as ‘Girl Power’ and the movement’s aesthetics were adopted by the film, music, advertising and fashion industries (Driscoll 1999). This was seen most clearly through British pop group the Spice Girls, who adopted the ‘Girl Power’ slogan, bringing it to mainstream attention and disconnecting it from its DIY punk roots (Driscoll 1999).12 At the same time, Catherine Driscoll (1999) asserts that the consumerist girl power movement provides opportunities in mainstream society and culture for dialogue on feminism,

11 In an essay for Vulture, Joe Jonas (2013) discussed how the intersection of the ‘safe’ Disney image and his religious upbringing led to the brothers’ pre-marital abstinence and purity rings dominating news coverage of the band and influenced his attitudes towards sexual activity. 12 In 2013 band member Geri Halliwell (cited in Purvis 2013, p. 1014) referred to former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher as ‘our 1st lady of girl power’, inciting criticism due to the associating of Thatcher’s conservative politics with the discourse of empowering women. In doing so, the disconnection of ‘Girl Power’ from its origins was clearly highlighted.

femininity and female sexuality. While the movement ‘might demand less dramatic changes to girls’ positions within established and political social systems’, it also calls for the examination of and significant change to girls’ lives ‘as they are’ (Driscoll

1999, p. 10). Gonick (2006, p.1) argues that the girl power or can-do girl narrative is

‘multi-stranded’ and contributed to multiple constructions of girls and girlhood within the early twenty-first century, including the ‘Mean Girl’ narrative and contemporary raunch culture.

In the early twenty-first century, Gonick (2004, p. 395) asserts that the ‘vulnerable girl

[was] replaced by the ‘mean girl’ in public consciousness’. Although adolescent female aggression had been studied in the previous decades (such as in Kaj Björkvist’s

(1994) formative examination of relational or indirect aggression) the early twenty- first century saw a ‘proliferation’ (Gonick 2004, p. 395) of media that featured the

‘mean’ adolescent girl. This includes the 2004 movie Mean Girls, which was inspired by Rosalind Wiseman’s (2002) study on adolescent girls and girlhood, Queen Bees and Wannabes. Both Mean Girls and Queen Bees… became representative of the mean girl discourse overall. Lyn Mikel Brown (2003), for example, argues that representations of popularity, femininity, confidence (or ‘girl power’) and the mean girl are amalgamated within YA media. In Mean Girls, for example, the most popular girls in school (‘The Plastics’) are hyper feminine characters who maintain their popularity through intimidation and relational aggression. Similarly, the texts studied in this thesis feature diverse incarnations of the popular ‘mean girl’ character trope, engaging with and reworking what Brown (2003, p. 1) identifies as an ‘old [and stereotypical] story about femininity— ‘girls will be girls’, naturally and indirectly mean’.

Emerging simultaneously alongside the Mean Girl figure was ‘raunch culture’, a movement that encouraged adolescent and adult women to both explore their sexual desire and pleasure as well as sexualise themselves. This sexualisation was done through their choice of clothing, personal style, media consumption and leisure activities (Barton & Mabry 2018; Gill 2012; Levy 2005). Journalist Ariel Levy popularised the term in her 2005 critique of mainstream American feminine culture,

Female Chauvinist Pigs. Within raunch culture, specific beauty rituals (such as the wearing of make-up and fake tan and a focus on specific cosmetic surgeries and styles in body hair removal) that helped create a look of exaggerated femininity were reinforced. As Rosalind Gill (2012) argues, present in both raunch culture and discourse surrounding raunch culture was the focus on individualised empowerment, connecting the culture to the girl power/can-do girl narrative. This connection allowed for the shift from the construction of the sexually active female as object to sexually knowing subject.

This change from object to subject, however, was not entirely ‘successful’. Douglas

(2010) Levy (2005) and Gill (2007) contend, for example, that raunch culture can be seen as a form of ‘enlightened sexism’, reproducing well-established and normative conventions of female sexuality and femininity. The sexualisation of women’s bodies were now both aimed at women and performed by them, leading to a focus on the performance, rather than the experience, of sexuality (Douglas 2010; Gill 2007; Levy

2005). Adolescent girls’ engagement with raunch culture and the potential effects this has on their self-image and sexuality have also been examined and criticised. Sharon

Lamb (2010) argued, for example, that the marketing to adolescent girls of sexual empowerment and ‘choice’ as part of raunch culture obscures their lack of agency.

Similarly, Yvonne Tasker and Dianne Negra (2014) and Sue Jackson, Tiina Vares and

Rosalind Gill (2013) examined the connection between contemporary empowerment and consumer culture, arguing that the purchasing of feminine and sexualised products and services have been positioned as empowering.

At the same time, however, adult anxiety regarding adolescent female sexuality may lead to potentially negative consequences for the adolescent girl. Lamb and Peterson

(2012) note, for example, that constructing adolescent female sexuality as something to be restricted and monitored, can lead to the dismissal of female sexual desire, pleasure and enjoyment. They argue that an adolescent girl’s decision to have

(heterosexual penetrative) sex can be classified as an empowering choice for numerous reasons. It allows her to engage with the independent decision-making process, as well as acknowledge her sexual desire within an environment that overall suppresses women’s sexual feelings (Lamb & Peterson 2012). It is clear, then, that discourse on adolescent female sexuality echoes the ambivalence Diamond (2011) argues surrounds adolescent girls and their sexual desires. As Ananya Mukherjea (2011, p. 3) contends, contemporary attitudes about female sexuality feature ‘[o]ld-fashioned gender roles on the one hand, and the mainstreaming of pornography, on the other’, with both

‘posing […] as the soothing antidote’ to their opposite. In presenting these discourses in this way, contemporary society remains conflicted.

The texts studied in this thesis reproduce this uncertainty surrounding adolescent girls.

Female characters within the corpus are at once can-do girls and at-risk girls, resisting traditional ideologies of femininity or sexuality while simultaneously reproducing them. ‘Resolutions’ to tensions between these constructions are not presented in the texts. Rather, these representations of female characters reveal the ambivalence and ambiguity present in discourses on and attitudes surrounding adolescent girls and

girlhood. In doing so, the texts resist the stereotype of the romance novel as superficial reproductions of traditional constructions of gender and sexuality.

‘Slippery and Amorphous’: Adolescent and Young Adult Literature

The rise and success of the supernatural romance sub-genre in the twenty-first century transformed mainstream understandings of the genre from a sub-category of the romance to a genre associated with YA fiction and the adolescent reader. The texts studied in this thesis, for example, were marketed to and aimed at an adolescent female audience and feature adolescent female characters. They should not be considered exclusively as YA literature, however, due to the malleability of both the genre itself and the definition and construction of adolescence and childhood.

Childhood and adolescence are not considered fixed or concrete states, with the definitions of both changing over time. By extension, then, the identification of children’s or YA literature will be equally malleable. As Michael Cart (2010) argues, a clear definition of YA literature is often difficult to formulate due not only to these changing understandings of adolescence and childhood, but their growing construction as marketing categories. YA literature as a category is ‘inherently slippery and amorphous’ (Cart 2010, p. 3), due in part to the blurring of boundaries between childhood and adolescence (and children’s and YA literature as a result). Reynolds

(2007, p. 3) similarly contends that ‘the boundaries around children’s literature are neither rigid nor agreed’, and that what does and does not ‘count’ as children’s literature has long been disputed.

The definitions (and creation) of both YA and children’s literature are entwined with the history and development of social constructions of the adolescent and the child.

John Townsend (1990, p. 3) argues, for example, that ‘[b]efore there could be

children’s books, there had to be children’, implying that the social construction of the child had to be established before a literature addressing them directly could be created. David Rudd (2010, p. 3), however, contests this mindset, arguing that children’s literature and children have a more interactive relationship. According to

Rudd (2010, p. 3), children’s literature helps create ‘the very beings we now recognize as children’. The changing definitions of adolescence complicates the identification and classification of YA and adolescent literature. This argument is similarly echoed in analysis by Reynolds (2007), Trites (2000) and Kokkola (2010, 2013). In this thesis,

I also draw on this argument, acknowledging that contemporary YA fiction, such as the texts studied, are both shaped by, and shape, the attitudes surrounding and constructions of adolescence and adolescent girlhood.

Contemporary Western adolescence is frequently constructed as a period of acceptable, if not expected, disruption to social and cultural norms (Kokkola 2013;

Trites 2000). Furthermore, contemporary discourse on adolescence acknowledges that the age is often presented as transitional, something one moves through, suggesting a default status of disturbance and adaptation within the adolescent subject (Kokkola

2013; Reynolds 2007; Trites 2000). Kokkola (2013), Reynolds (2007), Cart (2010) and Trites (2000) all recognise the importance of this construction of adolescence in relation to the development of YA literature. Adolescents are ‘allowed’, to an extent, to rebel against contemporary adult behaviours, with the understanding that this rebellion is temporary, ending with the adolescent’s entry into the supposedly concrete age of adulthood (Kokkola 2013; Reynolds 2007; Trites 2000). As a result, YA fiction will frequently feature scenes of rebellion and disruption. Robyn McCallum and John

Stephens (2010, p. 367), argue, for example, that representations of rebellion and

transgression ‘are an important way children’s literature makes ideologies apparent and seeks to redefine or even overthrow them’.

This transgression and disruption in YA and adolescent literature can act as sites for the redefinition and overthrowing of traditional ideologies, as well as reinforcing the construction of childhood and the clear boundaries between the two ages. Both

Kokkola (2013) and Anne Higonnet (1998) argue that this period of disruption is integral to contemporary constructions of childhood and childhood innocence. By constructing adolescence as tempestuous and uncontrollable, childhood (and adulthood) can be considered ‘stable’ in comparison (Higonnet 1998; Kokkola 2013).

Similarly, as noted, YA literature is typically expected to contain representations of rebellion, disruption and experimentation. This includes the recognition and negotiation of adolescents’ relationship with power. Trites (2000, p. 128/2501) argues, for example, that a ‘primary lesson’ of YA literature is ‘that social institutions are more powerful than individuals’. As a result, many YA novels show adolescents negotiating these institutions (such as religion, schooling, identity politics and so on) and the power associated with them (Trites 2000).

I agree that YA literature explores and examines the multiple interpretations of social and cultural power in a way that children’s literature does not. I contend, however, that

YA literature should be considered simultaneously distinct from, and part of, children’s literature as the contemporary supernatural romance is considered both part of, and separate to, the romance genre at large. YA literature has a literary context and history that cannot be entirely separated from both children’s literature and the literary fairy tale. The texts studied in this thesis, for example, exist within and between multiple genres, including the supernatural romance, the fairy tale and YA or

adolescent literature. They contain the acknowledgement and confrontation of power that Trites (2000) argues distinguishes YA from children’s literature.

The association between the texts studied in this thesis and YA literature is reinforced through their identity as contemporary supernatural romances. Simultaneously, a relationship between the corpus and fairy tale narratives echo the literary fairy tale’s well-established association with children’s culture (Reynolds 2007; Stephens &

McCallum 1998). The corpus should be considered, then, as part of a literary and cultural context that spans genres, located within a larger web of storytelling, that allows for the adoption and adaptation of multiple literary conventions and tropes.

Outline of Chapters

As I have discussed, the contemporary supernatural romance is part of a larger web of literary and cultural history. I therefore begin my research by examining the history of the romance genre, providing context for the contemporary supernatural romance and examining the close association the genre has had with the concept of the feminine text. I do not wish to suggest that the romance is a ‘trans-historical category’ (Crawford

2014, p. 16) that existed for centuries prior to the creation of the contemporary genre known today. Instead, in examining the genre’s development I provide the context that led to the creation of the contemporary supernatural romance and informed contemporary discourse surrounding the feminine text.

My first chapter, ‘From Medieval Chivalry to Chick lit: The History of the Romance

Novel’, provides a broad overview of the history of the ‘romance’. This includes an examination of the romance genre’s medieval European ‘pre-history’, the development of amatory fiction and the novel, the creation of the twentieth-century romance and the genre’s temporary decline alongside the rise of chick lit. Through this

examination, I argue that the romance genre has a long history as a site of examination, commentary and criticism. I contest the stereotype of the romance genre as one dimensional and of the romance novel as passively reproducing traditional constructions of gender and sexuality.

In this chapter, I extend Bacchilega’s (2013, p. 443/6168) concept of the ‘fairy tale web’ (an analytical space for the examination of the fairy tale) to create the ‘romance web’. By conceptualising the history of the romance as a ‘web’, a space where multiple genres and literary traditions intersect and overlap, I can provide a more detailed discussion of the development of the romance genre. In this chapter I also examine discourse on the ‘feminine text’ and cultural constructions of literary ‘worth’ and value. The role the feminine text has in cultural reproduction, resistance and adaptation is often overlooked, due to the feminine text’s association with both the female audience and popular culture, the supposed poor quality of many feminine texts

(including the romance novel) and its subsequent perceived lack of literary ‘value’. I argue that the romance web, and the romance novel in general, acts as a site of cultural commentary and adaptation, space in which social and cultural ideologies can be transformed and changed and should therefore not be dismissed or considered without value or worth.13

My discussion of the greater romance genre provides a foundation from which to more closely examine the development of the contemporary supernatural romance sub- genre. In my second chapter, ‘Sexy Byronic Werewolves: The Contemporary

13 I do not, however, seek to argue that the greater romance genre is exempt from criticism regarding literary quality. As Lee (2008, p.53) argues, ‘as with any other type of fictive genre, there are well- written and poorly written romance novels’, and this is true of the supernatural romance, including the texts studied within this thesis. This does not invalidate my argument that the genre is a source of reflection and adaptation.

Supernatural Romance’, I refine my focus to examine the literary history of the supernatural romance. This includes the ways in which gothic and sensation novels, the romance, fairy tale and erotic romance are present in the development of the contemporary supernatural romance. Supernatural elements were (re)introduced into the romance genre through the development of the gothic novel and, later, sensation fiction and the supernatural romance sub-genre, creating clear threads between the multiple genres. Through this examination, I argue that the supernatural romance genre is a site in which contemporary discourses on adolescent femininity and female sexuality meet, clash and are negotiated, and that these negotiations are facilitated in part by the presence of the supernatural. In providing this historical perspective, I further my previous chapter’s argument that the romance novel (and genre) are sites for the reproduction of well-established and conservative ideologies of femininity and sexuality.

Included in this chapter is critical discussion of the development of the Byronic romance figure, which has become an integral character trope within the contemporary supernatural romance. I argue that gothic romance texts such as Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, as well as Lord Byron himself, contributed to the creation of a character that became essential to the contemporary supernatural romance. Integral to this chapter is discussion of the influence that Meyer’s Twilight saga had on the twenty- first century supernatural romance, including its divergence from an adult oriented genre to an adolescent oriented genre and the connection to both the erotic romance and participatory culture such as fanfiction.

I then move on to analysis and examination of the texts themselves. My analysis is organised around four main themes that preliminary research revealed as common within the texts: representations of the supernatural, domesticity, scent and food. In

chapter three, ‘Beautiful/Beastly: Female Sexuality, the Supernatural and the Animal

Bridegroom Tale’, I explore the role the supernatural presence in the texts has in shaping representations of adolescent female sexuality, including sexual activity, pleasure and desire. I argue that representations of the supernatural provide narrative opportunities for the exploration of contemporary constructions of adolescent female heterosexuality. More specifically, the texts rehearse what Diamond (2011, p. 46) identifies as a ‘central dilemma’ for adolescent girls: how to both have sexual desire and be sexually desired in a society that is ambivalent about female sexuality. The supernatural provides a space in which female sexual pleasure and desire are foregrounded, while contributing to the reinforcement of the heterosexual monogamous and long-term relationship as the ideal. As a result, this dilemma remains, ultimately, unresolved.

The texts studied in this thesis reinterpret and revise the animal bridegroom and ‘Little

Red Riding Hood’ fairy tales through the relationship between the heroine and her werewolf (or supernatural) boyfriend. This relationship between the heroine and supernatural figure contributes to representations of female sexuality within the texts.

In Sisters Red and Red Riding Hood constructions of sexuality and relationships with supernatural beings are more ambivalent; sexual activity and desire are alluring, yet also presented as dangerous for the main female character. Wolves of Mercy Falls and

Low Red Moon, conversely, revise the construction of sexuality as dangerous. The female characters can explore their sexuality through connecting with their boyfriends’ supernatural or ‘beastly’ identities.

At the same time, the presence of the supernatural also reinforces certain ‘traditional’ elements of adolescent female sexuality and heterosexual relationships, and thus reveals ambiguity within the corpus. I argue that representations of sexual activity in

the texts, while considered a rite of passage for adolescents are still subject to strict monitoring, and what Maura Kelly (2009) identifies as ‘management’. Supporting this representation of the ideal is the notion of the supernatural ‘pseudo-marriage’, where the couples’ relationships are strengthened through supernatural connections or shared secret knowledge of the supernatural. The texts’ exploration and reinterpretation of these concepts elevate and legitimise the relationships of the main characters and reinforce heterosexual monogamy as the norm.

The tension between conventional and progressive constructions of adolescent girls and girlhood is further explored in chapter four, ‘How to be a Domestic Goddess:

Femininity and Domesticity’. In this chapter I examine representations of domesticity and the domestic sphere as well as domestic labour, particularly food-based work such as the cooking and serving of meals. I argue that these representations reveal how contemporary constructions of femininity within the corpus adhere to traditional ideologies of gender. The texts provide a connection to normative conventions of femininity alongside their predominantly progressive representations of female sexual pleasure and desire.

Important in this analysis is examination of the ways in which domestic labour such as meal preparation is constructed as inherently gendered and how this reproduces essentialised constructions of gender and domesticity. Domestic labour is presented in the texts studied as inherently ‘female’ and maternal, a sign of competence, emotional maturity and femininity. In Wolves of Mercy Falls, for example, main character Grace

Brisbane is critical of many elements of ‘traditional’ femininity while simultaneously performing most of the domestic labour in her home. The refusal of Valerie in Red

Riding Hood and Scarlett March in Sisters Red to engage in domestic labour can be read as criticism of traditional femininity. This reaffirms arguments by both Michéle

Mattelart (1986) and Kate Kane (1989) that constructions of femininity and domesticity are closely entwined. As Mattelart (1986, p. 23) notes, while ‘liberal media’ frequently features progressive representations of women, ‘some kind of feminine specificity is frequently demanded’. Expanding on this argument, Kane

(1989) argues that the association is not just between domesticity and femininity, but maternity, further reinforcing the association of women with caring. This can be seen within the corpus.

This association of domesticity with femininity and its reaffirmation of traditional constructions of femininity is further reinforced in Low Red Moon and Wolves of

Mercy Falls. This complicates the more-radical elements of the narratives, including representations of adolescent female sexuality. Both Avery Hood (Low Red Moon) and

Grace Brisbane (Wolves of Mercy Falls) can halt and reverse their boyfriends’ supernatural transformations, effectively relocating the characters from the supernatural world to the domestic sphere. The presence of this ability within both texts also reaffirms the ‘traditional’ narrative of the animal bridegroom tale, in which the female character confronts and tames her animal partner. Furthermore, this complicates reproductions of the animal bridegroom narrative as well as the overall positive representations of adolescent female sexuality within the texts. The heroines’ influence on their boyfriends’ transformations reproduce traditional constructions of femininity, emphasising feminine empathy and emotion. These characters are at once progressive and conservative, accentuating contemporary uncertainty towards adolescent girls and girlhood, emphasising the importance of popular literature as sites in which this uncertainty can be explored, resisted and reproduced.

Chapter five, ‘All the Better to Smell You With: Scent, Gender and Sexuality’, examines representations of scent and smell. These representations provide a unique

narrative space for the exploration of early twenty-first century discourses on adolescent femininity and female sexuality. I first examine how representations of pleasant or aromatic scents reveal the varied and conflicting attitudes surrounding femininity and female sexuality. The naturally occurring pleasant scents of both male and female characters reinforce the construction of gender as innate through their adherence to constructions of ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ scents. This underlines the representation of domesticity and domestic labour as innately feminine through the natural, food-based scents of several female characters.

Simultaneously, however, representations of scent and the sense of smell provide narrative space for positive representations of female sexual desire and pleasure. The sensory pleasure accompanying the act of smelling experienced by female characters in several of the texts, can be interpreted as representations of female sexual activity and enjoyment. Female sexual desire and pleasure are therefore foregrounded, contesting traditional constructions of female sexuality as dangerous. The texts therefore reveal a complexity to the ways in which ‘positive’ representations of scent are featured.

Representations of malodour, overpowering scents and the sense of smell similarly reveal the contradictions and tensions which surround femininity and female sexuality.

As with aromatic scents, these unpleasant scents contribute to the construction of femininity as inherent and reveal and reproduce the beauty/authenticity double bind.14

Critical representations of scented products in the texts create a binary of natural/artificial femininity, presenting female characters who reveal the ‘work’ required in maintaining traditional constructions of femininity as superficial, vain and

14 This ‘double bind’ refers to the way in which traditional feminine beauty ideals are reproduced while the effort required for maintaining these ideals is obscured.

distracted. Malodorous scents also reveal contemporary discourse on risk and danger in relation to sexual activity and reproduce well-established constructions of the monstrous female Other. The malodour of specific wolf characters such as the Fenris of Sisters Red or the Wolf in Red Riding Hood act as representations of their villainous identities, reproducing the construction of the ‘dangerous’ supernatural being, a narrative present in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ retellings.

In my final analysis chapter, ‘Juicy Morsels: Food, Sex and Gender’ I argue that contemporary anxieties and attitudes surrounding gender and sexuality are similarly entangled in representations of food and scenes of feasting, and that these representations provide distinct narrative opportunities for commentary and criticism.

Descriptions of specific food items, scenes of feasting and representations of gustatory hunger at once adhere to and resist traditional and progressive ideologies of gender, beauty and sexuality and reveal the supernatural romance as a site of intricacy and incongruity. I continue my analysis of the association of femininity with domesticity and the domestic sphere through examination of food preparation, refining my focus to examine the specific foodstuffs prepared. I argue that the texts’ focus on baking and baked goods reproduce a specific, and imagined, ideology of traditional femininity and domesticity.

I also examine representations of feminine appetite and the ‘skinny glutton’ character trope present in Red Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls. Both Valerie and Grace

Brisbane embody the character trope of the conventionally attractive woman who eats large amounts of ‘unhealthy’ food. Both texts reproduce the beauty/authenticity double bind and reinforce the female beauty myth through engaging with this trope.

Simultaneously, however, in adhering to this character trope these texts reinforce their positive representations of female sexual desire and pleasure, due to the association of

gustatory and sexual appetites. Traditional ideologies of feminine beauty are reproduced alongside representations of female sensory (and sensual) pleasure as a result.

Finally, I examine the texts’ connections to the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tale and how this provides a narrative space for the exploration of female sexuality, danger and sexual assault. I argue that the texts reproduce the construction of the Red Riding Hood figure as ‘edible’ through representations of the main female characters and in doing so emphasise the associations of the wolf attack with sexual assault. In this section, I also explore the representation of the character of Shelby (Wolves of Mercy Falls), the sole female wolf-villain of the texts studied. Representations of Shelby’s sexual and gustatory appetite reproduce traditional constructions of the female werewolf and highlight fears around ‘incorrect’ female sexuality. These representations complicate the overall positive representations of adolescent female sexuality in the texts. As a result, they emphasise the contemporary ambivalence that still surrounds adolescent girls and girlhood.

In my final chapter I conclude by arguing that the texts studied, and by extension the supernatural romance genre, are sites for the examination of early twenty-first century ideologies of femininity and female sexuality. In this chapter, I synthesise the findings of each chapter to argue that the texts studied resist the stereotype of the romance novel as superficial, lacking nuance and entirely conservative. They instead act as sites in which the well-established social and cultural constructions can be resisted and reinterpreted, not just reaffirmed. Additionally, I discuss the potential for further research on the supernatural romance genre’s connections within the romance web, particularly in relation to the contemporary gothic and horror genres. The focus on the

‘Other’ or the outsider within these genres reveals changing attitudes surrounding

ideologies such as race, gender and ethnicity within mass culture. By considering future research I not only acknowledge the ways in which the supernatural romance connects to other genres in the larger romance web but also reinforce the social and cultural context of the romance as a source for commentary and examination.

Chapter 1: From Medieval Chivalry to Chick

lit: The History of the Romance Novel

Mainstream discussion of the twenty-first century supernatural romance will often centre on Stephenie Meyer’s (2005-2008) Twilight series, identifying it as the apotheosis of the genre. Twilight has had substantial influence on contemporary YA fiction and literary representations of the supernatural, as shown in changing trends in cover art for popular literature (particularly romance novels) (Wallop 2010), representations of supernatural characters and the revival of the Byronic romantic hero in supernatural romances and YA literature (Borgia 2011; Clasen 2010; Nakagawa

2011). The contemporary supernatural romance, however, is more than just one early-

2000s series, part of a long tradition that spans centuries, countries and genres.

In the following two chapters, I examine the supernatural romance as a thread or link within the larger romance web. I argue that this location means that the former is part of a long history of cultural examination, commentary and criticism. Throughout my discussion of the literary and cultural history of the romance, I show how genres such as medieval romances, the courtship novel, amatory fiction, the literary fairy tale and contemporary romance novel itself are linked within the greater romance web. I do not wish to present the history of the romance genre as linear, nor do I contend that the

‘romance genre’, as it is understood now, has been in existence for centuries. Rather,

I present a context and history for the contemporary supernatural romance and emphasise the links or threads between the genre and a larger history of storytelling and commentary. The supernatural romance should therefore, as Rodale (2015, p. 7)

contends, not be dismissed as superficial ‘fluffy reading material’ or ‘Fabio books’ that uncritically reproduce well-established ideologies of gender and sexuality.

Through the conceptualisation of the romance web, the threads that link the contemporary supernatural romance and other genres such as the literary fairy tale, the gothic, sensation and amatory fiction and the medieval romance are revealed and explored. Within this discussion, I argue that there is a complexity and criticism within these genres that allow for examination and analysis of their social and cultural context, particularly in relation to women and the female experience.

I first examine the origins of the broader contemporary romance genre, including the chivalric romances of twelfth-century France, amatory fiction and the development of the literary fairy tale in the seventeenth century. I argue that these literary traditions should be considered the foundational elements of the contemporary romance, drawing on similar arguments made by Linda Lee (2008), Jennifer Crusie Smith (1999),

Crawford (2014) and Pamela Regis (2003). My analysis of this ‘pre-history’ reveals the well-established role of the romance as a site in which (frequently female) authors and readers of these texts could explore and criticise the conventions of the society in which they lived. In doing so, I link the contemporary romance genre back to medieval literature emphasising a history of cultural exploration, criticism and commentary.

Having acknowledged early incarnations of the romance narrative, or older ‘threads’ within the web, I then focus on the expansion of the romance as a genre and how it is recognised in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. This includes the growth of the genre from its twentieth century origins to its temporary decline in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, a decline accompanied by the rise of chick lit. I argue that the contemporary romance genre is frequently accompanied by mainstream

ambivalence and dismissal due to its status as a feminine and mass-culture genre.

Despite this dismissal, I contend that the contemporary romance genre acts as a site in which tensions between progressive and conservative conventions of gender and sexuality are negotiated. In doing so, I more firmly locate the contemporary romance genre within a larger web of storytelling, exploration and criticism. This reinforces my argument that the supernatural romance, as part of the larger romance web, should not be considered as an entirely orthodox or radical genre, but a site that echoes contemporary ambivalence regarding femininity and female sexuality.

The Development of the Genre: From the Medieval Romance to the

Twentieth Century

The definition of the ‘romance novel’ as it is understood today is relatively new. As

Kaveney (2012, p. 214) argues, ‘[t]he taxonomy of genres is always a work in progress’, with new literary categories (such as the supernatural romance) being created and defined by publishers, authors and the general public.15 Bazerman (2010) and Bawarshi and Reiff (2010) similarly note that genres have a collaborative relationship with their social and cultural context, being changed by, and changing, contemporary ideologies. This is true of the romance novel, both in relation to the history of the genre itself, and its taxonomy. As a result, identification of the history of the romance is often in dispute. The term ‘romance’ itself is, in the words of Regis

(2003, p. 19) ‘confusingly inclusive’. Yin Liu (2006, p. 335) similarly argues that the word is ‘inexhaustibly and infinitely expandable’. This leads to a disparate collection

15 This can lead to classic texts being re-categorised as, or ‘annexed’, as defined by Kaveney (2012, p. 223) by, different genres. Pride and Prejudice, for example, was not written or released as a ‘romance novel’ (according to contemporary definitions of the genre), however has been annexed by publishers and readers and is now frequently referred to as one.

of texts and genres being classified under the label of ‘romance’. Both Crawford

(2014) and Regis (2003), for example, argue that the ‘romance novel’, as a term and genre, emerged in the 1920s with the publication of novels like E.M Hull’s (1919) The

Sheik (an early example of the ‘desert romance’ sub-category). Margaret Doody

(1996) argues that to define the romance as a genre distinct from the ‘Novel’ (and to consider the Novel itself as a distinct genre) limits analysis. Kathleen Radford (1986) is similarly broad in her classification, including Ancient Greek folktales, chivalric tales, gothic fiction and contemporary romances in her discussion of the genre. For

Northrop Frye (1976), the term ‘romance’ encompasses categories as broad as mystery and folklore. As a result, it can be difficult to trace the history of the romance genre.

It is incorrect to say, however, that the ‘romance novel’ emerged suddenly and as a complete genre in the twentieth century. It is generally understood that the romance genre has a long and complex history that accompanies, if not contributes to, the history of contemporary literature. Examination of the development of the romance uncovers its multiple connections to other literary forms. Kaveney (2012, p. 215) asserts that ‘it is worth remembering that there are links across genres as well as lineages within them’, and that these links and lineages ‘existed before deliberate attempts by publishers’ to create them. The contemporary supernatural romance therefore cannot be considered a discrete literary category and should instead be conceptualised within the larger romance web. This web allows for the linking of the supernatural romance to medieval tales of chivalry, the literary salons and fairy tale tradition of France, the development of amatory fiction and rise of the English novel, including the work of Samuel Richardson and Jane Austen. Furthermore, in placing the supernatural romance within a larger ‘romance web’ I can acknowledge the

multiple and foundational literary traditions and voices that contributed to the creation of the genre.

Tales of Chivalry and Enchantment: The Medieval Romance

In this thesis, I draw on arguments made by Crawford (2014), AD Putter (2014), Laura

Ashe (2010) and Nicola McDonald (2004), that the medieval European romances, particularly those of France and England, should be considered part of the ‘pre-history’ to the contemporary romance genre. More specifically, that the medieval romance should be considered one of the many threads within the romance web that connect to the contemporary supernatural romance, strengthening its location within a broader context.16 Of particular relevance is the popularity of the Breton lais or short lyrical poems, particularly those by Marie de France (whose lais helped shape the genre and were, as Myra Stokes (2014, p. 56) argues, ‘demonstrably popular’), which featured romantic love and the supernatural, revealing the long interaction between romance and the supernatural. While no single thread reaches back from the contemporary supernatural romance to the medieval lai, strands of similarity or resemblance can be identified, such as the presence of romantic (and at times sexual) love, chivalry, the supernatural and enchantment.

The Breton lais of Marie de France, specifically Lanval, are of particular importance to the romance web. Breton lais, short lyrical poems that feature romantic and chivalric love and draw on Celtic myths and legends, are frequently considered part of the medieval romance tradition, and Marie de France’s the earliest examples. Rosalind

Field (1999) for example, places the Breton lais within the larger medieval romance

16 Tensions surrounding the polysemy of ‘romance’ exist within discussion of Medieval literature. From an etymological perspective, the term is frequently associated with language, however Strohm (1977), McDonald (2004) and Putter (2014) all acknowledge the term’s association with popular and widely distributed tales of the time, including lais.

tradition, emphasising the importance of these short lyrical poems in the overall development of the popular medieval romance. Both Colette Stevanovitch (2011) and

Claire Vial (2011) also note the importance and influence of Lanval on the genre, arguing that both Lanval and Marie de France’s lais are palimpsests of the Middle

English lai. Lanval has been reworked as Sir Landevale and Sir Launfaul (by Thomas

Chestre), with the development of the Arthurian legend evident through the rewritings.

This process of writing and rewriting creates a unique web within the larger romance web, connecting the middle and early medieval romances through retelling and revision.

Lanval is not only an example of the popular medieval romances of its time (it contains an aristocratic cast, order is restored by the end of the narrative and there is the presence of the supernatural) but also features a romantic (and sexual) relationship between a human and a supernatural being.17 As such, it could be classified as an example of a supernatural romance. Lanval follows the story of the poverty-stricken knight Sir Lanval, a foreigner who left King Arthur’s court after being overlooked during the King’s Pentecostal gift giving. Lanval then meets an unnamed supernatural woman, who provides him with unlimited fortune, and promises to appear whenever he wished for her, providing he never disclose the source of his financial gain. Lanval does so, however, on his return to court after refusing Queen Guinevere’s advances and subsequent accusations of homosexuality. This refusal leads to Lanval being tried, although he is ultimately saved by his supernatural lover after she appears and stuns

17 This combination of high adventure, romance and the supernatural was so immensely popular that, Crawford (2014, pp. 12-13) argues, analysis of the supernatural romance should not question ‘how stories of love and the supernatural came to coexist within the same genre’, but how they were ever separated.

the court with her beauty. The tale ends with Lanval and his lover living in Avalon, the legendary island frequently referenced in Arthurian legend.

Important to this thesis is the presence of a human/supernatural romance within

Lanval, between Lanval and his lover. It is through the supernatural abilities of the female character, for example, that Lanval can escape both his poverty and, by the end of the lai, the isolation he feels at King Arthur’s court. Lanval’s lover’s supernatural identity also provides the uplifting and resolved ending, as it is through this supernatural presence that the couple are able to find, and live in, Avalon. Laura Stokes

(2013) argues that this supernatural presence creates an ‘otherness’ within the text that allows for the examination of everyday experiences (such as alienation, romantic love and poverty) without reduction. This is an argument seen within analysis of contemporary supernatural romance, including within this thesis; in chapter three, for example, I examine the ways in which the supernatural presence within the corpus provides a distinct analytical space for the consideration of adolescent female sexuality. In providing a supernatural setting, then, Lanval can be seen as a source of cultural investigation, commentary and criticism, a reflection of the anxieties found within the society of the time.

The Literary Salon, French Fairy Tale and Amatory and Sensation Fiction

The use of the supernatural to disrupt contemporary expectations of gender and sexuality can be discerned with the decline of the popular medieval romance. The

‘long eighteenth century’ and Age of Enlightenment contributed to increasing scepticism regarding the supernatural and religion. As a result, there began what

Crawford (2014, p. 13) refers to as the ‘unravelling’ of the supernatural from the romance tale. Distinct literary categories emerged as a reaction to this unravelling, including the literary fairy tale and amatory fiction (Haase 2004; Seifert 2004; Zipes

2006b). These genres can be located within the romance web, reaching back to medieval romances and across to the contemporary novel, gothic literature, sensation fiction and twentieth century romances. Furthermore, analysis of these genres, like most (if not all popular literature), reveals their rehearsal, reproduction and adaptation of the social and cultural constructions of the time in which they were written.

Closer examination of these genres further reinforces their location within the greater romance web. The genres feature the same literary conventions found in the contemporary romance, including the ‘Happily Ever After’ (HEA) ending that often involves a marriage or betrothal.18 These genres are also populated with female authors and readers and create narrative space and opportunity for the examination and criticism of contemporary anxieties and attitudes surrounding women. The female authors of seventeenth-century French fairy tales, for example, ‘exploited the

[presence of the] marvelous’ to examine ‘real social issues of their time’ (Zipes 2006a, p. 71). Lewis Seifert (2004, p. 60) likewise argues that these authors were able to

‘stak[e] out positions’ in the literary world.

Similarly, amatory fiction texts feature narratives that reveal an ambivalence towards femininity, female sexuality and marriage. This led to the creation of texts that simultaneously conformed to and resisted the normative conventions of gender and sexuality of the time, with narratives that featured both active and passive female characters. The literary fairy tale and amatory fiction can also be connected through the work of seventeenth-century author and salonniere Madeleine de Scudéry.

Madame de Scudéry hosted the Société du Samedi literary salon, which was attended by several female authors who would contribute to the emerging literary fairy tale

18 As seen in my discussion of medieval romances in the previous section, this HEA ending was often present in texts such as Breton lais, including Lanval.

genre, including Marie-Jeanne L’Héritier, the niece of Charles Perrault. Toni

O’Shaughnessy Bowers (1994) cites de Scudéry’s publications as antecedents of amatory fiction, as they frequently focused on and explored women’s participation in society and culture.

The romance novel and the literary fairy tale are frequently compared to and associated with each other. Stephens and McCallum (1998, p. 203), for example, argue that ‘more writerly retellings’ of fairy tales will frequently ‘shade into other modes such as romance’. Similarly, both Kaveney (2012) and Crawford (2014) acknowledge that the near constant development of genres and literary categories can lead to the classification and reclassification of certain texts and narratives. Certain literary fairy tale retellings, for example, have been ‘annexed’ (Kaveney 2012, p. 223) by both the romance and supernatural romance genres. The romance genre and fairy tale also share several literary similarities, including their formulaic structure, the focus on the creation (or reunion) of a romantic relationship and the presence of the HEA ending

(Crusie Smith 1999; Lee 2008). Female authors also regularly utilised the literary conventions and tropes of both genres to examine and negotiate the normative conventions of femininity and heterosexuality that surround them. The similarities are present in the texts studied in this thesis, as all are not only supernatural romances but draw implicitly or explicitly from the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and animal bridegroom fairy tale traditions. It is important, then, to consider the development of the literary fairy tale as it relates to the history of the feminine text, the female reader and their identification as sites for cultural criticism and commentary.

The literary fairy tale is part of the larger romance web, with connecting links to medieval oral folk traditions and lore and acted not only as sources of entertainment but as sites of cultural examination and reproduction (Orenstein 2002; Tatar 2003;

Zipes 2006a; Ziolkowski 2009). Early incarnations of both ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and the animal bridegroom tradition, both integral to this thesis, for example, emerged in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Orenstein 2002; Zipes 1993). These variations contained scenes of violence, sexual references and, importantly, the reproduction of contemporary social and cultural conventions surrounding gender and sexuality

(Orenstein 2002; Stephens & McCallum 1998; Zipes 2002, 2006a). As Stephens and

McCallum (1998, p. ix) argue, multiple variants of the same story ‘can differ substantially in their implications or significances’. The retellings differed depending on the teller’s social and cultural context, which would inform the retelling. These adaptations are not solely due to the authors and retellers, but also to the audience to which the stories were being told. Jones and Schecker (2013, p. 37) argue, for example, that the many ‘tendrils’ and ‘patterns’ of the fairy tale web can change ‘depending on the vantage point from which one looks at them’. One of the ways in which oral folktales changed was through their role as inspiration for the literary fairy tale that emerged in seventeenth-century France, in the salons of Paris.

These salons took place in a ‘distinct cultural space’ (Boyde 2009, p. 157) between the public and private spheres which allowed women to both attend and host the gatherings. For female attendees, this location between the public and private spheres and the salons’ role as sites for intellectual, political and literary discourse created unique opportunities that allowed for the further development of female storytelling and authorship (Boyde 2009; Kale 2006; Seifert 2004).19 Female salons and storytelling resisted the ‘prevailing seventeenth-century ideology that enclosed women in the domestic sphere’ (Seifert 2004, p. 58). The female attendees were able to gain

19 Discourse on the history, development and impact of the salon is ongoing and far from unanimous. This is particularly true in relation to the role of women in both the salons and the ‘Republic of Letters’ (Boyde 2009; Kale 2002, 2006).

certain levels of independence in a space where they could engage in discussion of politics, culture, society and literature. One of the ways in which this discussion took place was in the telling and retelling of folk tales the attendees knew from their childhood. These retellings were simultaneously entertainment for the salon guests, as well as a source of social and political commentary and criticism. Due to the popularity of the salons with women, this commentary often engaged with seventeenth-century constructions of gender and sexuality.

Until the late seventeenth century folklore and folk tales were considered ‘crude entertainment’ (Zipes 2007, p. 34) for the working class that found its way to the upper classes through ‘intermediaries’ such as nurses or governesses. These tales were brought into the salons through parlour games that relied on storytelling and the constructing of unique narratives that appeared spontaneous yet were in actuality carefully rehearsed (Zipes 2007). Salon attendees and participants included Madeleine de Scudéry (as mentioned) as well as several female authors who would become well known for their tales. One such attendee was Marie Catherine d’Aulnoy, who originated the term ‘fairy tales’ in her 1697 book of the same name. Fairy Tales included early literary variants of well-known tales such as ‘Cinderella’ (titled

‘Cunning Cinder’ in her work) and ‘The Blue Bird’, a variant of the ‘Prince as Bird’ tale type, closely associated with the animal bridegroom tradition. Another attendee was Marie-Jeanne L’Héritier, who published a collection of fairy tales a year before her uncle, Charles Perrault (Seifert 2004; Zipes 2007).20 These women were often referred to as the conteuses (female storytellers). Both Seifert (2004) and Zipes (2007) argue that the predominance of female authors and storytellers in the literary fairy

20 Marie-Jeanne L’Heritier was also a good friend of Madeleine de Scudéry. After de Scudéry died in 1701, L’Heritier inherited her famous salon (Ness 2017).

tale’s early history influenced the content of the tales and the cultural criticism and commentary present. Zipes (2007, p. 37) notes, for example, that the tales contained

‘a certain resistance toward male rational precepts and patriarchal realms’. Lee (2008, p. 62) similarly argues that the fairy tale tradition has ‘been interpreted as encapsulating collective fantasies and providing a way for women to subvert and resist patriarchal norms’.

The conteuses used their salons and fairy tale retellings as spaces to examine anxieties they experienced regarding their engagement with femininity and sexuality, and the restrictions experienced by women in this time (Orenstein 2002; Seifert 2004; Zipes

2007). The tales they told were presented as salon games which, alongside the supernatural elements present in the tales, removed them from expectations present in their reality, creating a sense of the uncanny. By adjusting or adapting expectations of reality, the conteuses were able to more fully investigate and critique the ideologies of femininity, sexuality and marriage present in their society. The use of the supernatural to invoke the uncanny and disrupt contemporary expectations of gender and sexuality remain present in contemporary storytelling, particularly within genres that are populated with female authors and writers.

Many of the ‘traditional’ literary fairy tales, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ included, rehearse a struggle for power between the main female character and the ‘villain’ (such as the wolf). Lee (2008) argues that this power struggle is also common within the contemporary romance, reinforcing the similarities between the two genres. This power struggle is present within the corpus, with the main female characters’ relationships with lycanthropy providing a site for their negotiation of power (both literal and metaphorical), sexuality and identity. As with the lais, the threads of similarity between the literary fairy tale, the contemporary romance and the

supernatural romance are revealed through comparisons of the genres. These threads are also uncovered through analysis of the amatory fiction genre of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

The development of the female dominated genre of amatory fiction occurred alongside the rise of the ‘female’ fairy tale during the seventeenth century and continued after the decrease in popularity of the literary salons. Amatory fiction texts featured adventure, comedy, romance and sexuality, including at times sexually explicit scenes which contributed to the development of the genre’s name (Ballaster 1998; Peakman

2016). Both Rose Ballaster (1998) and Julie Peakman (2016) argue that amatory fiction should be considered part of the history and context of both the modern novel and the contemporary romance genre. As such, it can be located within and considered part of the romance web. The genre was popular with both female readers and authors, with authors Aphra Behn, Eliza Haywood and Delarivier Manley (sometimes referred to as ‘the fair triumvirate of wit’) considered influential (O’Shaughnessy Bowers

1994). As with the literary fairy tale, the popularity among women and involvement of female authors led to the genre frequently focusing on female specific issues, such as questions surrounding sexual agency and criticisms of heterosexual marriage

(Ballaster 1998). Both The Disappointment by Behn (1680) and Fantomina, or, Love in a Maze by Haywood (1725), for example, explored the female struggle for sexual power and pleasure within a society that enforced rigid boundaries regarding gender and sexuality (Ballaster 1998).

Amatory fiction can be undoubtedly situated within the larger romance web, with clear links between texts such as Fantomina or The Disappointment and contemporary romance novels. Haywood’s Fantomina, for example, follows the story of a young woman and her attempts to overcome the trauma of sexual assault, retain a sense of

sexual independence and pursue and experience pleasure. This plot is echoed over two centuries later in romance novels such as Hull’s (1919) The Sheik and Woodiwiss’

(1972) The Flame and the Flower.21 Unlike Fantomina, which ends with the titular character being sent to a monastery in France to deliver her baby without its father, both The Sheik and The Flame and the Flower feature the HEA ending that has become a generic convention of the contemporary romance novel and differentiates it from amatory fiction. O’Shaughnessy Bowers (1994) argues that the contemporary romance novel is a direct descendant of amatory fiction as both genres feature complex representations of female sexual agency, sexual desire and seduction. While there exist clear threads between the two genres, I contest O’Shaughnessy Bowers’ (1994, p. 59) identification of amatory fiction texts as ‘direct ancestors’, and her claim that there is

‘a distinct line of inheritance from Augustan amatory fiction to today’s semipornographic mass-market romances’. To claim that the romance directly descends from this singular genre implies a chronological, stable and linear progression rather than the broader development of the fairy tale web. Both genres, however, feature explorations of female sexuality, pleasure, desire, consent and relationships.

Amatory fiction and the female-authored literary fairy tale are often discussed as distinct genres and in the context of the history of the fairy tale and the novel respectively, despite their contributions to both genres. The fairy tales by the conteuses helped to create the motifs and conventions recognisable within the larger fairy tale genre and provided female authors and readers space to examine and critique their social and cultural environments. At the same time, these female-authored fairy tales

21 Both texts will be discussed in the following sections and chapter.

are considered separate to what Bacchilega (2013, p. 590/6168) refers to as the

‘canonized Perrault-Grimm-Disney triad’ of the fairy tale tradition. The conteuses of

France (and later female authors in Germany and Britain) ‘assumed a subaltern position within literary histories of the genre’ (Bacchilega 2013, p. 443/6168).

The history and importance of the feminine text and the distinct literary space created by them is obscured by the dismissal of female-authored texts such as the fairy tales of the conteuses, or amatory fiction. Furthermore, this devaluing has led to the genre’s frequent omission from the history of the novel (O’Shaughnessy Bowers 1994; Ross

2015). Amatory fiction exists in a ‘kind of negative space’, relevant in that it ‘helps to define the privileged category “novel”, from which it is always excluded’

(O’Shaughnessy Bowers 1994, p. 50). This construction of the feminine text as a point of comparison for (or in opposition to) ‘real’ literature is seen in Tania Modleski’s

(1982, p. 12) argument regarding feminine texts such as the romance novel; ‘the feminine text itself is often used as a standard by which other products are measured and found to be not wanting’. By considering feminine texts entirely by what they are

‘not’, discussions of what they ‘are’ become obscured.

Pamela and Pride and Prejudice: Step-Parents of the Romance

The ways in which the feminine text engages with and contains contested ideologies surrounding gender, sexuality and (heterosexual) romance is not a new development that emerged with the contemporary romance novel. Throughout the history of the romance and the romance novel, and within the romance web, there exists narrative opportunity for the negotiation and criticism of their social and cultural context, criticism which is often considered lacking. This can be seen in the 'courtship novel' of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The courtship novel focuses on a young woman’s entrance into society, her courtship and eventual marriage, and is a genre

which can be located within the romance web although is considered distinct from the romance. The courtship novel and its relationship to the romance will be explored through discussion of both Austen’s (1813) Pride and Prejudice and Richardson’s

(1740) Pamela. These two texts should be considered as strong links or threads within the romance web, drawing on connections between the novels of courtship, the seventeenth and eighteenth century ‘feminisation’ of the novel and the contemporary romance.22

Katherine Sobba Green (1991) contends that the courtship novel reproduced both conventional and resistant ideologies regarding femininity and, as a result, encompassed middle-class values. Sobba Green (1991) also identifies the courtship novel as distinct from the romance genre (although does recognise its connection to the feminine text). Similarly, Crawford (2014) more clearly separates the romance from the courtship novel, arguing that genres (and texts) that pre-date the early twentieth century should not be classified as ‘romance novels’. Regis (2003, p. 205), however, concludes her history of the romance novel by arguing that the romance itself is ‘old’, and the form ‘stable’. As a result, she considers the ‘courtship novel’ (which follows the courtship and marriage of the main, frequently female, characters) a clear sub-category of the romance novel. While I agree that the romance has a long history,

Regis’ (2003) statements ignore the ways in which genres, including the romance, are adapted as a result of changes to society and culture, literary trends, and language.

In this thesis I agree with and reinforce the argument that the courtship novel is a distinct genre with a specific plot structure. The genre pre-dates the romance genre as

22 Jayashree Kamblé (2014, p. 28) identifies the contemporary romance genre as the ‘present day stepchild’ of these earlier texts, implying a close (although not immediate) relationship. Early courtship texts such as Pamela and Pride and Prejudice, then, could be considered ‘step-parents’ of the romance).

it is understood today, and thus I consider the courtship novel part of the literary pedigree of the romance, although not romance novels themselves. In doing so I agree with the definitions put forth by Sobba Green (1991), Crawford (2014) and Charles

Hinnant (2006). The courtship novel can be located within the romance web as threads that strengthen the contemporary genre’s literary history, and examination and discussion of the genre reveals the ways in which the feminine text and popular culture have been criticised and dismissed through history.

As argued, the ‘romance novel’ as it is known today did not exist before the twentieth century. What would be considered a ‘romance novel’ now (a narrative focused on the romantic relationships of its main character/s) was more commonly labelled a courtship novel (Sobba Green 1991; Crawford 2014). The genre should therefore be considered a thread or link within the larger romance web, containing character traits and plot elements that were adopted and adapted by the twentieth-century romance.

At this point, the term ‘romance’ still referred to tales of love, adventure and chivalry, often set in ‘exotic’ (or non-European) locations (Kamblé 2014). To refer to texts such as Pamela or Pride and Prejudice as ‘romance novels’, then, is arguably a misnomer.

As Crawford (2014, p. 16) points out, ‘Jane Austen did not sit down to write a

‘romance novel’ when she wrote Pride and Prejudice’. However, both Pamela and

Pride and Prejudice have been identified as precursors to the modern romance through the innovations displayed in the texts.23 Regis (2003, p. 63) argues that Pamela made famous the courtship plot, which would ‘become a major force shaping the novel in

English’. Sobba Green (1991) notes that the focus on sexual pursuit in Pamela distinguishes it somewhat from the courtship novel (although she notes that it does end

23 This is also true of later texts, including the work of the Brontës such as Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, which will be examined in the next chapter.

in matrimony). I contend that this argument further situates Pamela within a larger romance web, a link between the ‘traditional’ courtship novel and the contemporary romance. Austen subsequently transformed the courtship plot, with Pride and

Prejudice telling the story ‘of lovers who must educate and reshape each other’

(Crawford 2014, p. 22), creating a plotline that would become immensely popular in the contemporary romance genre.

There are clear thematic connections between Pamela and Pride and Prejudice and the contemporary romance genre, solidifying the former’s status as part of the latter’s history as well as their location within the romance web. Both texts expose, criticise and reaffirm their social and cultural contexts, including the social and economic changes of both the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Their focus on heterosexual love and marriage as central plot elements helped to shape the ways in which the contemporary romance presents courtship, (heterosexual) relationships and marriage.

In both texts, the heroines experience self-discovery and fulfilment alongside a courtship that results in a marriage or betrothal, revealing a narrative of personal development alongside the courtship story. As such, both texts can be regarded as examples of the female Bildungsroman.

The identification of a ‘female Bildungsroman’ is at times contentious. Annis Pratt

(1981, p. 36), for example, believes that the model does not fit the development of the adolescent girl, who ‘does not choose a life to one side of society’ but is instead located there due to the construction of the female as Other. Furthermore, the Bildungsroman narrative centres on the protagonist leaving their home, a move available to few young women in past eras. As a result, Pratt (1981) considers the Entwicklungsroman (a novel of growth and development that does not require the coming-of-age) a more appropriate label. Trites (2000) similarly cautions against an overemployment of the

Bildungsroman label. In distinguishing the coming-of-age Bildungsroman from the novel of growth and development (or Entwicklungsroman), attention can be paid to the ways in which power and growth interact (Trites 2000). While Trites (2000) was specifically referring to YA and adolescent literature, this should also be considered in relation to the greater romance genre.

This tension does not invalidate the fact that there are clear similarities between the male and female Bildungsroman. Lorna Ellis (1999), for example, contends that both male and female Bildungsroman emphasise the same central elements: the agency of the protagonist and how this is evidence of the main characters’ involvement in their personal development, their self-reflection, showing the characters’ ability to learn and grow from their experiences, and their eventual reintegration into society, demonstrating the fundamentally conservative nature of the Bildungsroman. Both

Pride and Prejudice and Pamela are examples of Ellis’ (1999) female Bildungsroman, as both examine the agency of Pamela and Elizabeth Bennett in their own self- development, contain representations of the main characters’ self-reflection and end with a further integration into society.

I assert that the contemporary romance genre contains both the female Bildungsroman and Entwicklungsroman narratives. Texts within the genre rehearse the central issues

Ellis (1999) identifies as part of the female Bildungsroman, while others focus on the interaction and relationship between power and personal growth. The texts studied in this thesis, for example, can be classified as Entwicklungsroman. They do not end with the female characters having achieved adulthood, but they do follow their personal growth, often rehearsed through their romantic relationships and influenced by the presence of the supernatural.

Richardson’s (1740) Pamela is often classified as a turning point in the development of the English novel. Nancy Armstrong (1990), for example, identifies it as the start of the novel becoming a more respectable literary genre. Similarly, Regis (2003, p. 63) argues that its publication ‘advanced the quality of prose action’ and character exploration, while Crawford (2014) contends that it acted as a template for future novelists. While I do not contest the argument that Pamela influenced changes to the

English novel and contributed to the contemporary romance genre, the aforementioned claims contribute to the rendering of amatory fiction, a contemporary genre invisible

(as argued in my previous section).24 Furthermore, identifying Pamela as a ‘first’ or the clear starting point of a genre places a rigidity and linearity onto the romance genre’s history that prevents connections being made across time periods and genres

(or ‘back’ and ‘across’, in the words of Bacchilega (2013, p, 443/6168)) and ignores the analytical potential of the romance web.

As an epistolary novel from the perspective of the titular Pamela, the narrative provides first-hand representations of Pamela’s character development; she is presented as a fully formed, rather than a superficial, character. The narrative’s focus on the relationship between Pamela and her boss, Mr. B, as well as the HEA ending, are two main elements of the text that contribute to its frequent classification as a

‘romance’.25 Regis (2003) and Thomas Keymer and Peter Sabor (2007) argue that

Pamela can be read as an examination of, and commentary on, changing social and cultural constructions of the role and location of women in the public sphere. This echoes Sobba Green’s (1991, p. 142) argument that Pamela ‘offer[s] some insight into

24 The connection between amatory fiction and the courtship novel is only strengthened when locating both within the romance web and considering them as contributors to the contemporary romance. 25 This is unlike amatory fiction texts such as Fantomina, which did not contain the HEA ending. Eliza Haywood, the author of Fantomina, was in fact one of the early critics of Pamela, releasing the satirical The Anti-Pamela in 1741, a year after Pamela was published.

contemporary wisdom about equality in marriage’ through conversations between Mr.

B and Pamela regarding their marriage and class status.

The marriage of Pamela to Mr. B only occurs after Pamela herself experiences personal growth and self-development, while the HEA ending reveals the ways in which Pamela’s marriage provided a security for both Pamela and her family otherwise unavailable to a family of their social class. At the same time, the power imbalance between the couple is clear throughout the narrative; Pamela is an employee of Mr. B who must resist his advances (and, at one point, imprisonment) before Mr. B reforms and proposes. Pamela is a narrative where the experiences of eighteenth-century women are represented ambiguously. The text rehearses and resists the conventions of femininity and female sexuality of the time, through Pamela’s employment, romance with and marriage to Mr. B.

This ending, and Pamela’s marriage itself, is often the subject of a criticism that repeats in criticism of the contemporary romance and feminine text. Eagleton (cited in Regis

2003, p. 65), for example, criticises Pamela and the contemporary romance simultaneously, questioning whether either are ‘anything more than opiate and offensive’. The marriage of Pamela and Mr. B, as well as Pamela’s subsequent financial security is denigrated as ‘fantasy wish-fulfilment’ within the text, creating an ending that is ‘anodyne and oppressive’ (Eagleton, cited in Regis 2003, p. 65). This is similar to criticism of the contemporary romance novel as unrealistic or escapist

(arguments which emerged alongside the genre itself in its early years, as well be discussed in the following chapter). The moral content of Pamela and its representations of female sexuality have also been criticised, both through parody and criticism. Eliza Haywood’s (1741) The Anti-Pamela, for example, presents Pamela (as seen through main character Serena Tricksy) as a figure who manipulates the male

characters she propositions, presenting herself differently to different suitors.26 Ian

Watt’s (1957, p. 172) famous criticism of Pamela (including how it contains ‘the combined attractions of a sermon and a striptease’) focuses on the duality of the text, and how sexuality is presented as both taboo and the greatest interest. This is similar to criticism of the ‘bodice ripper’ romance, where the term is invoked to mock the genre and highlight its supposedly scandalous nature. The complexity of Pamela, like the complexity of the romance genre, should not be overlooked in favour of criticising its focus on courtship and romance.

The work of Jane Austen, particularly her 1813 novel Pride and Prejudice, is frequently considered an influential precursor to the contemporary romance genre

(Kamblé 2013; Regis 2003). Crawford (2014, pp. 22-23) argues that Austen’s adaptation of the courtship plot (where both male and female characters ‘reshap[e] each other for the better’) was so original and popular that it inspires the contemporary romance narrative to this day.27 In doing so, Crawford (2014) clearly links the novel to the romance genre. As with Pamela, Pride and Prejudice features an ambiguity in its representations of heterosexual love and marriage. Marriage within the world of the text as well as in the nineteenth century was considered inevitable for women and therefore frequently present within literature (Regis 2003). The novel is not, however, a passive reproduction of the expectations of female marriage, but an exploration of self-development and female love and desire.

26 This manipulation of identity is also present in Fantomina, with Fantomina disguising herself as a sex worker, a maid, a widow and ‘Incognita’, a masked woman with no identity. 27 Pride and Prejudice is also considered one of the main inspirations for the sub-genre of the regency romance; Georgette Heyer, who is considered one of the foundational authors of the sub-genre, was heavily inspired by Austen in her own work (Kamblé 2014).

Pride and Prejudice examines the social and cultural constructions of heterosexual love and marriage of the time. It should be considered an example of the variety and range found within the genre of the courtship novel. Julia Shaffer (1992, p. 52), for example, argues that eighteenth and nineteenth-century courtship novels such as Pride and Prejudice should be considered not as ‘ideologically identical’ or formulaic texts.

Instead, they are sites for ‘constructing and disseminating an ideology that granted women greater autonomy and respectability than that which viewed them as subordinate and inferior creatures’ (Shaffer 1992, p. 52). Vlasta Vranjes (2014) and

Hinnant (2006) similarly argue that Austen adapted the courtship novel and plot in her works. Hinnant (2006, p. 294), for example, notes that while Austen ‘[did] not quite manage to escape the homogeneity inherent form’s insistence upon closure’, her work rejects the single generic courtship narrative’, ‘tossing out overworked formulas’ and creating a distinct narrative. Vranjes (2014), conversely, argues that Austen’s work, in particular Persuasion, reverses both the female Bildung and the traditional courtship plot, with Anne Elliot gaining prudence in her youth and learning romance in her adulthood, through her second courtship with Frederick. Vranjes (2014, p. 198) identifies this as a ‘radical alteration of the courtship novel’, which features young female characters who have recently entered society. I do agree that Pride and

Prejudice resists some elements of the courtship novel. The novel creates the distinct narrative Hinnant (2006) refers to, while also resisting the overtly didactic nature that

Sobba Green (1991) identifies as present in the genre.

Within Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennet is presented as neither an angel nor a monster, but is instead autonomous, fallible and capable of growth, a growth that is centred in the narrative (Gilbert & Gubar 2000; Regis 2003; Shaffer 1992). Elizabeth’s marriage to Fitzwilliam Darcy, for example, can only be achieved after her (and

Darcy’s) realisation of their own faults, and her self-development. Their marriage (like

Pamela and Mr. B’s) is a ‘success’ (Mißler 2016, p. 50) as it is a solid and nurturing relationship between two equal partners. As with Pamela, Pride and Prejudice offers criticism and insight into contemporary marriage, done so through the representations of the multiple and different marriages of Jane and Bingley, Elizabeth and Darcy, Mrs and Mrs. Bennet, Lydia and Wickham and Charlotte Lucas and Mr. Collins. I argue that this resists Hinnant’s (2006, p. 294) argument that the matrimonial endings of

Austen’s work reflect the inherent homogeneity in the courtship novel, which he argues contains an ‘insistence upon closure’ (presumably through marriage).28

The influence Pride and Prejudice had on the contemporary romance can be seen through the latter’s focus on courtship, the growth and change of both male and female characters, the HEA ending not negating the examination and criticism of heterosexual marriage, and the representation of female growth as distinct from heterosexual relationships. Crawford (2014, p. 22) argues that Pride and Prejudice is a novel of

‘mutual education’, a story of ‘lovers who must educate and reshape each other’ to allow for a ‘successful’ marriage. The text revises the mentor-lover narrative popular in the eighteenth century, where the heroine’s maturation and self-development are reliant on a male mentor (such as in Lennox’s (1752) The Female Quixote) (Menon

2003). At the time of Pride and Prejudice’s publication, Austen’s interpretation of the lover-mentor narrative and mutual reshaping/self-discovery was immensely original

(Crawford 2014). As alluded to, however, this narrative structure is now an extremely common plot in the contemporary romance. Pride and Prejudice can therefore be

28 Hinnant’s (2006) word choices are similar to criticisms of the contemporary romance novel, which is frequently dismissed as formulaic and unoriginal, particularly in relation to the HEA ending.

clearly located within the greater romance web and in doing so, further strengthens connections between the contemporary romance and courtship novel.

The texts studied explore, resist and at times reaffirm early twenty-first century attitudes surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood, revealing an engagement with social and cultural ideologies that is frequently considered lacking in the contemporary supernatural romance genre. In constructing the romance web and presenting the literary fairy tale, amatory and sensation fiction and the courtship novel as entangled threads within this web, I reveal that this is not a new development in criticism of feminine texts. Throughout the modern romance novel’s various predecessors there is narrative opportunity for examination and analysis of their social and cultural context.

The romance should not be exposed to the ‘constant bombardment of social anxieties’

(Frye 1976, p.23) regarding the female reader and feminine text. Instead, as argued in this thesis, the genre and its sub-genres should be considered a site of cultural engagement, intervention and criticism.

Heaving Bosoms and Ripped Bodices: The Twentieth Century

Romance

It is incorrect to claim that the contemporary romance novel exists at the centre of the romance web, as the conceptualisation of the web contributes to the de-centring of a genre or literary category. It should, however, be considered one point of connection for many, if not all, of the ‘threads’. In providing a history or overview of the genre, connections between the contemporary romance and historical genres such as the medieval romance, Breton lais and the courtship novels of the eighteenth century are made clear. The twentieth century romance novel, however, contributed to many of the stereotypes and assumptions that surround the genre to this day. Furthermore, the

twentieth century saw the creation of publishing houses Harlequin and Mills and Boon

(whose names have become proprietary eponyms for the romance novel itself), the development of academic inquiry into the genre and the emergence of the long historical (or ‘bodice ripper’) romance that is frequently assumed to be the sole incarnation of the novel. Furthermore, the ‘threads’ reach forward to the supernatural and contemporary erotic romance genres. The twentieth century romance both presents and resists its social and cultural context while also exposing the inconsistency surrounding (and experienced by) many women regarding their sexuality, performance of femininity and romantic relationships.

The Early Twentieth Century

The Sheik, the 1919 novel by Edith Maude Hull (writing as E.M Hull) is frequently classified as one of the earliest, if not the earliest, examples of the contemporary romance (Crawford 2014; Regis 2003). Regis (2003, p. 115), for example, refers to it as the ‘ur-romance novel of the twentieth century’. Laura Frost (2013, p. 92, 90) argues that the novel was influential in popular literature overall, calling it ‘one of the most successful fictions in early twentieth-century British publishing’ and noting that it has a ‘surprisingly prominent place in significant formulations of British modernism’ due to representations of pleasure in the text.29 The importance and solidity of the romance web can be seen through Frost’s (2013) connecting of The Sheik to genres outside of the romance (such as ‘British publishing’ or literature more broadly).

The Sheik was published early in the century and featured a hero and heroine who were, in the words of Regis (2003, p. 115) ‘ideal, elemental versions of most twentieth-

29 The use of the term ‘surprisingly’ (alongside Frost’s (2013, p. 90) identification of the desert romance sub-genre as having ‘predictable formulas’ and ‘sensational prose’) reinforce the conception of popular literature, particularly romance, as superficial or lacking in content and depth.

century romance protagonists’. The Sheik also introduced specific themes and tropes that became common in the romance genre, such as a spirited and independent heroine and the eroticisation of sexual assault, as well as contributing to common tropes within the ‘Desert Romance’ sub-genre (Teo 2010). Set in Algeria, The Sheik follows the growing relationship between the wealthy English heiress Diana Mayo and the

Algerian Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan. In the early days of a month-long trip into the desert, Diana is kidnapped, held captive and sexually assaulted by Ahmed (although the assault is not depicted within the narrative). After several months of captivity

Diana is captured by a rival Sheik and must be rescued by Ahmed, and the pair realise their love for each other. Late in the narrative, it is revealed that Ahmed is not Algerian, but the son of an English earl and a Spanish woman and is thus ‘exotic in his origins but still European’ (Regis 2003, p. 115). The narrative ends with the couple happily married in Algeria and ruling over nearby Bedouin tribes. Hsu-Ming Teo (2013) contends that The Sheik’s plot draws on the British tradition of Orientalist romance and fiction, while also starting a revival of the ‘desert romance’ sub-category after its success.

The success of The Sheik directly inspired other early twentieth-century romance authors and had a long-lasting effect on the romance genre. Frost (2013, p. 93) argues that the success of The Sheik led to the development of an ‘interwar desert romance genre’. Hull herself authored several more desert romances, including a sequel to The

Sheik (The Sons of the Sheik, published in 1925), and a film based on The Sheik was released in 1921. Prolific romance novelist Barbara Cartland was partially inspired to write her first novel (Jigsaw) after reading The Sheik and released a condensed retelling of the novel in the 1970s (Regis 2003). Both Teo (2010) and Amira Jarmakani

(2010) argue that this interwar popularity of the desert romance, and the Orientalist

constructions of Arabic masculinity, partly contributed to its revival in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.30

Present throughout The Sheik are representations of female sexual desire and the sensual and sensory pleasure experienced by Diana, despite the presence of sexual violence within the narrative. Diana’s desire and passions, for example, are frequently described as ‘burning’ or ‘throbbing’ (Hull 1919, p. 306). This ambivalence regarding

Diana’s sexuality reflects the ambivalence regarding female sexuality in the interwar period. As Regis (2003) contends, Diana represents a newly emerging contemporary romance heroine who is independent and rebellious while still deferring to her male love interest, acknowledging the tensions regarding female sexuality, independence and heterosexual romance occurring at this time.

Contemporary criticism of The Sheik reveals anxieties regarding female sexuality as well as the supposed literary value of mass culture versus ‘Literature’. Teo (2012, p.

88) noted that the novel ‘elicited a polarized and visceral response upon [its] publication’, achieving an ‘instant cult status’ amongst readers while facing criticism and dismissal by literary critics. In her famous (and frequently quoted) review of the novel, Storm Jameson (cited in Turner 2011, p. 171) noted that the ‘educated mind’ would reject The Sheik as one would ‘reject a meal of cheap cake’.31 The Literary

30 Teo (2010) and Jarmakani (2010) both note, however, that this revival was predominantly influenced by the Gulf and Iraq Wars of the 1990s and early 2000s. Furthermore, this popularity led to the Americanisation of the genre and the emergence of a ‘particular American-Orientalist discourse’ (Teo 2010, n.p.) within desert romance novels. 31 The association of feminine texts to sweet food is echoed in contemporary discourses. Ahsan (2018, n.p.), for example, compares reading a romance to ‘devouring a brightly-coloured cupcake’ that provides only ‘needless calories and a sugar migraine’. Similarly, Gold (2010, n.p.) argued that television show Sex and the City (based on the chick lit novel of the same name) ‘is to feminism what sugar is to dental care’.

Review called the novel ‘a poisonously salacious piece’ in a 1921 review (Turner 2014, p. 262).

By the time Virago reprinted the novel in 1996, however, the introduction (by author

Kate Saunders (1996, p. x-xi)) claimed it was ‘pornography so soft you could give it to your grandmother’. Ellen Turner (2014, p. 280) notes that ‘the classification of The

Sheik as an ‘erotic classic’ by a feminist publishing house is ‘more than a little disconcerting’ due to the eroticisation of sexual assault in the narrative. Similarly, the lack of criticism regarding the novel’s Orientalist representations of the Middle East and reinforcement of British imperialism is perplexing. This discourse on the novel, however, reveals mainstream attitudes surrounding the twentieth-century romance. By focusing on the sexual content of the romance (presenting The Sheik as salacious, or soft pornography, for example) the genre, as well as individual texts, can be dismissed as sensational or offensive. In doing so, other elements of the romance, such as the growing independence of the female characters and representations of female sexual desire and pleasure, are overlooked and ignored.

Harlequin, Mills & Boon and the Fabio Bodice Rippers

The contemporary romance cannot be discussed without mention of publishing houses

Harlequin and Mills & Boon (now merged and known as Harlequin Mills & Boon).

Both publishing houses experienced massive popularity and dominated the twentieth century romance market; as with the long historical sub-category, both Harlequin and

Mills & Boon became shorthand for (and falsely represented as) the romance genre as a whole, to the extent that both company names became propriety eponyms for

‘romance novel’.32 The development and popularity of these publishing houses also

32 This term remains in use, despite the company’s decreasing hold over the genre.

occurred simultaneously to the development of academic inquiry into the genre, which established approaches and arguments still considered in research into the romance.

Harlequin and Mills & Boon avoided publishing sexually explicit romances for several years, however contemporary stereotypes of the romance genre frequently conflate the publishing houses with the ‘bodice ripper’ or erotic romance. While contemporary romance novels do often feature sexually explicit scenes, erotic and sexually explicit literature has its own long history distinct from that of the romance novel. They are parallel ‘threads’ (rather than one singular one) within the romance web. Early twentieth-century romances (such as The Sheik), while often focusing on female sexual desire, rarely featured sexually explicit scenes. Furthermore, Harlequin had an unofficial morality code which rejected what was considered the more sexually explicit Mills & Boon texts (Regis 2003).

The contemporary erotic romance sub-genre is generally thought to have started in the early 1970s, with the publication of Kathleen Woodiwiss’ unexpectedly and immensely popular novel The Flame and the Flower in 1972 (Charles 2016; Rodale

2015; Tan & Wendell 2009).33 A historical romance novel, The Flame and the Flower is often cited as the origin of the term ‘Bodice Ripper’, due to the presence of eroticised sexual assault (in which main character Heather Simmons has her clothes, including her bodice, ripped off her by love interest Brandon Birmingham). The creation and mainstream success of the erotic romance dramatically changed the contemporary romance genre as well as its representations of sexual activity. As such, it should be considered in relation to its location within the romance web, its connection to the

33 Rodale (2015) identifies the publication of The Flame and the Flower as the birth of the modern romance industry. While I agree that it should mark the beginning of the modern erotic romance or ‘Bodice Ripper’, as I have shown, the contemporary romance was already established.

twentieth-century romance novel and its influence on the contemporary supernatural romance. In the following chapter, I therefore examine the development of the erotic romance and its relationship with (and connections to) the contemporary supernatural romance.

The romance novels of the 1970s and 1980s have become representative of the genre in mainstream discourse on and understanding of the genre. Candy Tan and Sarah

Wendell (2009, p. 15) somewhat flippantly refer to these novels as the ‘Old Skool’ of romances. These ‘Old Skool’ texts had shared elements such as ‘Brutal heroes’, eroticised sexual assault, younger heroines and ‘the sudden realization of love’ in the narrative (Tan & Wendell 2009, p. 15, 18). Later ‘Old Skool’ texts would also feature the clinch cover, or the ‘iconic image that’s shorthand for romance’(Tan & Wendell

2009, p.170), a cover featuring a man and woman in a passionate embrace.34 ‘Classic’ romance novels from the era, such as The Flame and the Flower and Rosemary

Rogers’ (1974) Sweet Savage Love contained these elements. While the bodice ripper romance is frequently considered a source of mockery and derision, there have been contemporary attempts at rehabilitation of the category, both within and outside of academia. In the latter half of the 2010s, for example, women’s websites such as Bitch and Jezebel featured articles that examined the ways in which the bodice ripper romance reflected and adapted contemporary ideals surrounding female sexuality. In one such article, Kelly Faircloth (2016, n.p) defines The Flame and the Flower and

Kathleen Woodiwiss as ‘transitional figure[s]’ in the history of the contemporary

34 In the 1980s and 1990s, model Fabio Lanzoni posed for over 400 (predominantly historical) romance novel covers and has become a main reference point regarding the romance novel, even in the twenty-first century (Rodale 2015).

romance novel, reacting to the social and political upheaval of the 1970s-1980s, particularly in relation to female sexuality and femininity.

Almost simultaneous to the development of this new romance novel was the emergence of romance studies, a field dedicated solely to the examination and analysis of the romance novel. Although part of the larger genre of romance, investigation of the contemporary supernatural romance is not as well-established, due in part to its relatively recent emergence. The supernatural romance’s location within the larger romance web allows for threads to link the genre to gothic fiction, the literary fairy tale and the erotic romance. As a result, analysis of the supernatural romance is frequently located among or between several disciplines including literary, cultural or folk and fairy tale studies.35

This thesis, for example, locates itself between literary and cultural studies rather than specifically within ‘romance studies’. Knowledge of the field, however, provides context for my own analysis, particularly in relation to the ways in which popular feminine culture has been discussed within and outside of the academy. In this section

I draw on the work of Regis (2011) and Frantz and Selinger (2014), whose examinations of the field of romance studies were central to my understanding as well as providing perspective for my own analysis.

Examination of the romance genre developed alongside the emerging genre itself.

Frantz and Selinger (2014, p. 2) assert that the field of romance studies ‘opened’ in

1969 with the publication of a sociological study commissioned by Mills & Boon, followed by Greer’s (1971) chapter criticising the romance in The Female Eunuch. In

35 The romance web itself, as a conceptualisation of the romance, can also be discussed or located within several disciplines.

that same time period, studies of mass market and popular culture simultaneously emerged, such as John Cawelti’s (1976, p. 1) study of formula fiction (including references to romance novels), which argued that formula fiction was ‘a kind of literary art’. That same year, Frye’s (1976) The Secular Scripture explored the

‘romance’ (an extensive classification in this text, as previously noted in this chapter) as well as tensions between popular culture and the critical tradition.

These texts (and the study of popular literature and culture in general) had a broad focus. Frye’s (1976) definition of the romance, for example, included mystery novels,

Sci-Fi and folklore. As Frantz and Selinger (2014, p. 6) argue, had the romance novel commanded more focus in these analyses, ‘we might now have a decades-long record of work’ regarding the innovation and ideologies of the genre. Instead, early academic inquiry into the romance reproduced the ambivalence surrounding both genre and reader. Frantz and Selinger (2014) and Regis (2011) argue that this was the result of social and cultural context; the discipline of cultural studies was in its infancy as was the examination of women’s popular texts, and the romance novel was surrounded by well-established, negative, stereotypes. Regis (2011, n.p.) argues that this environment contributed to the work of early theorists becoming foundational texts, featuring arguments regarding the genre that ‘live on in current criticism’ despite the narrow focus of early work and the changes to the genre.

Of these early works, four specific theorists, Snitow’s (1979) Mass Market Romance:

Pornography for Women is Different, Modleski’s (1982) Loving with a Vengeance:

Mass-Produced Fantasies for Women, Mussell’s (1984) Fantasy and Reconciliation:

Contemporary Fantasies of Women’s Romance Fiction and Radway’s (1984) Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy and Popular Literature emerged as foundational and influential within the early years of romance studies. Regis (2011, n.p.) argues

that, while their work contains an analytical nuance previously unseen regarding the romance novel, ‘their pronouncements [regarding the genre] inform the contemporary, international view of romance writ large’. Both academic and mainstream discussion of the romance novel echo these pronouncements, which include the reduction of the romance genre to pornographic content for women (Snitow 1979), constructing the genre as psychologically addictive (Modleski 1982) or as a source of fantasy (as a

‘poor’ alternative to the reality many women face) (Mussell 1984) and as a tool of the patriarchy (and readers of it, subsequently, patriarchal dupes) (Radway 1984).

These criticisms were not unique or restricted to the romance novel; they have existed for centuries regarding the feminine text. Hollows (2000, p. 70) argues that the contemporary ‘common sense’ constructions of the romance (‘a ‘formulaic’, ‘trivial’ and ‘escapist’ form read by ‘addicted’ women’) ‘have their roots in the mass culture criticism which emerged in the nineteenth century’. As discussed, for example, amatory fiction was criticised for being aimed at (and consumed by) a female audience, its sexual content and the exploration of ‘controversial’ themes within texts.

It is clear, however, that these attitudes crystallised in early academic discourse regarding the romance novel in a way that permeated the following decades of discussion of the genre. For example, Tan and Wendell (2009), Roach (2016) and

Rodale (2015), in their own analyses of the romance, note that the romance is surrounded by stereotypes, such as the construction of the novels as pornographic, as tools of the patriarchy and read by passive audiences looking for escape.

These early theorists and theories should be considered with a sympathetic examination, considering the context in which they were written. Frantz and Selinger

(2014, p. 3), for example, note that while these early analyses ‘[r]eadily conce[ded] the genre’s lack of aesthetic interest’, they did ultimately argue that romance novels

contained an ideological complexity that was previously overlooked. As Modleski

(1982, p. 25) argued, for example, beneath the seemingly addictive plot of the romance novel there existed ‘elements of protest and resistance’ as well as ‘anger’ regarding contemporary constructions of femininity and sexuality. Mussell (1984, p. xv) similarly noted that the ‘fantasies’ contained in the romance novels frequently rehearsed ‘dilemmas in [its] fiction[s] that all women confront, consciously or unconsciously, in daily life’. These readings of the romance further situate the genre within a larger web of mass culture ‘feminine’ texts (such as amatory and sensation fiction, courtship novels and medieval romances) that engage with, reproduce and criticise their social and cultural contexts. Roach (2016, p. 13) also shows sympathy for this early analysis, arguing that the texts identified the need for ‘creative respite for women’ who were trapped in the ‘Gordian knot of female heterosexual desire’. There is a well-established tradition of dismissal of female pop culture such as the romance novel, alongside acknowledgement of the texts as sites for cultural resistance and reinterpretation

The ‘romance’ has long depicted and shaped contemporary constructions of femininity, female sexuality and relationships. Despite criticism as superficial, salacious and focused entirely on heterosexual romantic relationships and marriage, the romance novel provides a narrative space where the focus remains on women and their experiences. These criticisms are well-established in relation to the feminine text.

Amatory fiction, for example, was simultaneously criticised for the presence of sexual activity within the narratives and so named for this presence (Ballaster 1998;

O’Shaughnessy Bowers 1994). George Eliot’s (1883, p. 442) criticism of ‘silly novels by lady novelists’ as ‘frothy’ and unrealistic both derides the feminine text and reinforces arguments regarding mass culture and ‘Literature’. In establishing herself

in opposition to the froth, Eliot emphasises her identity as a ‘serious’ novelist and differentiates herself from the feminine text. This division is also seen in Hawthorne’s

(cited in Maguire 2010, p. 53) complaints regarding the ‘dammed mob of scribbling women’ writing ‘trash’ that is read by uneducated readers.36

To construct all feminine texts as frothy trash read by uneducated readers is to ignore the ways in which the texts acknowledge and address the anxieties experienced by authors and readers of the time. Simultaneously, to ignore contradictory attitudes within feminine texts regarding femininity and female sexuality is to provide an unfinished analysis of the texts. In this thesis, I refrain from identifying the texts studied as entirely ‘frothy’, regressive and damaging, or progressive and empowering.

Instead, I provide analysis that recognises the complexity present in both the texts themselves, and the contemporary supernatural romance genre.

Sex and the Single Girl in the City’s Diary: The Rise of Chick lit

Despite seeming, at first, distinct (and distant) from the traditional romance novel, the contemporary chick lit genre of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries has clear links to the broader romance and cannot be overlooked when considering either the literary history of the romance or public discourse on the feminine text. In the larger romance web, threads connect chick lit not only to the contemporary romance novel, but the courtship novel. In popular discourse, Austen’s work is frequently referred to as historical chick lit, and there exist similarities in the implied audience and mainstream discourse surrounding both Austen and the chick-lit genre. In their

36 Hawthorne’s complaint has been adapted (and reclaimed) by romance authors and scholars, such as Rodale (2015) and Tan and Wendell (2009), who refer to themselves as ‘scribbling women’.

examination of chick lit, for example, Suzanne Ferris and Mallory Young (2005, p.

41) refer to Austen as an ‘acknowledged precedent’ of the genre.

In the later years of the twentieth century, the popularity and sales of romance novels declined, with younger authors and readers abandoning the genre (Harzewski 2011;

Mißler 2016). This ‘gap’ in the romance market coincided with the rise of the ‘chick lit’ genre. Chick lit, fiction aimed specifically and exclusively at female readers, is a distinctly late 1990s and early 2000s phenomenon. Its creation and rise were the result of the changing social and cultural constructions of gender, sexuality, romance, marriage, female employment and child raising at the turn of the century (Harzewski

2011; Mißler 2016). Heike Mißler (2016, p. 10), for example, argues that the ‘clear shift in expectations and configurations of contemporary femininity’, such as the development of the economic capacity of the ‘young urban professional’ were not featured in the romance novel (contributing to its decline).

Chick lit’s focus on this ‘young urban professional’ woman, as well as these shifts in configurations of femininity and female sexuality, contributed to its rise in popularity.

Foundational texts include Terry McMillan’s (1992) Waiting to Exhale, Marian

Keyes’ (1996) Watermelon, Helen Fielding’s (1997) Bridget Jones’ Diary (based on

Austen’s Pride and Prejudice) and Candace Bushnell’s (1997) Sex and the City (the novel on which the television series of the same name was based).37 These texts contained the tropes and themes that would become integral to the genre, including

37 Cecilia Konchar-Farr (2010, p. 203) argues that McMillan’s work (such as Waiting to Exhale and the 1998 novel How Stella Got her Groove Back) is frequently overlooked as foundational chick lit texts in ‘a regrettable move to “whiten” a tradition when we want to sell it or subject it to scholarly analysis’.

examination of the divide between married and single (heterosexual) women, a focus on romance and fashion, and the negotiation of employment and social life.

As the popularity of chick lit increased in the 1990s and early 2000s, romance publishers established chick lit imprints, expanding their publications. Harlequin, for example, founded the (now-defunct) imprint Red Dress Ink, which exclusively published chick lit. Chick lit was portrayed as distinct from the romance novel, focusing on ‘contemporary’ female concerns such as employment, single motherhood and pre-marital sex, and did not often feature the matrimonial ending so closely associated with romance novels. Katarzyna Smyczyńska (2007, p. 25) argues, however, that this departure ‘can in fact take place only in reference’ to the well- established romance genre it comes after. Similarly, Rosalind Gill and Elena

Herdieckerhoff (2006, p. 494) contend that literary tropes of the traditional romance

(such as the promise of ‘transcendent love and sexual satisfaction’ and the foregrounding of romantic relationships over friendships) are ‘reinstated through the back door’ of chick lit novels, obscured by the texts’ urban setting and the focus on the main characters’ employment and female friendships. Furthermore, chick lit novels predominantly adhere to the classification of a romance novel as defined by the RWA: narratives that feature a central love story and an emotionally satisfying ending. Chick lit should be considered part of the broader romance ‘web’, contributing to the history and context of the romance and revealing contemporary attitudes regarding the feminine text.

Criticism and contemporary discussion of chick lit reiterates criticism of the feminine text as superficial, one dimensional and containing negative representations of female characters. Maureen Dowd (2007, n.p.), for example, describes chick lit as a genre that

‘lull[s] you into a hypnotic state with […] simple life lessons’. As discussed, Sadaf

Ahsan (2018, n.p.) compared the ‘trashy summer read’ (including chick lit) to cupcakes: inconsequential, enjoyable but ultimately headache inducing. Furthermore, the accessibility of the genre (as it was readily available in supermarkets, newsagents and transport hubs such as airports and train stations) contributed to its identity as mass culture and subsequent construction as low quality.

Common features of the genre’s cover art (pastel colour schemes, disembodied women’s legs or torsos, high heels and cocktail glasses) are also sources of criticism and said to diminish the content of the novel. Anna Weinberg (2003, p. 47), for example, compares the ‘candy-coloured cover[s]’ of chick lit novels to ‘a scarlet A, drawing public attention’.38 This is also seen, uniquely, in Thu-Huong Ha’s (2015) criticism of the cover art of Elena Ferrante’s (2012-2016) Neapolitan series. Ha (2015, n.p.) notes that, even though the books are ‘the furthest thing from the froth of “chick lit”’ the covers are ‘evocative of nothing so much as a $4 romance book found in an

American gas station’. Dowd (2007, n.p.) similarly and negatively groups chick lit with the fairy tale and romance novel, imploring the reader of her opinion piece Heels over Hemmingway to ‘not confuse [chick lit] with the love-and-marriage of Jane

Austen. These are more like multicultural Harlequin romances. Cinderella bodice- rippers’. In doing so, chick lit, and the romance novel are presented (and dismissed) as one genre, to be found in the transitory location of the gas station rather than the

‘accepted’ location of the bookstore or library. Dowd’s (2007) comments also attempt to clearly divide fiction from ‘Literature’, removing the work of Austen (which, as

38 Weinberg’s (2007, p. 49) article on chick lit includes a satirical ‘Make Your Own Chick lit Novel!’ insert that presents two cover-art options, both featuring images of common chick lit cover elements such as a high heel, martini glass and handbag.

noted, is frequently associated with chick lit) from both the fairy tale and contemporary romance novel.

Furthermore, criticism of the genre (such as that by Stephanie Harzewski (2011),

Mißler (2016) and Gill and Herdieckerhoff (2006)) acknowledges the texts’ location within a ‘postfeminist’ world and the tensions this creates. Harzewski (2011, p. 166) argues that chick lit replicated ‘the quandary of multiple and conflicting meanings confronted in a taxonomy of postfeminism’. Many chick lit texts, for example, focus on and feature what are considered postfeminist discourses (Gill & Herdieckerhoff

2006; Harzewski 2011; Mißler 2016). These include representation and examination of individualism and individual ‘choice’, self-empowerment through consumerism and self-monitoring, as well as the acknowledgement, criticism and at times repudiation of second-wave feminism (Gill & Herdieckerhoff 2006; Harzewski 2011;

Mißler 2016).

Representations of femininity within chick lit novels, for example, were seen as a reaction to previous ‘disapproval from [second-wave feminist] Big Sister’ who had previously critiqued ‘pleasures of the unreconstructed ‘feminine’’ (Sonnet 1999, p.171).39 As Gill and Herdieckerhoff (2006, p. 500) argue, however, this representation of female choice and agency within chick lit (and, by extension, the feminine text):

entirely evacuates the space of social and cultural influence and avoids all the

interesting and difficult questions about how socially constructed ideals of

beauty are made our own. It completely eschews any discussion of power, and

39 Marian Keyes (cited in Gill & Herdieckerhoff 2006, p. 499), for example, refers to her generation as living in fear of being ‘told off’ by second wave feminists who would ‘hav [e] everything pink taken out of [their] house’.

has no language, besides that of individual free choice, with which to discuss

women’s lives.

These discourses on choice and agency are frequently also accompanied by self-aware commentary that works to recognise and negotiate potentially outdated ideals of femininity or female sexuality. Susan Douglas (2010, p. 13) refers to the process as the ‘knowing wink’. This ‘wink’ acknowledges the elements of a text that may be considered detrimental or outdated, such as a character’s focus on their physical appearance or their uncritical performance of feminine beauty rituals and presents them as ironic. Douglas (2010) argues that the presence of the wink within literature is frequently used in place of criticism of normative constructions of gender and sexuality. By ‘winking’ at the sexism present in the text, the author (and reader) does not need to examine it further (Douglas 2010). Both the knowing wink and the notion of free choice, Gill and Herdieckerhoff (2006) argue, makes true cultural criticism difficult within chick lit.

Simultaneously, however, chick lit acts as a narrative space for the female reader to acknowledge, identify and examine her anxieties (and ambivalence) regarding employment, romantic relationships, femininity and sexuality. Harzewski (2011, pp.

13-15), for example, directly identifies the chick lit novel as ‘an overlooked source of sociocultural commentary’. Gill and Herdieckerhoff (2006, p. 500) argue that it is this ambiguity that makes the genre ‘fascinating’. In chick lit, ‘a discourse of sexual freedom, liberation and pleasure-seeking’ co-exists with one privileging ‘married heterosexual monogamy’ (Gill & Herdieckerhoff 2006, p. 500). Similarly, ‘the claim

[in relation to feminine beauty] that women are being beautiful only for themselves coexists with an acknowledgement of the hollowness of this’ (Gill and Herdieckerhoff

2006, p. 500). Mißler (2016, p. 27) expands on this argument, noting that chick lit’s

‘detractors’ take this ambiguity as ‘a failure to stand up for feminism, rather than a complexification of its representation’. This is an argument revisited and repeated throughout discussion of the genres found in the romance web. As discussed throughout this chapter, popular literature texts have long been dismissed as sites for social commentary and examination and are regularly assumed to merely reproduce ideals regarding gender and sexuality. It is clear, however, that this is untrue. To dismiss these genres as superficial, frothy or beach reads (in the case of chick lit) is to ignore the ways in which they negotiate the lived experiences of the female readers.

The ambiguity present in the chick lit novel has not been resolved within contemporary romance novels or its sub-genres. The multiple representations of female sexuality and the performance of femininity remain within the feminine text, resisting and defying clear commentary on the contemporary female experience. In my analysis of the contemporary supernatural romance novel, for example, I acknowledge the texts as sites for the ‘complexification’ of femininity and female sexuality, rather than passive reproductions. They simultaneously resist and reproduce normative conventions of gender and sexuality, prevent examination of these conventions and invite it, and provide alternative ways of existing within the world. They are equally ‘fascinating’

(Gill & Herdieckerhoff 2006, p. 500) representations of the society and culture in which they were produced.

Conclusion

The contemporary supernatural romance exists within the larger romance web, which encompasses genres as diverse as medieval chivalric tales to contemporary chick lit.

To dismiss or reduce the romance, then, as popular culture, ‘trash’ or overwrought romance novels for adolescents is to ignore the ways in which the genre reaches back

and across a web of literary history, revealing the well-established history of popular literature and the feminine text as sites for cultural commentary, criticism and reinterpretation. In this chapter, I traced this literary history, providing a broad overview of the larger romance genre. Present throughout this examination is the identification and conceptualisation of the romance web, revealing the connections between genres and literatures such as medieval romance, amatory fiction and the contemporary ‘bodice ripper’. This provided the foundational context in which the texts studied in this thesis, and the supernatural romance, belong.

The romance narrative is present throughout the broad history of storytelling and featured in texts as widespread as medieval romance tales, amatory fiction, ‘airport reads’, literary fairy tales and bodice rippers. It is a ‘central storyline of human culture’

(Roach 2016, p. 3). In this thesis, I focused on the medieval romance tales of chivalry, enchantment and adventure as early clear examples of the romance genre. I was able to trace a literary history that encompassed not only the development of the contemporary romance, but of the novel itself. This allowed me to acknowledge the long history of cultural commentary and criticism within genres that contribute to the romance web, and a depth to genres (such as amatory fiction or the literary fairy tale) that were previously thought shallow or frivolous.

Tension between the multifaceted nature of the genre and its mainstream stereotypes continued in the development of the contemporary or twentieth century romance novel. Criticism and dismissal of the romance novel developed almost simultaneously with its incarnation in the early twentieth century, reducing the genre to ‘salacious’ scenes of romance and sexual activity. This criticism overlooks the genre’s history and its potential to provide narrative spaces for not only escapism and entertainment, but the negotiation of expectations surrounding women’s performance of femininity,

heterosexual relationships and marriage. As I have argued throughout this chapter, the greater romance genre is a source of social commentary, examination and criticism.

The romance genre, then, should be considered a source of multiple ideologies surrounding gender and sexuality, as more than the Fabio books or bodice rippers they are so frequently reduced to.

This broad examination of the romance genre and its ‘pre-history’ provided a foundational context and history for the contemporary supernatural romance. In my next chapter, I examine the development and specific literary history of the supernatural romance genre. As with all feminine texts, the supernatural romance at once resists and reproduces contemporary constructions of femininity and female sexuality. To reduce the genre to criticism and dismissal is to ignore the ways in which the supernatural romance reveals and explores contemporary attitudes and ambivalence surrounding the twenty-first century girl and experiences of girlhood.

Chapter 2: Sexy Byronic Werewolves: The

Contemporary Supernatural Romance

The contemporary supernatural romance draws on and contributes to genres such as gothic and sensation fiction, the romance and the literary fairy tale, as well as fandom and participatory culture, strengthening the threads between them within the romance web. Like romance fiction more broadly, the supernatural romance has been dismissed and stereotyped as a genre lacking depth; superficial or frothy fiction that reproduces normative conventions of gender and sexuality. I contest this dismissal by providing the social and historical context of the supernatural romance, through an examination of the genre’s location within the romance web focusing on its connections to the gothic, sensation fiction and the erotic romance. I argue that supernatural romance texts (such as those studied in this thesis), as with all genres and literature within the romance web, are sources of cultural examination, adaptation, reproduction and resistance.

I first explore the connection between the contemporary supernatural romance and gothic and sensation fiction. I contend that the rise of both the gothic and sensation novel contributed to the re-entanglement of the supernatural with the romance, strengthening the threads between these two genres along with medieval romance tales and creating links to the contemporary supernatural romance. Crawford (2014, p. 13) argues that the decline of the medieval romance saw the ‘unravelling’ of the supernatural from the romance genre.40 Within both the gothic novel and sensation

40 Representations of the supernatural and enchantment did not entirely disappear from the literary world, as seen in my discussion of the rise of the literary fairy tale in the previous chapter. By the end of the eighteenth century, however, the literary fairy tale was considered a children’s text (‘relegated to the nursery’, as Reynolds (2007, p. 19) notes) and therefore separate from ‘Literature’.

fiction, common literary elements included the presence of the supernatural and enchantment (such as witchcraft, apparitions and superstition), the use of sentiment and heightened emotions to explore contemporary cultural anxieties, and relationships between innocent women and potentially dangerous men (including the Byronic figure). Through these conventions, literary and narrative opportunities to explore contemporary constructions of femininity, heterosexual relationships and female sexuality emerged. Examination of these genres reveal the threads that connect the gothic and sensation fiction to the romance novel as well as to ‘earlier’ genres such as the literary fairy tale, medieval romance and amatory fiction, securing their location within the greater romance web.

I then discuss the development of both the contemporary supernatural romance and erotic romance genres. These two genres not only have connections back to the gothic and literary fairy tale, but also strong links connecting them in contemporary society due to the overlapping of Meyer’s (2005-2008) Twilight series and E.L James’ Fifty

Shades of Grey. Present in this examination is discussion of how participatory culture is unambiguously linked to contemporary erotica and the supernatural romance through these two series. In her discussion of the fairy tale web, Bacchilega (2013, p.

31) notes that many ‘activist adaptations’ of the tales (those that resist dominant cultural norms) can be found within non-mainstream media and literature; independent film, genre fiction and participatory culture such as fanworks and fan fiction. Through this examination I strengthen my conceptualisation of the romance web and highlight the supernatural romance’s connection to and existence within multiple genres as well as its location within a literary tradition of negotiation and criticism.

As with the examples of popular literature and culture I discussed in the previous chapter, gothic and sensation fiction, the supernatural romance and erotica and the

erotic romance genres all provide commentary on the societies in which they were published. I argue, then, that the contemporary YA supernatural romance continues this tradition of commentary, criticism and adaptation, with the presence of the supernatural providing unique opportunities for resistance and reaffirmation of contemporary ideologies of femininity, female sexuality and romantic relationships.

Sexy Werewolves and the Byronic Vampire: The Gothic Novel,

Sensation Fiction and the Supernatural

The romance genre has a long connection to and relationship with the supernatural, with clear threads linking the contemporary supernatural romance back to the literary fairy tale, gothic novel and medieval romances. The late twentieth and early twenty- first century popularity of the supernatural romance should therefore be considered a continuation of a well-established relationship between romance and the supernatural, rather than a new development in the romance’s history. Within the romance web, the supernatural romance is clearly linked to the gothic and sensation fiction genres of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.41 Both genres were considered popular or mass literature, with a wide appeal. The often-quoted review of sensation fiction in the

August 1863 edition of Fraser’s (1863, p. 262) acknowledges this appeal, flippantly noting that at the height of sensation fiction’s popularity, a novel ‘without a murder, a divorce, a seduction, or a bigamy’ was not considered ‘worth writing or reading’.

The origin of the gothic genre (its ‘terrible birth’, in the words of Sharon Rose Yang and Kathleen Healey (2016, p. 2)) is generally agreed to be Horace Walpole’s (1764)

The Castle of Otranto. The narrative follows the story of Manfred, lord of the castle,

41 The gothic genre itself is also considered in part a pre-cursor to sensation fiction; Talairach-Vielmas (2013, p. 29) argues that the latter is ‘heavily indebted’ to the former, with the genres sharing similarities such as the presence of the supernatural, melodrama and suspense.

and his attempts to outwit a curse he believes has been placed on his family. The novel contains a clear ‘thread’ back to the medieval romance; in the first edition Walpole presents the story as a text found in 1529 (and the story itself from several decades earlier) in the house of a well-established Catholic family in the North of England, with Walpole a translator.42 Walpole (1766) further connected this newly-emerging genre to medieval romances in the preface to the second edition of The Castle of

Otranto, which also acknowledged the deception of the first edition. Walpole (1766, p. xiv) notes that The Castle of Otranto was his ‘attempt to blend two kinds of

Romance, the ancient and the modern’, combining the ‘imagination and improbability’ of the former with the presence and importance of the natural world in the latter. The thread between the medieval romance and gothic fiction was strengthened throughout the genre’s development; author Clara Reeve (1816), for example, not only acknowledged this connection in the preface of The Old English Baron, but explicitly identified The Castle of Otranto as inspiration. Reeve (1816, p. v) identified her novel as ‘the literary offspring of the Castle of Otranto, written upon the same plan, with a design to unite the most attractive and interesting circumstances of the ancient

Romance and modern novel’.

Common literary conventions within the gothic genre include an innocent heroine and villainous male characters, fear and disruption of everyday norms, and the presence of the supernatural, whether it be literal or ‘explained’, as popularised by Katherine

Radcliffe.43 Most important within the genre is the setting or landscapes found within

42 This is not to diminish the role of the translator. Within the fairy tale genre, for example, the translator acts simultaneously as a storyteller, adjusting the narrative. Angela Carter’s (1977) translations of Perrault’s fairy tales not only modernises the language but subtly revises the tales; while Zipes (1993, p. 93) warns readers of the ‘tame, good-natured and pleasant’ wolves of Little Red Riding Hood, Carter (1977, p. 28) refers to them as ‘smooth-tongued’ and ‘smooth-pelted’, creating a sense of menace. 43 The term refers to supernatural elements that are later discovered to be (or ‘explained’ as) elements of the natural world

each narrative which provide a means for the examination of contemporary anxieties, norms and ideals. The ‘[c]rumbling architecture, dark confusing labyrinths, frightening interiors, and craggy outcroppings’ (Yang & Healey 2016, p. 2) of early gothic novels soon became recognisable features of the genre, acting as more than mere backdrops for the narrative. The emphasis on medieval architecture and the home in disrepair, as well as the common character trope of the innocent heroine kidnapped or trapped in said home by a male relative (such as a husband or father) created a sense of unsettling domesticity within the genre.

This presence of the supernatural and the unsettled (and unsettling) domesticity was further explored in the ‘female gothic’, a sub-category of the gothic genre which further connects the genre to the contemporary supernatural romance through its examination of female experiences. The term is frequently used to refer to texts written by female authors and featuring female characters, such as Charlotte Perkins Gillman’s

(1892) The Yellow Wallpaper, Charlotte Bronte’s (1842) Jane Eyre and Ann

Radcliffe’s (1794) The Mysteries of Udolpho. These texts draw on the gothic literary traits of the presence of the (explained or actual) supernatural, entrapment within the marital or family home, and the figure of the mysterious husband or male relative as commentary on issues experienced by women at the time, such as male control over women’s mental and physical health or the lack of freedom within heterosexual marriage)

Like the romance, the definitions and origins of the term ‘female gothic’ are contested.

When Ellen Moers (1976, p. 90) created the term (defining it as ‘the work that women have done in the literary mode that, since the eighteenth century, we have called the

Gothic’), she argued that it was in fact an easily definable concept, and that it was the term ‘gothic’ that was ‘not so easily stated’. Diana Wallace and Andrew Smith (2004,

p. 1) argue that not only is the term disputed, but since the 1990s the ‘usefulness’ of the classification of a distinct ‘female gothic’ genre has been debated. This time period also saw the move away from predominantly psychoanalytic examinations of the female gothic (as seen in Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar’s (1979) highly influential study of women’s writing The Madwoman in the Attic). Scholars such as Kate Ellis

(1989) and Eugenia DeLamotte (1990) explored female gothic works in relation to the social and cultural context of the time and, in the case of DeLamotte (1990), connected the social realities of the time to female psychological experience. Similarly, Smith

(2013) and Smith and Wallace (2004) argue that the conventions of the gothic novel, including the disruption of the family unit, the supernatural and dispossession, articulated the female experience of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

I agree that the study of the social and cultural context of the female gothic is integral for understanding it. As seen in discussion of other threads and connections within the romance web, the context in which a genre emerges, and gains popularity, will influence the ways in which social norms and ideals are presented, resisted and reproduced. The female gothic should be considered beyond psychoanalytic readings of a universal female experience, with the social and cultural context of the genre being considered as integral to analysis of the texts. This cultural examination, adaptation and reproduction further emphasises the female gothic’s location within the romance web.

Female-dominated author and readership, and the use of the supernatural, domestic setting and marriage as sites for criticism can also be seen in sensation fiction, or the sensation novel, of the nineteenth century. When placed in the romance web, sensation fiction can be linked to both amatory fiction and the gothic novel. The genre was as equally influential as amatory fiction, as noted in the Fraser’s review which drolly

noted the supposed necessity of murder, bigamy and seduction at the peak of the genre’s popularity. At the same time, sensation fiction has suffered the same ‘fate’ as amatory fiction, being overlooked in contemporary mainstream literary discourse due to its predominantly female authors and readers, as well as its location within popular or mass culture.

The threads or links between sensation fiction and the gothic should not be ignored.

Talairach-Vielmas (2013, p. 29) argues that sensation fiction is also ‘heavily indebted’ to earlier Gothic literature as both feature the presence of the supernatural, melodrama and suspense. Nick Freeman (2013) and Vanessa Dickerson (1996) expand on this association, arguing that the sensation novel overlaps with the Victorian gothic through its frequent use of or references to the supernatural. In Rhoda Broughton’s

(1873) The Man with the Nose, for example, the supernatural and enchantment provide a unique space for the exploration of feminine anxiety regarding sexuality and sexual activity within marriage. The dreams that main character Elizabeth experiences regarding the titular character are connected to her discussion of the ‘mesmerist’ she was hypnotised by several years earlier, the two characters becoming one otherworldly figure in her mind (and the narrative itself). Elizabeth’s abscondence with the Man by the end of the narrative, when read alongside the ‘odd and wicked things’ (Broughton

1873, p. 41) she had said while under hypnosis, contributes to the aura of anxious, supernatural sexuality that runs throughout. Similarly, Wilkie Collins’ (1859) The

Woman in White features clear connections to the unsettled domesticity of the gothic novel and the use of imprisonment and ‘haunted’ buildings (in this case, the asylum

Laura Fairlie is temporarily held in). This setting, as well as the way in which Sir

Percival Glyde schemes to imprison Laura reveals contemporary anxieties regarding the inequality experienced by married women.

As with the conteuses and the literary fairy tale discussed in the previous chapter, this supernatural presence in the gothic and sensation fiction provided new ways in which authors could acknowledge and deconstruct contemporary constructions of gender and sexuality. Ellis (1999), for example, argues that the gothic heroine’s navigation of haunted castles connoted the contemporary female readers’ navigation of marriage and relationships. The transformation of the home from a domestic sanctuary to a

‘nightmarish prison house’ (Crawford 2014, p. 21) is often interpreted as the embodiment of women’s fears regarding their lack of legal and financial independence within marriage. Female gothic texts often reveal the authors’ examination and exploration of their own fears and anxieties regarding femininity, marriage and motherhood.44 These anxieties are represented not only through the presence of the supernatural and the castle setting, but through characterisation, including the figure of the Byronic hero, whose ‘ancestors’ can be seen in both genres.

Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know: Rochester, Heathcliff and the Byronic Hero

The character trope of the Byronic hero has become an integral figure within the contemporary romance overall, as well as the supernatural romance specifically.

Named for the Romantic poet Lord Byron, the literary Byronic figure is a ‘dark, brooding [and] passionate’ (Crawford 2014, p. 25) man, often aristocratic, who lives a private and isolated life as the result of past trauma. Literary figures such as Edward

Rochester and Heathcliff helped to popularise the dark and brooding romantic interest, as did the popularity and celebrity of Lord Byron himself. Alison Milbank (2013, p.

44 Davison (2004) argues that The Yellow Wallpaper, for example, is not just an example of gothic literature but of a distinct, American female gothic; the leased estate integral to the narrative is ‘an Americanized domesticated format of the psychically charged contested castle’ traditionally found in gothic literature (Davison 2004, p.57).

165), for example, argues that Byron’s own ‘literary self-projections onto a series of poetic damned and brooding heroes’ was integral to the development of this figure.45

Lord Byron also contributed to the creation of contemporary representations of vampires in English literature and, by extension, the construction of the supernatural being as a romantic and sexualised figure. Vampire folklore was present in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, however Byron adapted eighteenth-century eastern European vampire folklore, which was a source of interest for him but not well known in England (Crawford 2014). The Byronic figure (and Lord Byron himself) also inspired the main character in Polidori’s (1819) The Vampyre (Coghen 2011;

Crawford 2014). The Vampyre was the first story in English literature to feature the contemporary vampire figure through the character of Lord Ruthven (a wealthy and mysterious man who marries and then murders the narrator’s sister). Both Crawford

(2014) and Monika Coghen (2011) classify The Vampyre as one of the earliest examples of the combination of the supernatural figure with the aristocratic and

Byronic character.

Early incarnations of the vampire within Britain were also influenced by cultural constructions of female sexuality and sexual activity and desire. Arguably, these associations strengthen the links between the Byronic figure, the gothic and sensation fiction. The presence of the supernatural (and supernatural figure) within sensation fiction often acted as representative of anxieties regarding marriage and sexuality

(such as Elizabeth’s relationship with the Man with the Nose in the novel of the same name). This conflation of female sexuality with the supernatural, the construction of

45 Milbank (2013, p. 165) also interprets Byron’s unfinished Don Juan as containing a ‘Radcliffean Gothic structure’, and the inheritance of his title and ancestral home of Newstead Abbey as ‘reminiscent’ of The Castle of Otranto, and Manfred’s relationship with the home and its prophecy.

the monstrous female Other and anxieties surrounding female sexuality remain common in the contemporary supernatural romance, including the texts studied in this thesis. J. Lawrence Mitchell (2012) notes, for example, that the term vampire (or

‘vampyre’) was often used in the nineteenth century to refer to a sexually voracious woman.46 This can be seen in representations of Edward Rochester’s first wife Bertha in Jane Eyre. Bertha is described as demonic, ‘savage’ and bestial; she crawls on all fours and Jane compares her to ‘the foul German spectre—the vampyre’ (Brontë 1842, p. 372).47 Jane Eyre and the work of the Brontë sisters also contributed to the merging of the Byronic figure with the romance tale to create the Byronic romance hero, a character archetype considered a classic in the contemporary romance.

The influence of the Brontë’s work on the contemporary romance novel cannot be denied or ignored. Crawford (2014, p. 30) argues that the ‘shape of the romance’ in the nineteenth century is ‘embodied’ in the work of the Brontës, particularly Emily

Brontë’s (1847) Wuthering Heights and Charlotte Brontë’s (1847) Jane Eyre. Gill

Frith (1993, p. 172) identifies Jane Eyre as the ‘mother text’ of romances in which the

‘innocent heroine meets brooding hero and lives happily ever after’.48 Crawford (2014, p. 30) similarly argues that Jane Eyre is ‘one of the two works upon which the romance writers of the twentieth century were to draw most heavily and frequently’ (the other being Pride and Prejudice). The archetype of the Byronic figure is present in Jane

Eyre and Wuthering Heights, and that both Edward Rochester and Heathcliff have influenced the characterisation of the hero in the contemporary supernatural romance.

46 Kipling’s (1897) poem The Vampire and Burne-Jones’ (1897) painting of the same name, for example, both feature representations of sexually active and confident women. 47 Racial stereotypes (due to Bertha’s implied Creole heritage) also overlap with female sexuality in the characterisation of Bertha. 48 It is interesting that both Frith (1993) and Kamblé (2014) use parental references in discussing the connection of classic literature to the contemporary romance; in doing so, they create a ‘family tree’ rather than a web.

The links between the Brontë’s work and the gothic and romance genres are strengthened in Harold Bloom’s (1987) analysis of the texts and his discussion of the

‘northern romance’ literary category. Bloom (1987, p. 1) argues that the work of both

Charlotte and Emily Brontë were ‘deeply influenced by Byron’s poetry’ as well as the gothic genre, and Elizabethan drama. Bloom (1987) presents the ‘northern romance’ as a distinct and unique literary concept which echoes contemporary discussion of region-specific gothic literature (such as the differences between Australian and

American gothic, and the influence that a country’s landscape and natural environment has on their interpretation of the genre). Regis (2003, p. 86) argues, however, that

Bloom’s (1987) creation of the ‘northern romance’ distances the Brontës and their work from the romance genre (like the distancing of medieval Literature from the more mainstream romances). In doing so, a literary hierarchy where romance remains on the lower stratum, is therefore reinforced.

Both the ‘northern romance’ and the work of the Brontës overall draw from the gothic tradition, particularly through the use of distinct landscapes as integral to the narrative

(the heightened emotion of Wuthering Heights, for example, is echoed and emphasised through the northern setting, particularly the moors and violent weather). Moers (1976) also places the Brontë’s work within the gothic tradition, particularly the female gothic. Furthermore, the link between the gothic, the Brontës and the literary fairy tale are examined and strengthened through examination of figures such as Edward

Rochester of Jane Eyre and Heathcliff of Wuthering Heights as interpretations of the

Bluebeard figure. Marie Mulvey-Roberts (2009) and Heta Pyrhönen (2010), for example, expand the comparison within Jane Eyre of Thornfield to Bluebeard’s castle

to link the fairy tale to the novel.49 Furthermore, Crawford (2014) identifies Jane Eyre as marking the point at which the Byronic hero of gothic fiction crossed over into the romance, through the character of Edward Rochester.

Edward Rochester embodies the figure of the gothic hero, with a ‘haunted’ house

(Thornfield) that befits the gothic roots of Jane Eyre as it contains secrets, dark passageways, and an almost otherworldly first wife imprisoned in the attic. Jane herself labels the halls of Thornfield as like ‘a corridor in some Bluebeard’s castle’

(Brontë 1847, p. 91) invoking the supernatural figure. Unlike Bluebeard, Rochester is redeemed through his relationship with Jane and the death of his first wife. Jane Eyre does not focus exclusively on the character development of Edward Rochester, however. The emotional and personal development of Jane herself is both integral to the narrative and reveals the ways in which the text engaged in examination and criticism of the society in which it was written.

Jane Eyre reveals the era’s ambivalence regarding women. Regis (2003) interprets

Jane’s personal development and relationship with Rochester as representing the changing constructions of femininity, female employment and marriage of the nineteenth century. Like Elizabeth Bennett, Jane only accepts a marriage proposal after her own self-development and returns to Rochester and Thornfield after gaining financial and physical independence through her inheritance. Jane acts as a redemptive figure for Rochester, and their relationship can be considered ‘successful’ as it is a nurturing and solid relationship between two equal partners. Gilbert and Gubar (2000, p. 360) similarly interpret Jane Eyre as a site for exploration of contemporary

49 Both Mulvey-Roberts (2009) and Pyrhönen (2010) also discuss the fairy tale’s link to Daphne du Maurier’s (1938) gothic novel Rebecca, further strengthening the connection between the literary fairy tale (specifically the Bluebeard tale), the gothic and the work of the Brontë’s.

femininity, noting that the figure of Bertha is, ‘on a figurative and psychological level’, an ‘avatar’ of Jane; able to reveal Jane’s own criticisms of the world in which she lives.

At the same time, the ‘equal’ relationship between Jane and Edward is only possible after the fire at Thornfield gravely injures Rochester. Similarly, Bertha, the ‘avatar’ of criticism, is destroyed by the Thornfield fire, and it is partially through this destruction that Jane Eyre can achieve its HEA ending: Jane and Rochester’s marriage.

Emily Brontë’s (1847) Wuthering Heights draws more heavily on gothic themes than

Jane Eyre, particularly, as noted, in relation to the role of the landscape and environment through the narrative. Unlike Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights does not contain a HEA ending and, as a result, it is frequently not considered a romance.

Crawford (2014, p. 34) contends that while it is a ‘story about love’ it is not a ‘love story’).50 Wuthering Heights is therefore not often considered as closely linked to the romance genre as Jane Eyre. However, if Edward Rochester was the first Byronic figure in a romance, then Heathcliff is the cementing of this character, and is a foundational figure for the love interest in the supernatural romance. Furthermore, throughout the narrative, Heathcliff is compared to supernatural beings such as vampires and spirits, comparisons problematised by the ambiguity of his ethnicity (as with Bertha in Jane Eyre, these associations partially rely on racial stereotypes).51

Both Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights contain narrative conventions, characterisations and settings that are present and reinterpreted in the contemporary

50 The ending can be interpreted as optimistic, however, with Cathy and Heathcliff supposedly walking the moors together, reunited in death (although Lockwood dismisses these claims as rural superstition). 51 Contemporary discourse on race and Wuthering Heights examine the novel’s proximity to Liverpool, a centre for the British slave trade in the nineteenth century, and how this may have informed the character of Heathcliff, whose ethnicity has been a source of debate (throughout the narrative he is referred to as South East Asian and Romani) (Althubaiti 2015; Atkinson 2012; Fowler 2017).

supernatural romance. The narratives cement the Byronic figure as a romantic interest for the heroine, the main relationships provide narrative space for the heroines to experience personal development and growth and the supernatural (and enchantment) is invoked to various degrees. References to the supernatural and supernatural figures, the presence of the Byronic hero and the ways in which the romantic relationship between hero and heroine can be, at times, redemptive, feature in the contemporary supernatural romance genre, and can be seen in the texts studied in this thesis.

The Twentieth-Century Supernatural Romance

As with the greater romance genre, it is difficult to identify a single seminal text within the contemporary supernatural romance genre and it would be incorrect to claim that the publication of one specific text marks the ‘beginning’ of the genre. I contend that, instead, the origins of the contemporary supernatural romance should be considered in terms of early, multiple instances. Crawford (2014), for example, names Chelsea Quin

Yarbro’s (1978) Hôtel Transylvania, which features a romantic relationship between a vampire and a human, as one of the earliest contemporary supernatural romances.

Although released as a horror series, Anne Rice’s (1976-present) Vampire Chronicles series is also cited as an early example of the genre.52 Kaveney (2012, p. 220), for example, explicitly connects The Vampire Chronicles to the contemporary supernatural romance and the supernatural love interest, noting that if the series ‘did not invent the soulful misunderstood non-murderous vampire [it] certainly did a lot to popularize him'. Similarly, Candace Benefiel (2004), Kathleen Rout (2003) and

Crawford (2014) argue that the eroticised nature of both the transformation from

52 Similarly, Rice’s (1983-2015) retelling of Sleeping Beauty, The Sleeping Beauty Quartet (published under her pseudonym A.N Roquelaure) was released as supernatural erotica rather than supernatural romance. The series was re-released as erotic supernatural romances under Rice’s name after the success of erotic romance series Fifty Shades of Grey.

human to vampire and the attacks within The Vampire Chronicles strengthens the series’ links to the supernatural romance. The series does not, however, centre on romance and romantic relationships, and several texts within it lack the HEA ending integral to the genre.53

One of the earliest self-described ‘supernatural romance’ texts is Margaret Mahy’s

1984 novel The Changeover. The novel was aimed specifically at a YA audience, and was sub-titled ‘A Supernatural Romance’, although this was removed on the book’s re-release in 2003 (Walls 2016). The narrative features literary elements and tropes that would become integral to the contemporary supernatural romance, such as the main character’s relationship with a supernatural being (in this case, male witch

Sorensen (Sorry) Carlisle), scenes of food and feasting as representations of sexuality and sexual activity, and fairy tale references.54 The novel is distinct from the twentieth century ‘supernatural romance’, however, in that it was marketed and released as adolescent literature, rather than as part of the ‘adult’ oriented romance genre.

Regardless of the multiple origins of the supernatural romance, by the mid-1990s it was a well-established and recognised sub-category of the larger romance. In 1991,

Lori Herter began her de Morrisey series that featured supernatural characters and love interests and was one of the earliest serialised supernatural romances. The de Morrisey series also featured cover art that clearly emphasised both its location in the romance genre, and the presence of the supernatural in the narrative. The covers were the traditional romance ‘clinch covers’, featuring swooning women in embraces with

53 The homoeroticism of The Vampire Chronicles has been explored by scholars such as Deidre Byrne (1996), George E Haggerty (1998) and James Twitchell (1985), however. 54 Berkin (1990) argues that The Changeover can also be read as a revision of the Sleeping Beauty narrative.

vampires.55 By 1992, the RITA awards (the awards presented by the RWA) introduced their ‘Best Futuristic/Fantasy/Paranormal Romance’ category (which became ‘Best

Paranormal Romance’ two years later) and in 1993, Harlequin launched one of the earliest supernatural romance imprints, Silhouette Shadows. That same year, Laurell

K. Hamilton (1993-2018) published the first novel in the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter series, which Crawford (2014) cites as one of the foundational works of the contemporary supernatural romance.

The texts studied for this thesis, however, are part of the distinct YA supernatural romance sub-genre of the twenty-first century. The supernatural romances of this era can be distinguished from the texts of the 1980s and 1990s in numerous ways, including being aimed specifically toward a YA audience.56 Meyer’s Twilight series is frequently identified as the origin point of this contemporary supernatural romance.

However, the conceptualisation of the relationships between texts and genres as part of the larger romance web prevents one singular text being labelled as a formative or foundational text while also acknowledging the multiple influences within the genre.

For the contemporary supernatural romance, for example, this includes the late twentieth century increase in popularity of gothic and horror texts within youth- oriented media. This included R.L Stine’s Fear Street (1989-1999) series of novels, the 1996-2011 Scream film franchise, and texts such as Annette Curtis Klaus’ (1997) werewolf novel, Blood and Chocolate. These texts contained (and in the case of

55 Penny Kaganoff’s (1992, p. 53) review of Possession, Herter’s (1992) second book in the series, referred to the characters as ‘harmless shadows of Anne Rice’s creations’, emphasising Rice’s location in horror and the romance’s supposed innocuous nature. 56 Although these texts are also consumed by an adult audience. Twilight, for example, was immensely popular with both adolescent and adult readers.

Scream, exposed and subverted) gothic and horror tropes such as monsters, murder and violence, and were aimed specifically at an adolescent audience.

While not the sole foundational text of this new genre, Joss Whedon’s cult classic television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Buffy), based on his 1992 film of the same name, should be considered important in the development of the twenty-first century supernatural romance. Although a television show, the influence of Buffy on the contemporary supernatural romance cannot be ignored. Alongside Anita Blake,

Crawford (2014, p. 8) labels Buffy as ‘crucial transitional franchises’ that ‘jointly did much to lay the foundations for the subsequent development of the [modern] paranormal romance’. Kaveney (2012, pp. 215-216) similarly argues that Buffy (and spin-off show Angel) ‘helped determine much of the vocabulary of the template form’ of what she refers to as the ‘dark fantasy’ genre (a genre that is entwined with the supernatural romance). While Anita Blake arguably contributed to the development of the adult supernatural romance, the impact of Buffy can be seen both in texts aimed at adolescent and YA readers, as well as in adult texts.57 To discuss the contemporary supernatural romance without discussing Buffy would therefore provide a history of the genre that is, in the words of Crawford (2014, p. 9) ‘inaccurate and false’.

The series followed high school (and later college student) Buffy Summers through her navigation of family issues, adolescence and sexual activity alongside her role as the ‘Slayer’ (a lineage of young women chosen to fight supernatural forces). The characterisation of Buffy contributed to the popular trope within the contemporary

57 Kaveney (2012, p. 220) also argued that Buffy saw a ‘return to the previous consensus’ regarding vampires as villains, and that this return was ‘[done] so in the full knowledge of, and often in direct reference to, what Anne Rice had made a cliché’. I would argue that this statement is not entirely true, with vampire characters Angel and Spike presented through the series as not only redeemable but as love interests for Buffy.

supernatural romance of the main female character as being intelligent and strong while still adhering to norms of conventional femininity. Similarly, vampire love interests such as Angel and Spike supported the development of the contemporary vampire (and the supernatural figure overall) as a sympathetic and erotic character that maintains a connection to the Byronic hero (Crawford 2014; Pender 2016). The characters retained the mystery, supernatural connection and danger of the traditional

Byronic figure while also drawing on contemporary constructions of ideal male romance and sexuality (to varying degrees and success). The early seasons of the show, set in high school, also helped solidify the conflation of the supernatural romance with

YA fiction which, as both Crawford (2014) and Mukherjea (2011) note, frequently centre around a school setting. Furthermore, the show’s explicit connection to the contemporary supernatural romance is seen in the ways in which Buffy Summers has been favourably compared to supernatural romance heroines, particularly Twilight’s

Bella Swan. Scholars such as Christine Fernando (2018), Catherine Coker (2011) and

Nicol Rhonda (2011), for example, have all compared Bella to Buffy, presenting Buffy as a (physically and mentally) stronger character in comparison to Bella’s supposed

‘weaknesses. Meyer (cited in Wilson 2011, p. 69) herself acknowledged the comparison, referencing Bella’s characterisation as an ‘ordinary’ adolescent girl in comparison to Buffy, with her comment ‘We can’t all be slayers’.

Buffy’s genre-bending can also be interpreted as a continuation of the supernatural romance’s engagement with tropes from multiple genres, such as the gothic, horror and romance. Ashley Rodriguez (2017, n.p.) argues that Buffy was an early example of ‘genreless TV’, rooting fantasy within realism in ways previously uncommon in television. Rodriguez (2017, n.p.) labelled the show as ‘a fantasy epic wrapped in a teen drama sprinkled with comic relief and doused in martial-arts action’, emphasising

the ways in which Buffy drew from multiple genres and literary conventions during its runtime. In identifying the series in this way, Rodriguez indirectly invokes the concept of the romance web, acknowledging the links between media such as Buffy and the multiple genres and literary categories that contribute to its creation. As with Bloom’s

(1987) association of the Brontës with the ‘northern romance’, however, by labelling

Buffy as ‘genreless’ (without acknowledgment of the multiple genres that contribute to it) the connection to the romance is again overlooked.

Throughout its run, Buffy also explored contemporary understandings of female sexuality and sexual pleasure, LGBT+ representation and normative conventions of femininity (Ewens 2017; Jones 2013; Magee 2014). Amy-Chinn Dee (2005) argues that the resistance of normative femininity and female sexuality was reliant on the supernatural presence within the text, an argument that, as I have shown, is well- established within analysis of the supernatural, gothic and literary fairy tale. While

Buffy presented non-normative sexual practices and performances of gender, these were predominantly associated with non-human or supernatural characters such as vampires, shapeshifters and witches (Dee 2005). Dee (2005) and Arwen Spicer (2002) present the character of Spike as an example of the show’s representation of ambiguous constructions of gender and sexuality, and note that this ambiguity (or

‘queerness’, in the case of Dee’s (2005) analysis) is the result of his vampiric identity.

In this way, however, Buffy highlighted how the supernatural romance can act as a site for both representation and resistance and should be considered an important text within the contemporary supernatural romance genre.

While the supernatural romance was well-established by the early twenty-first century, works within the genre (including, to an extent, Buffy) were eclipsed by the 2005 publication of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight, the first in her supernatural romance series

100

of the same name. The immense and unexpected success of Twilight (both the novel and its series) increased academic and non-academic focus on the supernatural romance genre, and inadvertently, the erotic romance (through the influence of

Twilight on E.L James’ (2008-2012) Fifty Shades of Grey series). The texts studied within this thesis, for example reveal the influences and impact of the series on the YA supernatural romance genre. Attention must be paid, then, to the impact and influence of Twilight.

Twilight, Mummy Porn and the Romance

Although the Twilight series was not the earliest example of the contemporary supernatural romance, it can be considered the apotheosis of the genre. The contemporary supernatural romance, while well-established by the early 2000s, was a relatively small sub-genre of the larger romance until the immense and unexpected success of the Twilight series in 2005. Crawford (2014, p.6) identifies the series as part of the supernatural romance’s ‘generic maturity’, a stage in a genre’s history where the conventions and tropes are well-established, ‘often ushered in or cemented by the publication of a work so successful that it immediately becomes the standard by which other works in the genre are judged’. This success brought controversy to both the series and Meyer, as seen in Crawford’s (2014) survey of reviews in mainstream media and discourse in the early years of the series. Crawford (2014, p. 181) notes that early reviews of the book featured ‘bemusement’ over the ‘growing success’ of a YA novel by a first-time author, ‘rather than concern over its message or content’. By the late

2000s and the peak of the series’ popularity, however, reviews and discussion of

Twilight (both the film and novel series) ‘variously accus[ed] it of being unhealthy, stereotypical, misogynistic, old fashioned, unrealistic, improbably de-sexualized or just plain unromantic’ (Crawford 2014, p. 4).

101

Twilight was published during the early-2000s, a time where conservative politics

(particularly American politics post-9/11), intersected with neoliberalism and the rise of internet. As discussed, this era also saw changing social and cultural attitudes surrounding girls and girlhood, such as the increase of purity culture and discourses surrounding femininity, the ‘mean girl’ and female relational aggression. Nina

Auerbach (1995, p. vii) argues that each era ‘creates and embraces’ vampires that expose and replicate the social and cultural constructions of the time in which they were produced. As a result, representations of adolescent girls and girlhood, including femininity and female sexuality within Twilight echoed these changes and discourses.

These representations within Twilight included discourse on adolescent female sexuality and its intersection with American religion and purity culture. Carrie Platt

(2011, p. 73) argues, for example, that Meyer draws heavily from purity culture in her representations of female sexuality, connecting pre-marital sexual activity with ‘bodily harm or death’. Similarly, as noted, Kaveney (2012, p. 220) labels the series

‘abstinence propaganda’. Throughout Twilight, sexual activity is frequently discussed in terms of fear, violence and death; Bella is saved by Edward from potential sexual assault in Twilight, Edward’s adopted sister Rosalie is raped and beaten by her fiancé and his friends, and Bella’s pregnancy results in her violent death (and subsequent vampiric transformation).58 As discussed, Kokkola (2010, p. 166) describes Edward and Bella as ‘pin-ups for the True Love Waits’ movement. Simultaneously, however, the connection with purity culture may also be read as a coincidence, with Meyer drawing on her religious upbringing in the Church of Jesus Christ and the Latter-day

Saints. Regardless of the intention, in presenting an adolescent heterosexual and

58 Rosalie Hale’s story is not entirely lacking in power, however; after she is transformed into a vampire, she tortures and kills her attackers, including her fiancé.

102

predominantly sexually abstinent relationship (until Bella and Edward’s marriage),

Twilight simultaneously draws on well-established ideologies of female sexuality as well as the contemporary purity culture within which it was written.

Twilight is not exclusively seen, however, as a source of negative representations of femininity and female sexuality. Diamond (2011), Wilson (2011) and Mukherjea

(2014) each acknowledge the ways in which the series reveals and reproduces contemporary ambivalence towards adolescent girls, and in some cases attempts to negotiate the numerous conventions of femininity and female sexuality present in the twenty-first century. Wilson (2011) and Diamond (2011) argue that, rather than entirely reproducing conservative ideologies of sexuality and purity culture, Twilight recognises female sexual desire. Throughout the series, for example, Bella discusses her sexual desire for Edward and, after their marriage, the pleasure she experiences during sexual activity. Diamond (2011, p. 45) argues that the series’ reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom narrative allows Bella to access a sexuality that is in fact

‘subtly transgressive’.

Mainstream discussion of Twilight during its publication was frequently dichotomous, either entirely positive or negative. Both the novel and film series, for example, were criticised for their poor-quality writing, plot holes and stereotypical characters and their ‘unexplainable’ appeal. This discussion also engaged with the construction of the adolescent feminine text as ‘shameful’ due to its association with the teenage girl consumer, mass cultural appeal and focus on emotion. Reviews of both the novel and film series frequently questioned the representations of female sexuality and Bella’s relationship with Edward as outdated and restrictive and questioned the potential influence these representations of romance and sexuality might have on the adolescent reader. Several reviews also emphasised the identity of the series as a commodity,

103

reinforcing the construction of popular culture as diametrically opposed to ‘Literature’

(like the dismissal of chick lit as beach reads or sensation fiction as train reads). Ken

Hanke’s (2008, n.p) review of the first Twilight movie explicitly engages with this, referring to Twilight as a ‘product’ in direct comparison to Tomas Anderson’s (2008)

Let the Right One In, which he defines as a ‘film’.

Hanke’s (2008) review encapsulates contemporary dismissal of (and the ignorance surrounding) both Twilight and the feminine text in general. Hanke (2008, n.p.) refutes the benefit of the Twilight novels that ‘at least teens are reading something’ by noting that ‘This looks less like the path to reading James Baldwin or Kurt Vonnegut than the direct road to Barbara Cartland’.59 Hanke’s (2008) comparison to and dismissal of

Barbara Cartland novels constructs the adolescent reader as passive and reinforces the concept of gendered literary value (while also revealing his lack of knowledge regarding contemporary romance authors). This refusal to locate the romance genre within Literature can be seen as echoing Bloom’s (1987) resistance to identifying the work of the Brontës as part of the romance genre—continuing the trend of placing the romance outside of ‘culture’. Hanke’s (2008) emphasis on literary value and the construction of ‘good’ literature (or film, in this case) in opposition to ‘trash’ and the female author is also part of a long history of dismissal and criticism of the feminine text.

This conflict is also present within academic examination of Twilight and the supernatural romance genre, as well as discussion of the feminine text in general.

Academic ambivalence surrounding popular culture texts are revealed in what Gill

59 Hanke’s (2008) construction of Twilight as a ‘gateway drug’ (or gateway path, as it were) to Barbara Cartland is similar to Wilson’s (2011, p. xiv) concern that her daughter would read Twilight and ‘head down the path of future Harlequin romance addition’

104

(2009, p. 21) refers to as the ‘Guilty Preface Syndrome’. The term refers to the admissions of guilt or shame that researchers feel in liking low culture texts such as romance novels, chick lit, or Twilight. In their analyses of the series, Natalie Wilson

(2011) and Melissa Click, Jennifer Aubrey and Elizabeth Behm-Morowitz (2010) all reference their university education, age and motherhood as reasons why they should not have enjoyed Twilight. Similarly, Rodale (2015, p.7) notes that she initially resisted her mother’s recommendation of romance novels as she ‘read all of Proust for fun’.60 These admissions are frequently present in the introduction, or preface, hence the name. Their presence reinforces the status of low culture texts as somehow unworthy of academic examination even within academic examination of the texts.

Twilight is also a contemporary example of crossover fiction, a text that blurs the boundaries between the adult and child readers and texts (Beckett 2002; Boehm 2016).

Although aimed at a YA female audience, the series (both novels and film) were consumed and enjoyed by many adult readers as well (Click, Aubrey & Behm-

Morowitz 2010). Evidence of this ‘crossing over’ emerged within participatory culture such as online fan communities, where fans create and post transformative works such as fanart and fanfiction.61 Participatory culture surrounding Twilight is notable not just because of its size but in that it inadvertently influenced the growth in mainstream recognition and popularity of the erotic romance sub-genre.

60 This echoes Hunt’s (2003, p. 3) identification of ‘the shadow of what ‘ought’’ to be studied, which clouds conversation on literary value or worth in popular culture texts. 61 Fanfiction, or ‘fics’, refers to fiction featuring characters, settings and plots from works already in existence (such as Star Trek, the Marvel cinematic universe or the Harry Potter novel and film series).

105

Bodice Rippers and Mummy Porn: Female Sexuality and the Feminine Text

Despite the stereotype that contemporary romance novels are sexually explicit bodice rippers, the erotic romance is a distinct sub-genre of the romance.62 As noted in my previous chapter, the contemporary erotic romance sub-genre began in the early 1970s with the publication of texts such as Woodiwiss’ (1974) The Flame and the Flower and Rosemary Rogers’ (1974) Sweet Savage Love. The popularity of these texts led to the increase in sexually explicit content within romance novels, and in the early 2010s would later strengthen the threads between the erotic and contemporary supernatural romance, emphasising the interwoven nature of the romance web.

The erotic romance ‘crossed over’ into mainstream success and recognition in the early twenty-first century with the publication of E.L James’ 2010-2012 series Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed). The series’ origin, its success and popularity and the ways it is discussed within and outside of academia reveal contemporary attitudes toward representations of female sexuality, and the feminine text. Fifty Shades of Grey was originally released online as Master of the Universe, BDSM-inspired Twilight fanfiction published by E.L James (then writing as Snowqueens [sic] Icedragon) (Cuccinello 2017; Paris 2016). Despite undergoing several rewrites similarities between Twilight and Fifty Shades remained in representations of characters and plot points. Main characters Christian Grey and

Anastasia Steele, for example, retained many of the personality traits and attributes of

Edward Cullen and Bella Swan.

Fifty Shades of Grey and its readers were mocked and criticised in mainstream discussion. The series was classified as ‘mummy porn’, and criticism of the series

62 The erotic romance is also distinct from erotic literature, a genre with a separate literary history far longer than the erotic romance.

106

often stereotyped its readers as sexually frustrated, middle-aged suburban wives and mothers, whose sexuality was something to mock and belittle. Leslie Paris (2016, p.

688) contends that terms such as ‘mommy porn’ construct women ‘who read and write stories about sex as giggling and ultimately unthreatening; as an audience they are infantilized’. This is similar in both form and function to criticism of the romance genre overall. As discuss, early criticism of the genre (such as by Assiter (1988) and

Snitow (1979) described the genre as ‘pornography’ for women, a classification that

Regis (2011) argues came to characterise the genre as a whole. The links within the romance web are not just the shared plot points and literary and cultural context, but the ways in which the genres were received and discussed. The location of the romance and erotic romance within popular literature and culture, and its dismissal as salacious or titillating content also echoes criticism of earlier genres such as the gothic or sensation fiction.

The feminine text, including the contemporary supernatural romance, faces stigma in both academic and non-academic discourse, as seen through engagement with the guilty preface syndrome, or the reduction of the genre to bodice ripping or mummy porn. Jennifer Lois and Joanna Gregson (2015, p. 499) argue that this stigma is often conveyed through ‘sneers’ and ‘leers’; sneers at the perceived low quality of the genre, and leers at the sexual content. While it is incorrect to say that the genre does not contain low-quality work (as with all literary genres, there are high and low-quality texts), a lack of literary value does not mean that a text is ‘unworthy’ of examination.

Both Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey, for example, have been criticised for their

‘poor-quality’ writing as well as the sexual content, experiencing both the sneers and the leers.

107

By sneering (or leering) at texts, and emphasising their low culture status, the ways in which these genres address and feature female sexuality and femininity are overlooked. Therefore, in my own analysis, I acknowledge the ways in which the texts’ location within the greater romance genre (as well as their connections to the literary fairy tale and the presence of the supernatural) contribute to the creation of a literary and narrative space in which adolescent female sexuality can be explored. I resist engaging in either the sneers and leers or guilty preface syndrome as doing so diminishes the sub-genre’s role in examination of and commentary on femininity and female sexuality.

Conclusion

Critical examination of the history of the supernatural romance revealed a genre with a solid and integral position within the romance web. The supernatural romance is connected not only to the romance genre but has links to the gothic novel, sensation fiction and the erotic romance. These connections expose and highlight the supernatural romance’s history and location within a literary tradition of negotiation and criticism. Furthermore, the role of the supernatural and enchantment as a site for the adaptation and reinterpretation of contemporary constructions of gender and sexuality was demonstrated. In examining these connections, I was able to contest the reduction or dismissal of these genres to ‘shameful’ products, opposed to Literature

(Frantz & Selinger 2014, p. 2).

The gothic novel became a bridge between the older medieval romances and the contemporary novel, incorporating elements of the supernatural and enchantment with contemporary realism to create a new genre (Crawford 2014; Regis 2003; Smith 2013).

As Crawford (2014) argues, the supernatural and the romance were unravelled from

108

each other during the development of the contemporary novel (as seen in my examination of genres such as amatory fiction and the courtship narrative). The contemporary supernatural romance, however, is the result of the re-entangling of these elements that began with the development of gothic literature and the gothic romance in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The gothic genre also contributed to the creation of the contemporary supernatural romance, which draws on gothic elements such as the supernatural, the natural world and the Byronic figure, creating a bridge between the gothic and the contemporary romance.

The importance of the supernatural as a site for the acknowledgement and negotiation of normative conventions of gender and sexuality remain in the contemporary supernatural romance. The sub-genre is discussed and considered as a cultural artefact, a source that exposes and rehearses contemporary ideologies surrounding gender and sexuality while simultaneously providing new alternatives for the reader (Crawford

2014; Maguire 2010). This supports the argument that the contemporary supernatural romance is a genre that explores, resists and at times reproduces conventions of the society in which it is exists. In the following chapters, I begin my in-depth analysis of how the texts studied perform this resistance and reaffirmation. I argue that the conflicting and contradictory representations of adolescent female sexuality and femininity reveal contemporary attitudes and ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood.

109

Chapter 3: Beautiful/Beastly: Female Sexuality, the Supernatural and Animal

Bridegroom Tales

The contemporary instability of the constructions of adolescent girls and girlhood is revealed through mainstream media representations of the adolescent girl as a powerful sexual subject or vulnerable object, a defenceless Ophelia or out of control

Mean Girl. Popular literature has a long history of negotiating the concerns and experiences of women and womanhood. Genres such as the contemporary romance, literary fairy tale, sensation fiction and the courtship novel have explored the ever- changing constructions of femininity, (heterosexual) romance and female sexuality within their narratives. As part of the greater romance web and the feminine text, the contemporary supernatural romance genre similarly examines and negotiates the anxieties surrounding (and experienced by) adolescent girls and girlhood in the early twenty-first century.

In this chapter, I argue that ambivalence regarding adolescent female sexuality is revealed and negotiated in unique ways due to the corpus’ location within the broader romance web. More specifically, I argue that the presence of female sexual arousal, desire and pleasure is made possible through the texts’ supernatural elements and their reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom tale type. Social and cultural anxieties regarding adolescent female sexuality and relationships remain unsolved throughout the corpus. The texts uncover and examine, however, a common concern experienced by adolescent girls themselves: how to negotiate both having sexual desire and being sexually desired within a culture that is overall ambivalent regarding adolescent female

110

sexuality. In this way, the texts reveal the conflicting ideologies and instability surrounding the adolescent female experience of their time.

I first analyse the ways in which connections between the supernatural romance and animal bridegroom fairy tale provide narrative space for unique negotiations and explorations of female sexuality. I argue that this is made possible through the corpus’ connection to the fairy tale tradition and their reinterpretation of both the animal bridegroom fairy tale type in general, and the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ tale specifically. I build on Diamond’s (2011) analysis of representations of sexuality in

Twilight, specifically, her argument that it is Bella’s relationship with the vampiric

Edward Cullen that provides a space for her to explore her sexuality in ways unavailable in a human/human relationship. Representations of female sexuality that ultimately highlight and encourage the sexual desire and pleasure of the main characters are similarly present in Low Red Moon and Wolves of Mercy Falls through the werewolf/human relationships of Avery hood and Ben Dusic, and Grace Brisbane and Sam Roth respectively. Both Avery and Grace identify with the ‘wild’ or beastly sexuality of their supernatural boyfriends, in a revision of the confrontation and taming of male sexuality often featured in animal bridegroom tales. Their sexual discoveries and awakening are presented as the result of their emerging awareness of their supernatural powers and their relationships with their werewolf boyfriends.

Contemporary ambivalence regarding female sexual desire and activity, however, remains within these narratives. While Grace Brisbane is presented as an active sexual subject who can acknowledge her own desire, this desire is in part obscured by the use of her boyfriend Sam as the narrator for several scenes featuring sexual activity.

Conversely, contemporary anxieties which construct the adolescent girl as a figure ‘at risk’ of negative consequences of sexual activity (such as sexual assault, regret or

111

guilt) are centred in both Red Riding Hood and Sisters Red. I therefore examine how ambiguity regarding female sexual desire and discourses on responsibility and risk are negotiated through the human/wolf relationship of Valerie and Peter (Red Riding

Hood) and the interactions between the human sisters Scarlett and Rosie March and their werewolf targets in Sisters Red. Unlike in Low Red Moon and Wolves of Mercy

Falls, alternative negotiations of contemporary adolescent female sexuality are presented in these narratives. The social and cultural construction of the girl as a figure

‘at risk’ and the overall construction of girls as vulnerable are emphasised through the texts’ representation of the supernatural as something to be feared as opposed to embraced. As a result, representations of Valerie, Scarlett and Rosie’s sexuality focus less on sexual pleasure and more on caution and management, revealing a tension between the characters both having desire, and being desired.

My argument that the corpus provides contested ideologies of adolescent girlhood is strengthened through my final analysis in this chapter, my examination of the ways in which the supernatural presence in the texts also reproduces traditional constructions of romance and (heterosexual) relationships. I argue that the texts adhere to what

Maura Kelly (2009, p. 482) refers to as the ‘management script’ of sexuality.63 In this

‘script’, sexual activity is considered a rite of passage for adolescents, while also being subject to strict monitoring and ‘management’. Furthermore, specific sexual relationships (such as long-term monogamous heterosexual relationships) are constructed as the ideal. The management script of sexuality is reproduced in the sexual activity of each of the main female characters, who are shown negotiating concepts of appropriateness and readiness, in varying degrees. In this section, I also

63 Kelly (2009) herself draws on the scholarship of Laura Carpenter (2005) and John Gagnon and William Simon (1973) regarding virginity and sexual ‘scripts’, respectively.

112

extend Christine Seifert’s (2015) concept of supernatural ‘pseudovirginity’, when the couple achieve a state of pseudo-virginity as their first sexual partners are their only sexual partners, in my conceptualisation of the supernatural pseudo-marriage. The supernatural connections between the main characters, such as through a supernatural of psychic link (Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon) or the shared and secret knowledge of magic and lycanthropy (Sisters Red and Red Riding Hood) encourage them to commit to their relationships, providing a sense of legitimacy and implied permanence and creating, therefore a pseudo-marriage. Traditional ideologies of romantic relationships and ‘appropriate’ sexual behaviour are therefore reproduced and legitimised through these marriages. As a result, the texts do not present a resolution to ambiguity surrounding female sexuality but contribute to it.

Beauty and the Wolf: The Supernatural Romance as Animal

Bridegroom Tale

Representations of the supernatural within literature have a long history as sites for the criticism and negotiation of contemporary ideologies surrounding sexuality and relationships (Crawford 2014; Haase 2004; Pulliam 2014; Stephens & McCallum

1998). As discussed in previous chapters, representations of the supernatural and enchantment in genres such as gothic literature, sensation fiction and even the medieval romance, allowed for the exploration and examination of a culture’s norms and ideals. Similarly, as Mukherjea (2014) notes, the presence of the supernatural within contemporary supernatural romances, such as vampire romances has provided narrative space for the resistance to and adaptation of normative conventions of gender and sexuality. This discussion and exploration are present in the corpus and assisted through the reinterpretation of both the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and animal

113

bridegroom fairy tales in the narratives. The texts examine a common anxiety experienced by adolescent girls in the early twenty-first century: how to negotiate having sexual desire and being sexually desired within a culture that is ambivalent towards adolescent female sexuality.64

The corpus reinterprets the traditional animal bridegroom fairy tale narrative through the relationship between the heroine and her supernatural boyfriend. The animal bridegroom fairy tale features a young woman’s confrontation and taming of male power and sexuality through her relationship with an animal bridegroom (Talaraich-

Vielmas 2010). Although the animal bridegroom tale is its own distinct fairy tale type, relationships between a human female and a supernatural male are common within the greater fairy tale tradition.65 This includes retellings of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ where the implicit sexual relationship between Red Riding Hood and the wolf is made explicit and romanticised. Within the texts studied, the female characters are in romantic and sexual relationships with supernatural (werewolf) characters. Rather than taming their boyfriends’ sexuality, however, the characters identify with their ‘wild or

‘beastly’ attributes. The heroines have been ‘liberated’ (Trites 1997, p. 11) from the inevitable passivity often rehearsed in traditional fairy tale retellings and children’s literature. Through this identification, these female characters can access their sexuality and experience a freedom in the ways in which they explore their arousal and desire.

Children’s literature recognises that children will both inherit, and shape, contemporary culture. Trites (1997, p. 29), for example, argues that one of the most

64 Diamond (2011, p. 46) refers to this specific anxiety as a ‘central dilemma’ for young women. 65 As mentioned in Chapter One, while Marie de France’s Lanval is not an animal bridegroom fairy tale, it features a relationship between a human and supernatural being and strengthens the links between the contemporary supernatural, literary fairy tale and medieval romance genres.

114

important elements of children’s literature is representations of children ‘who enact the agency that children in real life may not have’. In doing so, the texts encourage the reader to imagine possibilities regarding their own agency. Reynolds (2007, p. 14) similarly notes that children’s literature does not just contain representations of society and culture as they are, but where ‘alternative ways of living are often piloted’. This argument is echoed by McCallum et al. (2008, p. 3), who assert that children’s texts are ‘highly responsive to social change and to global politics, and crucially implicated in shaping the values of children and young people’. These observations can be similarly applied to literature aimed at young adults and adolescents, such as the texts studied in this thesis. Through the reinterpretations of the animal bridegroom relationship, the texts studied feature varied representations of adolescent female sexualities that can be considered alternative to current expectations.

Both Low Red Moon and Wolves of Mercy Falls feature representations of female sexuality that centre and emphasise female sexual pleasure and desire, with heroines

Avery Hood and Grace Brisbane clearly identifying their relationships with supernatural beings as sites for the acknowledgement and exploration of their own sexualities. Red Riding Hood and Sisters Red, conversely, provide representations of adolescent female sexuality, that draw from more ambivalent attitudes to sexuality, such as the at-risk girl, and the discord between purity and raunch cultures. As a result, the corpus expresses the contradictory attitudes regarding adolescent female sexuality within the early twenty-first century western world and explores these contradictions and tensions through the lens of the supernatural.

115

Erotic lycanthropy and psychic sexuality: Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon

The difficulties experienced by adolescent girls as they negotiate the pursuit of their sexual pleasure within a world that is indecisive regarding female desire is explored through the Wolves of Mercy Falls series. Set in the small (fictional) town of Mercy

Falls, Minnesota, the series follows the relationship of heroine Grace Brisbane and her boyfriend, werewolf Sam Roth, through Grace’s final years of high school. The couple classify their relationship as having started when eleven-year-old Sam (in his wolf form) saved Grace, then aged ten, after she was dragged from her backyard and attacked by his wolf pack.66 After this event Sam, in his wolf form, would regularly visit the Brisbane backyard, observing Grace, but not interacting with her, and they do not begin dating ‘officially’ until the beginning of Shiver, six years after the attack.

The relationship between sexuality and the supernatural in the narrative is introduced early in Shiver, in scenes that focus on Sam and Grace’s burgeoning sexual relationship and the influence that Sam’s lycanthropy has on this sexual activity. As a shapeshifter, Sam exists within the liminal space between the supernatural and the real; the human and the animal. He has a conflicted relationship with his lycanthropic identity, particularly his wild sexuality and animal instincts and reactions, such as growling or snarling. It is this ability to pass between the boundaries separating human and animal, however, that Grace is drawn to and identifies with. Grace finds Sam’s

‘animal’ behaviours, such as growling, and his supernaturally heightened senses, particularly his sense of smell, sexually arousing. During a conversation between the couple, for example, Sam growls ‘in a soft, wild way’ that, accompanied by the ‘wolf

66 Although Grace was infected during this attack, the spread of the ‘wolf toxin’ (as it is referred to in the series) is temporarily halted due to the high fever she sustained after her father accidentally left her in a hot car following the attack. As a result, Grace’s lycanthropy does not develop until the end of Linger.

116

scent’ on his skin, makes Grace’s ‘gut tense with longing’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 148). In a later scene, Grace is sexually aroused by Sam using his heightened wolf senses to smell her prior to their first sexual activity. Grace finds her sexual desire and arousal through Sam’s lycanthropy and ‘animalistic’ nature; however, it is this very nature that

Sam wishes to restrain.

Conventional constructions of supernatural male sexuality (as seen in the animal bridegroom narrative and the sexualisation of the wolf in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’) are reinterpreted through Sam’s engagement with both his supernatural identity and sexuality. Sam restrains, rather than embraces, his supernatural identity and, by extension, his animalistic sexuality. He expresses a desire to be seen as a human rather than a werewolf, disliking the loss of humanity and identity that accompany his transformations. In the aforementioned conversation between Sam and Grace, for example, Sam notes that he is ‘trying to be a gentleman’ (Stiefvater 2009 p. 149) and not have sex with Grace.67 He wishes to ‘behave [him]self’ and ‘want[s] to do things right’, (Stiefvater 2009, p. 149, 151) where ‘right’ refers to having sex at a time he considers acceptable. There exists in the narrative, then, tensions between traditional and progressive ideologies of adolescent sexuality; while Grace’s sexual desire is foregrounded in the narrative, it is presented within a relationship that also reinscribes male sexual power. Furthermore, Sam’s sexuality ultimately remains something to be controlled and feared.

Male responsibility for sexual activity, or the ‘management’ of adolescent sexuality is presented in the narrative through Sam’s relationship with his own sexual desire and lycanthropy. Sam assumes what Diamond (2011, p. 51) calls ‘the burden of restraint’

67 Both Grace and Sam provide first-person narration within Wolves of Mercy Falls.

117

regarding sexual activity. In the ‘real world’, in heterosexual relationships, the ‘onus of virginity is put on females’ (Wilson 2011, p. 99). Heterosexual adolescent girls are responsible for not only adhering to ‘appropriate’ expressions of sexuality but monitoring and ‘ward[ing] off’ (Wilson 2011, p. 99) their male partners. In Wolves of

Mercy Falls, Sam assumes the role Wilson (2011, p. 99) refers to as the ‘keeper of the virginity keys’ (or Diamond’s (2011, p. 51) ‘burden of restraint’). He accepts responsibility for the monitoring and control of his sexual activity. Grace does not need to ‘tame’ Sam’s beastly sexuality, as in the traditional animal bridegroom tales, or fear it as in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. She is therefore able to focus on her own desires. At the same time, Sam’s assumption of sexual restraint reinforces traditional ideologies of female sexual naivety and inexperience and the adolescent girl as a passive sexual object, reproducing a heteronormative construction of desire.

This conflict between contemporary foregrounding of female sexual pleasure and traditional desires to restrain the sexual activity of adolescent girls is further highlighted through the actions of the couple the first time they spend the night together at Grace’s house. Sam’s restraint and Grace’s sexual desire are clearly revealed; Sam chooses to sleep on the floor, and is concerned that Grace’s parents will discover him, while Grace is unsure whether she should be ‘charmed by his reluctance to share a bed with a girl or insulted that, apparently, [she] wasn’t hot enough for him to charge the mattress like a bull’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 77). Sam’s assumption of the burden of restraint is again shown the next morning, when the couple kiss for the first time. Grace initiates the kiss, and mocks Sam’s hesitance, while Sam describes it as

‘the barest brush of [his] lips’ and ‘nothing animal’ (Stiefvater 2009, p 87). The text depicts not just female sexual activity but sexual desire through Grace’s narration and commentary.

118

The use of the supernatural to foreground adolescent female sexual desire in Wolves of Mercy Falls, and the ways in which this foregrounding exists alongside traditional narratives of restraint, is shown in the scene in which Grace and Sam have sex for the first time. The scene reveals tensions between dominant discourses surrounding adolescent girls in the early twenty-first century and emphasises the importance of the supernatural in providing a space in which these tensions can potentially be resolved.

While Sam attempts to restrain his animal instincts and is embarrassed when they emerge, Grace is aroused by them:

I growled before I could stop myself, but before I could even think to feel

embarrassed, Grace had pulled her hands out from behind her and looped

them around my neck, pulling me to her.

‘That was so sexy,’ she said, voice uneven, ‘I didn't think you could get any

sexier.’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 292)

Grace is not only aroused by Sam’s animal or beastly reactions in this scene, but accesses her own latent lycanthropic identity and sexuality, blurring the boundaries between her own human and supernatural identities:

‘You smell so good,’ Grace whispered. ‘Every time I touch you, it comes off

you even stronger.’ Her nostrils flared, all wolf, smelling how much I wanted

her. Knowing what I was and wanting me anyway. (Stiefvater 2009, p. 293)

June Pulliam (2014, p. 74) argues that positive representations of werewolf characters construct lycanthropy as a ‘condition that enables humans to shake off some of the repressive effects of civilization’. Within Wolves of Mercy Falls, Grace partially achieves this ‘shaking off’ through her relationship with Sam, and her eventual acknowledgement of her own lycanthropy.

119

Grace is presented as an active sexual subject who acknowledges and engages with her sexuality and sexual desire. Simultaneously, however, the presence of female sexual desire and pleasure within the narrative is somewhat diminished by the fact that it is Sam who narrates this scene. Grace’s own acknowledgement and interpretation of her desire, her arousal and her pursuit of pleasure are therefore missing. Grace’s agency and autonomy is diminished as a result of having Sam as the narrator of Grace’s virginity loss. Despite centring and emphasising female sexual arousal and desire, by framing sexual activity through male narration, Wolves of Mercy Falls partially reproduces traditional conventions of obscuring female sexual desire and pleasure, revealing tensions within the narrative.

Low Red Moon similarly draws on its location within the romance web to provide narratives that contain representations of female sexuality as well as revealing conflict regarding adolescent girls and desire. Main character Avery Hood is presented (like

Grace) as an active sexual subject, with her sexual desire presented as predominantly free from the negative discourse surrounding adolescent female sexuality in the early twenty-first century. The narrative explores and repositions adolescent female sexuality through the presence of the supernatural and its revisioning of the animal bridegroom and ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tales.

The central narrative of Low Red Moon follows the romantic relationship between adolescent human Avery Hood and her new classmate, werewolf Ben Dusic. Their relationship begins almost simultaneously with a traumatic disruption to both characters’ lives. Avery’s parents are murdered, and (in a reversal of Red Riding

Hood’s journey), she must move from her off-grid home in the forest to her grandmother Renee’s house in the nearby small-town of Woodlake. Ben similarly moves from his family home (the location of which is never specified) to live with his

120

great-uncle, Louis, after wolf hunters kill his family.68 The couple bond over these traumas, creating a unique shared experienced that contributes to the intensity of their relationship. Furthermore, the supernatural connection the couple have also strengthens their relationship, while allowing Avery to experience enhanced sexual desire and pleasure.

Avery and Ben can feel each other’s emotions through a psychic connection that is never explained in the narrative, although it is acknowledged as a rare occurrence. This connection strengthens the couple’s relationship, making it ‘nothing like ordinary’

(Devlin 2009, p. 173), while providing a way for Avery to enjoy a level of sexual pleasure unavailable to her outside of the supernatural world. Being able to feel each other’s emotions means that both Ben and Avery experience not only their own sexual arousal but that of their partner, which increases their own, then further increases their partner’s, and so on. Wilson (2011, p. 93) argues that Twilight was part of a new approach in fiction aimed at adolescents, that ‘[put] the fun back in sexual desire and

[gave] readers the world over the permission to luxuriate in lust’. In Low Red Moon, the supernatural connection between Avery and Ben similarly represents sexual desire as enjoyable and removed from contemporary discourse regarding sexual purity or the negative consequences of sexual activity. Avery, and by extension the reader, can

‘luxuriate in lust’ (Wilson 2011, p. 93).

The narrative of Low Red Moon is focalised through Avery, who also acts as the first- person narrator of the text. McCallum and Stephens (2010) argue that this approach allows for the reader to more closely align with the experience, and by extension the

68 It is possible that Ben’s history, as well as the lycanthropic lore of Low Red Moon and the couple’s connection were to be explored in the sequel, Moonrise, which had a planned 2014 release but was not published.

121

ideologies and attitudes, of the narrator-protagonist. Female sexual desire and pleasure, for example, are presented as positive and ideal elements of adolescent girlhood through Avery’s first-person narration. This is shown during the couple’s first kiss, a scene which also highlights their psychic connection:

What he felt—his want—flowed into me, filled me […] I felt how much he’d

craved a touch and more—this—since he first saw me […] I understood why

you could want someone so much you’d forget everything because it felt

better than good. It was like the sun bursting open inside me […]. (Devlin

2009, p. 82)

In feeling Ben’s ‘want’, through their supernatural connection, Avery’s own arousal is heightened, and she feels ‘better than good’ (Devlin 2009, p. 82). The presence of the sunburst imagery can also be interpreted as a reference to the natural imagery that

Christine Cabrera and Amy Ménard (2013) argue is frequently present within romance novels to describe the female orgasm and sexual pleasure. This natural imagery is reproduced in a later scene where Avery describes the couple’s sexual desire growing

‘into something so strong and shining [that she] half-expected the air around [them] to shimmer’ (Devlin 2009, p. 170).

The reworking of the animal bridegroom narrative in Low Red Moon allows for female identification with sexuality and sexual desire. Avery accesses sexual desire almost- exclusively through her relationship with Ben and the psychic connection the couple have. Avery is sexually aroused by Ben’s animal instincts which she both sees and experiences through their connection. These instincts encourage her own ‘beastliness’ and identification with the supernatural:

122

Ben ran his mouth almost—but not quite—over my neck, like he was

breathing me in, like I was something he had to be close to […] “You’re

sniffing me,” I said, and he was. That part of him, that primal part—it liked

what it smelled, it liked me. It wanted me too, and I sensed its wanting

pushing through Ben’s feelings, pure and raw, and I gasped, lifted my hands

up and touched his shoulders. (Devlin 2009, pp. 168-169)

The boundaries between the human and supernatural or more-than-human are blurred within this scene. Avery confronts and connects with the beastly male ‘other’ and, unlike traditional animal bridegroom narratives, is sexually aroused by Ben’s primal or animal instincts, rather than scared of them. During this same scene, Avery herself makes ‘a low soft whimper, an animal sound of pure need’ (Devlin 2009, p. 171). She has accessed not just a beastly sexuality but her own animal instincts, reacting to Ben’s

‘pure and raw’ sexuality (Devlin 2009, p. 169).

Traditional constructions of heterosexuality, where women are seen as passive sexual objects, are resisted in the narrative through Avery’s engagement with her own supernatural (or more-than-human) abilities and the way in which she uses this identity to explore her sexuality. Within the narrative, Avery discovers her ability to be the

‘voice’ of, or spokesperson for, the forest. The forest communicates through Avery’s physical appearance; when trauma occurs, such as when Avery’s parents are murdered, a lock of her hair changes colour to a dark blood red. As with Ben’s lycanthropy, the origins of this ability are not revealed.69 Avery’s psychic abilities enhance her sexual relationship with Ben and allow her to identify with Ben’s supernatural or beastly

69 The presence of psychic powers is not uncommon within the supernatural romance, with Crawford (2014, p. 148) noting the ‘extreme frequency with which [the ‘human’ female characters] turn out to possess psychic powers’ in the contemporary genre.

123

sexuality. This creates a balance of power between the two characters. By acknowledging her supernatural connection (and, as will be examined, by being in control of it), Avery accesses an individual sexual subjectivity and resists both the construction of the adolescent girl as vulnerable (or at risk) and the passivity Trites

(1997) argues is inevitable in traditional children’s literature.

Avery’s supernatural or psychic abilities, and her identification with Ben’s supernatural identity negotiates Diamond’s (2011, p. 46) aforementioned ‘central dilemma’. Avery is active in her sexual desire, acknowledging it and pursuing sexual pleasure within her relationship with Ben. As will be discussed in the following section, Avery is able to ‘manage’ being sexually desired through her ability to control and dissolve the psychic connection. This connection, and the power she attains through it, reinforces her identity as an active sexual subject. Simultaneously, however, it is only within this heterosexual and monogamous long-term relationship that Avery can engage with this exploration.

Sisters Red and Red Riding Hood: Sex and Lycanthropic Discovery

Of the texts studied, Red Riding Hood is the only narrative in which the supernatural is universally acknowledged and accepted within the fictional world of the novel. The text is set in ‘Daggerhorn’, a quasi-medieval, quasi-European village where religion and superstition overlap, and lycanthropy and witchcraft are considered real and common fixtures within society. The villagers of Daggerhorn, including main character Valerie and her family, are terrorised by a werewolf (referred to as the Wolf) that lives in the surrounding forest. The villagers offer monthly animal sacrifices in an attempt to maintain a truce with the Wolf. This truce is broken at the beginning of the narrative, however, when the Wolf attacks and kills Valerie’s older sister, Lucie. This attack coincides with the start of a love triangle between Valerie, her new fiancé Henry

124

Lazar (a relationship that has been arranged by their respective parents) and her childhood friend Peter.

Representations of sexuality and the supernatural within the narrative, expose a different negotiation of contemporary discourses regarding adolescent female sexuality, highlighting the at-risk girl subject and reinforcing the construction of women, and adolescent girls more generally, as vulnerable, in ways that differ from

Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon. Both the supernatural in general and lycanthropy specifically are presented in the narrative as dangerous elements of society, things to be feared rather than embraced. This can be seen through descriptions of the character of Peter, as well as the development of his relationship with Valerie throughout the novel.

It is revealed that Valerie’s father Cesaire is the Daggerhorn Wolf, having assumed the role from his own father several decades earlier. Within Red Riding Hood, anyone who is bitten by the Wolf during a specific moon cycle can be infected. For unexplained reasons, however, the Wolf in Daggerhorn has routinely infected their eldest child. Cesaire was bitten by his father, for example, and similarly wished to bite and infect Lucie.70 Peter’s return to Daggerhorn (after being exiled with his father several years prior, for un-named crimes his father committed) occurs almost simultaneously with this attack, the first in over a decade. This timing, when combined with his outsider status, leads to the villagers accusing him of lycanthropy.

Peter is therefore represented through much of the narrative as not only mysterious, but also a potentially supernatural figure, and therefore dangerous. It is this potential

70 Lucie’s attack and death were the result of Cesaire discovering that she is not his biological daughter.

125

identity (or ‘creatureliness’) that Valerie finds attractive. Peter is described as ‘heart- stoppingly handsome’ and ‘the most beautiful and the most dangerous’, someone who

‘clearly […] answered to no one’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 38, 39). For Valerie,

Peter’s physical appearance is explicitly connected to danger, and it is this connection that increases his appeal. This characterisation of Peter draws on the well-established narratives of male sexuality as dangerous and adolescent girls as vulnerable to this

‘danger’ (Faulkner 2010; Hamilton 2008; Pipher 1994), as well as the eroticisation of this danger and vulnerability. Furthermore, this intersection of danger, sexuality and romance reinterprets the common romance genre character trope of the rake; a mysterious figure who frequently lives a life of relative freedom (removed from contemporary society through his supernatural identity) and who is often considered dangerous (Tan & Wendell 2009; Rodale 2015).

Valerie’s descriptions of Peter emphasise his potential transgression of the boundaries between the human and supernatural or animal worlds. He is described as looking

‘wild and haunted’, ‘like a horse that could not be tamed’ and ‘like no one else, like the purple glow at the base of a flame’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 38, 39). Valerie discovers and engages with her sexual desire through Peter’s boundary-crossing identity. The convergence of desire and risk creates a sense of danger in Valerie’s attraction to and relationship with Peter. The ‘innocent infatuation’ Valerie and Peter had in their childhood has become ‘something else’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 40).

The relationship between Valerie and Peter articulates the ‘complex fantasy’ Diamond

(2011, pp. 50-51) argues is experienced by adolescent girls in contemporary society and addressed in supernatural romances such as Twilight (and, I argue, the texts studied in this thesis as well): ‘to have the “bad boy”, to never come to harm, and to have his wildness for one’s self’.

126

Red Riding Hood draws on and reinterprets the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tale to make explicit the connection between lycanthropy, male sexuality and sexual violence.

Simultaneously, however, this connection provides a space for the renegotiation (and complication) of the burden of restraint and sexual responsibility. The former is explored in several scenes throughout the narrative. Male sexuality is presented as dangerous, associated with the animal rather than human world, drawing on traditional retellings and understandings of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. In one scene, for example,

Valerie secretly follows a group of male villagers on a Wolf hunt. She hides from the group, wishing to avoid them as she has seen ‘what men do when they’re alone together like a pack of wild animals’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 122). This interaction between masculinity, sexuality, the supernatural and violence is further emphasised in the final chapter, with Cesaire’s justification for his attack on and murder of Lucie.

The suggestion of sexual violence against Lucie reconstructs the threat of violence from the Wolf into a threat of sexualised violence, making explicit the implicit references to sexuality in the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ narrative. Cesaire implies to

Valerie that his discovery that Lucie is not his biological daughter, her appearance that night and the Wolf sexuality and violence he had been repressing lead to Lucie’s murder and, Cesaire suggests, her sexual assault. Cesaire claims that Lucie “was so beautiful that night, in her finest dress. After all those years of being so careful, so clever—I lost control” (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 331). While it is not made explicit how Lucie died beyond being attacked by the Wolf, the clear links to the ‘Little Red

Riding Hood’ fairy tale tradition create associations between this attack and sexual violence.

127

Red Riding Hood complicates this reproduction of male sexual violence through

Peter’s relationship with his lycanthropic identity and his assumption of responsibility and restraint in his sexual relationships. As with Wolves of Mercy Falls, however, this restraint and responsibility concurrently reinforces heteronormative ideologies of sexuality. In the final chapter of Red Riding Hood, during a fight featuring himself,

Cesaire and Valerie, Peter is bitten and infected by Cesaire. This infection follows

Cesaire’s disclosure that he attacked and killed Lucie, foregrounding the association of violence, sexuality and lycanthropy. Peter acknowledges the potential danger

Valerie would be exposed to in a relationship with him. As a result, he temporarily leaves Daggerhorn:

“I could do terrible things to you,” he cautioned her sadly. “I have to leave

you. You won’t be safe with me until I learn to control myself”. (Blakley-

Cartwright 2011, p. 331)

Through Peter’s leaving, Red Riding Hood presents a male character who assumes the burden of sexual restraint. Peter takes responsibility for his newly dangerous identity, removing himself from Valerie’s presence until he is able to control his transformations. Valerie does not have to ‘tame’ her supernatural boyfriend; rather,

Peter assumes responsibility for learning to control (or tame) himself. This assumption of restraint simultaneously reinscribes the well-established construction of male sexuality as violent and potentially dangerous. Valerie’s sexual attraction to Peter is due, in part, to his suspected supernatural identity and the danger that accompanies it.

At the same time, it is Peter’s potentially dangerous supernatural sexuality and identity that leads to his self-imposed exile. Red Riding Hood engages in the multiple and contradictory discourses surrounding adolescent sexuality, rather than merely reproducing well-established superficial attitudes (as per stereotypes of the

128

supernatural romance). Female sexuality is presented positively, with Valerie acknowledging her desire and pursuit of pleasure, while the construction of male sexuality as uncontrollable and violent is simultaneously reaffirmed and resisted.

Sisters Red presents a similar narrative in which the wolves (referred to as Fenris in a reference to the Norse mythological figure of Fenrir) are presented as villains, and sexuality is clearly discussed in terms of danger and violence. Of the texts studied,

Sisters Red has the most conflicted representations of adolescent female sexuality.

While female sexual desire is recognised and represented, the text reinforces the narrative of sexuality as dangerous for women. This draws on both contemporary discourses that construct the adolescent girl as vulnerable and at risk as well as the association of sex and violence present within the narrative of ‘Little Red Riding

Hood’. Sisters Red focuses on Fenris hunters, teenage sisters Scarlett and Rosie March, and their neighbour and childhood friend, Silas Reynolds. The trio began hunting as the result of a Fenris attack on the March sisters and their grandmother (and guardian),

Leoni, that occurred in their childhood. Leoni was killed in the attack, and Scarlett was left heavily injured, including deep scars covering the majority of her body, a missing right eye, and post-traumatic stress disorder.

At the beginning of the narrative, the hunters temporarily move from their small town of Ellison, Georgia, to Atlanta, to locate and protect ‘the Potential’, who is also being tracked by Fenris. The Potential is the seventh son of a seventh son, able to be transformed into a Fenris if he is bitten during the first moon cycle after every seventh birthday.71 While in Atlanta, Silas begins a romantic relationship with Rosie and

71 Throughout Sisters Red, Pearce draws on multiple myths, legends and folklore, such as Norse mythology (as noted) as well as the folkloric importance of numerology to create a pastiche of folkloric traditions.

129

simultaneously discovers he is the Potential after learning that his ‘Uncle’ Jacob is his eldest brother, born out of wedlock. As Sisters Red is set during the first moon cycle after Silas’ twenty-first birthday, he is in danger of (although he ultimately avoids) infection. The narrative of Sisters Red emphasises Silas’ self-control and his assumption of the role of sexual gatekeeper within his relationship, which is influenced by the construction of the Fenris as men who have lost their souls and who attack young women, and the more conservative representation of female sexuality present in the narrative.

These attacks on and consumption of adolescent girls and young women draw on the attack on Red Riding Hood by the wolf in the traditional fairy tale. Carolyn Daniel

(2006, p. 155) refers to these wolf attack fairy tales as ‘explicitly gastronomic’ and

‘implicitly carnal’, due to the well-established associations between the attack and sexual assault. Furthermore, sexual and gustatory appetites and activity are frequently entwined within literature, particularly in children’s literature, where descriptions of food and scenes of feasting may act as representations of sexuality.72 In Sisters Red, the Fenris attacks are similarly ‘explicitly gastronomic’ and ‘implicitly carnal’ (Daniel

2006, p. 155), as their attacks on young women are described using sexualised language. In two separate interactions with Rosie, for example, Fenris place their hands in their pockets to hide the inadvertent growth of their claws that was the result of being in close proximity with a young woman. This can be seen as representations of male erections and arousal.73 Similarly, when Scarlett is luring a Fenris during a hunt, she ‘hear[s] the panting in his voice’ and ‘notice[s] [that] the hair on his arms

72 The association of the attacks to food, hunger and feasting will be explored in chapter six. 73 This is similar to Snitow’s (1979) argument that the male body in Harlequin romances act as phallic representations. As will be discussed in the following chapters, other elements of the Fenris’ bodies, such as their scent, also act as representations of both sexual violence and the phallus throughout the narrative.

130

has started to grow’, as he is unable to control his transformation so close to someone he considers a potential victim (Pearce 2010, p. 13).

The well-established discourse of ‘stranger rape’ as well as attitudes surrounding female culpability regarding sexual assault and violence are reproduced in descriptions of these Fenris attacks. Descriptions of Fenris attacks are similar to those of the ‘blitz attack’ of sexual assault, or ‘an incident that occurred outdoors, at night, where the victim [is] alone and suddenly attacked by a male stranger’ (Anderson 2011, p. 225).

Within Sisters Red young girls are frequently attacked by Fenris when alone at night, such as walking home from a bar or nightclub. Scarlett exploits this knowledge, noting that solo hunts are the best approach to luring Fenris as ‘[t]here’s nothing like a lost teenage girl on the bad side of town to get [the Fenris’] blood pumping’ (Pearce 2010, p. 10). By drawing on the stereotype of the blitz attack of sexual assault, Sisters Red reproduces discourse on both uncontrollable male sexuality and sexual violence as well as women’s responsibility in preventing their attacks. This complicates Silas’ identity as the Potential, his romantic and sexual relationship with Rosie, and Rosie’s own development of her sexual desire and sexuality.

Simultaneously, Sisters Red also complicates the traditional animal bridegroom narrative through Silas’ assumption of the (majority of) the burden of restraint in his relationship with Rosie. He also makes the decision to die rather than become a Fenris and engage in sexually violent attacks. Silas is concerned that, if infected, he will ultimately assault and kill Rosie, and is unable to handle this potential danger (“‘If I turn, I’ll want her…I’ll want to’ […] he breathes as if he’s hyperventilating”) (Pearce

2010, p. 284). Silas shares his concerns and this burden of responsibility not with

Rosie, however, but with his close friend (and Rosie’s sister) Scarlett. When Rosie is kidnapped by Fenris and used as ‘bait’ to lure and infect Silas, he makes Scarlett

131

promise that she will kill him if he is infected, an extremely likely scenario. In making this request, Silas distances himself from the predatory sexuality of the Fenris, taking control over his potential future sexuality.

The contradictions surrounding contemporary adolescent female sexuality are further explored through Rosie and her relationship with Silas. Rosie’s sexuality and sexual desire are present in the narrative, but the characterisation of the Fenris attacks complicates her association with the supernatural and its influence on her sexuality.

Scenes of Silas and Rosie together emphasise their emotional connection over their sexual attraction, with representations of sexual activity restricted to two scenes of the couple kissing. While Rosie does acknowledge her sexual desire, it is frequently presented as something she is embarrassed about. In a scene where Rosie accidentally attends a life drawing class, for example, she becomes flustered and embarrassed when she realises the nude model looks like Silas and is unable to complete her drawings.

At the same time, Rosie both experiences and enjoys her sexual desire and pleasure.

Her heart ‘jumps out of [her] chest’ when she is with Silas, and his ‘velvety’ voice causes her to shiver (Pearce 2010, p. 222, 225). Her stomach ‘tightens’ as she ‘fights’ against her desire to touch Silas, even though ‘Everything about him begs to be touched’, and she regularly comments on his sexual attractiveness (Pearce 2010, p.

102, 103).

Representations of sexuality in Sisters Red are therefore, at times, contradictory.

Rosie’s sexual desires are portrayed positively, for example, but this desire is presented within a narrative that presents the supernatural sexuality of the Fenris as entirely dangerous. While female sexuality and sexual desire are present, the supernatural works to reproduce traditional ideologies of sexuality, more so than the other texts of the corpus.

132

The negotiation of contemporary attitudes and anxieties surrounding adolescent female sexuality are explored within the corpus in unique ways, due to their location within the supernatural romance genre, and their connections to the literary fairy tale and animal bridegroom narrative traditions. Through the introduction of the supernatural in the heroines’ lives (whether that be through a relationship with a supernatural or potentially supernatural character, or the discovery of their own supernatural abilities, these characters are partially removed from their everyday

‘reality’. As a result, the reinterpretations of contemporary expectations of adolescent female sexuality are similarly partially removed from the everyday reality of contemporary ideals and norms. Furthermore, the reinterpretations of the animal bridegroom fairy tale provide narrative opportunities for the representation of adolescent female sexual desire, pleasure and sexual activity.

These relationships can also allow for the identification and establishment of characters’ more-than-human identities, such as in Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low

Red Moon. At the same time, these representations are not entirely progressive, with the supernatural providing a narrative space for both the reinforcement of, as well as challenges to, stereotypes of female and adolescent sexuality and relationships. As will be discussed in the following section, traditional constructions of heteronormativity are reinforced in the relationships between the heroines and their supernatural boyfriends, and the construction of adolescent girls as passive sexual objects is reproduced through narratives of sexual restraint and responsibility.

Forever Love: The Supernatural Pseudo-marriage

Tensions regarding conservative and progressive attitudes surrounding adolescent female sexuality are further explored within the corpus through the ways in which the

133

supernatural presence also provides space for the reinforcement of traditional attitudes surrounding female sexual activity and ‘readiness’. The texts contain examples of what

Kelly (2009, p. 482) refers to as the ‘management script’ of heterosexual adolescent sexuality, where adolescent sexuality is simultaneously encouraged and restricted. In her analysis of representations of sex in YA media, Kelly (2009) develops both

Carpenter’s (2005) study of virginity and virginity loss and Gagnon and Simon’s

(1973) concept of sexual scripts to identify three main scripts of sexuality and virginity loss: management, abstinence and urgency. In the management script, sexual activity is presented as an inevitable or expected part of adolescence, if not a rite of passage.74

As a result, ‘managing the physical, social, and emotional risks’ (Kelly 2009, p. 479) of sexual activity is centered in texts that feature this script, with an emphasis on

‘appropriate’ sexual activity.75 Katy Stein (2012) similarly argues that representations of adolescent female sexuality within literature will often reproduce the notion of

‘appropriate’ sexuality. Female sexual activity within YA literature, for example, frequently relies on the ‘male presence’ (such as a heterosexual relationship) to

‘validate’ (Stein 2012, p. 417) female sexuality. Within the texts studied, the female characters are able to access and engage in sexual desire and pleasure from within a relationship deemed appropriate or ‘ideal’. These ideal relationships are reinforced through the presence of the supernatural ‘pseudo-marriage’.

My conceptualisation of the pseudo-marriage is an extension of Seifert’s (2015) theory of pseudovirginity, developed in her analysis of virginity loss narratives in

74 Kelly (2009) defines the ‘abstinence’ script as drawing on contemporary purity culture, emphasising the importance of maintaining one’s virginity, while the ‘urgency’ script (predominantly featuring adolescent boys) constructs virginity as an inconvenience that must be disposed of. 75 Appropriate’ sexuality, as identified by Kelly (2009), refers to sexual activity that meets several criteria, such as occurring within a long-term, monogamous relationship, where contraception is used, and sexual health and emotional ‘readiness’ are discussed beforehand.

134

supernatural romances. Seifert (2015, p. 37) argues that the supernatural within YA literature provides a narrative space in which adolescent couples can ‘commit eternally’ to each other. The characters’ first relationships are therefore their only relationships. Or, as Seifert (2015, p. 38) notes, these ‘soul mates are also sole mates’.

As a result, they attain a state of ‘pseudovirginity’ through this relationship, and their sexual activity is therefore seen as ‘appropriate’. The texts studied contain not only relationships that place the characters in a state of pseudovirginity, but in a pseudo- marriage. Within each text, the main couples are connected through the supernatural, either through a supernatural or psychic link (Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red

Moon), or through special knowledge of lycanthropy that yields shared secret knowledge of the supernatural (Sisters Red and Red Riding Hood). This connection contributes to the couple’s decisions to ‘commit eternally’ (Seifert 2015, p. 37), and therefore enter into a pseudo-marriage. This pseudo-marriage provides a sense of legitimacy to the relationship through its implied permanence and meets the requirements Kelly (2009) identifies as deemed ‘appropriate’ for heterosexual relationships and sexual activity.

Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon: The Supernatural, Psychic Connection

The reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom narrative in both Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon are complicated by the pseudo-marriages of Grace Brisbane, and

Avery Hood. Both characters’ pseudo-marriages are the result of the psychic and supernatural connections they share with their partners, which blur the boundaries between the human and the supernatural by revealing Avery and Grace’s potentially supernatural, or supernatural-adjacent, identities. Simultaneously, these connections and pseudo-marriages also reinforce traditional ideologies of femininity through

135

reproducing the trope of the psychic female character and their connection to heightened emotions and empathy.

As mentioned earlier, Crawford (2014, p. 148) has commented on the ‘extreme frequency’ of supernatural romance heroines developing psychic powers. Crawford

(2014) argues that this is the result of the location of the supernatural romance within the greater romance genre, where empathy, intuition and the ability to establish deep emotional connections are all common traits of the heroine. The psychic supernatural romance heroine ‘is a hyperbolic version’, with her empathy, intuition and emotional connection ‘turned up to superhuman levels’ (Crawford 2014, p. 149). Both Grace and

Avery’s psychic abilities and connections to their boyfriends draw from these attributes, allowing deep emotional connections with their partners, as well as highlighting their empathy. In doing so, their traditionally ‘feminine’ characteristics are emphasised.

In Wolves of Mercy Falls, the couple consider their relationship as more authentic and established than what Grace refers to as ‘simple, innocent, bound-to-end teenage relationship[s]’, such as those of her friends, as a result of their psychic bond

(Stiefvater 2010, p. 21). The bond, which the couple refer to as ‘the mind-meld thing’, is the result of their shared lycanthropic identities (Stiefvater 2009, p. 145). In the narrative, wolves can ‘send’ mental images or pictures to communicate with each other. Sam, while in his wolf form, can send these images to the human Grace and has been doing so since childhood. This connection exists because Grace’s repressed lycanthropy provides her with supernatural abilities and, it is implied, because Sam saved Grace from the wolf attack. This bond, or mind-meld, as well as their shared knowledge of lycanthropy, and the length of their relationship (which they classify as

136

starting after Grace’s childhood wolf attack) contribute to the legitimisation of Grace and Sam’s relationship, and its identity as a pseudo-marriage.

This legitimacy, and the construction of Grace and Sam as sole and soul mates is strengthened through descriptions of Sam and Grace’s relationship in comparison to other characters. Sam’s housemate and fellow pack member Cole St. Clair describes

Grace and Sam as ‘two elements that became brilliant in proximity’ (Stiefvater 2010, p. 283) and notes that the dissolution of the relationship would lead to permanent and negative consequences for both characters. In Forever, after Grace was almost killed after a fight with Sam’s estranged foster sister Shelby, Cole describes their relationship as only able to work ‘when you were sure both people would be around for each other’

(Stiefvater 2011, p. 115). If one of them ‘left, or died, or was slightly less perfect in their love, it became the most tragic, pathetic story invented, laughable in its absurdity’

(Stiefvater 2011, p. 115).

When the couple are separated, such as when they transform into wolves at different times, they refer to themselves as lost or incomplete. Grace describes her life outside of Sam, including socialising with her friends and family as well as her part-time job, as a ‘pale dream’ and ‘just things [she] had done while waiting for Sam’ (Stiefvater

2009, p. 296). Similarly, in Forever, after Grace has spent several weeks in her wolf form, Sam describes how he ‘played at normalcy’ as ‘everything felt so wrong’

(Stiefvater 2011, p. 20). As will be discussed in the following chapter, Grace’s wolf transformation and subsequent absence has negative effects not only on Sam himself, but on his and Grace’s home, which becomes representative of Sam’s depression in

Grace’s absence.

137

The supernatural connection between the couple provides a narrative space in which

Grace Brisbane is depicted as negotiating having sexual desire and being desired within its setting of early-2000s America, an environment that is frequently critical of adolescent female sexuality and sexual activity. Grace’s sexual activity, her exploration of sexual desire and her experiences of sexual pleasure are therefore performed from within a ‘correct’ relationship, that is, one which reproduces traditional ideologies of normative heterosexuality. Furthermore, in the final chapter of Forever, it is implied that Sam proposes to Grace, transforming their pseudo- marriage into a legal marriage and further legitimising their relationship in accordance with the idea of ‘appropriate’ and managed sexuality.

Avery Hood and Ben Dusic of Low Red Moon similarly share a supernatural, ‘psychic’ connection that legitimises their relationship, reinforcing its identity as a pseudo- marriage and the couple themselves as soul (and sole) mates. As asserted in the previous section, through this connection Avery can experience a sexual pleasure and desire that would be unavailable to her in a relationship with another human. This connection also provides Avery with an ability that equalises the balance of power between the couple. Dissolving the psychic connection would lead to negative consequences for Ben, particularly relating to his mental health. Avery has the power to break the connection between herself and Ben, closing off her emotions from him.

Although never explained fully, it is suggested that this ‘power’ is due to Avery’s own supernatural abilities as ‘voice’ of the forest. Ben and Louis note that the termination of this connection will have little effect on Avery but will cause immense emotional and psychic pain for Ben. Ben’s bond will not be broken, and he will ‘always be pulled toward [Avery]. Toward the things [she] feel[s] most deeply’ (Devlin 2011, p. 139).

This places Avery in a position of authority that resists traditional representations of

138

power within heterosexual relationships. This is a power, however, that she has gained from her supernatural connection to the forest and is therefore a power unavailable to adolescent girls in reality.

Although adolescent female sexuality, as well as sexual desire and pleasure are presented as positive elements of adolescent girlhood, Avery’s exploration of her own sexuality remains reliant on her entrance into a heterosexual relationship. While female sexual desire and pleasure is represented within Low Red Moon in an overall positive way, the development of Avery’s sexuality occurs only once she has entered into a relationship with Ben. It is made clear in the narrative that the couple consider each other their sole and lifelong romantic and sexual partners. Both Avery and Ben identify each other as soul mates, and both are aware of the potentially negative consequences of ending the relationship. Avery’s exploration and discovery of her sexuality, including her sexual desire and the pursuit of pleasure, is therefore experienced from within a relationship that ultimately adheres to traditional constructions of heterosexual relationships.

Shared Secrets: Red Riding Hood and Sisters Red

The construction of the pseudo-marriage differs within Sisters Red and Red Riding

Hood because Rosie March and Valerie are supernaturally connected to their partners in different ways. Neither couple has an emotional or psychic bond, or ability to communicate with each other mentally. Rather, it is the shared and secret knowledge that the supernatural (and lycanthropy) exists, as well as the supernatural identities of

Silas and Peter, that connect the couples and differentiate their relationships from those of their peers.

139

Red Riding Hood presents the concept of the pseudo-marriage in the most unique way of the texts studied, presenting a complex engagement with ideologies of ‘appropriate’ sexuality and sexual readiness. By the end of Red Riding Hood, Valerie and Peter share multiple secrets that, if discovered, would lead to accusations of witchcraft and lycanthropy, and their subsequent imprisonment and death. These secrets include the knowledge that Cesaire was the Daggerhorn Wolf, Peter’s infection and new lycanthropic identity and both Peter and Valerie’s involvement in Cesaire’s death.

Of the living Daggerhorn residents, only Valerie and Peter know who the Wolf is, having discovered Cesaire’s identity at the end of the narrative. This discovery scene explicitly references the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ tale, as Valerie travels from her home in Daggerhorn to her Grandmother’s in the forest. Once there, she meets her father, (the Wolf). Cesaire, having killed his mother, wishes to infect Valerie although is interrupted by Peter, and the three fight. Both Peter and Valerie are responsible for killing Cesaire; Peter strikes him in the back with an axe and Valerie stabs him in the stomach with silver. In the process, Peter is bitten and, as it is during the ‘blood moon’, he is infected. This high stress experience, the shared knowledge of the Wolf identity

(and new Wolf identity) and the complicity in Cesaire’s death bring the couple together physically and emotionally:

The snow crunched as they tumbled through it, the cold hugging their

feverish bodies. The horror of what they’d done, the hormonal surges of

shame and triumph, were what moved them. Now there was only one thing

left [for Valerie] to do. And that was to love [Peter]… Tangled up in each

other’s bodies, they gave each other warmth in a cold world. (Blakley-

Cartwright 2011, p. 344)

140

Although unconventional, the couple’s sexual activity can be seen as reaffirming the legitimacy of their relationship.

The relationship between Valerie and Peter is further legitimised in both conventional and unconventional ways. Valerie and Peter were childhood best friends and shared an ‘innocent infatuation, something between children’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p.

40). Several years later, Valerie believes the speed at which she falls in love with Peter is the result of this childhood relationship, as now ‘[i]t just felt like they belonged together’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 86). Furthermore, although Peter leaves

Daggerhorn, Valerie promises to wait for his return. Similar to Grace and Sam, this childhood connection leads to the couple classifying their relationship as starting earlier than its ‘official’ beginning, therefore providing them with the ‘long term’ relationship needed for the management script. The couple also share the secret and potentially dangerous knowledge of the history of the Daggerhorn Wolf, and both risk being arrested if their connections to the Wolf are discovered.

This previously innocent childhood infatuation between Valerie and Peter provides a sense of history and emotional significance to their current relationship. This history contributes to the characterisation of their relationship as ‘appropriate’, and sexual activity as therefore acceptable. At the same time, the first time the couple have sex is immediately after their murder of Cesaire and Peter’s infection, which would not be deemed an appropriate circumstance within the management script of sexuality. Red

Riding Hood therefore contains a complexity in its representations of adolescent female sexuality and sexual activity, resisting the stereotype of the supernatural romance as merely reproducing normative conventions.

141

Silas and Rosie’s relationship in Sisters Red is similarly ‘legitimised’ through the couple’s shared knowledge of both the supernatural and Silas’ identity as the Potential.

For the rest of his life, Silas will be tracked by Fenris who wish to recruit him to their pack. He must therefore maintain a permanently nomadic lifestyle to avoid detection and infection. In the epilogue, it is revealed that he has moved out of Ellison and is travelling America by train. Silas therefore cannot maintain a ‘normal’ relationship; any romantic partner must not only know about his identity as the Potential but also commit to this nomadic life.

Rosie is therefore an ideal partner for Silas, as she is already aware of both the existence of Fenris and Silas’ identity as the Potential. She is able to travel freely, as she is unemployed and dropped out of school in her early teen years. Rosie also has no close relatives other than Scarlett.76 Silas has a similarly tense, if not non-existent relationship with his family; he is not speaking to his siblings, his mother died when he was a child and his father is in hospital with dementia. Silas and Rosie’s relationship can therefore be considered the most permanent and grounding element in both characters’ lives. Rosie must make, however, a large commitment extremely early in the relationship, leaving her sister and the home she grew up in for a life of constant travel. Their relationship can therefore be considered a pseudo-marriage, connected not only through their shared knowledge of the supernatural, but the commitment they make to each other through choosing this nomadic lifestyle.

The complex and at-times contradictory attitudes surrounding female sexuality and romantic relationships are highlighted through the comparison of Rosie’s pseudo- marriage with her mother’s sexuality and relationships. The March mother is a unique

76 The sisters are estranged from their mother and have no contact with their fathers.

142

character within Sisters Red. She is a figure of ‘inappropriate’ sexuality who is never named, is only referred to by Scarlett and Rosie, and never appears ‘in person’. The

March sisters have an almost non-existent relationship with their mother, who ‘literally ran away to join the circus’ to become an aerial artist when the girls were young

(Pearce 2010, p. 44). She left Scarlett and Rosie in the care of her own mother, their grandmother Leoni. Her desire for freedom and travel are entwined with her sexuality within the narrative and reinforce her engagement with ‘bad’ or inappropriate female sexuality. She ‘could never be chained down’ to motherhood, conventional employment or a monogamous relationship (Pearce 2010, p. 79). Scarlett and Rosie refer to their mother’s romantic life, for example, as ‘dating’ although, as Scarlett claims, ‘that’s putting it kindly’ (Pearce 2010, p. 44). Similarly, Leoni would refer to her as both a ‘Ruhelose’ (meaning a restless person) and a ‘whore’ (Pearce 2010, p.

79).77

These descriptions draw on the well-established constructions that mothers ‘must be responsible and conservative in a culturally specific way’ (Montemurro & Siefken

2012, p. 367). Resistance to this construction leads to criticism, as motherhood and mothers are frequently desexualised within Western culture. The March mother resists these constructions and, as a result, is presented as an example of inappropriate or transgressive sexuality. Her sexuality is presented in direct comparison to Rosie’s, who commits to a long-term pseudo-marriage with her first romantic partner and whose sexual activity is performed from within an ‘appropriate’ relationship. Rosie’s activity is considered ‘appropriate’ and her exploration of her sexual desire part of the rite of

77 Scarlett believes these labels to be ‘pretty accurate’, as ‘it’s never been a secret’ that she and Rosie have different fathers, and that they believe that they have another sibling ‘somewhere’, conceived during their mother’s travels (Pearce 2010, p. 79, 44).

143

passage of adolescent sexual experimentation or management script. While Sisters Red presents adolescent female sexuality as acceptable, and enjoyable, it emphasises that it is only acceptable within appropriate parameters.

The contemporary ambiguity that surrounds adolescent girls and their acknowledgement of and engagement with sexuality are both revealed and reinforced through the corpus’ representations of the management script of sexuality and the pseudo-marriage. While the texts present female sexual desire and pleasure, they do so from within specific parameters that largely reproduce normative constructions of heterosexuality and adolescent relationships. These parameters are assisted by the presence of the supernatural, with the construction of the supernatural pseudo- marriage and supernatural connection reinforcing the concept of ‘appropriate’ female sexuality. Existing alongside—and, at times, in opposition with—representations of adolescent female sexual pleasure and desire, the texts’ reproduction of traditional constructions of adolescent sexuality contributes to tensions within the narratives.

Conclusion

In this chapter analysis of representations of the supernatural in the corpus revealed the role the supernatural and enchantment played in depictions of and commentary on adolescent female sexuality. Contemporary attitudes surrounding adolescent female sexuality draw from multiple discourses that construct adolescent girls and girlhood, revealing an ambivalence in how female sexuality and sexual activity are discussed. I argued that representations of female sexual activity and sexual desire in the texts are similarly ambivalent. Representations of female sexual desire and pleasure exist in the narratives alongside conventions of normative heterosexuality and the concept of the

‘appropriate’ relationship.

144

The texts’ reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom narrative creates unique spaces within the narratives for the exploration and adaptation of the numerous conventions of adolescent female sexuality. More specifically, analysis revealed that in revising the relationship between the heroine and her supernatural boyfriend, representations of female sexual desire and pleasure were able to be centred in the narrative. The multiple discourses surrounding adolescent girls and sexual activity influenced the ways in which these narratives reinterpreted the animal bridegroom/human relationship as well as the association of sexuality with danger and violence.

Low Red Moon and Wolves of Mercy Falls presented narratives of adolescent female sexuality that were predominantly positive, with heroines Avery and Grace utilising their relationships with supernatural boyfriends and their more-than-human identities as sites for the recognition and exploration of their own sexual desire and pleasure.

Red Riding Hood and Sisters Red, conversely, featured more conflicted narratives of the supernatural and sexuality. They acknowledged discourses of adolescent girls and girlhood that constructed sexual activity as potentially dangerous and emphasised their connection to the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tale (which similarly presents young girls as vulnerable and sexuality as dangerous). In doing so, tensions between these discourses are revealed and negotiated as is the ‘central dilemma’ regarding having desire and being desired, as experienced by many adolescent girls and explored within

YA fiction (Diamond 2011, p. 46).

The supernatural presence within the narratives simultaneously actively reinterprets and reproduces normative conventions of heterosexuality through the presence of the pseudo-marriage, and adherence to the management script of sexuality. Through emphasising the varied supernatural connections the couples share, the texts explore the paradoxical space of literature aimed at an adolescent and YA audience.

145

Heteronormative and traditional conventions of romantic relationships and sexuality are reproduced alongside a progressive and subversive focus on female sexual pleasure. The texts resist the dismissal of the contemporary supernatural romance as merely reproducing conservative and damaging ideologies of female sexuality, instead acknowledging the ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls, sexuality and girlhood.

In the next chapter I examine how this ambivalence similarly surrounds representations of femininity and ideologies of feminine beauty, authenticity and effort within the texts.

146

Chapter Four: How to be a Contemporary

Domestic Goddess: Femininity and Domesticity

The ambivalence towards adolescent girls and girlhood is not limited to constructions of female sexuality and sexual activity. Contemporary attitudes towards femininity more broadly are similarly complex and conflicted, drawing on both traditional and progressive ideologies. These tensions and contradictions are clearly seen in many cultural representations of domesticity and domestic labour, areas that have well- established associations with femininity and women (Daniel 2006; Meah 2014, 2016).

In this chapter, I argue that well-established ideologies of femininity and domesticity are reproduced in the texts through representations of domestic labour that present the kitchen and female performer of domestic labour as sources of comfort and stability.

I further argue that the progressive or radical representations of adolescent female sexuality present in the texts are ultimately restricted by the simultaneous prioritising of ‘traditional’ forms of femininity, specifically representations of domesticity and the cooking and preparing of meals (what Meah (2014, p. 672) refers to as ‘foodwork’). I draw on Marjorie DeVault’s (1991) argument that the creation and staging of the home-cooked meal acts as a means of producing a nuclear family through drawing together individuals by way of the communal meal. Extending this argument, I contend that the ability to ‘produce’ a family through cooking and domestic labour is presented in these texts as an inherently positive and feminine trait, and that resistance to doing so, while presented as freeing, leads to isolation and alienation. This supports my thesis argument that the corpus provides contested and contradictory ideologies to teenage readers and incapsulates the instability around what it means to be an adolescent girl in the early-2000s.

147

I first examine the ways in which well-established associations of femininity with the domestic sphere and the construction of domesticity as an inherently feminine act are reaffirmed in Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon. I argue that both texts negotiate these associations in distinct ways, through representations of the kitchens of female characters in Wolves of Mercy Falls and through Debby Hood’s monetisation of her domestic labour in Low Red Moon. These representations reveal the multiple attempts at negotiating contemporary femininity within the texts. The construction of the domestic space as the spiritual centre of the family and as distinctly feminine is reproduced in Wolves of Mercy Falls through an explicit comparison of the kitchens of both Grace Brisbane and Isabel Culpeper. Furthermore, the double- bind regarding contemporary femininity, that women must adhere to a specific standard and performance of femininity unavailable without effort, while simultaneously obscuring this effort, is also reproduced through these comparisons.

Low Red Moon, conversely, contains the most unique negotiations of domesticity and femininity within the corpus. The narrative contains a complex enmeshment of femininity, labour and success, as exemplified in Avery’s mother, Debby Hood. Debby engages in what Park and Davidson (2010, p. 10) refer to as a ‘female-focused micro- economy’, or a monetisation of traditionally feminine labour, through her small business of making and selling preserves and jams. Both Grace Brisbane and Debby

Hood are presented as characters who most successfully negotiate the tension between contemporary feminism and traditional femininity.

I then argue that modern unease surrounding the association of femininity with the domestic, and the potentially restrictive nature of domestic labour is present in Sisters

Red and Red Riding Hood through the characters of Scarlett March, Valerie and

Suzette. Contemporary questioning of engrained associations of femininity with the

148

domestic sphere, and the constricting nature of domestic labour are shown through

Valerie and Scarlett March’s resistance to traditional domestic work, and the framing of Suzette as ‘trapped’ within her home. Valerie and Scarlett’s lack of domestic skills award them a greater freedom than their family and peers; they leave their homes more frequently than characters who perform the domestic labour required. This is further emphasised in Red Riding Hood through Suzette’s figurative ties to the kitchen and housework, which contributes to her depression in a direct contrast to her younger daughter’s freedom. Ultimately, however, the narratives reproduce the importance of domesticity and the family through the eventual isolation of both Valerie and Scarlett, who end their narratives alone and without support.

Finally, the supernatural romance’s location within the broader romance web is highlighted and emphasised through examining the connection to the animal bridegroom tale and the traditional romance within Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low

Red Moon. I evaluate how the reinterpretations of the animal bridegroom fairy tale narrative within these texts, as discussed in chapter three, are problematised by Grace and Avery’s ability to halt or reverse their boyfriends’ transformations, thereby

‘domesticating’ them. This ability is the result of the characters’ psychic traits (a trait

Crawford (2014) argues is an exaggeration of the traditional romance heroine trait of empathy). The cultural narrative of women as inherently caring, empathetic and nurturing is reinforced through the characters’ ability to influence their boyfriends’

‘beastliness’, effectively relocating them from the supernatural to the domestic sphere.

This complicates the texts’ use of the supernatural as a narrative space for progressive representations of sexuality and the representation of female adolescence as a time of rebellion, disruption and progress. Simultaneously, however, this strengthens my

149

argument that the texts are at once traditional and reformist and reveal the instability surrounding contemporary understandings of adolescent femininity.

Family and Femininity are Produced in the Kitchen.

Contradictory positions regarding femininity and domestic labour coexist in contemporary popular literature and culture. Douglas Brownlie and Paul Hewer (2011, n.p) argue that these contradictions are present in contemporary media, including the creative works of female celebrity chefs (such as Nigella Lawson) speak ‘of and to several persistent anxieties of the contemporary domestic feminine condition’.

Domesticity and domestic labour, including foodwork, house cleaning and child- rearing remain strongly associated with femininity and women within contemporary society. Despite this, the figure of the housewife, the woman dedicated to the maintenance of and labour within the home, is considered outdated and conservative

(Daniel 2006). Furthermore, despite the increasing presence of women in the paid workforce, there remains an uneven distribution of domestic labour, particularly within heterosexual relationships (Kan & Laurie 2018; Natalier 2004).

Daniel (2006), Man-Yee Kan and Heather Laurie (2018) and Kristin Natalier (2004) all argue that the domestic sphere, particularly the kitchen, is a site for both the exploitation of female labour and contestation of well-established practice and discourse on femininity and the traditional nuclear family. This exploitation and contestation are similarly seen within the texts studied through the representations of domesticity and domestic labour. Female characters in the corpus reinforce, critique and reinterpret narratives of femininity through their varying engagements with domesticity and domestic labour. The domestic labour of Grace Brisbane, Debby Hood and Rosie March, for example, reveals the characters’ adherence to traditional

150

constructions of femininity and emphasises their connection to the domestic sphere.

The resistance shown by Valerie and Scarlett March, conversely, exposes contemporary tensions regarding femininity and the distribution of domestic labour; their lack of cooking skills preventing them from producing and reinforcing a traditional family unit, yet also freeing them from expectations regarding domestic femininity. Multiple conflicting ideologies of femininity are reaffirmed within the corpus through these representations. Domesticity (and by extension femininity) is at once constructed as explicitly and inherently ‘feminine’, as suffocating and isolating, and as sources of independence and maturity for the female characters. This confirms my argument that, while the corpus overall contains radical representations of adolescent female sexuality and sexual desire, these representations are ultimately countered through the reinforcing of traditional ideologies of gender.

Grace Brisbane, Isabel Culpeper and the Kitchen as Commentary

Within Wolves of Mercy Falls, contemporary tensions between conservative and progressive ideologies of femininity and domesticity can be seen through representations of the kitchens and domestic spaces of both Grace Brisbane and Isabel

Culpeper. Within the narrative, descriptions of the characters’ kitchens become representative of the characters themselves, with the identities of Grace and Isabel clearly and inextricably linked to their homes. These representations also reproduce tensions regarding femininity and the notion of female effortlessness. The seemingly natural and unconscious femininity performed by Grace is reflected in descriptions of the welcoming, cosy and unstudied Brisbane kitchen, while the sterile, curated and cold Culpeper kitchen echoes the visible effort Isabel expends in maintaining her appearance. Representations of domestic labour and the domestic space within Wolves

151

of Mercy Falls reveal the narrative’s reproduction of conventional constructions of femininity.

Within Wolves of Mercy Falls, tension between conservative and progressive ideologies of femininity and domesticity is evident in Grace Brisbane’s engagement with domestic labour. Grace is a character who is neither entirely traditional nor contemporary, resisting and reproducing multiple ideologies of femininity. Sam describes her, for example, as uninterested in the ‘pink whimsy’ or ‘frills’ that are implied to be stereotypically ‘girly’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 83). She is also described as logical and unemotional, characteristics often associated with masculinity. Grace herself vocally criticises and mocks her friends’ engagement with traditionally

‘feminine’ behaviours, such as wearing make-up, showing an interest in dating or following fashion trends. However, Grace also engages with and performs ‘traditional’ domestic labour, including meal preparation, and is strongly associated with and located in the domestic sphere

Wolves of Mercy Falls reiterates traditional understandings of both the kitchen and the creation of meals as both important to the reproduction of the traditional family unit, yet ultimately underappreciated and overlooked. Grace performs most of the domestic labour in both her family home and Sam’s home (the Beck household), after she moves in with Sam and fellow wolf Cole (in Linger).78 Grace regularly prepares meals ‘from scratch’ and bakes for her friends, boyfriend and family. Given the well-established cultural narratives regarding femininity, cooking and the construction of the traditional family unit, scenes featuring Grace’s domestic labour are noteworthy. Marjorie

78 After his infection with lycanthropy, Sam was adopted by local lawyer and wolf pack leader Geoffrey Beck. As the events of Wolves of Mercy Falls take place in the autumn, winter and early spring, the Mercy Falls wolf pack are in their wolf forms.

152

DeVault (1991, p. 79) argues, for example, that the creation of a home-cooked communal meal is intended to literally produce both the traditional ‘home’ and the nuclear ‘family’; the staging of a meal as a daily event draws individuals together.

Through preparing and cooking the majority of her family’s meals, and through preparing meals for her friends and boyfriend, Grace similarly attempts to invoke both biological and chosen family units, with varying degrees of success.

Despite her regular creation and staging of the family meal, Grace is unable to invoke the cohesive nuclear biological family that both Daniel (2006) and DeVault (1991) argue are the intentions behind the cooking of the family meal. Grace assumes most of the domestic labour in her family home as her parents (Amy and Lewis) are frequently absent and uninterested in the running of the household. In one scene, for example, Grace notes that ‘dinner would be canned beans unless [she] made it’

(Stiefvater 2009, p. 38), as her parents were again working late. Grace later complains when her mother calls to remind her that there are leftovers for dinner, believing that

Amy was taking credit for cooking (‘[those were] My leftovers. From the casserole I’d made’) (Stiefvater 2009, p. 276). Amy’s lack of interest in (or knowledge of) cooking and meal planning is further reinforced when she compares a pork loin Grace had purchased for a future meal to ‘a giant chilled slug’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 210). Grace herself notes that she performs this foodwork to make her parents love her ‘more than they do’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 221), acknowledging that her preparing of communal meals are attempts to create and bring together her family, as well as its ultimate failure to do so.

The associations between femininity and domesticity are also reinforced through description of the Brisbane’s kitchen and the ways in which Grace herself is associated with the domestic sphere. The Brisbane’s small family home, specifically the kitchen,

153

is described throughout Shiver and most of Linger as cluttered, yet also cosy and warm, both literally and symbolically. Located on the edge of the forest outside of Mercy

Falls, the home is filled with personal items such as cookbooks, folded laundry, and homework, as well as clutter, including groceries, spices and foodstuffs. Grace herself describes her kitchen as ‘small, warm’ and filled with ‘comforting smells of easy survival’ as opposed to the ‘stark landscape’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 19) of the surrounding forest. Sam later identifies these comforting smells as ‘cinnamon and garlic and bread’

(Stiefvater 2009, p. 309), specific ingredients, as opposed to complete meals, that emphasise Grace’s attempts to create a familial environment. The association of Grace with domesticity and the kitchen is emphasised in Linger, when Grace moves in with

Sam, and the Brisbane home loses its association with comfort, security and domesticity.

Prior to Grace moving in with Sam and Cole, the Brisbane home, while messy, is figuratively and literally welcoming and warm. Grace is the centre of this warmth and domesticity as the clutter is related to the domestic labour Grace performs; laundry, cookbooks and ‘ingredients’ such as spices, herbs and flour. Grace’s absence disrupts the warmth and comfort she had created, and the Brisbane home becomes a site of the uncanny, a familiar location that has become unfamiliar and unsettling. When temporarily returning to visit her parents in Forever, Grace describes the experience as ‘surreal’, emphasised by the change in scent of the family home:

The kitchen smelled weird, though, like too much takeaway food, odours

from eating it, storing it, throwing it away. Never quite the same as the smell

you got from actually using a kitchen to cook. The unfamiliar scent made the

experience seem dreamlike, foreign and familiar all at once. (Stiefvater 2011,

p. 324)

154

The social construction of the kitchen as a literal and figurative heart and centre of the home is reproduced through this scene. The scents of the Brisbane home previously reinforced it as a site of traditional domesticity, with both Sam and Grace referencing the scents of cooking, baking and spices in descriptions of the comfort felt in the

Brisbane kitchen. After Grace’s departure, however, the symbolic meaning of the kitchen changes. The room loses its connection to traditional domesticity, becoming a place in which to consume ready-made food that has been purchased by Grace’s non- cooking parents. Without Grace’s attempts to produce the nuclear family through her cooking of the family meals, the Brisbane family unit is dissolved.

The links between domesticity, ‘authentic’ femininity and the nuclear family are further strengthened through criticism of Grace’s classmate (and later friend), Isabel

Culpeper. The younger sister of newly transformed werewolf Jack, Isabel is presented at first as a hyper-feminine ‘Mean Girl’ figure; the most popular girl in school who upholds and reproduces constructions of femininity and feminine beauty. Throughout the series, she is described as focused on her physical appearance, social status and popularity. This causes her to stand out in the small town of Mercy Falls, Minnesota, a place Grace describes as being uninterested in contemporary fashion and beauty rituals; noting that ‘people just didn’t do that sort of thing’ (referring to Isabel’s focus on her appearance) (Stiefvater 2009, p. 23).

Where Grace’s lack of interest in feminine beauty rituals and her unquestioned performance of domestic labour acts are presented positively in the narrative, Isabel’s femininity and lack of domesticity are presented as inauthentic and criticised respectively. This is particularly noticeable in descriptions of the Culpeper home, specifically the kitchen. One of the wealthiest families in Mercy Falls, the Culpepers

155

own a large mansion on the edge of Boundary Woods.79 Sam describes its bright lights, high ceilings and stark white paint as ‘cavernous’ and ‘sterile’, (Stiefvater 2009, p.

309) in direct contrast to the warmth of the Brisbane home. This lack of warmth and authenticity is similarly highlighted by Cole, who describes the home as like ‘some kind of spread in Better Homes and Gardens’ due to the ‘perfectly aligned or charmingly asymmetrical’ décor ‘spotless’ rugs and ‘pricey-looking’ (Stiefvater 2010, pp. 79-80) vases and tchotchkes that he is concerned about damaging. Cole worries that ‘if [he] breathed too hard it would knock some decorative bowl off the wall or cause the perfectly arranged dried flowers to weep petals’ (Stiefvater 2010, p. 274).

The ‘curation’ of the Culpeper home is echoed in Isabel’s own self-presentation and overt adherence to feminine beauty ideals, revealing her unsuccessful attempt at negotiating the beauty/authenticity double bind. Descriptions of Isabel from other characters often focus on her styled hair, heavy make-up and clothing choices, often in direct contrast to Grace’s seemingly effortless beauty and domesticity. This is clearly shown in one particular scene in Shiver, when Isabel visits Grace and Sam at the Brisbane home. Sam notes that his first impression of Isabel was ‘tall—probably because of the five-inch heels on the ass-kicking boots she wore—followed by ringlets—because her head had more of them than a porcelain doll’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 260). Standing in the Brisbane’s ‘comfortably crowded’ kitchen, the well styled

Isabel looked ‘profoundly out of place’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 261). The clutter, small size of the room and old fixtures in the Brisbane home highlight Isabel’s styled hair in

79 On the other side of the forest to Grace’s house, with the literal divide between the two homes contributing to the comparison to the domesticity and warmth of the Brisbane home.

156

particular; Sam notes that those ‘perfect artificial ringlets’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 261) made her appear fake.80

Wolves of Mercy Falls exemplifies Trites’ (2000) argument that YA literature is a literature of breaking away and self-development, of control and conformity through representations of Grace and Isabel, their domestic labour and their domestic space.

Grace ‘breaks away’ from traditional ideologies of adolescent girlhood and femininity through identification with Sam’s beastly character and, in part, through her embracing of her own more-than-human identity.81 The narrative endorses adolescent female sexual exploration and pleasure through this identification. Traditional representations of femininity and the construction of domesticity as inherently feminine are simultaneously reproduced, however, through Grace’s attempts to create and produce a family through her foodwork and the collapsing of her identity into descriptions of her home and kitchen. Concurrently, Isabel’s engagement with feminine beauty ideals, while adhering to contemporary ideologies of femininity, are criticised due to the visible effort she expends. Through representations of the domestic space, Wolves of

Mercy Falls reveals and reproduces the multiple conflicting ideologies of femininity present in the early 2000s.

The Monetisation of Domesticity: Low Red Moon and Debby Hood

Representations of domesticity within Low Red Moon reveal a complex entanglement of traditional and progressive attitudes toward femininity and labour. The text contains the most unique representations of the femininity and domesticity of the texts studied.

Unlike the other texts, it is not the heroine who is shown engaging with conflicting

80 This is in comparison to Grace’s hair, which Sam had described as ‘shimmering gold strand[s]’ and ‘soft feathers’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 10, 107). 81 I discuss Grace’s more-than-human identity and its connection to domesticity and femininity in the following section.

157

contemporary discourse regarding femininity, but Avery’s mother, Debby Hood.

Through monetising her domestic labour through her small business (selling homemade jams and preserves), Debby negotiates contemporary dismissive attitudes regarding the figure of the housewife, contemporary representations of femininity and the construction of success under capitalism.

Debby’s business draws on contemporary discourses regarding individual self- development or ‘self-transformation via […] commercialization’ (Casey 2018, p. 1) and the monetisation of traditional domestic and leisure activities (Park & Davidson

2010). Park and Davidson (2010, p. 26) note that women can negotiate the tensions between traditional and contemporary ideologies of femininity through monetising traditionally ‘feminine’ activities such as domestic labour, an activity they refer to as a ‘female-focused micro-economy’. By transforming activities previously dismissed as ‘women’s work’ (and, it is implied, unworthy of financial renumeration), women participate in ‘a feminist appropriation of traditionally feminine (domestic) skills and crafts’ (Park & Davidson 2010, p. 28). Debby’s performance of and engagement with domestic labour draws on traditional conventions of femininity and foodwork, the production of the traditional family unit and the construction of maternal warmth and security. Simultaneously, Debby monetises this foodwork and domestic labour to become the main breadwinner of the Hood family. Low Red Moon puts forth, then, a unique interpretation of the conflict surrounding discourse on domesticity, domestic labour and femininity.

Prior to the murder of John and Debby Hood, Avery’s parents, Avery and her family were almost entirely self-sufficient, living off the grid in a home John had built in the forest surrounding Woodlake. The family foraged for their food and Debby made many of their meals from scratch. Debby successfully produced a close family unit

158

through her cooking, as shown through Avery’s flashbacks and memories, many of which centre around family meals. Avery also unfavourably compares food consumed at her grandmother’s house, school and restaurants to the meals Debby created.

Debby’s domestic labour included making jams and fruit preserves which she sold through her online business. This business was immensely successful, and as a result

Debby provided the majority of the Hood family’s money. Debby is presented in the narrative as a figure who has successfully appropriated, and monetised, traditional domestic labour. In doing so, she has seemingly successfully negotiated tensions between well-established constructions and criticisms of femininity and maternity.

At the same time, the success of Debby’s business is due to the reproduction of traditional, and harmful, feminine beauty ideals. Debby’s business became popular after ‘some singer swore in a magazine article that a diet of [the jams] and rice crackers kept her thin’ (Devlin 2009, p. 7). This provided publicity for the business and led to an increase in orders, complicating the representation of Debby Hood as a character who managed contemporary ideologies of female financial empowerment and traditional constructions of femininity and feminine beauty ideals. The success of

Debby’s business was reliant on the reproduction and reinforcement of traditional beauty ideals, namely the ideal of the thin body. Furthermore, Debby’s financial success is reliant on this reproduction and reinforcement, as her preserves became known, and were sold as, a diet aid. As a result, Low Red Moon ultimately presents and reinforces well-established norms of femininity and feminine beauty alongside contemporary narratives of female empowerment through self-employment, or the transformation through commercialisation that Casey (2018) notes is common in twenty-first century discourse on female labour.

159

Cooking versus Hunting: Sisters Red and Femininity

Sisters Red reproduces the idea of domestic labour as both symbolic of affection, comfort and femininity as well as ‘valueless in the eyes of state [and] society’ (Daniel

2006, p. 108). This is shown through Scarlett March’s conflicted relationship with her own femininity and role as a Fenris hunter and Rosie’s use of meal preparation as a means of emotionally connecting with her deceased grandmother. Representations of both Scarlett and Rosie resist the traditional stereotypes of women as passive and entirely relegated to the domestic sphere. They are physically strong and able to engage in the high intensity hand-to-hand combat Fenris hunting requires. They are also independent, having taken care of themselves since their early teenage years after their mother stopped returning to Ellison. Throughout the narrative, both sisters openly discuss the conflicted relationship they have with feminine beauty rituals and items such as make-up and nail polish. They dismiss feminine beauty rituals as distracting and unnecessary, however use products such as heavy make-up and perfumes as Fenris lures while hunting, as Fenris find the bright colours and scents appealing. As a result, feminine beauty rituals in the narrative are more closely associated with danger and hunting, not grooming.

Simultaneously, however, both femininity and domesticity are presented as innate female elements within the narratives, creating complexity in the text’s representation of female characters. As with representations of female sexuality, Sisters Red presents, although does not resolve, contemporary and conflicted attitudes regarding adolescent girls and ideologies of femininity. Although this is shown through both characters’ engagement with and attitudes surrounding domestic labour, it is Scarlett’s relationship with femininity and her role as a Fenris hunter that exposes the multiple discourses surrounding femininity and how they are, ultimately, unable to coexist.

160

Scarlett’s resistance to or dismissal of femininity is presented as both empowering and a source of physical strength, and restrictive, preventing her from being part of

‘normal’ society. The long term physical and mental injuries she sustained from the

Fenris attack influenced her relationship with the general public as well as her own self-identity and expressions of femininity. Scarlett began Fenris hunting as a reaction to the attack in which their grandmother Leoni was killed and Scarlett was heavily injured (both physically and mentally). Fenris hunting is described as an extremely physical activity; Scarlett, Rosie and Silas engage in close-range fighting using weapons such as hatchets and daggers.82 As such, being a Fenris hunter requires physical and mental strength and resilience, attributes traditionally considered

‘masculine’. Scarlett’s focus on physical strength and fitness are commented on throughout the narrative. Rosie notes, for example, that Scarlett has attained a black belt (although the specific martial art is not identified) and she has transformed their basement into a training room, complete with punching bag. Scarlett also frequently spars with Silas to practice unarmed combat skills.

The radical potential of Scarlett’s criticism of and distance from certain normative conventions of femininity, including the construction of women as inherently maternal, empathetic and interested in romantic relationships is undermined, however, by the text’s reinforcing of motherhood and a desire for marriage and romantic love as innate qualities of women. Scarlett believes she cannot attain these elements of femininity, due to the physical and mental trauma she experienced after the Fenris attack. The intensity and dedication Scarlett shows in training and hunting can therefore be considered a reaction to her perceived inability to satisfy these norms of

82 Guns are not considered useful in Fenris hunting, with Silas noting that they do not cause enough ‘damage’ to kill them (Pearce 2010, p. 292).

161

femininity. Her internal conflict is shown during a conversation with Silas which reveals the ways in which femininity is linked to personhood, and Scarlett’s anxieties regarding her own identity:

‘Come on, Silas’ I say flatly, staring at a bed of tulips to avoid meeting his

eyes. ‘Can you really see me as a wife? A mother?’ My frustration becomes

desperate pleading, and I realize how badly I want Silas to have an answer to

my questions […]

‘I’m a hunter […] ‘I can’t help it,’ I whisper through tears. How are there

even tears left in my body? ‘I can’t help it. It’s what I am; it’s all I am. It’s all

that’s left of me.’ (Pearce 2010, pp. 255-257)

The internal conflict Scarlett experiences regarding her identity as a hunter and the femininity she believes she lacks is revealed in this dialogue. Scarlett describes hunting as an essential part of her identity, if not most of it, through her claim that a hunter is

‘what she is’. This is reinforced throughout the text, with Scarlett’s attitudes towards training and the Fenris presented as indicative of her commitment to hunting. At the same time, her belief that hunting is not only ‘all’ she is, but ‘all that’s left of [her]’

Pearce 2010, p. 257) suggests an internal conflict regarding her ‘choice’ to hunt. The entrenched narrative of matrimony and motherhood as innate and essential attributes of women are therefore reproduced in Sisters Red through presenting Scarlett in this way. As will be discussed in the following chapters, Scarlett’s removal from society and her conflicted relationship with traditional femininity influenced her attitudes towards female sexuality as well as her opinions of the young women she protects from the Fenris.

162

Scarlett’s dedication to Fenris hunting, as well as her isolation from society, creates an imbalanced distribution of domestic labour between the sisters. Like Amy Brisbane

(Wolves of Mercy Falls), Scarlett prioritises work, in this case hunting, over domestic labour. Scarlett’s long training hours and her refusal to travel into Ellison leaves Rosie to assume most of the work within the home, including foodwork, cleaning and grocery shopping. This is not restricted to the March home; Rosie cleans and maintains their rented accommodation, does the food shopping and cooks most meals while in

Atlanta. In characterising Rosie in this way, the text provides a feminine alternative alongside Scarlett’s supposedly unfeminine role of Fenris hunter. The depiction of

Rosie as a physically strong Fenris hunter, who resists the normative constructions of adolescent girls as focused on beauty rituals, dating and socialising (while still maintaining normative beauty ideals) reveals the attempts in Sisters Red to negotiate both conservative and progressive constructions of femininity. This negotiation is further highlighted in the representations of family meals and Rosie’s cooking.

Rosie’s negotiation of her two lives—her Fenris hunting and her adolescent girlhood— can be seen in how she has assumed responsibility for domestic labour within the

March home. Although Rosie cooks for herself and Scarlett, producing the March family through her foodwork, she notes that she can only cook eight different meals,

(‘if you don’t count ramen noodles and sandwiches’ easily-prepared dishes that require little ‘from-scratch’ preparation) (Pearce 2010, p. 59). The two recipes Rosie explicitly mentions, and that require more labour, chocolate-chip cookies and meatloaf, are identified as her grandmother Leoni’s recipes rather than her own. Descriptions of both dishes also draw on traditional constructions of feeding work and the family.

Chocolate-chip cookies and meatloaf can be considered ‘traditional’ American meals or food items (Bruni & Steinhauer 2017; McWilliams 2012). In cooking them, Rosie

163

can be seen as attempting to produce or invoke a ‘traditional’, working class American family. It is not just the act of cooking itself, but the objects related to cooking, that invoke family for Rosie. She notes that using her grandmother’s recipes, as well her cookware such as mixing bowls, makes her ‘feel closer to [Leoni] somehow’ (Pearce

2010, p. 58). The mixing bowls act as a representation of family and domesticity and a tangible link to both Leoni March, and Rosie’s childhood.

These links between domesticity, nostalgia and the family are shown in the final scene of the narrative, where the nuclear family and the memory of Leoni are once again produced and invoked through the cooking and serving of specific meals. In this scene the three hunters eat a meal together, consisting entirely of Leoni’s home-made recipes, in the backyard of the March home:

The table outside is set—most of Oma March’s dishes filled with as many of

her garden recipes as I could find. Mashed potatoes with sweet butter, stuffed

green peppers, watermelon cut into sugary pink squares. Even food tastes

better here, as though the city food we’d been eating had been missing

something integral.

“We’re ready to eat?” Scarlett asks, rising as Silas and I kick open the screen

door. (Pearce 2010, pp. 338-339)

This scene encapsulates the staging of the family-meal-as-event and the construction of domesticity and foodwork as inherently feminine acts. At this point in the narrative,

Scarlett has accepted her role as Fenris hunter and has made the decision to remove herself from mainstream society to hunt Fenris fulltime. She is uninvolved with the

164

preparation of this meal and instead waits to be served by Rosie.83 Rosie, conversely, has created a meal that brings the three hunters together to eat as a family, through cooking her grandmother’s recipes. The food Rosie prepared in Atlanta was prepared quickly, lacking nutritional value and eaten off shared plates while standing around the sink or kitchen bench. The food from this meal, conversely, is nourishing, appetising and ‘traditional’. It contains the unnamed ‘integral’ quality that Rosie argues was missing from their Atlanta meals (Pearce 2010, p. 339). It is served by

Rosie and Silas and eaten at a table that contains multiple references to Leoni, through her recipes and her cookware. Through the staging of this meal as an event, and the symbolic importance of both the food and crockery used, Rosie attempts to produce a close family unit.

As discussed, Scarlett’s attitudes toward conventional femininity are conflicted as a result of the trauma she suffered after the Fenris attacks. Her dedication to Fenris hunting is presented in part as a result of her belief that she performs femininity

‘incorrectly’ and therefore cannot live a normal life. Scarlett’s criticism of traditional femininity can therefore be considered a reaction to her anxieties regarding her own femininity and place in contemporary society. This can be seen through her discussions of and attitudes to domestic labour. Throughout the narrative, Scarlett considers domesticity and domestic labour distractions from the ‘real’ work of Fenris hunting.

When she performs foodwork, for example, Scarlett makes meals that require little labour and effort, such as ordering take-away dinners or making toast (meals which are also less nutritionally balanced than Rosie’s meals). Scarlett is also shown training long hours; as mentioned, she attained a black belt in an unnamed martial art, she

83 In the epilogue, it is revealed that Scarlett has returned to their rented Atlanta accommodation to hunt Fenris. This would have presumably changed Scarlett’s relationship to domesticity and domestic labour, although it is not discussed in the narrative itself.

165

spends hours in the basement training room and Rosie mentions that she runs regularly and is ‘trying to become as fast as a Fenris’ (Pearce 2010, p. 59). As a result, Scarlett considers domestic work a distraction from physical training and Fenris hunting.

Regardless of the reason why, Scarlett’s rejection of ‘traditional’ femininity led to

Rosie performing most of the domestic labour. The sisters’ relationship with each other and with domestic labour can be read as a subtle reproduction of the conflicting ways in which domesticity is constructed and considered within contemporary society. It is at once necessary work, yet also a distraction and secondary to ‘real’ work, that is, work that takes place outside of the home.

Domestic Femininity, Criticism and Red Riding Hood

The quasi-medieval, quasi-European setting of Red Riding Hood provides unique opportunities in the narrative to negotiate contemporary conflicting attitudes toward domesticity, femininity and domestic labour. As the narrative is set in a pseudo- medieval time period, traditional and conservative conventions of femininity are presented as the norm. As Trites (2000, p. 488/2501) argues, however, novels with a historical setting should be considered not only in relation to the time in which they are set, but as ‘historical artifacts of the time period during which they were written’.

In the case of Red Riding Hood, the narrative provides criticism of the uneven distribution of domestic labour performed by Valerie, Lucie and Suzette, presenting resistance to the association of domesticity with femininity in a positive way. This is done so, however, from a narrative that ultimately reproduces the association of domesticity with femininity and its construction as feminine labour.

Contemporary negotiation between conflicting ideologies of femininity, specifically its association with softness and domesticity alongside the valorisation of female

166

independence and agency, are present in representations of Lucie and Valerie. Valerie describes Lucie being soft, lovable, and out of place in the harsh village of Daggerhorn.

Lucie engages in feminine beauty rituals to maintain her physical appearance and enjoys cooking and domestic labour. Valerie, conversely, is resistant to the association of women and girls with the domestic sphere and ‘softness’, as well as engagement with feminine beauty rituals. Descriptions of Valerie as a child in the prologue, for example, draw on the tradition of the tomboy figure common in children’s literature, a character Lisa Shen (2018, p.655) argues frequently acts as representation of a character’s ‘self-affirmation, independence and agency’. Valerie is not ‘soft’, presented instead as a rebellious and adventurous child and later teenager who feels trapped in her traditional village.

In the prologue, the child Valerie is shown climbing the tall trees that surround her grandmother’s house, an act that is against her mother’s rules. Valerie describes herself as ‘unsnappable’ and ‘tough’, her body ‘all angles’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 6).

She ‘didn’t think of herself as pretty’ which, alongside her angular body and lack of softness, causes her to think ‘deep inside that this made her unlovable’ (Blakley-

Cartwright 2011, p. 6). Despite her disinterest in her physical appearance, Valerie is presented as a conventionally attractive character, while her resistance to traditional feminine beauty rituals are ultimately celebrated and rewarded. She adheres to

Western standards of beauty; she is white and thin, has long blonde hair and green eyes that ‘lit up like they were charged by lightning’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 5).

She has relationships with both Peter and her fiancé Henry Lazar (who is considered the most eligible man in Daggerhorn). Unlike Lucie, who actively engages in beauty rituals and body work, Valerie achieves this standard of beauty without effort.

167

The antagonism between conservative and radical ideologies of femininity and domesticity are revealed through Valerie’s engagement with domestic labour. She is outwardly critical of the expectations surrounding young women in Daggerhorn, such as marrying young and performing domestic labour in the home and has a predominantly negative relationship with feminine beauty ideals. Valerie’s dislike of domestic labour is reinforced early in the narrative, through a conversation between

Valerie, Lucie and their mother Suzette as they prepare an evening meal:

“Good that you girls are helping out like this. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it

again: You’ll need to be able to cook, Valerie, when you start to build your

own home. Lucie already knows.”

[…] “I’m seventeen. Let’s not rush it” […] “You are of marriageable age,

Valerie. You’re a young woman now”. (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 25)

Valerie’s critical attitudes regarding marriage and housework are uncommon in

Daggerhorn and thus differentiate Valerie from her fellow villagers, while constructing her as a character with more contemporary attitudes.

The construction of domestic work, particularly baking, as inherently feminine, and contemporary resistance to this inherent femininity are further explored through

Valerie’s resistance to cooking and baking. In a scene where Valerie and her mother make scones, Valerie is not only uninterested in, and unskilled at the traditionally

‘feminine’ act of baking but is presented within this scene as focused on the public (as opposed to the private, domestic or feminine) sphere:

As [Valerie] kneaded a mound of starchy, inelastic dough, her mind jumped

from one thought to another [she was] irrationally annoyed with the difficulty

of the task and the monotony of being indoors on a beautiful day […] Lucie

168

was much better at baking than Valerie was, and ordinarily Lucie would have

helped her […] “We’ll…save your dough” [Suzette] added, glancing at the

unappealing brick Valerie was holding. (Blakley-Cartwright & Johnson

2011, p. 81)

This disinterest can be considered a positive attribute when considering the overall construction of domesticity and women’s roles within the home within Red Riding

Hood. Valerie’s resistance to domestic work is depicted as an abnormality within

Daggerhorn, due to its ‘traditional’ or pseudo-historical setting, although in the narrative itself her actions are presented positively. Her disinterest in and refusal to learn domestic skills such as cooking, and cleaning are presented as potential boundaries to future relationships and marriage. She is frequently and unfavourably compared to Lucie whose domestic abilities and softness contribute to her popularity amongst the villagers. Simultaneously, however, Red Riding Hood presents the ways in which women’s location within the domestic sphere can be isolating and suffocating. In Red Riding Hood, this criticism is found in descriptions of Valerie and

Lucie’s mother, Suzette.

Suzette draws on the well-established figure of the traditional housewife, adhering to the association of femininity with domesticity and ‘softness’. Suzette performs the majority of the foodwork and domestic labour such as house cleaning and laundry and takes care of Valerie and Lucie. Throughout the narrative, Suzette is shown almost exclusively within the family home, restricted to the domestic sphere. In the scene in which she is introduced, for example, she is described as being at ‘home, of course’,

(Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 23), preparing a meal for the upcoming harvest. In the context of Daggerhorn, Suzette’s engagement with and performance of domestic

169

labour present her as an ideal female character. At the same time, her adherence to these traditional conventions of femininity are presented as suffocating.

The characterisation of Suzette as ‘trapped’ within the domestic sphere reiterates

Daniel’s (2006, p. 108) argument that characters’ engagement with domestic labour can be used to emphasise their ‘powerlessness’ within the narrative, as a result of the devaluing of domestic labour. Suzette describes her domestic labour as making her feel ‘cut off from things, like a marionette whose strings have been snipped’ (Blakley-

Cartwright 2011, p. 23). In one scene in particular, the meal Suzette is preparing acts as a representation of her isolation and despair. The stew she is stirring mirrors the

‘whirlpool’ she felt ‘caught’ in, and ‘the more she struggled to get out, the more vehemently she was dragged down, down, down…’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 23).

Suzette is part of a literary tradition of maternal figures that are depicted predominantly within the domestic sphere, reproducing traditional constructions of women (and mothers) as restricted to the home

Red Riding Hood rehearses a complex relationship with domesticity and domestic labour. Within the narrative, ‘traditional’ domesticity is presented as at once an ideal, something that Valerie and Lucie must perfect before marriage, and something that is stifling and isolating, that traps women within the home and disconnects them from greater society. McCallum and Stephens (2010, p. 365) argue that the fairy tale is a

‘gendered genre’ with a contemporary tradition that ‘seek[s] to undo the gendered narratives’ present in traditional retellings. Red Riding Hood’s explicit relationship with the folk and fairy tale tradition as well as the contemporary supernatural romance genre reveals this doing and undoing through representations of domesticity. The narrative at once reinforces domesticity and domestic labour as part of conventional

170

femininity and critiques the uneven distribution of domestic labour and the potential isolation of the domestic sphere.

Throughout the corpus, representations of domestic labour such as foodwork become sites in which ideologies of normative femininity are explored, critiqued and reinforced. Stein (2012, p. 246) argues that while YA literature ‘may be venturing into socially uncomfortable and uncharted areas’ ‘real progression’ is stifled by the reproduction of normative ideologies regarding gender and femininity. In the texts studied, this can be seen through representations of femininity, domestic labour and the domestic sphere. Clark (cited in Pulliam 2014, p. 83) notes that horror is a genre that often ‘asks radical questions’ but ‘provides conservative answers’. The contemporary supernatural romance asks ‘radical questions’ regarding attitudes and understandings of adolescent girls and girlhood within contemporary literature. I argue, however that it provides not entirely ‘conservative’ answers, but answers that are multifaceted and at times contradictory, specifically regarding femininity, through representations of domesticity, domestic labour and feminine beauty ideals.

How to Domesticate your Werewolf

The supernatural romance’s location within the larger romance web provides narrative opportunities for texts to draw on multiple genres in their representations of female characters, femininity and sexuality. As I argued in my previous chapter, the texts studied in this thesis resist reproducing entirely traditional narratives of adolescent female sexuality, drawing on their connections to the literary fairy tale and contemporary romance to create female characters who acknowledge and engage with their own sexual desire and pleasure. Both Low Red Moon and Wolves of Mercy Falls feature representations of sexuality that centre the sexual desire and pleasure of Avery

171

Hood and Grace Brisbane. At the same time, however, both narratives are constrained through their prioritising of ‘traditional’ representations of femininity. Both texts feature narratives that involve the heroines, aided by their supernatural abilities, halting or reversing their boyfriends’ lycanthropic transformations. In doing so, Avery and Grace can draw their boyfriends back to the human (and domestic) world, drawing on both normative constructions of femininity and feminine behaviour and the traditional animal bridegroom narrative. As a result, both Low Red Moon and Wolves of Mercy Falls fail to resolve the tensions surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood in the early twenty-first century, presenting female characters that are neither entirely progressive nor conservative.

Complexity within Wolves of Mercy Falls regarding the narrative’s engagement with the animal bridegroom fairy tale tradition, as well as contradiction surrounding adolescent girls, femininity and female sexuality are revealed through Grace’s ability to halt and reverse Sam’s transformations. While the scientific explanation for lycanthropy emerges over the course of the series, certain elements remain unexplained. This includes Sam and Grace’s ability to use the ‘mind-meld’ when

Grace is human, as well as Grace’s ability to trigger Sam’s transformation from wolf to human. Both acts were previously thought impossible within the wolf lore of Wolves of Mercy Falls. In these instances, Grace is represented as a ‘humanising’ or civilising force, returning Sam’s humanity and relocating him in the human (and domestic) world. Grace’s role as a civilising or domesticating figure is further emphasised through the breakdown of domesticity and routine that occurs in the Beck home in her absence. As discussed in chapter three, Grace connects to her sexuality and sexual desire through identification with Sam’s wild and beastly identity, reinterpreting the human/animal relationship of the animal bridegroom narrative. As shown in this

172

analysis, however, the traditional animal bridegroom script whereby the heroine confronts and tames a supernatural or monstrous male figure through a romantic relationship is also reinforced through Grace’s transformative abilities.

The first instance of Grace’s ability to trigger Sam’s shift from wolf to human also marks the beginning of the couple’s ‘unofficial’ relationship. After saving Grace from his wolf pack, Sam transforms and can carry Grace to her backyard. It is implied in the narrative that Sam’s transformation is somehow connected to both Grace’s scent and the eye contact she maintains with Sam during the attack:

I pushed my nose into her hand: the scent on her palm, all sugar and butter

and salt, reminded me of another life.

Then I saw her eyes.

Awake. Alive.

[…] I backed up, recoiled, starting to shake again-but this time, it wasn’t

anger that racked my frame. (Stiefvater 2009, p. 4)

Through her scent, Grace can ‘domesticate’ Sam, or trigger his transformation from wolf to human, drawing him back to the domestic and human worlds and reinforcing the associations of femininity with the domestic sphere. Furthermore, the fact that this is Grace’s naturally occurring scent reinforces the construction of femininity and domesticity as inherent, part of Grace’s biology rather than an assumed identity.

The supernatural connection between the couple and Grace’s ability to ‘domesticate’

Sam through triggering his transformation is reinforced again at the end of Shiver.

With the assistance of Sam’s adopted father and pack leader Geoffrey Beck, Isabel and

Grace lure Sam (in his wolf form) to the Beck home to trap him and infect him with

173

meningitis in attempt to induce a fever and cure Sam’s lycanthropy.84 Grace uses the

‘mind meld’ to communicate with Sam, sending images of the couple’s time together, emphasising Sam’s humanity. Importantly, Grace also transmits the memory of the first time she was able to trigger Sam’s shift:

I remembered Sam standing in the middle of the wood, his arms stretched

out, a dark, solid form in the dream of the trees […] I remember every kiss

we’d ever had, and I remember every time I’d curled in his human arms. I

remembered the soft warmth of his breath on the back of my neck. I

remembered Sam. I remembered him forcing himself out of wolf form for

me. (Stiefvater 2009, p. 369)

Grace’s emphasis on Sam’s human form, and the memories of their time together somehow triggers Sam’s shifting, and he can temporarily become human.

Grace’s location within the domestic sphere is further highlighted in representations of the influence she has on the domesticity of the Beck household, with the tension between Grace’s location in both the human and supernatural identities echoing the contemporary ambivalence regarding adolescent girls and the performance of femininity. The well-established construction of domesticity and domestic labour as inherently feminine attributes is reproduced through descriptions of the deterioration and recovery of the cleanliness and organisation of the Beck and Brisbane homes after

Grace’s departures. In Linger, Grace moves into the Beck home after a fight with her parents.85 Soon after the move, her physical health deteriorates due to a build-up of

‘wolf toxins’ in her body and Grace falls critically ill. To prevent her death, Cole re-

84 A fever will halt the shifting as it disrupts the way in which the body responds to wolf toxins, as what occurred with Grace when she was locked in the hot car after infection. 85 As discussed in the previous section, her absence leads to the breakdown of domesticity in the Brisbane home.

174

infects her with the wolf toxin to restart the shifting process and Grace spends several weeks as a wolf, living with Sam’s pack in Boundary Woods.

As Grace is a clear humanising or domesticating force in Sam’s life, her absence leads to Sam experiencing intense emotional distress and a disconnection from traditional household and domestic management. In Grace’s absence, the Beck household becomes almost completely untethered from traditional domesticity. Meals are no longer made from scratch, daily routines are disrupted, and the kitchen becomes a site for work and scientific experimentation rather than the cooking and serving of meals.

Sam and Cole keep disrupted hours, sleeping at odd times or not at all. They do not cook for themselves or each other, instead eating ‘dinners of jelly sandwiches and canned tuna and frozen burritos’ (Stiefvater 2011, p.178). Cole transforms the kitchen into a home laboratory for research into finding a cure for lycanthropy.

On Grace’s return, the Beck household slowly transforms into a site for comfort, safety and domesticity through her almost immediate resumption of domestic labour. On her first night back, Grace begins cleaning the home, washing the ‘backlog of dishes in the sink’, and running loads of laundry (Stiefvater 2011, p. 220). She also strengthens the construction of the three wolves as a new family, by making a home-cooked meal for herself, Sam and Cole.86 The kitchen re-acquires its ‘sheen of normalcy’ (Stiefvater

2011, p. 263). The ‘prescription drug bottles and scribbled notes’ of Cole’s experiments are ‘exchanged for cereal boxes and coffee mugs with rings in the bottom’

(Stiefvater 2011, p. 263). Sam also resumes sleeping at regular hours, becoming

‘diurnal again’ with ‘night and sleeping [now] on a schedule’ (Stiefvater 2012, p. 263).

86 Grace notes, however, that preparing this meal was difficult as Sam and Cole had stocked their kitchen with ‘a strange combination of foods, most of which could be described as ‘microwavable’ (Stiefvater 2011, p. 178) further emphasising the house’s disassociation from traditional domesticity

175

Grace’s identity as a naturally domestic and nurturing figure associated with not only the home but the kitchen is reinforced through these scenes, complicating the more progressive representations of sexuality and sexual desire present throughout the series.

This tension between the multiple ideologies of femininity, domesticity and the domestic sphere are similarly engaged with through Avery Hood’s ability to trigger her boyfriend’s transformations in Low Red Moon. Avery’s ability to halt Ben’s transformation draws on the construction of women as inherently nurturing and empathetic, in the same way that domesticity is seen as nurturing and feminine. This complicates the text’s revision of the animal bridegroom narrative of the female human character humanising her beastly lover, as explored through Avery’s negotiation of her sexuality and sexual desire.

Avery’s humanisation or domestication of Ben occurs almost simultaneously with Ben saving her and her grandmother’s life. In this scene, Avery and her grandmother are trapped in their home by Woodlake sheriff (and murderer of Avery’s parents) Ron

Jericho, who is attempting to kill them with an axe.87 Running through the glass sliding doors of Avery’s home, Ben absorbs the axe blow. The increase in adrenaline from these injuries and the high stress environment trigger a shift:

He said, “No one hurts Avery,” the words coming out slurred, changing into

something different. Into a cry.

87 Low Red Moon revises the traditional ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ tale type through the depiction of Ron, who is associated with the woodsman figure, as the villain. Within the romance web, texts are not merely connected through threads and links, but through revision and reinterpretation.

176

An animal’s cry.

“Don’t,” Renee said, her voice sharp. “Don’t you change now. Avery, tell

him to listen to you, to come back. Tell him!”

“Ben” I said, and he froze, his body twisted, starting to change. He looked at

me and what I saw-

What I saw wasn’t human. But it was Ben, and I needed him […] What he’d

seen had made him do something no human could do. What he’d seen had

saved us.

“Thank you” I said, and Ben shivered again.

Now he was himself, the Ben I knew […]. (Devlin 2009, pp. 237-238)

It is Avery’s presence and her interaction with Ben that his transformation into his supernatural (or animal) form from his human self. Avery’s use of ‘himself’ to indicate this return emphasises the narrative’s representation of the human/creature binary, emphasising Ben’s identity as human over his lycanthropy. Although Avery does not engage in traditional elements of domesticity or domestic work in Low Red Moon, her ability to halt Ben’s transformation reproduces the narrative of women as nurturing, empathetic and deeply connected to their emotions, and the supernatural romance trope of the psychic girl figure.

The strain within early twenty-first century representations of and attitudes surrounding adolescent girls, femininity and female sexuality are revealed through the reinterpretations of the animal bridegroom narrative in Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low

Red Moon. Both texts feature the main female character humanising or ‘domesticating’ their supernatural boyfriends through their supernatural connection and psychic abilities. In being able to halt or reverse the transformations, traditional elements of the animal bridegroom tradition are reinscribed. Grace’s ability to trigger Sam’s

177

transformations and her influence on the ‘domestication’ of the Beck (and Brisbane) home are the result of her literal and figurative connections to normative conventions of female domesticity; her naturally occurring scent and her performance of domestic labour. Representations of Avery’s ‘domesticating’ abilities, conversely, draw on and emphasise the well-established constructions of women as nurturing, empathetic and cognisant of their emotions. Avery’s calling back of Ben, for example, relies on the emotional connection the couple have.

Conclusion

In this chapter, analysis of representations of domesticity, the domestic sphere and domestic labour within the corpus revealed that the more radical or subversive commentary on and forms of femininity are ultimately contained by the focus on and prioritising of constructions of conventional femininity. Although questioned, these conventional femininities, such as the construction of women as inherently domestic, caring and associated with the kitchen and home, are reinforced and reproduced within the texts. At the same time, through adapting and resisting these conventions, the narratives reveal a critical awareness often considered lacking in the supernatural romance genre. This complexity contests the dismissal of the genre as one dimensional, superficial or lacking nuance.

The association between femininity and domesticity is reinforced in multiple ways within the texts through representations of the female characters performing the majority of house and food work. Wolves of Mercy Falls, for example, emphasises the association of domestic femininity with comfort, security and order, while Low Red

Moon draws on contemporary constructions of the self and individualism, presenting domesticity as something to be monetised. Sisters Red and Red Riding Hood,

178

conversely, uncover and narrate the uneasy relationship between traditional and progressive attitudes surrounding domestic labour, including its role in heteronormativity and the recognition of invisible labour.

In this chapter, I demonstrated the ways in which both Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low

Red Moon draw on traditional constructions of femininity as both associated with the domestic sphere, and a domesticating presence. Both Grace and Avery can humanise their boyfriends, halting or reversing their transformations. This relocates the boyfriend characters back to the domestic sphere and tames their wildness. In doing so, both texts reveal a complexity in their narratives regarding contemporary attitudes and understandings of domesticity, and the association of women with the domestic sphere. While Grace’s role in Sam’s transformations are reliant on her connection to both the human world and the kitchen (as seen through the role her naturally-occurring scent plays in triggering these transformations), Avery’s exaggerated ‘feminine’ attributes (her emotional connection to Sam and her heightened empathy that accompanies her supernatural powers) allow her to ‘domesticate’ Sam.

Contemporary discourse surrounding domesticity and domestic labour frequently emphasises the symbolic importance of food and foodwork. As examined in this chapter, for example, the preparing and serving of meals as events contributes to the production (and reproduction) of the traditional nuclear family, while certain foods

(such as baked goods) hold social and cultural significance. The symbolic and cultural importance of food is not restricted to its association with domesticity and labour, however, with representations of scent, taste and hunger contributing to discourse on and examination of adolescent girls and girlhood in popular literature and culture. In the following chapter, I analyse the representations of scent and smell within the texts as similar sites for cultural criticism, commentary and adaptation.

179

Chapter 5: All the Better to Smell You With:

Scent, Gender and Sexuality

Of the five senses, the sense of smell is potentially the most revered and the most reviled, linked to memory and emotion yet also acting as a reminder of ‘our animal origins’ (Miller, cited in Daniel 2006, p. 160). Over the past two centuries, particular scents have become associated with specific ages, genders, countries, holidays and time periods, creating strong connections between scent and emotion (Classen, Howes

& Synnott 1994). At the same time, the association of the sense of smell with our understanding of the animal world and primal instincts leads to negative constructions of the sense as distasteful, or unseemly (Classen, Howes & Synnott 1994). In this chapter I argue that representations of scent and the sense of smell within the narratives reveal a complexity to representations of gender and sexuality within the corpus.

Throughout, these representations do not comfortably fit in either progressive or radical, or conservative, representations of adolescent female sexuality and femininity.

As a result, representations of scent and smell within the corpus, which themselves are influenced by the texts’ location within the broader romance web and their connections to the fairy tale tradition, provide a distinct narrative space in which negotiations regarding gender and sexuality can take place.

I first discuss how the contemporary unease surrounding the performance of gender, particularly femininity, and tensions between the construction of gender as inherent or constructed, are reproduced in the texts through the clear ‘gendering’ of the natural scents of the characters. I argue that the presentation of the gourmand (food-based) scents of Grace Brisbane, Lucie and Suzette as inherently ‘feminine’ actively

180

reproduces the association of women with the domestic sphere and the traditional construction of women as empathetic caregivers. The narrative of the mother and domestic figure as the symbolic centre of the family, and of a source of comfort and nurturance, is reaffirmed through Lucie and Suzette’s scents, and Valerie’s constructions of these scents, and characters, as figures of respite. Furthermore, the association of Grace with the domestic sphere and her ‘domesticating’ abilities, as examined in chapter four, are reinforced through the ways in which her scent triggers

Sam’s transformation from wolf to human.

I then examine how the gendering of the separate spheres is further reaffirmed through descriptions of the scents of male lycanthropes, specifically Sam Roth and Silas

Reynolds. The association of masculinity with the natural world and with potential

‘wildness’ is examined through the plant-based (or woodsy) scents of both Sam and

Silas. Contemporary unease regarding this division is uncovered, although not examined in depth, through both Sam and Grace identifying each other’s scents as representative of ‘home’, problematising the separate spheres of the domestic and natural worlds. Conversely, traditional constructions of masculinity, and criticism of

‘artificial’ femininity and feminine scents, are reinforced through Silas’ natural scent.

The notion of ‘authentic’ femininity and discourses of effortlessness are further examined through representations of artificial or applied scents in both Wolves of

Mercy Falls and Sisters Red. A binary of natural/artificial (and, it is implied, good/bad) femininity is created through critical representations of heavily scented products, as well as the characters who use them. Contemporary discourse on effortlessness and the double bind of effort and authenticity is reproduced through criticism of scents used by Isabel Culpeper and Rachel Vega. This criticism of artificial perfumes, as well as the construction of the adolescent girl as a figure ‘in trouble’ or at risk, particularly

181

in relation to sexual assault and violence, is restated in Sisters Red through the ways in which heavily scented perfumes are presented as useful Fenris lures for hunting.

Through this criticism, both texts reveal the unstable meaning of what it means to be an adolescent girl, and the negotiations needed between femininity, sexuality and authenticity.

Building off chapter three, I argue that a contemporary awareness and focus on female sexual desire, arousal and pleasure can be present within the texts through the corpus’ connection to the supernatural. This further highlights the instability present in attitudes surrounding adolescent female sexuality. I extend Daniel’s (2006) argument that representations of food and feasting within children’s literature draw on the cultural connection between food and sex to create scenes containing both sensory and sensual pleasure, to include scent and the sense of smell. I argue that Low Red Moon and Wolves of Mercy Falls contain scenes in which the heightened senses of Avery and Grace act as representations of their sexual pleasure, and activity, providing a narrative of female sexual enjoyment. The ‘management script’ of sexuality, as discussed in chapter three, however, remains present within these representations, with both characters only able to explore these desires through their heterosexual, committed relationships.

Finally, discourses of risk and danger surrounding adolescent female sexuality and sexual violence, and contemporary understandings of female ‘monstrosity’ are evaluated through representations of lycanthropic malodour and scent-marking.

Normative conventions of femininity are emphasised in Wolves of Mercy Falls through the ways in which Grace Brisbane and Shelby’s lycanthropic scents transgress the rigid understandings of feminine behaviour. The ‘natural’ female scents and the connection between femininity and domesticity are reinforced through the representation of

182

Shelby’s scent, and scent-marking, as monstrous, and Grace’s lycanthropic scent as a sign of illness. Furthermore, the ‘management’ script and the notion of ‘appropriate’ adolescent sexual behaviour are reinforced through the bodily and scent practices of

Shelby while in her wolf form, emphasising Grace’s ultimate humanity (over her lycanthropy) and ideal feminine behaviours. Anxiety surrounding adolescent female sexuality is similarly explored in Sisters Red through the malodour of the Fenris and the ways in which physical manifestations of their scent act as representations of the phallus and of sexual violence and assault. As a result, cultural tensions between the multiple constructions of gender, sexuality and girlhood, although uncovered in the narratives, remain unresolved.

Food and Forests: Gender, Scent and Domesticity

Traditional ideologies of gender and the construction of masculinity and femininity as binary opposites are ultimately reproduced and strengthened in the corpus through representations of and the attitudes surrounding both natural and artificial scents.

Classen, Howes and Synnott (1994) argue that the popularisation of perfumes and colognes in previous centuries led to the identification and association of specific scents with masculinity and femininity. Musk, leather and plant-based scents, for example, are frequently associated with masculinity, while florals, fruits and gourmand scents (sweet food scents, such as vanilla, sugar and marzipan) are considered feminine (Vosnaki 2013a, 2013b; Zarzo 2013). In the texts studied, this gendering of scents is reproduced through the natural floral or gourmand scents of female characters and plant-based or green scents of male characters. This presentation of the scents as inherent strengthens the construction of gender as a binary and as innate, and these representations exist uneasily alongside the more progressive representations of female sexuality present throughout the corpus.

183

Representations of female characters who have aromatic naturally occurring scents reproduce (if not strengthen) the association of femininity with domesticity and the domestic sphere in the narratives. In Wolves of Mercy Falls and Red Riding Hood

Grace Brisbane, Lucie and Suzette have natural ‘gourmand’ or food-based scents that specifically associate and connect them with baking and the domestic sphere. The representation of these characters as traditionally ‘feminine’, which was introduced through their engagement with foodwork and domestic labour, is therefore strengthened. Their domesticity is reinforced as innate, echoed through their natural scents being associated with baking and domestic labour.

Criticism within Red Riding Hood regarding representations of traditional femininity and domestic work, such as the representation of Suzette as stifled and Valerie as independent, is undercut because of the importance placed on the naturally occurring scents of both Lucie and Suzette and their associations with the feminine act of home baking. Early in the narrative, Valerie notes that ‘each person and place had its own scent’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 7), which contributes to the representations of the individual’s personality and character. The comforting and domestic femininity of

Lucie and Suzette is echoed through their scents: oats and warm milk, and almonds and flour respectively.88 For Valerie, these scents contribute to her construction of her mother and sister as sources of comfort, love and security, associations that are well- established in relation to baking, as well as these specific foods overall.

The construction of femininity as inherently ‘soft’ and potentially vulnerable is reproduced through Lucie’s scent, its association with the domestic sphere and the way it acts as a source of security and comfort for Valerie. Lucie’s femininity and ‘softness’

88 Valerie, conversely, lacks a distinct scent (as it is never described in the narrative). This contributes to her characterisation as a mysterious and isolated figure within Daggerhorn.

184

were anomalies in Daggerhorn, where the female villagers were described as gruff, strong and hard. In comparison to these descriptions, Lucie is frequently described as soft and delicate, emotional, and maternal. Her scent, oats and warm milk, strengthen the association of femininity with emotional security, comfort and maternity. Daniel

(2006) argues that in contemporary society, ‘comfort foods’ (sweet or rich foods, often with a high fat or carbohydrate content) act as a metaphor for security and consolation and are frequently associated with maternal relationships. Both oats (and porridge) and milk, particularly warm milk, are considered ‘comfort foods’ due to their high carbohydrate content, the presence of tryptophan and their association with childhood

(Spence 2017).89 Valerie describes Lucie’s scent as acting as a source of comfort, trust and safety, reminding her not only of her sister but creating nostalgia for the domesticity and security of their childhoods. The construction of femininity as associated with domesticity, ‘soft’ (and potentially vulnerable), childlike and inherent is reproduced through these positive representations of Lucie’s scent.

Traditional ideologies of femininity are at once criticised and reproduced within Red

Riding Hood: Suzette’s natural scent, reveals the tensions in contemporary attitudes surrounding gender and domesticity. Working almost entirely within the home and performing most of the domestic labour for the family, Suzette is described through the narrative as trapped, depressed and frustrated. Red Riding Hood criticises traditional constructions of femininity and the housewife through Suzette’s clear dislike of her situation and the lack of opportunity it provides her. At the same time, the association of femininity with domesticity and the domestic sphere is reproduced

89 Tryptophan is an amino acid that the brain converts into serotonin, a chemical with a wide variety of functions in the human body, including its contribution to happiness and positive moods (Spence 2017).

185

and naturalised through Suzette’s inherent scent of almonds and flour, a scent that is not just food based, but associated with the symbolically loaded act of baking.

Through her scent, Suzette literally personifies not just foodwork but baking, which she is depicted as being skilled at (particularly in comparison to Valerie, who is critical of domestic work). This association with baking references the ‘mythical past of comfort and stability’ that Duruz (2004, p. 57) argues is ‘longed for’ in contemporary society and frequently present in contemporary discourse on baking and food work.

Suzette’s baking (and foodwork overall) also echoes DeVault’s (1991) argument regarding the cooking of a family meal as an attempt to bring a family together.

Through baking, Suzette endeavours to unify her family and locate them, albeit temporarily, within her domestic sphere. Like Lucie, she is described as soft, vulnerable and emotional, and her scent is a source of comfort for Valerie. The representation of domestic labour as repressive is therefore complicated by Suzette’s baking-ingredients scent and the positive associations it holds for Valerie.

Tension between contemporary and traditional constructions of femininity and the construction of gender as inherent are similarly explored in Wolves of Mercy Falls through the natural scent of Grace Brisbane. As with Lucie and Suzette, Grace’s scent is both food-based and could be classified as ‘ingredients’ rather than a complete food; sugar, butter, flour and salt. This natural scent emphasises her association with the domestic sphere while reproducing the construction of femininity as innate. When considered alongside other facets of Grace’s personality, however, this scent disrupts

Grace’s characterisation as a traditional domestic and feminine figure.

In the twenty-first century, baking is associated with what Park and Davidson (2010, p. 27) refer to as a ‘pre-feminist nostalgia’ that draws on traditional constructions of

186

femininity and female domesticity. Grace is presented as a character who resists many elements of traditional femininity while also adhering to them through the cooking and housework she performs in the homes of both her families. As Duruz (2004, p. 57) notes, baking and baked goods are ‘substantial items of nurturance [and] icons of traditional comfort’ frequently associated with not just domesticity and femininity, but comfort, security and nostalgia.

The connection between baking, domesticity and comfort are reinforced through

Sam’s description of Grace’s scent as both the individual ‘ingredients’ as well as the more abstract identification as the concept of ‘home’. Sam describes Grace’s skin as smelling of ‘butter and flour and home’ (Stiefvater 2011, p. 265), a source of comfort he identifies during a time of great tension in the narrative. Sam has a non-existent relationship with his biological parents after childhood trauma and, at the beginning of Shiver, is facing a future without his adopted father Beck, who has permanently transformed into a wolf.90 For Sam, then, Grace’s scent connects her to an idealised representation of domesticity, warmth and ‘home’ that he did not have in his childhood. As Grace’s foodwork invokes (and evokes) the family through the staging of a meal, her (food based) scent similarly evokes traditional constructions of the family and familial comfort. Simultaneously, her human identity and connection to the human world are reinforced through her scent, which is explicitly ‘human’ and domestic.

This connection of Grace’s scent to food, and specifically to domesticity, is also obliquely referenced by Sam during the childhood wolf attack. During the attack,

Grace’s scent (‘all sugar and butter and salt’) reminded him ‘of another life’,

90 Sam’s parents are serving life sentences after their attempts to kill Sam due to his lycanthropy.

187

(Stiefvater 2009, p. 4), that is, his human life and, as argued in chapter four, may have contributed to Sam’s transformation from wolf to human.91 This scent adds to the construction within Wolves of Mercy Falls of domesticity as an innate female attribute.

Grace’s food-based scent is naturally occurring, as if she literally personifies the notions of traditional comfort that baking invokes. Grace’s own body reveals the seemingly inescapable connection that women have to femininity and domestic labour such as foodwork. This is presented, however, alongside her overall progressive engagement with sexuality and sexual desire. Grace is a character who therefore reveals the uncertain relationship between adolescent girls and femininity. She at once resists traditional expectations of femininity, such as engagement in feminine beauty rituals, and reproduces others, such as the links between domesticity and femininity.

This presentation of gender as inherent is similarly reproduced through representations of masculinity in in Wolves of Mercy Falls and Sisters Red, through the naturally occurring scents of Sam Roth and Silas Reynolds. Both characters are described as having the ‘green’ (plant-based) or woodsy scents frequently associated with masculinity. The association of masculinity with plant-based scents also reinforce the link between masculinity and the natural world and, in the case of the texts, lycanthropy, masculinity and the natural world.

Male lycanthropic scents in Wolves of Mercy Falls are presented almost entirely through descriptions of the natural scent of Sam Roth. These descriptions both strengthen his supernatural identity and highlight the tension he experiences between his wolf and human selves. As with Grace’s natural baking scent, Sam’s green scent also reasserts the construction of gender as inherent. Grace describes Sam’s scent as

91 Sam also uses Grace’s scent to identify her the first time they meet as humans at the beginning of Shiver.

188

‘crushed pine needles and wet earth and wood smoke,’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 40), as well as rain.92 Despite Sam’s conflicted relationship with his lycanthropy and his determination to identify almost-entirely with his humanity, his scent locates him within the natural, if not supernatural world, emphasising his connection to the forest and his ‘wild’ nature. The gendering of specific scents and the construction of gender as biologically determined or inherent appears at first, to be reinforced within Wolves of Mercy Falls through descriptions of the characters’ scents.

Simultaneously, however, the ways in which Sam and Grace react to and connect with their partner’s scents problematise this reproduction of traditional gender ideologies.

At times, Sam and Grace describe the other’s scent in relation to how it makes them feel. At separate times in the text, both characters describe the other’s scent as ‘home’, which not only reinforces the legitimacy of their pseudo-marriage but complicates their locations within the domestic and natural worlds. The characters’ location between the supernatural and domestic or human worlds is emphasised through their identification of their partners’ scent as ‘home’. Despite his lycanthropic identity and his scent strengthening his connection to the natural world, Sam notes that it is Grace’s domestic and gourmand scent that reminds him of ‘home’. Similarly, Grace notes the same description of Sam’s scent, problematising both her supposedly inherent connection to the domestic (and human) world and the ways in which normative gender ideologies are reproduced in Wolves of Mercy Falls.

Sisters Red, conversely, clearly reproduces traditional gender norms through representations of scent, particularly the scent of Silas Reynolds. Like Sam, Silas has a forest scent that reinforces his connection to the natural world, as well as referencing

92 When Sam and Grace meet as humans at the beginning of Shiver, they identify each other through these scents.

189

his family’s history as woodsmen (and strengthening the link between Sisters Red and

‘Little Red Riding Hood’). Silas smells of ‘forests, damp leaves and sunshine’ (Pearce

2010, p. 29), predominantly ‘masculine’ scents from the natural world).93 By

‘carry[ing] the scent of oak in [his] veins’(Pearce 2010, p. 29), Silas’ scent reveals his family’s history as woodsmen to be somehow biologically determined, as well as emphasising his supposedly innate masculinity.94 The latter is further reinforced through the fact that Silas’ scent is first described in a scene where he carries Rosie across a driveway, thereby associating his natural and ‘masculine’ scent with physical strength.

Silas’ scent also works to reinforce the binary of natural/artificial and good/bad femininity within the narrative through a scene that compares his scent to the heavily scented products the March sisters use when hunting. In this scene, Silas and Rosie meet while Rosie is at a local pharmacy, purchasing Fenris hunting goods, such as medical supplies for potential injuries and products that will help ‘lure’ Fenris, who are attracted to strong scents. These products include brightly coloured and strongly scented soap that Rosie notes ‘reeks of flowers’ (Pearce 2010, p. 54), a word choice that emphasises the unpleasant scent as well as the potential artificiality of the soap itself Silas’ ‘clear, woodsy’ scent overpowers the soaps and ‘sweeps over’ (Pearce

2010, p. 54) Rosie, causing her to be momentarily confused. Silas’ natural scent (and by extension masculinity) is stronger than the artificial and unpleasant soap and, by extension, the ‘artificial’ femininity these soaps invoke.

93 The inclusion of ‘sunshine’ as a scent is an interesting one. It could be seen as a further strengthening of the supernatural elements of Sisters Red, creating an association between Silas and the supernatural or enchantment, as well as emphasising Silas’ associations with light, warmth and joy. 94 This opposes Silas’ family’s opinions regarding Silas. They considered Silas’ decision to finish high school rather than complete a woodsman apprenticeship as both ‘fairly dishonourable’ and ‘emasculating’ (Pearce 2010, p. 21).

190

Normative and traditional conventions of gender are problematised, although ultimately replicated, throughout the corpus, with the gendering of naturally occurring scents and the use of specific scents to invoke the associations of femininity with domesticity and food, as well as masculinity with the natural (and supernatural) worlds. These representations echo the overall ambivalent attitudes surrounding gender, particularly in relation to adolescent girls, in the early twenty-first century; there is at once a desire to reinforce well-established gender norms while simultaneously exposing and highlighting potential criticisms of them. Ultimately, however, the texts do not provide distinct resolutions for this indecision.

Sickly Sweet: Perfumes and Inauthentic Femininity

The notion of ‘authentic’ femininity and effortlessness are similarly explored within

Sisters Red and Wolves of Mercy Falls through characters’ use of artificial scents, such as perfumes and scented products. In both texts, the seemingly natural femininities of

Grace Brisbane and Rosie March (their cooking abilities, their adherence to contemporary conventions of feminine beauty with little or no effort and their domestic labour, for example) are presented as ideal and authentic. This representation of ‘natural’ femininity as ideal is further reinforced through the texts’ descriptions of artificial scents, such as heavy perfumes or scented products such as make-up and toiletries. The use of said products are frequently presented as false or duplicitous, as well as immature and indicative of misplaced priorities of the characters who use them.

The discourses constructing adolescent girls as vulnerable, and ‘effort’ as something to be criticised is further strengthened in Sisters Red through the ways in which perfumes and scented make-up products are described by the March sisters. As mentioned, the Fenris target young adult and adolescent girls almost exclusively, in stereotypical ‘blitz attacks’ (Anderson 2011, p. 225). The Fenris are drawn to bright

191

colours and strong scents, which Scarlett notes makes them ‘hungry’ (Pearce 2010, p.

54). Scarlett and Rosie therefore wear perfume and heavily scented products when hunting. These include intensely scented soaps, and perfumes with sweet and cloying

‘feminine’ scents such as cotton candy. These products act as lures for the Fenris, with

Scarlett and Rosie using the Fenris’ attraction to strong scents as bait when hunting.

The specifically gendered scents of the products, as well as the language used around

Fenris attacks within the text, construct this overt engagement with femininity and feminine beauty rituals as dangerous, something that can lead to a young woman’s potential death.

The tension between seemingly ‘effortless’ femininity and rituals and actions which reveal the effort involved in adhering to contemporary femininity can be seen in the aforementioned scene where Rosie is shopping for hunting supplies. During this scene,

Rosie observes a group of former classmates discussing an upcoming school event that requires the purchasing of brightly coloured and strongly scented products (such as make-up and nail polish). Contemporary ambivalence surrounding traditional ideals of femininity and feminine beauty norms, where they are criticised yet simultaneously presented as the ideal, are reinforced through Rosie’s reactions. Rosie attempts to assuage her envy over her classmate’s purchases (and lack of knowledge of the Fenris) by describing the classmates as vain and stupid, and the products as pointless, as

‘Second Honeymoon nail polish wouldn’t make a difference to a Fenris’ (Pearce 2010, p. 55) as beauty rituals are considered a waste of time and effort by the March sisters.

Rosie has a conflict between her knowledge of the ‘pointlessness’ of feminine beauty rituals and her interest in them. At the same time, the overall criticism of overtly

‘artificial’ or inauthentic femininity is ultimately reinforced through Silas’ response to these classmates, noting that ‘Those girls have nothing on the March sisters’ (Pearce

192

2010, p. 55) whose lack of engagement with feminine beauty rituals (outside of using them to hunt Fenris) mean that they display a more ‘natural’ (and, it is implied,

‘authentic’) femininity.

Discourse regarding female culpability in relation to sexual violence and assault is also partially reproduced through representations and descriptions of scent and scented products as well as feminine beauty rituals and norms. Attitudes surrounding female sexuality and sexual violence within the text draw from discourse common within early-2000s purity culture (examined in the introduction), particularly in relation to female ‘responsibility’ and culpability in sexual assault. In Sisters Red the adolescent girl is presented as at once a vulnerable figure at risk from sexual assault and violence and responsible for the sexual behaviour of herself and her sexual partners. This construction of the girl echoes similar constructions from within purity culture and contemporary discourse. Regina Rahimi (2009, p. 520) contends that conflict within discourse on sexual violence and female culpability reiterates the heterosexual script that ‘punish[es] and limit[s] girls’ sexuality and plac[es] the responsibility on girls for controlling the sexuality of boys’. This narrative or script is rehearsed in Sisters Red through the ways in which the use of scented products is presented alongside discourse regarding vulnerability, responsibility and sexual violence.

Rosie’s statement that a strong scent ‘draws [Fenris] to you, makes them hungry’

(Pearce 2010, p. 54), subtly reinforces this narrative of female responsibility for their prevention of sexual violence. It is implied in the text that, to avoid Fenris attacks, adolescent girls and young women must monitor and adapt their dress, behaviour and engagement with feminine beauty rituals. This attitude is reinforced by Silas in his comments regarding adolescent girls and young women the trio encounter in Atlanta, noting that they would not ‘dress and act like that’, referring to Fenris-luring clothing,

193

make-up and scent use, ‘if they knew it was drawing wolves towards them’ (Pearce

2010, p. 117).

Sisters Red reinforces the association of the supernatural figure with bestial and uncontrollable sexuality and, in doing so, places responsibility on the female characters. To ensure sexual safety, certain clothes, make-up and perfumes are recognised as dangerous and therefore inappropriate. Lacking in the narrative, however, is identification of clear ways in which the female characters can protect themselves from Fenris attacks if they are not hunters like the March sisters. Both

Scarlett and Rosie are presented as figures who exist outside of mainstream constructions of girlhood, their engagement with conventions of femininity such as feminine beauty rituals connected to their roles as Fenris hunters. Despite criticising what is constructed in the narrative as ‘inauthentic’ femininity (that is, femininity focused on outward appearance and beauty rituals) Sisters Red does not provide alternate ways of negotiating the multiple femininities available to adolescent girls in the early twenty-first century.

Wolves of Mercy Falls contains a similar complexity regarding the use of heavily scented products, ‘inauthentic’ femininity and attitudes surrounding effort.

Representations of the scented products used by Isabel Culpeper and Rachel Vega reveal the contemporary criticism of visible effort in relation to adhering to contemporary constructions of femininity. At the same time, Rachel’s scent, although artificial, is also a source of positive emotions, comfort and security for Grace, providing a sense of connection for the pair.

Isabel’s perfume differentiates her from both her peers and the Minnesota small town in which she lives. Throughout the series, Isabel wears a floral perfume that Grace

194

describes as smelling expensive, and of ‘roses and summer’, at odds with the

‘Minnesota cold’ of her environment (Stiefvater 2009, p. 165). This is similar to

Grace’s previous statement that Isabel’s personal style is uncommon in their small

Minnesota town (‘where people just didn’t do that sort of thing’) (Stiefvater 2009, p.

23).

Isabel’s perfume use also highlights the differences between Isabel and Grace’s engagement with femininity. Isabel wears expensive feminine perfume that accompanies her carefully applied make-up and stylish clothes. Grace does not wear any perfume, in keeping with her natural or inherent femininity and her disinterest in feminine beauty norms. These differences are highlighted in two similar scenes in

Shiver and Linger, where Grace and Isabel identify each other through their scents. In

Shiver, Grace recounts how Isabel found her in an empty classroom:

I trailed back into the empty homeroom, flopped into a chair, and put my

head in my hands … My thoughts were cut short by the sound of cork heels

squelching into the room. The scent of expensive perfume hit me a second

before I lifted my eyes to Isabel Culpeper standing over my desk. (Stiefvater

2009, p. 47)

Later, in Linger, Grace sits next to Isabel in class and Isabel does not look up from a book she is reading, able to identify Grace through her scent as ‘Grace always wore the same perfume. Or, knowing Grace, the same shampoo’ (Stiefvater 2010, p. 17).95

While Isabel is identified through her expensive, floral (and feminine) perfume that

95 Given Isabel’s human identity and consequent lack of supernatural abilities, it is likely that she is unable to identify Grace’s naturally occurring scent.

195

was clearly chosen and applied, Grace is identified through the scents of her toiletries, revealing a lack of interest in and engagement with feminine beauty rituals.

This seemingly clear divide between natural/applied femininity is complicated, however, through Rachel Vega, one of Grace’s best friends. Rachel’s use of strongly scented products is presented simultaneously in positive and negative ways. Rachel’s scents and product use are criticised, presented as immature, unpleasant and highly artificial. Concurrently, the same scents act as source of nostalgia and comfort to

Grace. Rachel is presented throughout the series as Grace’s quirky, energetic and at times immature friend. Rachel has a ‘highly caffeinated’ energy and an offbeat personal style (wearing striped socks or stockings, smocks and braids) (Stiefvater

2009, p. 35). She uses toiletries and perfumes with strong, and clearly artificial, strawberry scents. Grace at first classifies Rachel’s style as immature and preventing her from finding dates. This contrasts with Grace’s ‘mature’ femininity that includes her lack of concern and effort regarding her physical appearance.

Rachel’s high energy and quirkiness is also criticised by Isabel, who believes her to be intentionally performing a specific and affected representation of adolescent girlhood:

Rachel was like a caricature of a teen. There was something incredibly self-

aware with the way she presented herself: the stripes, the quirky smocks […]

Everything about her said quirky, fun, silly, naïve. But, this: there was

innocence and there was projected innocence […] Rachel knew darn well

how she wanted people to see her, and that was what she gave them. She

wasn’t an idiot. (Stiefvater 2011, p. 267)

Isabel draws attention to, but does not explicitly criticise, the supposed inauthenticity in Rachel’s performance of adolescent femininity. She notes the deliberate and ironic

196

dimensions of Rachel’s performance, identifying Rachel’s awareness in what is expected of her and the ways in which she provides this. Isabel also reveals the effort

Rachel has undertaken to present a specific image, an effort Isabel also engages in.

Sam Roth, conversely, criticises the effort and subsequent supposed lack of authenticity that both Rachel and Isabel exhibit through their engagement with feminine beauty rituals. While Sam focuses on Isabel’s hair and clothes (as seen in the previous chapter), he criticises Rachel’s use of scented products.

In one scene, Sam describes Rachel as ‘managing to fill [her] entire car with some very sweet, highly artificial scent that was probably meant to be strawberry’ (Stiefvater

2010, pp. 144-145). The use of phrases such as ‘probably meant to be’ and ‘highly artificial’ reinforce the synthetic nature of the perfume, while Sam’s description of the scent as filling the car suggests that it is overpowering, if not cloying. Rachel’s scent choices can be considered deliberate; fruit scents are often considered youthful, if not juvenile, a stereotypical adolescent scent (Vosnaki 2013). This is in direct contrast to both the ‘expensive’ perfume Isabel uses (creating a potential hierarchy of performed femininity) and Grace’s own naturally occurring scent that reinforces domestic, and mature, femininity as innate.

At the same time, Rachel’s perfume reveals the emotional connection between scent and memory. In Forever, after returning to her human form following several months living as a wolf, Grace visits Rachel at their high school. While they drive back to the

Beck home, Grace describes feeling ‘suddenly and inexplicably homesick, somehow frantic with the thought of [her] lost life’ (Stiefvater 2011, p. 255). It is Rachel’s

‘wildly sweet’ (Stiefvater 2011, p. 255) strawberry scented shampoo (that Sam had previously complained was overpowering and artificial) that had triggered Grace’s emotions. Grace ‘wasn’t homesick, not really’, but instead ‘personsick’ or ‘lifesick’

197

(Stiefvater 2011, p. 255), having missed her close friendship with Rachel. While

Rachel’s scent is cloying and artificial, emphasising her supposedly inauthentic performance of femininity, it also acts as a tangible link to Grace’s human world, reminding her of the positive memories from her past.

While contemporary anxieties surrounding adolescent girls and their engagement with

(and experiences of) femininity are frequently addressed in mainstream discourse and media, solutions to these anxieties are rarely presented. This is true of Wolves of Mercy

Falls and Sisters Red, two texts that expose and rehearse the ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls, particularly in relation to contemporary understandings of and attitudes towards ideologies of feminine beauty. Ultimately, neither text provides a resolution to the concerns raised within the narratives. Despite characters such as

Grace Brisbane and Scarlett and Rosie March being presented, at times, as examples of ‘ideal’ femininity, these are frequently problematised. These anxieties and ambiguities are similarly exposed, rehearsed and unresolved in representations of scent and smell in relation to sexuality and sexual activity.

All the Better to Smell you With: Scent, Sex and Lycanthropy

The sense of smell is frequently considered a low or base scent, associated with the animal rather than human world. As Adams (cited in Synnott 1991, p. 440) argues, for example, many people consider the sense of smell associated with ‘aspects of bestial sexual behaviour summarized in the image of two dogs sniffing each other’. These associations are present in representations of supernatural characters with heightened senses, such as werewolves. The werewolf is a frequently sexualised figure, often associated with primal or instinctive sexuality due to their connection to the animal world, the involuntary nature of their transformations and their heightened senses

198

(McMahon-Coleman & Weaver 2012). This sexualisation occurs within the supernatural romance, where the supernatural identity of werewolf characters, as discussed, often contribute to their romantic and sexual appeal. In the texts studied in this thesis, romance and sexuality are foregrounded, however sexually explicit scenes are not present. The association between scent and smell, the supernatural and sexuality create a unique space in which sexual activity and pleasure can therefore be represented. At the same time, this association with beastliness and animal instincts also provides opportunity to reinforce conservative attitudes surrounding sexuality, including discourses of female vulnerability and culpability and the construction of the male as an out of control figure.

The presence of the supernatural in Low Red Moon provides a space for the exploration of female sexual desire and pleasure outside of contemporary expectations of adolescent girls. Avery’s supernatural connection with Ben, as well as her own more- than-human identity contributes to her acknowledgement and exploration of a sexual pleasure otherwise unavailable to her within her reality. These overall positive representations of female sexuality and the intersection of the supernatural and sexuality are strengthened through representations of scent and smell in the text. This can be seen in scenes of sexual activity within the narrative:

I felt his breath brush across my lips and then turn, moving over my cheek to

my ear and then down to my neck.

His mouth hovered there. I waited, felt him almost touching his lips to my

skin […] and I should have been scared.

Ben wasn’t human, and I knew what wolves did when they caught their prey.

I knew how open and vulnerable my neck was, how he could—

199

[…] Ben ran his mouth almost-but not quite-over my neck, like he was

breathing me in, like I was someone he had to be close to […]

“You’re sniffing me,” I said, and he was […] I gasped, lifted my hands up

and touched his shoulders. (Devlin 2011, p. 168-169)

Ben’s smelling of Avery is explicitly linked to his ‘primal’ or animal instincts, emphasising the construction of smell as a base or animal sense and echoing Adams’

(cited in Synnott 1991) imagery of the two dogs. Furthermore, his smelling of Avery’s neck in particular can be considered as part of the horror and supernatural tradition of the neck-bite (commonly seen within texts featuring vampire love interests) and its suggestion of sexual penetration. It is this connection to the supernatural trope of neck- biting—Ben’s primal act of smelling Avery and the supernatural connection the couple share—that contributes to Avery’s sexual arousal.

This scene can simultaneously be read as a way of reinforcing the classification of Ben and Avery’s relationship as a pseudo-marriage. Avery’s scent is not specified in the narrative (like Valerie in Red Riding Hood). In this scene, however, Avery ‘feels’

Ben’s emotions through the couple’s supernatural connection. Avery realises that, to

Ben, she smells of ‘forever’, ‘like wanting and hope and everything that was possible all rolled together’ (Devlin 2011, p. 168). Avery can identify with Ben’s supernatural

(or beastly) sexuality and experience a heightened level of sexual arousal and desire.

This is only possible, however, due to the supernatural connection the couple share, which provides legitimacy to the relationship, through the pseudo-marriage. In this way, Low Red Moon can be seen as attempting to provide a resolution to the anxieties surrounding (and experienced by) adolescent girls regarding how to be a desired figure, how to have desire, and how to adhere to contemporary constructions of

‘appropriate’ adolescent sexuality.

200

In Wolves of Mercy Falls representations of scent and the supernatural similarly work together to provide a unique space for Grace Brisbane to explore her sexual desire and, most importantly, pleasure. This is emphasised in one specific scene in Shiver, where

Sam takes Grace to a small chocolate shop in his former hometown of Duluth. The trip is both a date and a way for Sam to convince Grace to connect with her repressed supernatural abilities, including her heightened sense of smell, through experiencing the scents of the shop. In this scene, Grace acknowledges these previously repressed abilities, and in doing so experiences both sensory and sensual pleasure. Consequently, both Grace’s more-than-human identity and her connection to the supernatural world are accentuated, alongside her pleasure:

I closed my eyes, flared my nostrils, and let the scents flood in […] I could

feel Sam’s heart pounding behind me, and for once, I gave in. Peppermint

swirled into my nostrils, sharp as glass, then raspberry, almost too sweet, like

too-ripe fruit. Apple, crisp and pure. Nuts, buttery, warm, earthy, like Sam.

The subtle, mild scent of white chocolate. Oh, God, some sort of mocha, rich

and dark and sinful. I sighed with pleasure, but there was more. The butter

cookies on the shelves added a floury, comforting scent, and the lollipops, a

riot of fruit scents too concentrated to be real. The salty bite of pretzels, the

bright smell of lemon, the brittle edge of anise. Smells I didn’t even know

names for. I groaned… I opened my eyes; colours seemed dull in comparison

with what I had just experienced. (Stiefvater 2009, pp. 279-280)

Unlike the scene in which Grace has sex for the first time (as analysed in chapter three), the chocolate shop scene is narrated by Grace. Because of this, it is Grace’s sexual pleasure and desire that are foregrounded and recounted. Grace’s experience in the chocolate shop portrays her acknowledgement of and connection with her emerging

201

sexual desire. Grace’s supernatural abilities, the specific foods described and the act of smelling the scents themselves can be seen as representations of her sexual exploration.

The chocolate shop scene presents female sexuality as something to be pursued and enjoyed, rather than feared and repressed. The descriptions themselves are highly sexualised, from the specific exclamations of ‘Oh God’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 280) to the descriptions of her groaning and sighing in pleasure, the pace increasing to a figurative climax. In this scene, and in the series overall, Grace’s sexual pleasure is not presented as negative, or as high-risk activity. Rather, Grace can acknowledge her desire, engage in sexual activity and experience sexual pleasure without guilt or fear. It is only through the acknowledgement of her heightened sense of smell, however, that Grace can experience this specific sensory pleasure.

The scenes described emphasise the ways in which representations of scent and smell act within both Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon to contribute to positive representations of adolescent female sexual desire and pleasure. Both texts use first- person narration to emphasise the sexual pleasure experienced by Avery and Grace, although both are also reliant on the presence of the supernatural boyfriend figure. As

Stein (2012) notes, representations of female sexuality in YA literature often rely on the presence of a boyfriend figure to validate sexual desire, reproducing heteronormative ideals. Crisp (2009) similarly argues that representations of sexuality within YA literature reproduce well-established, normative constructions of gender and sexuality. This includes the ‘management’ script of sexual activity and virginity loss that Kelly (2009) identifies as common in YA literature, and I argue is reproduced in the texts studied. Overall, however, the representations of scent and its association

202

with sexual activity provide narrative opportunities within the texts for the acknowledgement of adolescent female sexual desire, pleasure and sexual activity.

Malodour and Monstrosity: Werewolves, Villainy and the Female Creature.

Representations of malodour and its association with morality provide unique sites for the exploration of gender and sexuality. As Spike Lee and Norbert Schwarz (2011) and Phillipe Gilchrist and Simone Schnall (2018) argue, understandings of physical and moral cleanliness frequently overlap in contemporary society. Responses to moral transgressions, for example, often echo disgust responses, and can result in acts of physical self-cleansing, such as handwashing or bathing (Gilchrist & Schnall 2018;

Lee & Schwarz 2011). The connection between malodour, morality and villainy is similarly well-established, as seen for example in the belief in the fetor of hell and demons within Christian beliefs (Kroonenberg 2013). This tradition is continued in the texts studied through the representations of the malodour of the villainous wolf characters. Representations of characters’ unpleasant scents draw on contemporary discourse surrounding masculinity, sexual violence, the at-risk adolescent girl and

‘monstrous’ femininity or the uncontrollable adolescent girl.

Female Lycanthropy and Illness in Wolves of Mercy Falls

The reproduction of traditional ideologies of femininity within Wolves of Mercy Falls is simultaneously complicated and reinforced through the specific ‘wolf’ scents of

Grace Brisbane and Shelby. Of the texts studied, Wolves of Mercy Falls is unique in that it is the only text that features multiple female werewolves: Grace, her friend

Olivia Marx (although her experience is not depicted in the narrative) and Sam’s

203

(unofficially) adopted sister Shelby.96 Both Grace and Shelby have specific scents associated with their lycanthropy that strengthen their connection to the animal (or supernatural) world and, in Grace’s case, reinforce her more-than-human identity.

These scents also differ from Sam’s natural wolf scent, in that they can be classified as malodorous or unpleasant.

The adolescent female body as a site for anxieties regarding disruption and change is echoed in Grace’s wolf scent. Grace’s natural human scent is presented as aromatic and comforting, a source of security and domesticity and an indication of her adherence to traditional conventions of femininity. This scent changes, however, in

Linger, when Grace is at the peak of her illness from the build-up of ‘wolf toxins’.

During this time, she develops a specific (and naturally occurring) scent that not only connects her to the supernatural world, but also reveals the tension within her relationship between the human and the supernatural. As Grace had not transformed in the decade after she was bitten and infected, she falls ill from the build-up of ‘wolf toxins’ in her body (which Cole describes as ‘festering’ (Stiefvater 2010, p. 350)). One of the early symptoms of this illness is the scent of rotten or overly sweet almonds, emerging on Grace’s skin and under her nails. This scent, and its association with the supernatural world, overpowers Grace’s own natural scent of baking ingredients.

Grace’s location within the domestic sphere is therefore disrupted, and her human identity called into question.

96 Although Shelby is presented as Sam’s foster or unofficially adopted sister, her legal relationship with Sam, Beck and the wolf pack is never clarified (in comparison to Sam, whose legal adoption by Beck is specified in the narrative).

204

Furthermore, the use of almonds in particular can be seen as referencing the cultural trope of almonds as a reference to poison, through its association with cyanide.97 Grace sees her illness and the wolf toxin as something that is festering within her and poisoning her:

The sweet, rotten scent of almonds [was] trapped between my fingers and

under my nails. It seemed more ominous than the fever itself had. It seemed

to say, this is more than just a fever […] Inside me, the wordless something

that had given me my fever and slicked my skin with this scent hummed. Not

painful, not at the moment, but not right, either. (Stiefvater 2010, pp. 184-

185)

Grace’s natural scent and its associations with baking and baked goods invoke associations with comfort, nurturance and domesticity. Sam labels her scent as ‘home’, reinforcing her connection to not only the domestic sphere but the human world.

Grace’s wolf scent, however, disrupts these associations. It is ‘ominous’ (Stiefvater

2011, p. 184) and ‘not right’ (Stiefvater 2011, p. 185), and Grace believes it to be a representation of ‘the wolf that [she] never was’ (Stiefvater 2011, p.350), revealing her lycanthropic identity. Her scent also disrupts her relationship with her own body;

Grace notes that her body ‘felt like a battleground for an invisible war’ (Stiefvater

2011, p. 186) that she could not identify. Grace’s body is at once a site of traditional femininity and domesticity and a representation of disruption and change.

The disruption, anxiety and fear surrounding both adolescent girls and the adolescent female body is further explored through representations of Shelby’s wolf scent and

97 Although the scent of cyanide is not always detectable, its scent (often described as bitter or rotten almonds) has become a literary trope (Lutz 2010).

205

scent-marking. Shelby’s scent (as well as her overall character) draws on her identity as a female werewolf as well as conventions of monstrosity and villainy. Of the texts studied, Shelby is the only female werewolf character who is also a villain, and the only wolf who is shown engaging in scent marking behaviour such as spraying and urination. Pulliam (2014, p. 78) argues that contemporary representations of female lycanthropy offer ‘resistance to feminine subordination’ and alternative incarnations of femininity and girlhood. At the same time, the female werewolf ‘represents a more physical and graphic manifestation of the Other’ (Pulliam 2014, p. 77) through the connection to their animal and primal instincts. This can be seen in the characterisation of Shelby: her lycanthropy and her use of scent marking emphasise her potential monstrosity and draw on traditional representations of shapeshifters as disruptions of normative ideologies. She disrupts and challenges the boundaries between human and animal, the civilised and uncivilised and the human and supernatural worlds.

Contemporary constructions of femininity and the female body as repressive, restrictive and suffocating are partially examined through Shelby’s relationship with her lycanthropy. Unlike Sam, Shelby is comfortable as a wolf and embraces her wolf identity, to the extent that she prefers it over her human form.98 Unofficially adopted by Beck several years after Sam, it is implied that she came from an abusive home.

She is described as ‘a strange, breakable animal that would do anything to reassert control over her life’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 171), including assuming and embracing a supernatural identity. Shelby is in love with Sam, developing what Sam refers to as an obsession that, unlike Grace’s (self-described) obsession, is presented as unhealthy

98 Shelby remains in her wolf form throughout Wolves of Mercy Falls, appearing as a human only in flashback scenes. Unless otherwise specified, then, mentions of ‘Shelby’ in this thesis refer to her wolf form.

206

and dangerous. As a result, she considers Grace an enemy, and uses her scent marking and urination as a means of threatening and intimidating Grace and her family.

Both Shelby and the tension she has with Grace are introduced simultaneously. Early in Shiver Shelby marks the Brisbane’s back porch to both threaten Grace and scare her away from her relationship with Sam. In this scene, Shelby urinates on the corner of the Brisbane’s deck while maintaining eye contact with Grace, as a clear method of intimidation. Shelby’s urination can be seen as a ‘graphic manifestation’ (Pulliam

2014, p. 77) of her identity as Other, an action both unpleasant and threatening.

Throughout Shiver, Shelby regularly returns to mark the Brisbane home, which both

Grace and Sam consider as a direct threat. Shelby is also identified through her scent marking by other characters, emphasising her animal identity. Cole, for example, refers to her as ‘the pissy [wolf]’ (Stiefvater 2011, p. 104), alluding to the spraying

Shelby has done around Boundary Woods, including around the Beck home.

Shelby’s scent marking reinforces her animal or monstrous identity while resisting her connection to humanity and the human world. This is in direct comparison to Grace’s domesticity, and her relationship with Sam, which are explicitly and favourably compared to Shelby. On her return to her human form and the Beck home, for example,

Grace makes dinner for herself, Sam and Cole. As she is cooking, Shelby appears in the backyard:

[Shelby] squatted and peed by the grill. “Oh, nice,” I said […] We watched

silently as Shelby made her way from the grill to another point in the middle

of the yard, where she marked territory again. She was alone […] “She”—we

both started as Cole’s voice came from behind us— “is psychotic”.

(Stiefvater 2011, p. 179)

207

While Shelby is unable to negotiate both her human and animal identities, Grace’s domesticity and femininity exist alongside her lycanthropy, and she remains located

(physically and symbolically) predominantly in the domestic sphere.

Conventional constructions of femininity are also reproduced in the narrative through

Shelby’s transgression of well-established feminine norms. As McCallum and

Stephens (2010, p. 367) argue, transgressive acts frequently ‘evoke the culturally dominant’ to identify their opposition to it. Shelby’s scent marking evokes the normative (or culturally dominant) conventions of femininity displayed in the text, such as Grace’s engagement with domesticity and food work and the reproduction of conventional feminine beauty ideals. Chantal Du Coudray (2006) notes that anxiety surrounding the werewolf is due to its disruption of the boundaries between the human and animal world. The coherent and separate identities of human and animal are upset by a character who exists within both, and this location questions notions of humanity and civilisation.

This disruption of boundaries is further explored within representations of female werewolves, who frequently ‘embod[y] patriarchal fears’ surrounding ‘uncontrollable women’ (Pulliam 2014, p. 74). By presenting Shelby as a figure who transgresses boundaries of normative femininity, for example, representations of Grace as an example of ideal femininity are strengthened. Furthermore, Shelby’s transgressions are reliant on the normative conventions of gender and sexuality; she cannot be seen as disruptive or transgressive without the establishment of norms. The narrative ultimately reinforces normative conventions of femininity through the presence of

Shelby’s rebellion and the construction of Shelby as a rebellious figure.

208

The boundaries between the human and animal, and the human and supernatural, are therefore blurred in Wolves of Mercy Falls in both positive and negative ways within representations of scent and malodour. Grace’s connection to the supernatural, for example, allows her to engage with and acknowledge her sexual desire and pleasure.

Shelby’s lycanthropy, conversely, draws on the traditional anxieties surrounding shapeshifters and the supernatural, as a disruption of and challenge to the well- established boundaries between human and animal.

Something Smells Off: Scent and Villainy

The connections between morality, malodour and villainy, as well as their connections with both physical and moral uncleanliness are exposed and rehearsed within representations of male lycanthropy in Red Riding Hood and Sisters Red. The monstrous and villainous identities of the wolf characters in both texts are reinforced through their unpleasant and naturally occurring scents. Furthermore, in Sisters Red, scent acts as a site for the exploration of contemporary anxieties surrounding adolescent girls and sexual violence.

The scent of the Fenris can be seen as commentary on not only their loss of humanity but their new lycanthropic identities and former (or corrupted) humanity. The transition from human to Fenris in Sisters Red involves the Potential losing their soul and their ‘humanity’ when first infected. This characterisation is reinforced through the naturally occurring scent of the Fenris, which invokes notions of death and deterioration. Their scent is described as rotting garbage, spoiled milk and decay. It is overpowering and stomach turning, and frequently nauseates the hunters when they are in close proximity with a Fenris. This scent consists of human (or civilised) items, such as food, that have soured or spoiled, representing their own humanity which has similarly spoiled.

209

Distinct within the scent is the presence of milk, a drink (and scent) that has strong cultural associations with childhood innocence, motherhood and comfort (Daniel

2006). This is reproduced within scents that contain milk notes or lactones (scent notes that have a creamy/fatty based scent and are frequently compared to milk), which are often used in perfumes to create a sense of warmth or associations of comfort (Vosnaki

2013b).99 The Fenris’ scent, then, of spoiled or soured milk, reinforces their identities as ‘spoiled’ or degraded men and as corruptions of motherhood; they create (or birth) new Fenris through the death of the human Potential.

The horror and monstrosity of the Fenris are also reinforced through the ways in which scent and sexual violence are combined within their attacks. The Fenris scent is malodorous and pervasive; Rosie notes that ‘it somehow gets into your skin and sticks around for ages’ (Pearce 2010, p. 33). The scent is particularly troubling for Scarlett, as she is unaware if it actually lingers on her skin or whether she experiences phantom scents as a result of her PTSD. The three hunters are shown throughout the narrative choking, gagging or nauseated as a result of the scent, which can distract them from hunts.

One specific scene, however, draws on the connection of scent to sexuality in a unique way. In this scene, Scarlett is knocked over while fighting a Fenris who then pins her to the ground: ‘I choke as he lowers himself even farther against me, heavy on my lungs, gagging as he exhales almost directly into my throat’ (Pearce 2010, p. 18). In this scene, Scarlett is not only choked by the Fenris and his scent but is gagging on his breath which can be interpreted as phallic. In chapter three, I argued that representations of the Fenris in Sisters Red echo Snitow’s (1979) argument that

99 A comparison seen in my examination of Lucie’s scent earlier in this chapter.

210

descriptions of the male body in traditional romance novels frequently symbolise the phallus. This is reinforced through the depiction of the Fenris’ scent and breath as both corporeal and phallic. Through this scene and the sexualisation of the Fenris attacks,

Sisters Red also explicitly draws on the narrative of sexual violence present in the

‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tale. Within Sisters Red, male sexuality is presented as something violent and dangerous, and the female characters must be protected (and protect themselves) from it. This Fenris’ actions, then, can be interpreted as implied oral sexual violence, with Scarlett as the victim. This reinforces the text’s engagement with discourses of adolescent female sexuality that construct the adolescent girl subject as vulnerable and in danger and emphasises the role of the Fenris attacks within the narratives as representative of sexual violence.

The scent of the Wolf in Red Riding Hood, while unpleasant, is not as stomach-turning as that of the Fenris. Rather, its presence in the narrative creates a sense of unease and can also be interpreted as a way of emphasising the supernatural in the text. The scent of the Wolf is not explicitly identified until the end of the narrative. Throughout the text, it is mentioned by several characters as unnamed, half-remembered scents from their childhoods or present during Wolf attacks and hunting. Valerie first notices the scent of the Wolf in her childhood, smelling it on her Grandmother (whose husband,

Valerie’s grandfather, was the Wolf before Cesaire). The Wolf’s scent mixes with her grandmother’s (crushed leaves) to create ‘something deeper, something profound that

[Valerie] could not place’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 8). Valerie’s grandmother similarly refers to the scent as a ‘long-forgotten name’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p.

282) that she was unable to identify. The scent of the Wolf within Red Riding Hood creates a sense of the uncanny for Valerie and her grandmother, which is reinforced through cultural associations with the specific scents. The Wolf’s scent combines

211

scents of the forest with scents of food: it is a ‘deep’ and ‘woodsy, musky’ (Blakley-

Cartwright 2011, p. 285) scent (scents which are frequently associated with masculinity), that also contains the scents of onions and nutmeg.

The scent of onions is caused in part by the sulphurous compounds within the plant, a compound which is not only malodorous but frequently connected to hell and immorality within Christianity (Kroonenberg 2013). Given the quasi-medieval setting of Red Riding Hood, religion plays an important role within Daggerhorn. References to Saint’s candles and superstition, as well as the implied European setting, indicate that Daggerhorn is a Catholic village. The suggestion of sulphur, then, through the scent of onions, assumes a religious significance, emphasising both the monstrosity of the Wolf and its connections to demons and hell.

Furthermore, the scent of nutmeg is a unique addition that reinforces the association of the uncanny and surreal with the Wolf. In large doses, nutmeg has a psychoactive effect on humans (Ehrenpreis et. al 2014).100 Throughout the final chapter of Red

Riding Hood, Valerie describes herself as in a ‘dreamlike’ state (Blakley-Cartwright

2011, p. 323). When she travels to her grandmother’s house and meets Cesaire, she questions whether she is truly awake or hallucinating. When Cesaire reveals his true identity as the Wolf, Valerie feels ‘like she was floating, her body gone from her’

(Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 338) and her connection to reality weakened. The presence of a hallucinogenic such as nutmeg, the supernatural presence within the narrative and the pseudo-historical setting work together to create ambiguity and a

100 This is due to the presence of myristicin oil, which is psychoactive when consumed at a dosage higher than those used in cooking and human consumption (Ehrenpreis et. al 2014).

212

sense of uneasiness. As a result, Red Riding Hood’s connections to the supernatural and fairy tale traditions are reinforced.

Representations of unpleasant scents in the narratives, whether through malodour or overpowering and cloying scents, reinforce contemporary concerns about femininity, authenticity, monstrosity and sexuality. The natural wolf scents of Grace Brisbane and

Shelby reveal the disruption between the boundaries of human and animal and, in the case of Shelby, reproduce traditional anxieties surrounding the construction of the adolescent girl as Other. Malodour and lycanthropy are similarly explored through the

Fenris and Wolf characters, whose natural scents draw on the association of physical and moral cleanliness and malodour, including in representations of sexuality and sexual violence.

Conclusion

Analysis of the texts studied in this thesis revealed the ways in which representations of scent and the sense of smell draw from socialisation and culturally specific references to create distinct opportunities for the exploration of femininity and masculinity, and male and female sexuality. These representations exposed the relationship between traditional and progressive ideologies of gender and sexuality present in contemporary society. The chapter argues that the supernatural romance’s ambiguous engagement with social and cultural ideologies of gender and sexuality means that the texts do not provide entirely radical or conservative representations of adolescent femininity and female sexuality, instead reproducing the multiple discourses surrounding teenage girls and girlhood.

Due to its association with the animal world, the sense of smell is frequently considered the sense most closely linked to emotions and primal instincts as opposed

213

to rationality and logic. Within the texts, then, representations of scent and smell reveal emotional connections and reactions to gender, sexuality and relationships. Anxieties surrounding the association of women with domesticity, of ‘authentic’ engagement with femininity and the construction of masculinity and femininity as natural or innate take shape through representations of the natural and artificial scents of the female characters. Traditional representations of femininity are reinforced as the ideal and as inherent through representations of characters’ naturally occurring (and pleasant) scents. Simultaneously, artificial or applied scents (such as perfumes and toiletries) are critiqued for emphasising the performance or artificial nature of femininity, with characters’ authenticity questioned. Furthermore, the wolf-related malodour of both

Grace Brisbane and Shelby further reproduces these normative conventions of femininity through their identification and emphasis of the boundaries they transgress.

This complexity is reinforced through the association of scent and smell with sexuality and sexual activity. The associations of smell with sexuality (specifically ‘animal’ sexuality) is reproduced throughout the texts, drawing on contemporary narratives of female sexuality, sexual activity and sexual violence. Scent and smell are at once representations of the phallus and indicative of sexual assault, and sources of female sensory and sensual pleasure, the ‘precise details’ of sexuality that are frequently not present in YA literature (Kokkola 2013, p. 20). At the same time, the interactions between scent and sexuality also introduce discourses of risk and danger surrounding adolescent female sexuality, drawing on contemporary discourses that construct the adolescent girl as a vulnerable figure in need of protection and control.

214

Chapter 6: Juicy Morsels: Food, Sex and

Gender

Food and eating are mundane and quotidien elements of everyday life that simultaneously hold immense symbolic, cultural and emotional meaning (Daniel

2006; Sceats 2000). Food is a ‘primary source of [our] pleasure and frustration’, and

‘the arena of our earliest education and enculturation’ (Sceats 2000, p. 1), with specific food items and meals associated with certain events, time periods, genders and ages.

The social and cultural meanings surrounding food and eating assist in the reproduction of a well-established social order. To deviate from expectations, to refuse a family meal, to eat food that is not associated with your gender or age group or to eat specific food items at the ‘wrong’ time, is to deviate from social and cultural norms.

In the previous three chapters I have analysed the ways in which the multiple and conflicting discourses on adolescent girls and girlhood are addressed in the corpus.

Throughout the texts, descriptions of food and scenes of feasting have accompanied the representations of the supernatural, domesticity and scent and the sense of smell.

In this chapter I focus specifically on how these discourses, including anxiety surrounding gender, sexuality and (heterosexual) relationships are negotiated in the texts through representations of food, meals and feasting. I argue that these representations at once reference and evoke normative conventions of gender and sexuality as well as resist and critique them, echoing contemporary ambivalence regarding adolescent girls and girlhood. Furthermore, my analysis reveals how the supernatural romance’s location within the romance web, in particular its connections to both children’s literature and the fairy tale, inform these representations. Integral to

215

my analysis is the work of Daniel (2006) and Sceats (2000), particularly their arguments regarding representations of food in media as a means of interrogating dominant ideologies of gender and sexuality.

I begin with analysis of how the association of baking and baked goods with specific

(and imagined) femininities are further negotiated in the texts through representations of foodwork, and the preparing of specific meals and food items. The contemporary social construction of foodwork, specifically baking, as a site for the reproduction of traditional ideologies of femininity and maternity and as representative of personal independence and relaxation, are reproduced in the texts.

I then build on my analysis of the contemporary examination and negotiation of feminine beauty, authenticity and the contemporary construction of effortlessness through interrogation of representations of female gustatory appetite in both Red

Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls. The feminine beauty ideal of the thin and feminine woman who can consume large amounts of food and pay little attention to her diet (a trope known as the ‘skinny glutton’) is reaffirmed through the characterisations of Valerie and Grace. The characters’ ability to consume high caloric foods, and their active disinterest in dieting or exercise is presented in direct comparison to their peers, whose struggles with diet and focus on their weight are presented as a sign of misplaced priorities and vanity.

Finally, I focus on how the exploration of adolescent female sexuality and discourses of sexual violence, risk and ‘inappropriate’ hunger within the texts is negotiated in unique ways through the corpus’ connection to ‘Little Red Riding Hood’.

216

While Low Red Moon and Sisters Red provide more in-depth and nuanced representations, those in Wolves of Mercy Falls and Red Riding Hood rely on the well- established cultural associations of femininity and domesticity. In previous chapters, I asserted that traditional and conservative representations of femininity are reinforced in the texts through representations of female characters’ engagement with foodwork.

This is further strengthened through the specific foodstuffs described and foodwork performed, namely, the baking of bread, scones and cakes.

I then analyse the ways in which narratives of feminine beauty ideals and the concept of ‘authenticity’ are present in representations of feminine hunger and eating in Red

Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls. I argue that both texts contain the ‘skinny glutton’ character trope; a conventionally attractive female character who eats large amounts of food while maintaining her slim body. The presence of this character trope within both texts reinforces a normative and unobtainable body shape as the ideal, while reproducing early twenty-first century tensions surrounding effort and feminine beauty norms. Contemporary cultural associations of both gustatory and sexual appetites, however, are also present in the narratives and prevent a representation of contemporary femininity that is entirely negative. In featuring scenes of feminine hunger and appetite, Red Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls allude to female sensual pleasure. Avery and Grace both acknowledge and pursue their own sexual desire and pleasure, albeit from within their ‘appropriate’ relationships.

Representations of feminine hunger in these texts are therefore complicated, reinforcing traditional beauty standards while also depicting sexual desire.

Finally, I examine how the texts’ explicit and implicit relationship with ‘Little Red

Riding Hood’ The texts revise and reinterpret the construction of the Red Riding Hood character as ‘edible’, with characters who are presented both literally and figuratively

217

as food items for the werewolf characters. The multiple characterisations of the heroines uncover contemporary ambiguity regarding the vulnerability of the adolescent girl and anxieties towards adolescent female sexuality. The construction of female characters in Sisters Red, Red Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls as literally edible, for example, reaffirms the construction of adolescent girls as passive sexual objects. This construction further complicates representations of female sexuality in Red Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls and contests the construction of the supernatural romance as shallow. I also specifically examine Shelby’s (Wolves of Mercy Falls) engagement with her sexual and gustatory appetites, arguing that her character resists bring labelled as an edible girl. I argue that these representations of

Shelby draw on traditional representations of the female monster in horror, and in doing so complicate the representations of femininity and girlhood in Wolves of Mercy

Falls.

Doing Domesticity: Femininity, Baking and Nostalgia

The strong association of domesticity with femininity and women’s labour persists in contemporary society. Andrievskikh (2014, p. 137) argues that ‘food symbolism carries a particular importance for women due to the culturally determined association with cooking and nourishment’. Daniel (2006, p. 108) similarly maintains that representations of food in literature are frequently ‘used to make implicit judgements about a woman’, particularly her engagement with (and performance of) maternity, domesticity and traditional femininity. In the texts studied in this thesis, for example, traditional constructions of femininity are reinforced through characters’ unquestioned engagement with the preparation, cooking and serving of meals. This association of femininity with domestic labour reinforces normative conventions of femininity, drawing on well-established constructions of gender. I therefore argue that the

218

representations of baked goods and baking in the texts contribute to and complicate the traditional and idealised construction of femininity present, drawing on the changing attitudes to baking and domestic labour in contemporary society.

Contemporary media representations often present baking as a specific form of ‘doing domesticity’ (Brownlie & Hewer 2011, n.p) that transforms domestic labour from an act of servitude to one of relaxation and self-indulgence (Casey 2018). Park and

Davidson (2010), Duruz (2004) and Casey (2018) extend this analysis, arguing that these contemporary attitudes to baking and escapism draw on idealised representations of a non-existent past, and are in fact a reaction to changing social and cultural constructions of gender, sexuality and the family. The popularity of contemporary television shows such as Great British Bake Off, for example, reveal how ‘feminist discourses of choice and equality’ are entangled with ‘conventional modes of domesticity’ (Casey 2018, p. 1) through the representation of baking as a site for self- transformation, relaxation and ‘betterment’. In the texts studied in this thesis, baking and baked goods at once reinforce and resist traditional constructions of femininity, drawing on conventions of domestic labour as sites of nurturance and security, as sources of self-improvement and power, and as indications of independence and maturity.

Low Red Moon and Sisters Red: Baking and Family

As seen in my analysis of the domestic labour of Debby Hood, Low Red Moon has the most complex and unique interpretations of femininity and female domesticity.

Representations of food and the serving of meals in Low Red Moon draw on contemporary attitudes to processed and ‘home-made’ foods as well as domestic femininity. Both Warde (1997, p. 131) and Daniel (2006) argue that there is a strong association between ‘home-baking and a mother’s love’. To purchase processed or

219

ready-made foods is considered ‘less satisfactory than if [the meal preparation was] mingled with womanly labour’ (Warde 1997, p. 133).101 Home-made foods are therefore considered ‘emotionally’ superior to purchased or processed foods. This superiority is reinforced in Low Red Moon through Avery’s comparisons of the meals she ate in her family home to those she eats after the death of her parents.

Contemporary conflict between traditional constructions of domestic femininity and the emotional importance of food alongside contemporary attitudes towards convenience and conformity are displayed in Avery’s relationship with purchased and processed foods. Avery simultaneously considers Debby’s cooking and baking as representative of her mother’s love for and nurturance of her family, and a source of embarrassment, separating Avery from her peers. Throughout the novel, Avery criticises the store bought and processed meals she eats, unfavourably comparing them to Debby’s cooking. Avery describes store bought mushrooms, for example, as

‘strange, spongy and tasteless’ (Devlin 2009, p. 61), entirely different to the mushrooms Debby foraged for. Similarly, she dislikes the strawberry milk she drinks at Renee’s, as it ‘didn’t taste good—it tasted fake, not like real strawberries at all’

(Devlin 2009, p. 19). At the same time, Avery enjoyed eating at Woodlake’s one restaurant (‘Bessie’s’) and discusses her desire to eat cafeteria food at school, as both provide a connection to mainstream society.102

The contrast between processed (or purchased) and home-made foods are immensely symbolically important in the narrative, as seen in scenes featuring meals and food items that Debby has baked from scratch. The last meal the Hood family eats together,

101 Ready-made processed and store-bought foods are also frequently less healthy than home-made. 102 Debby also enjoyed eating at Bessie’s, with Renee telling Avery that she sporadically ate with Debby there when she was alive.

220

chicken pot pie and chocolate pie, gains immense symbolic importance to Avery after the death of her parents. As McWilliams (2012) argues, the pie is a cultural icon of

American food. Representations of and discussion surrounding pie often invoke and evoke a specific and idealised image of ‘traditional’ American families and culture. In

Low Red Moon both pies become representative of the idealised and close family life

Avery has lost. After witnessing her parents’ murder, Avery is in shock and suffers from psychogenic amnesia, losing her memories as a result of the trauma. Avery retains, however, the memories of the final meal with her parents, specifically the food itself. Central to Avery’s memories of that evening is the ‘home-made’ nature of her meal, including the ‘crust curling over the edge of the bowls’ (Devlin 2009, p. 16) of the chicken potpie and the crack running down the filling of the chocolate pie.

This relationship between traditional conventions of domesticity, family life and femininity are further examined in a later scene where Avery returns to school.

Without Debby preparing her meals, Avery must eat lunch purchased in the cafeteria:

[…] I ate lunch by myself, picking at the chicken nuggets on my cafeteria

tray. Mom always made lunch for me before, and it was strange not to be

eating a sandwich on her homemade bread. I’d hated it, actually—the heavy

weight of it and how it didn’t even look like regular bread—but now I missed

it. I missed everything about Mom and Dad. (Devlin 2009, p. 10)

As with the meals she ate at Bessie’s, Avery has a complicated relationship with her mother’s traditional baking. Avery was previously critical of her mother’s home-made bread as it made her stand out from her peers. By taking Debby’s home-made bread to school, Avery believes she is drawing attention to the ways in which she differs from her peers. After her parents’ deaths, however, Debby’s home baked bread has become

221

a representation of the family she no longer feels she has, and her mother’s love. As

DeVault (1991, p. 236) argues, foodwork and the production of the daily meal does not only ‘feed’ the individual family members but also ‘the family’ as a social and ideological construct. Without Debby and without the food she made daily for her family, from-scratch, the Hood family has dissolved.

The conflicted relationship between femininity and domesticity and domestic labour present in contemporary society is similarly reproduced through representations of baking and baked goods in Sisters Red. Rosie March’s cooking and foodwork reveals both her reinforcement of traditional femininity and its association with domesticity as well as the ways in which domestic labour is considered invisible and diminished in comparison to work outside of the home. At the same time, representations of baking in the narrative⎯ the act itself, the resulting baked goods and the equipment required (such as mixing bowls) provide a space for exploration of traditional constructions of maternity and maternal warmth.

Leoni March is a character strongly associated with domesticity and the domestic sphere throughout Sisters Red. Her cooking abilities and the meals she prepared for

Scarlett and Rosie are entwined in the March sisters’ memories of her, and in flashbacks where she is present, she is portrayed in the kitchen. In the opening chapter, which portrays the Fenris attack, Leoni is in the kitchen, ‘her daisy-patterned apron dusted with flour from the cake she was making for a neighbour boy’s birthday party’

(Pearce 2010, p. 2). Through this description, Leoni is established as a character that reproduces conventional ideologies of women as domestic, nurturing and caring. Her apron can be seen as a shorthand for a specific incarnation of ‘traditional’ femininity.

The ‘notion of the perfect wife and mother’ has been frequently reproduced in

222

mainstream media through the imagery of the ‘impeccably pressed cotton apron’

(Bondy 2012, p. 13). Leoni’s apron, while not ‘impeccably pressed’, acts as a representation of her engagement with traditional domestic labour, a representation reinforced through its dusting of flour.

The social and cultural construction of baking as symbolic of maternity and femininity is reflected in and affirmed by Leoni’s baking. Girard (cited in Duruz 2004, p. 58) argues that food work and the female cook ‘work at fashioning the world’, and ‘make the world livable’ through the comfort and security domestic labour provides. This description extends DeVault’s (1991) argument that food work produces a family.

Through her cake baking, Leoni is not only producing the March family but

‘fashioning’ (Girard, cited in Duruz 2004, p. 58) their small community. The cake

Leoni is baking, for example, is for a ‘neighbouring boy’s birthday party’ (Pearce

2010, p. 2); she is contributing to the production of her small community through the creation of this birthday meal as an event.103 This community dissolves after the Fenris attack and Leoni’s death and, as discussed in chapter four, is not reformed until the final pages of the narrative, with the meal Rosie prepares for herself, Silas and Scarlett on their return from Atlanta.

Representations of baking in Sisters Red again bolster and reproduce traditional constructions of maternal warmth, domesticity and family connection in the scene where Rosie bakes chocolate-chip cookies for herself and Scarlett. Lawson (2000, p.

1034/6000) argues that the ‘quaintly archaic practice’ of baking cookies in adulthood is often an attempt to ‘recaptu[re] some remembered, no doubt idealized, past’. Both

103 Due to the timing of the event, it could be argued that the birthday party is for Silas, who would have been turning 14 and therefore vulnerable to infection or transformation, therefore luring Fenris. Through her baking, then, Leoni is not just reinforcing community but the closeness of the March and Reynolds families.

223

this connection to domesticity and family, and the attempt to capture an idealised past is seen in Rosie’s baking.

Rosie uses her grandmother’s mixing bowls in her cooking and baking, as she considers them a tangible link to her grandmother. In following Leoni’s recipes and using her kitchenware, Rosie feels ‘close to [Leoni] somehow’ (Pearce 2010, p. 59), a closeness Rosie considers highly important due to her lack of clear memories of her grandmother. When the trio move to Atlanta and can take only ‘the essentials’, Rosie

‘carefully wrap[s] Oma March’s green glass mixing bowls in two of [her] old T-shirts’

(Pearce 2010, p. 98) to take with her. For Rosie, the mixing bowls and the act of baking overlap with her memories of her grandmother; Leoni is physically and figuratively associated with the kitchen and with baking. Representations of baking and baked goods in Sisters Red, then, invoke and evoke a specific and idealised past, drawing on and at times reproducing normative constructions of femininity and the traditional family.

The Complicated Domesticity of Wolves of Mercy Falls and Red Riding Hood

Contemporary attitudes towards baking, femininity and domesticity are contradictory and manifold. They acknowledge that the domestic act at once reproduces traditional conventions of femininity and the nuclear family while also providing new ways in which women can explore their narratives of selfhood (their engagement with individual choice, personal pleasure, performance of femininity and relaxation). In both Wolves of Mercy Falls and Red Riding Hood, representations of baking similarly illustrate the tension between these contemporary and traditional conventions.

Aside from the meals Grace prepares for her parents and housemates, Grace is shown baking throughout Wolves of Mercy Falls, making scones, pastries and quiche for Sam

224

and her friends. These foods have specific social and cultural meanings and, distinctly, also contain the ingredients that are part of Grace’s naturally occurring scent. Grace is described as organised, efficient and logical, preferring stoicism over emotions and the security of order over disruption and a lack of planning. Sam, for example, compares

Grace to ‘an elaborate digital clock, synced up with the World Clock in London’, describing himself as ‘a snow globe—shaken memories in a glass ball’ (Stiefvater

2009, p. 84). When Grace reveals her distress over her relationship with her parents,

Sam jokes that ‘it’s nice to see [her]…emote…for once’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 207).

The characterisation of Grace resists the construction of women as highly emotional, instead being represented as assuming ‘masculine’ traits such as logic, reason and organisation. Baking is similarly frequently described as exact, methodical, scientific and complex. Lawson (2000, p. 290/6000), for example, argues that baking is

‘chemistry first, poetry second’ and, as such, it demands ‘mathematical respect’. The systematic act of baking, including the need for specificity and meticulousness therefore appeals to Grace and reinforces her characterisation as methodical, organised and exact. In Shiver, Grace describes the ‘orderly lines of numbers and symbols’ of her maths homework as ‘comforting’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 13). Similarly, the order and organisation of baking, and the ‘mathematical respect’ it requires (Lawson 2000, p.

290/6000), would appeal to Grace as a source of comfort.

The construction of baking as a source of comfort and relaxation is explored in another way in contemporary constructions of the act itself. Lawson (2000, p. 242/6000), for example, describes baking as being about ‘feeling good [and] wafting along in the warm- sweet-smelling air’, a form of relaxation and escapism from contemporary expectations surrounding the ‘post-modern, post-feminist, overstretched woman’.

Duruz (2004, p. 57) similarly argues that contemporary interest in baking and

225

domesticity is the result of a longing for a ‘mythical past of comfort and stability’. In the narrative, Grace is depicted using baking as a form of relaxation and self- indulgence.

In Forever, after receiving bad news about an upcoming wolf hunt, tensions are high in the Beck household. As a result, Sam ‘sulk[s] on the couch’ (Stiefvater 2011, p.

269), and Grace makes scones. In this instance, Grace’s baking appears to act as a meditative form of emotional expression; as Duruz (2004, p. 60, 58) argues, the gestures of ‘doing-cooking’ (the ‘body rhythms, techniques’ and ‘repetitive gestures’ involved in cooking) are ‘wonderfully hypnotic’. Grace’s baking as a means of self- soothing draws on contemporary constructions of baking as a source of relaxation

(Brownlie & Hewer 2011; Casey 2018). As a result, baking is presented in this scene as distinct from the necessary food work Grace engages in, such as the preparing of family meals. At the same time, this ritualistic meditation and relaxation results in a final product that Grace feeds to her new family, the wolf pack.

Representations of baking in general, and scones, in Wolves of Mercy Falls provide a sense of stability, comfort and normative femininity. Duruz (2004, p. 57) notes that scones are ‘substantial items of nurturance’ and ‘icons of traditional comfort’ and domesticity in the Western imagination. They offer a nostalgic return to a past that

Lawson (2000, p. 1034/6000) argues is ‘no doubt idealized’. Throughout Wolves of

Mercy Falls, the stability and routine of Grace’s life is disrupted through her relationship with Sam, her developing lycanthropic identity and the stress of negotiating the Boundary Woods wolfpack. Grace’s baking of scones not only invokes the imagery of nurturance and domesticity but the act of baking itself is a source of comfort. Grace’s performance of baking within Wolves of Mercy Falls reinforces the

226

complexity and contradictory nature of her character, and of contemporary understandings of femininity.

The conflict between traditional and contemporary conventions of femininity (and domesticity) are once again negotiated in Red Riding Hood through the lens of specific foodwork and food. The setting of the novel leads to the presence of more traditional representations of femininity and female sexuality. This can be seen in the ways domestic labour and foodwork are presented in the texts. Valerie’s inability to make scones, for example, contributes to her characterisation as resistant to traditional conventions of femininity. Her lack of domesticity is criticised by her mother, seen as detrimental to her future marriage and domestic life. At the same time, characters who engage in this traditional domesticity and baking (such as Suzette and Lucie) face negative consequences, including being attacked by the Wolf. Valerie’s resistance to traditional and conservative constructions of femininity contribute to her ability to outsmart and kill Cesaire/the Wolf, and in this way, Red Riding Hood engages in criticism of traditional constructions of femininity.

Representations of femininity are further complicated, however, through the text’s engagement with the well-established association of baking and baked goods with comfort and domesticity. This is seen most clearly in scenes featuring Valerie’s grandmother, which draw on both the traditional construction of femininity and domesticity as well as the symbolic and cultural associations between the grandmother figure and food. Valerie’s grandmother does not entirely adhere to constructions of traditional domesticity and maternity; she lives alone in the forest and is frequently considered by the townspeople to be a witch due to her use of herbs and natural medicines. Two separate scenes, however, reveal her connection to the domestic sphere and draw on the well-established associations of baking and comfort.

227

After the first Wolf attack, the grieving Valerie visits her grandmother. Stricken with guilt, Valerie believes that she is partially responsible for Lucie’s death, as she should have been with her sister the night of the attack. Valerie’s grandmother serves her a meal of stew and fresh-baked bread, claiming that ‘all sorrows are less with bread’

(Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 129), a turn of phrase that is part of Valerie’s family folklore, handed down from her grandmother’s grandmother. The grandmother’s feeding of Valerie draws on the understanding of ‘comfort food’ as not just a specific food item but a source of emotional support. Both the bread and the act itself provides security and a literal and figurative warmth for Valerie.

This construction of comfort food as emotionally and literally nourishing is again reinforced later in the narrative. After Suzette is attacked by the Wolf, Valerie’s grandmother temporarily moves into the family home. As Suzette is recovering and

Cesaire is drinking heavily, Valerie’s grandmother takes care of Valerie, including cooking meals for the two women. She bakes fresh bread to accompany the stews she makes, a source of literal and metaphorical warmth for Valerie’s emotional and physical coldness. Valerie notes that her grandmother ‘was more attuned to Valerie, to her needs and wants, than [Valerie] herself was’ (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 240).

Although traditional domesticity is frequently portrayed in Red Riding Hood as suffocating, the preparing and serving of meals, and the baking of bread in particular, still act as representations of warmth and security. Red Riding Hood reproduces the long-held social and cultural associations the act of baking and specific baked goods has with comfort.

Contemporary attitudes surrounding foodwork in general, and baking in particular, construct cooking and baking as sites for comfort, relaxation and self-improvement

(Brownlie & Hewer 2011; Casey 2018; Moore 2001). Baking is no longer seen as

228

entirely ‘part of the self-sacrificing nature of the domestic work of maintaining the status and prestige of the family’ (Casey 2018, p. 12). Rather, it is presented as

‘comforting’ (Lawson 2000, p. 242/6000) or a means of ‘unwinding’ (Moore 2001, p.

51). In her analysis of the television show Great British Bake-Off, for example, Casey

(2018, p. 14) argues that the show ‘embodies a range of feminist discourses, in particular of choice, diversity, personal pleasure and ‘being oneself’, but does so while simultaneously advancing conventional discourses and modes of domesticity and homemaking’. The representations of cooking and baking and the serving of baked goods in the texts similarly draw on a variety of discourses regarding femininity and domesticity.

Representations of foodwork within the texts studied expose the complex relationship contemporary society has with traditional femininity. These representations, however, are present within narratives that frequently critique or reinterpret these same associations and ideologies. The texts do not present entirely progressive nor conservative representations of femininity and female domesticity, instead reproducing the contemporary ambiguity regarding gender and the performance of femininity.

The Skinny-Glutton and the Double bind

Through representations of eating, impression management and food choices both Red

Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls reveal and contribute to the double bind of authenticity/effort and femininity. The emphasis on both Valerie and Grace’s appetites, the enthusiasm with which they consume food and their resistance to performing the impression management so common in young women reveal a resistance to traditional conventions of femininity and a reorientation of power. At the

229

same time, Valerie and Grace’s seemingly natural adherence to conventional feminine beauty norms reproduce contemporary trends of the ‘physically unembellished self’

(Nelson 2013, p. 112) as the ideal and emphasises the notion of ‘effortless’ beauty and femininity. Overall, therefore, both texts reproduce contemporary discord and tensions surrounding femininity and feminine beauty ideals.

The double bind surrounding beauty and authenticity present in contemporary society is not restricted to the performance of feminine beauty rituals. Contemporary beauty ideals regarding the female body are similarly beholden to a double bind. The gaining and maintenance of the ideal (thin) body shape is unachievable for most women without considerable effort. To reveal that effort, is to be considered superficial, vain or shallow while appearing to actively resist or critique this effort is frequently considered ideal behaviour (Davidauskis 2015; Gerstein 2013; Stein 2009).

Furthermore, due to the association of gustatory appetite with sexual appetite (and of food with sex), these representations of feminine hunger and consumption also act as representations of female sexual desire and pleasure. A woman who ‘eats like a normal person and enjoys food’ (Bans 2014, n.p.) is assumed to be friendly, popular and have a similarly healthy appetite for, and enjoy, sexual activity. To be the girl who ‘watches what she eats’ (Bans 2014, n.p.), conversely, who actively and publicly diets, is to be considered high-maintenance, shallow and sexually un-adventurous, due to concerns regarding her physical appearance and her lack of connection to sensory pleasure. This tension, or double bind, has contributed to the rise of a specific figure in pop culture and literature, the ‘skinny glutton’.

The skinny glutton is a female character in popular culture who eats large amounts of

(frequently unhealthy or ‘masculine’) food while simultaneously maintaining a thin figure seemingly effortlessly (Davidauskis 2015; Stein 2009). This figure speaks to

230

and of contemporary anxieties surrounding the beauty/authenticity double bind as it relates to the performance of femininity, feminine hunger (both gustatory and sexual) and the ideal female body. The skinny glutton character rejects the ‘conventional associations’ (Davidauskis 2015, p. 169) between femininity and food, such as dieting, dysfunctional eating and impression management when eating in public (such as ordering and eating small portions of food considered healthy). Simultaneously, however, the figure of the skinny glutton upholds the ideal female body and its presentation as effortlessly achieved. Davidauskis (2015, p. 172) notes that the skinny glutton character ‘do[es] not possess the body of one who eats fast food on a regular basis’, despite regularly indulging in high-fat ‘unhealthy’ meals. Stein (2009, n.p.) similarly argues that the figure of the skinny glutton fosters a ‘perverse kind of thinspiration that one can eat horribly and still meet Hollywood’s ideals’.

The skinny glutton appears to effortlessly adhere to contemporary ideals of beauty, unconcerned with or ignorant of the body work frequently required in the maintenance of these ideals. Representations of the skinny glutton, therefore, present female power and pleasure from within specific and rigid boundaries. In the texts studied, both Red

Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls contain skinny glutton figures, Valerie and

Grace Brisbane, who adhere to contemporary constructions of ideal feminine beauty with little concern and, at times, while actively criticising the effort other characters expend.

Grace Brisbane embodies the characteristics of the skinny glutton; she is critical of diets and diet culture; she has a large appetite and does not engage in impression management when eating in public. As discussed, she regularly bakes for her friends and family, cooks and eats ‘unhealthy’ meals, and criticises healthy eating. When Sam makes a breakfast of oatmeal for the couple, for example, Grace notes that she is not

231

‘thrilled by the prospect’ as she ‘had tried to make it before, and it had tasted very…healthy’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 192). Grace adheres to conventional ideals of feminine beauty, seemingly effortlessly and her femininity and beauty are presented as natural or innate.

The association between female gustatory and sexual appetite, and the construction of the skinny glutton as a sexually confident character trope are reinforced within Wolves of Mercy Falls through Grace. Grace acknowledges and engages with her sexual desire and pursues her own sexual pleasure. She frequently initiates sexual activity with Sam, has little (if any) shame or guilt regarding sex and negotiates her sexual desire and pleasure through her supernatural abilities such as her heightened sense of smell. As she does not engage in impression management in her food consumption, so too does she resist it in her sexual activity. Grace negotiates her sexual desire predominantly through identification with Sam’s supernatural abilities and her own repressed lycanthropy such as her heightened sense of smell. In Shiver, however, her sexual and gustatory appetites are explicitly connected when, watching Sam, she notes that

‘something gnawed inside [her], hungry and wanting’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 147).

Contemporary tension between the well-established constructions of femininity and female sexuality with the ways in which the supernatural romance acts as a space for representations of female sexuality are revealed and rehearsed through the narrative, however, through the comparison of Grace and Isabel. Grace is a character that recognises and indulges both her sexual and gustatory appetites, resisting well- established constructions of feminine restraint. Read in isolation, the character of

Grace can be seen as a positive representation of adolescent girls and femininity that resists the rigid constructions of feminine beauty while emphasising female sexual desire and pleasure. Representations of Isabel Culpeper and her relationship with both

232

her sexuality and diet, however, highlight the ambiguity surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood in the early twenty-first century.

The stereotypical femininity of Isabel Culpeper, as shown through her engagement with and performance of feminine beauty rituals and ideals, is further reinforced through her food choices and the impression management she engages in when eating in public. This is revealed in an early scene of Linger, when Isabel, Grace and Sam meet at a diner and order breakfast. Grace, unconcerned with the healthiness of her meals, requests ‘something that involves bacon’ (Stiefvater 2010, p. 45). Isabel, conversely, refuses to order any food:

Isabel just ordered coffee, taking a bag of granola out of her small leather

purse after the waitress had gone.

“Food allergy?” [Sam] asked.

“Hick allergy,” Isabel said. “Grease allergy. Where I used to live, we had real

coffee houses. When I say panini here, everyone says Bless you.”

Grace laughed […] “We’ll make a panini run to Duluth some day, Isabel.

Until then, bacon will do you good”.

Isabel made a face like she didn’t much agree with Grace. “If by good you

mean cellulite and zits, sure […]”. (Stiefvater 2010, p. 46)

Unlike Grace, Isabel is actively focused on her physical appearance and the potential negative effects that eating bacon and ‘grease’ could have on her body and skin. This is reinforced throughout the rest of the narrative; later in Linger, for example, she notes that she chose to run as her regular exercise for the physical effects it had on her body.

Similarly, in a scene where she orders pizza for herself and Grace, she ‘blotted her

233

pieces carefully with a paper towel’ (Stiefvater 2010, p. 195) to absorb the oil, while

Grace makes no alterations to her meal.

Isabel’s relationship with food, including the impression management she engages in, her criticism of the diner and her identification of ‘exotic’ foods draws not just from discourse on beauty, femininity and healthy but also class. Andrievskikh (2014, p. 144) argues that the eating of exotic foods ‘promises transformation into a more sophisticated, more experienced, and more powerful person’. Isabel’s attitudes to food reveal her self-image as sophisticated and experienced, while also making obvious the effort she must engage with to maintain her body shape. Isabel was identified early in

Shiver as a character who did not fit in the small town of Mercy Falls Minnesota, as evidenced through Grace mocking her choice of clothes and focus on her physical appearance.104 Throughout the series, Isabel critiques and mocks Mercy Falls in general, and the diner in particular. She regularly refers to it as a ‘hick diner’

(Stiefvater 2010, p. 48), for example, and acts surprised at the quality of coffee. She labels the food served there as lower class and unhealthy, as seen through her mock self-diagnosis of having a ‘hick’ and ‘grease’ (Stiefvater 2011, p. 46) allergy and joking reference to ordering a panini. This is reinforced in a later scene where she critiques a local Italian restaurant her parents enjoy as her and her family ‘were

Californians […] who should know a quality culinary experience when we see one’

(Stiefvater 2011, p. 124). Isabel separates herself from Mercy Falls not only through her clothing and beauty choices, but through her knowledge of food trends and cuisines.

104 Grace’s mocking of Isabel’s clothing and diet choices echoes McCallum and Stephens (2010, p. 367) argument that the ‘flaunting [of] taboo motifs [in children’s literature] may go no further than mocking the ways things are’.

234

When analysed together, representations of Grace Brisbane and Isabel Culpeper reveal the ambivalent relationship contemporary women often have with power and femininity. Grace Brisbane’s acknowledgement of her hunger, and her refusal to engage in impression management can be seen as a form of ‘feminist resistance’

(Davidauskis 2015, p. 183). At the same time, however, Grace’s construction as a skinny glutton figure reinforces the double bind of effort and femininity through her seemingly effortless adherence to normative conventions of feminine beauty. In comparison, Isabel exposes the ‘work’ of adhering to contemporary feminine beauty ideals, attributes which are simultaneously critiqued yet seen as expected.

Red Riding Hood similarly reproduces the double bind of authenticity and effort through representation of Valerie as a skinny glutton, and the comparison of Valerie’s diet to those of her friends. Valerie does not engage in feminine beauty rituals or impression management. As noted in the prologue she ‘really didn’t think of herself as pretty, or think about what she looked like, for that matter’ (Blakley-Cartwright

2011, p. 5). Throughout the text, Valerie is shown indulging in sensory and sensual pleasure over image maintenance and management, such as in scenes where she climbs trees, hides in beer barrels and uses a steel mallet to cool her face (leading to soot smears on her skin). By presenting Valerie as uninterested and unconcerned with her physical appearance, she avoids being labelled as vain or shallow. Valerie also, however, adheres to contemporary ideals of feminine beauty seemingly effortlessly; she is thin and conventionally attractive, with blonde hair and green eyes, and her appearance is described as unforgettable. Valerie is shown successfully negotiating the beauty/authenticity double bind, adhering to the unachievable standards of beauty while presenting the ‘physically unembellished self’ (Nelson 2013, p. 112) seen as ideal.

235

This negotiation is emphasised in one scene in the narrative, that highlights Valerie’s deviation from traditional norms regarding feminine impression management and eating alongside the reproduction of the skinny glutton trope. In this scene, Valerie and her friends are celebrating the recent harvest with a communal meal:

Valerie bit into the biggest chicken leg, her second. Prudence enviously

measured Valerie’s tiny waist with her two hands, her fingers touching. “It’s

not fair,” she said. (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, p. 56)

The large portion Valerie chooses, and the ‘masculine’ way in which she eats (that is, eating meat from the joint and with her hands) suggests she has a lack of concern regarding her physical appearance and impression management in relation to eating in public. This representation of Valerie reproduces tensions between social understandings of feminine ‘authenticity’ and effort. The amount of food Valerie consumes is directly compared to her body shape, with the character reproducing the contemporary criticism of and defiance surrounding the ‘conventional expectations surrounding hungry women’ (Davidauskis 2015, p. 183). That is, a larger body, through her extremely small waist. Her body shape is a source of envy for her friends, and it is implied that Valerie maintains this figure with little to no effort. Valerie is able to benefit from adhering to conventional beauty ideals while avoiding the criticism and mockery that frequently accompanies revealing the work undergone to maintain this adherence.

Valerie shows a similar unrestrained sexual appetite, recognising and pursuing her sexual desire and pleasure within her relationship with Peter. As Valerie has the ideal body shape (a ‘thin white body’ (Davidauskis 2015, p. 185)), her gustatory appetite is presented as empowering and appealing. She is not shown engaging in the impression

236

management common with feminine public eating, instead resisting the construction of feminine ‘daintiness’ and the small female appetite. Similarly, her sexual appetites are able to be presented as empowering, appealing and ‘acceptable’. This is reproduced in scenes featuring Valerie’s sexual activity, such as during their first kiss:

Valerie wanted to touch him so badly, to feel the beat of his heart, to know

that it was in there, that this was her Peter. Before he could stop her, she’d

swiftly wrapped her arm around him from behind and laid her hand to his

chest. She said, “Your heartbeat is so fast. I know you feel the same way.”

[…] He hesitated, struggling with his promise to her mother, and yet as

Valerie wrapped her cool arms around him, her fingers tangling in his hair,

he could not fight back. (Blakley-Cartwright 2011, pp. 195-196)

Valerie resists the construction of feminine daintiness and passivity through initiating the kiss and physical contact and recognising and identifying Peter’s own sexual arousal. Davidauskis (2015) argues that the skinny glutton trope rejects the cultural expectation of bodily monitoring and self-control. The skinny glutton figure instead recognises and validates ‘her own needs, desires, and drives’ (Davidauskis 2015, p.

169). Valerie similarly recognises, validates and acts on her drives, needs and desires, both sexual and gustatory, rejecting the cultural trope of the adolescent girl as a sexual subject.

Food, Sex and the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ Fairy Tale

Discourses on food and sexuality are frequently entwined and, as both Sceats (2000) and Daniel (2006) argue, it is difficult to extricate them from each other. Sceats (2000, p. 22) notes that the entanglement of food and sex is frequently present in literature and popular culture, ‘from images insinuating the fellatio of chocolate bars […] to the

237

almost routine comparison of breasts with fruits.’ The link is also made linguistically through the sexualisation of terms such as appetite, hunger, devour and consume

(Sceats 2000). As Daniel (2006) argues, representations of food in literature

(particularly children’s literature) often acts as representations of sexual activity, due to the overlapping of sensory and sensual pleasure in both acts. At the same time, representations of food, hunger and sexuality also act as sites for the exploration, reproduction and deconstruction of contemporary attitudes to femininity, the construction of the Other and female sexuality. This is particularly prevalent in texts that feature supernatural creatures with what Daniel (2006, p. 139) ‘abominable appetites’.

Monsters who eat ‘badly’, such as consuming humans or animals not considered food animals, remain ‘the mainstay of much grotesque-horror fiction aimed at both children and adults’ (Daniel 2006, p. 139). To disrupt the social order through representations of this incorrect eating is to reveal the constructed nature of the ‘food chain’ and the corporeality and vulnerability of the human body (Daniel 2006). These representations of consumption and the constriction of the body as vulnerable and edible is not restricted to the horror genre, however. As Douglas (2013, p. 244, 245) notes, ‘women are already [regularly] represented as edible’, and this edibility is ‘primarily a metaphor for sexual consumption’. Men, conversely, are represented and constructed as the ‘consumers, not the consumed’ (Douglas 2013, p. 246). This is a social construction frequently explored within the fairy tale tradition, a site in which representations of cannibalism or eating ‘badly’ (Daniel 2006, p. 139) are common and presented both literally and figuratively. Through the reproduction of the notion of ‘correct’ or ‘incorrect’ eating, the texts studied strengthen the threads between the contemporary supernatural romance and the fairy tale, rehearsing the well-established

238

cultural narratives surrounding monstrosity, the supernatural and eating and using these narratives as lenses through which to examine adolescent female sexuality.

All the Better to Eat You With: The Edible Adolescent

The texts studied in this thesis have an explicit relationship with the fairy tale tradition through their reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom and ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tales. The fairy tale tradition has a long history of what Daniel (2006, p. 145) refers to as ‘monstrous eating’; stories featuring ogres, wolves, monsters and giants catching and eating children. Zipes (1993) and Orenstein (2002) argue that the presence of these monsters began as a reaction to the material reality of pre-modern

Europe, where famine, animal attacks, child abandonment and ‘lycanthropy’ were common.105 In medieval Europe, ‘[l]ittle children were attacked and killed by animals and grown-ups in the woods and fields’ (Zipes 1993, p. 23). As a result, oral folk tales and stories frequently featured stories of ogres, werewolves or monsters attacking children, ‘to show how dangerous it could be for children to talk to strangers in the woods’ (Zipes 1993, p. 19). This included early variants of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’,

(such as ‘The Grandmother’s Tale’) which often featured a werewolf’s confrontation and consumption of the young female character.

In the seventeenth-century transition from oral folktales to literary fairy tales, authors such as Perrault transformed the literal wolf into a metaphor. As Daniel (2006, p. 157) notes, the ‘real wolves’ that were the danger in pre-modern Europe ‘have since become a metaphor’ for a different danger facing children and young women. More specifically, the threat of literal consumption by the wolf in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’

105 In 16th and 17th century Europe there was an increase in werewolf trials, with men charged with attacking and killing children and young women, cannibalism, stealing livestock and incest (Orenstein 2002; Zipes 1993). Rumpf (cited in Zipes 1993) notes that oral variants of Little Red Riding Hood were developed in regions where werewolf trials were common.

239

retellings are now the threat of metaphorical consumption, through sexual assault and violence. Tension between this real and metaphorical consumption can be seen in the texts studied in this thesis. Low Red Moon, Wolves of Mercy Falls and Sisters Red each present the female characters as literally or metaphorically ‘edible’, and associate wolf attacks with sexual violence, in varying ways.

Of the texts studied in this thesis, Sisters Red contains the most literal constructions of women as edible, with the Fenris killing and eating their victims and the Fenris attacks discussed almost entirely using the language of food and consumption. Sisters Red also draws from the tradition of the wolf attacks in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ acting as representations of sexual violence, with the Fenris’ literal consumption of their victims also acting as a figurative representation of sexual assault. Sisters Red clearly continues the tradition of retelling ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ as a cautionary tale of sexual violence and commentary on female culpability regarding sexual violence.

The Fenris hunt and kill young women for food, eating most of their victims and leaving only ‘a small piece of the victim’ (Pearce 2010, p. 170) for discovery. Scarlett refers to the Fenris specifically eating young women’s hearts, a distinct act of exophagy that could be interpreted as a display of power.106 Aside from this one reference, however, this act is not discussed or depicted in the narrative.

Representations of the attacks echo the ‘explicitly gastronomic’ and ‘implicitly carnal’

(Daniel 2006, p. 155) wolf attack present in ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ retellings. These associations are introduced in the prologue through the representation of the first attack:

106 Exophagy, or ‘aggressive cannibalism’ (Daniel 2006, p. 142) refers to cannibalism outside of one’s social group.

240

The older sister twirled […], pretending not to study [the Fenris] as her party

dress bloomed like a red mushroom around her. As the man watched her, his

smile faded. His eyes grew dark, his smile more forced, and he licked his lips

in a way that made the older sister’s stomach tighten. (Pearce 2010, p. 2)

The Fenris reveals what Daniel (2006, p. 161) refers to as ‘an uncontrolled appetite for the wrong thing’, that is, a sexual attraction to the eleven-year-old-Scarlett. This is shown through descriptions of his smile becoming forced and the act of licking his lips, which can be interpreted as indicative of both gustatory hunger and sexual arousal. As Warner (2007, p. 386) argues, ‘pedophiles are our late millennial ogres’, and by representing the Fenris as having an ‘uncontrolled appetite’ (Daniel 2006, p.

161) for the young Scarlett, their identity as literal and figurative monsters is cemented early in the narrative.

Throughout Sisters Red, the Fenris’ hunger is further connected to their monstrosity and narratives of sexual violence. They are described as wanting to ‘devour’ their victims, and Scarlett notes that ‘it’s hunger their eyes are lit with’ (Pearce 2010, p. 10,

11) when they hunt their victims. This connection is emphasised in an early scene where Scarlett is on a solo hunt:

He’s fighting the transformation, but his hunger is winning—I can feel it

somehow. His bloodlust hangs in the air like a fog. He wants to tear me apart,

to dig his teeth into my throat. I stop, allowing the hood [of my cloak] to slip

down and my curls to wave in the breeze. I hear him groan with disgusting

delight. (Pearce 2010, p. 15)

The Fenris’ hunger is sexualised and presented as uncontrollable, the result of his talking to Scarlett who had lured him in as a ‘lost teenage girl’, a figure that ‘get[s]

241

their blood pumping’ (Pearce 2010, p. 10). This is similar to the scenes discussed in previous chapters, where Fenris had to hide their transformations which were triggered by the presence of Rosie and Scarlett. The representation of the Fenris attacks as both a gustatory and sexual consumption invites both discussion of female culpability in sexual assault and the representation of the female characters as edible, or as food for the Fenris.

The comparison of the female victim to food is reinforced through the hunters’ construction of themselves and the female Fenris victims. Silas, for example, explicitly constructs the female body as edible when discussing hunting strategies with Rosie and Scarlett. He notes that the trio have been unsuccessful in their Atlanta hunts as the

Fenris are ‘practically living on a buffet table’ (Pearce 2010, p.122) due to the high population of young women. Silas considers the female body as edible and dehumanises women through constructing them as passive food items, served to the

Fenris on a metaphorical buffet table. Silas’ solution to this ‘buffet’ is for Scarlett and

Rosie to ‘[b]e the dessert’ (Pearce 2010, p. 122), presenting themselves as more appetising and appealing for the Fenris. In this comparison, Silas acknowledges the active role of the Fenris while constructing Scarlett and Rosie as passive and edible.

Later in the narrative, however, the construction of potential Fenris victims (other than

Rosie and Scarlett) draws on well-established and conservative constructions of female sexuality.

Sisters Red reproduces traditional and conservative attitudes surrounding female culpability in sexual assault, even though the Fenris become uncontrollable monsters when infected, losing their humanity and relying solely on animal instinct. This is clearly demonstrated in a scene where Scarlett is hunting Fenris while in Atlanta, observing a strip of bars and nightclubs. She is irritated by the nearby ‘Dragonfly

242

girls’, whose behaviour she believes is inadvertently luring Fenris and placing them in danger. Scarlett compares their laughter and flirtation with the nightclub’s bouncer to

‘some baby animal bleating [their] fool head off’ (Pearce 2010, p. 115). The dragonflies are both infantilised and dehumanised, while Scarlett highlights the

Fenris/human relationship as that of predator and prey. The argument that the female characters and Fenris victims are responsible for their safety is also emphasised; it is their ‘fool’ behaviour that draws the Fenris to them.

In this scene, Silas ‘pointedly’ notes that it seems as if the Dragonflies are ‘trying to be eaten’, observing the Dragonflies with ‘something between disgust and intrigue’

(Pearce 2010, p. 116). He questions whether the Dragonflies would ‘dress and act like that’ (Pearce 2010, p. 116) (that is, dressing in revealing clothes, drinking heavily and walking alone while intoxicated) if they knew it was luring Fenris. Through their comments, both Scarlett and Silas reveal the ambivalent relationship they have with the women they protect from the Fenris. The Dragonflies are considered innocent victims, helpless when faced with the uncontrollable, supernaturally strong Fenris.

Silas’ statement that they would not ‘dress and act like that [emphasis added]’ (Pearce

2010, p. 116), and Scarlett’s comparison of the Dragonflies to foolish baby animals, however, reveal the responsibility women must assume in protecting themselves from sexual assault.

Contemporary narratives regarding female responsibility for male sexuality are reproduced through Silas’ questioning and criticism of these Dragonfly girls. Silas is at once critical of and intrigued by the Dragonflies’ overt engagement with their femininity and sexuality. His relief that the March sisters are not ‘like them’ (Pearce

2010, p. 116) reinforces the binary of good/bad female sexual behaviour (that was introduced in discussions of the March mother). Simultaneously, his attitude

243

reproduces the narrative of women being responsible for not only their own sexuality but also for the controlling of what Rahimi (2009, p. 518) refers to as male ‘sexual behavior and perceptions’. Silas’ question regarding the Dragonflies’ choice of clothes highlights his belief that, given the knowledge of Fenris, the women would alter their dress and behaviour. This draws on contemporary myths surrounding women and sexual assault, particularly that rape is a ‘cautionary tale’ of ‘what could happen when women are incautious or unguarded’ (Ryan 2011, p. 775). This lack of caution can include wearing revealing clothes, being drunk in public and being unaware of your surroundings, as the Dragonflies were doing.

Citing Angela Carter’s reinterpretation of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, Daniel (2006 p.

157) argues that the contemporary wolves have become ‘hairy on the inside’, that is, metaphorical rather than literal monsters. The threat of consumption by the wolf has become a ‘metaphor for rape’ (Daniel 2006, p. 157) rather than the literal consumption that may have been present in older retellings of fairy tales such as ‘Little Red Riding

Hood’. Sisters Red draws on both interpretations of the wolf character in representations of the Fenris. The Fenris are both metaphorically and literally monstrous, hairy on both the inside and outside. Their attacks are both representations of sexual assault and literal violent attacks and consumption of young women. Sisters

Red therefore reveals an amalgamation of traditional and contemporary fears surrounding girls regarding sexual violence and assault.

Wolves of Mercy Falls similarly presents female characters, specifically Grace, as

‘edible’ objects. For Grace, this edibility is portrayed through both her scent and her interactions with the wolves. This construction directly contests her presentation as the skinny glutton figure. The skinny glutton character trope reinterprets feminine hunger and presents the character as an active subject. Grace’s naturally occurring scent of

244

butter, flour, sugar and salt, however, constructs her as a literal edible object and links her to the domestic sphere through its association with baking and baked goods.

Analysis of Grace’s ‘edibility’, when considered alongside representations of her scent, her engagement with domestic labour and feminine beauty rituals and her sexuality reveals a complex female character that resists stereotypes regarding the adolescent girl and her experience of girlhood.

The prologue of Shiver that describes the wolf attack in Grace’s childhood that infected her with lycanthropy and created her connection with Sam also introduces her literal and figurative ‘edibility’ through mentioning her scent. Grace was dragged from her backyard by the pack during what Sam referred to as the ‘longest, coldest winter of

[his] life’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 2). The pack had moved to the edges of Boundary Wood to search for food as their hunger, an ‘insatiable master’ had ‘burned and gnawed’

(Stiefvater 2009, p. 2) at them, forcing them to scavenge for food in nearby houses.

Sam’s description of Grace’s scent in this scene can be interpreted as both a contributing element to Sam’s transformation (as discussed in the previous chapter) as well as what lured the pack to the Brisbane’s back yard. Grace’s scent is of high calorie foodstuffs that would be extremely desirable during times of hunger. As a small child,

Grace is presented as ‘easy food’ for the wolves to drag into the woods particularly as she is extremely passive during the attack (potentially due to shock).

Grace is again presented as edible due to her scent later in Shiver in a scene that not only sexualises Grace’s ‘edibility’ but reinforces her seemingly inherent location in the domestic sphere. Grace invites Isabel to the Brisbane home to discuss her brother’s lycanthropy, and makes quiche for herself, Sam and Isabel, including pastry made from scratch. In the baking process, Grace gets covered in flour, and Sam describes her as ‘so entirely edible that [he] ached with wanting to be alone with her, here now’

245

(Stiefvater 2009, p. 264). Grace is both metaphorically and literally presented as food; she is covered in flour and smells of pastry, and is a source of sexual arousal for Sam.

Her connection to traditional femininity is emphasised through her association with the domestic sphere, At the same time, Grace herself is described as ‘drunk with

[Sam’s] presence’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 264) in this scene, acknowledging and accepting her desire for Sam and reinforcing her role as an active sexual subject.

Grace’s relationship with food and eating reveals an ambiguity regarding female sexuality, femininity and domesticity. Grace is an edible object for Sam to literally and metaphorically consume, a source of food for his wolf pack and a sexualised (and flour-covered) figure. Grace is also an active eater and sexual subject; she resists being constructed as entirely passive through her enthusiasm for food and her recognition of her own appetite. Further complicating her representation, however, is the characterisation of Grace as a ‘skinny glutton’ figure. This characterisation reinforces contemporary tensions regarding adolescent girls, femininity and sexuality through presenting Grace as adhering to traditional feminine beauty ideals seemingly naturally.

Grace is a complex female figure, and, throughout Wolves of Mercy Falls, she resists being presented as the ‘stereotypical’ adolescent female character so commonly associated with the supernatural romance and texts aimed at an adolescent audience.

Representations of the ‘edibility’ of Avery Hood similarly and more explicitly draw on contemporary and progressive constructions of adolescent female sexuality, focusing on and emphasising both Avery’s sexual desire and pleasure. Despite the explicit references to ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and discussions surrounding the danger of Ben losing control, sexual and gustatory appetites are rarely connected in the narrative. There is only one clear instance where Avery is constructed or referred to as

‘edible’. Even in this scene, however, Avery’s edibility is connected to her own

246

sexuality and sexual pleasure, as it is negotiated through the psychic connection the couple share.

In this scene, Ben and Avery meet secretly before Avery leaves Woodlake with her grandmother and goes into hiding from the (as yet undiscovered) murderer of her parents. The supernatural connection the couple share will be cut off once Avery leaves, and she ‘feels’ Ben’s anxiety regarding this break as well as his memories regarding the kiss they shared the night before:

He needed me, and his thoughts were full of want, of wishing he’d come to

me last night instead of running off. And under that, beside it, was fear. Fear

that I’d never come back. That he’d lose me. That all he’d have left were

memories of me, of how I looked, smelled. Tasted. How I’d craved him that

night in my parents’ house, in the woods, and then last night. (Devlin 2009,

p.p. 206-207)

Both Avery and Ben are presented as ‘edible’, disrupting the construction of women as edible and men as consumer. Avery is an object for Ben to ‘taste’ (Devlin 2009, p.

207) (a description that invokes sexual imagery alongside the construction of Avery as a literal edible object). At the same time, she is a sexually active figure who ‘craves’ her boyfriend, her sexual and gustatory appetites combining to present her as an active figure.

Red Riding Hood’s sexualised consumption by the wolf is revised and reinterpreted in numerous ways in Low Red Moon, Wolves of Mercy Falls and Sisters Red. While the female characters are at times constructed as edible, the texts vary in how this edibility is portrayed. The sexualised edibility of the Dragonfly girls draws on narratives of sexual violence and female culpability in assaults, for example, while Avery and

247

Grace’s ‘edibility’ reveal multiple interpretations of the tension between traditional and progressive representations of femininity and female sexuality. The adolescent girl is an edible figure whose edibility is both critiqued and praised. At the same time, these edible figures identify and engage with their own sexual and gustatory hunger in overall positive ways.

Abominable Appetites: Sex, Hunger and Shelby

In contemporary attitudes to women and female sexuality, the conflation of sexual and gustatory appetite is common (as seen in my discussion of the skinny glutton figure).

Stein (2009) Williams (2011) and Davidauskis (2015), for example, have all analysed the ways in which mainstream media frequently rely on the association of sexuality and food in discussions of female celebrities. These sexual images are only deemed

‘positive’ or desirable, however, when they are performed by women who are otherwise ‘acceptably’ feminine. For women who deviate from traditional femininity, who do not meet the ideal body shape or who eat incorrectly or in an unacceptable way, their appetites are seen as monstrous and inappropriate. In Wolves of Mercy Falls,

Shelby is characterised as having both a monstrous or inappropriate sexual and gustatory appetite, negotiating her hunger(s) ‘incorrectly’. The series draws on anxieties surrounding adolescent girls as uncontrollable and dangerous.

Representations of Shelby are derived from the ‘traditional’ construction of the female werewolf as symbolic of the monstrous Other. Shelby confirms ‘patriarchy’s worst fears’ (Pulliam 2014, p. 73) about the natural monstrosity of women. This fear is reinforced through the construction and conflation of Shelby’s monstrous appetites.

Her sexual and gustatory appetites overlap, and she engages with and performs them

‘incorrectly’, due in part to her lycanthropy. Shelby’s romantic and potentially sexual interest in Sam, for example, is constructed in the series as an unhealthy obsession.

248

Sam dismisses Shelby’s feelings for him, claiming that she merely ‘thinks she’s in love with [him]’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 149) as she believes it will help her belong to the wolf pack more firmly. Her ‘obsession’ (Stiefvater 2009, p. 149) with Sam, therefore, is deemed an inappropriate one, particularly in comparison to Grace’s own self- described obsession, which is presented as true or real love.

In Wolves of Mercy Falls the boundaries of ‘correct’ or appropriate gender, sexuality and agency are explored through Shelby’s unrestrained appetites. These transgressive acts, however, depend on the presence of normative gender and sexuality (or, as

McCallum and Stephens (2010, p. 370) note, ‘transgression often implies, or even depends on, the strategies that contain it’). Pulliam (2014, p. 20) argues that representations of female lycanthropy provides a ‘coded exploration of issues of gender, sexuality and agency’, with anxieties towards lycanthropic characters representative of contemporary anxieties regarding adolescent girls and girlhood. In exposing and exploring these boundaries, however, Wolves of Mercy Falls ultimately reproduces them, in their characterisation of Shelby as a villain.

Shelby is presented throughout Wolves of Mercy Falls as Grace’s rival due to her unrequited romantic love for Sam. Shelby’s intimidation of and physical attacks on

Grace (such as Shelby scent marking the Brisbane home, and in Shiver where she attacks Grace in her home) are due to jealousy over Grace and Sam’s relationship. In one of the earliest scenes featuring Shelby, food and hunger act as representations of this jealousy and her relationship with Grace. Shelby appears in the Brisbane backyard when Grace is sitting with Sam (in his wolf form), after bringing him extra cuts of raw beef from her meal preparations. Sam, recognising Shelby as a threat to both Grace and the meat, pushes Grace back into her home:

249

As soon as I was inside, the white wolf darted forward and snatched the piece

of meat I’d dropped. Though my wolf was nearest to her and the most

obvious threat for food, it was me her eyes found, on the other side of the

glass door. (Stiefvater 2009, p. 21)

It is only a few hours after this event that Shelby begins scent marking the Brisbane home. Shelby’s embracing of her primal instincts overlaps with her obsession with

Sam and her dislike of Grace in this scene. By maintaining eye contact with Grace,

Shelby acknowledges Grace, not Sam as her main threat and exposes her connection to her human emotions and her relationship with Sam. At the same time, her stealing of the food is the result of her animal instincts, revealing her embracing of her animal or supernatural identity, or her ‘Other’ self’. Later in Shiver, for example, Grace’s mother notes that animals had been stealing food from the garbage bags left on the deck, and Grace and Sam believe it to be Shelby. As with her scent marking, Shelby is the only wolf of the main wolf pack portrayed eating discarded food scraps and garbage, emphasising her closer connection to the animal rather than human world, as well as her monstrosity.

Shelby combines her ‘incorrect’ sexuality and her supernatural or animal associations with food in a scene where Shelby reveals her scars to Sam, presented in flashback form:

“Would you like to see my scars? […] From when I was attacked. From the

wolves.”

“No.”

She showed me anyway. Her belly was lumpy with scar tissue that

disappeared under her bra. “It looked like hamburger after they bit me.”

250

I didn’t want to know.

Shelby didn’t pull her shirt back down. “It must be hell when we kill

something. We must be the worst way to die”. (Stiefvater 2009, p. 233)

In this scene, Shelby (in her human form) embraces the violence of the wolves’ attack on her, constructs herself as both an edible object and active consumer and sexualises her attack through revealing her body to Sam. Her sexuality is constructed as

‘inappropriate’ as she ignores Sam’s refusal to look at her body, which she compares to food for the wolves (in this case, minced beef). In Wolves of Mercy Falls, Shelby eats ‘badly’ or incorrectly; she steals discarded food to both feed herself and intimidate

Grace. Her sexuality is also represented as ‘incorrect’ or inappropriate, through her obsession with Sam and her refusal to acknowledge his resistance. She displays, therefore, an ‘abominable appetite’ (Daniel 2006, p. 141).

Conclusion

Drawing on the well-established cultural associations between food, gender and sexuality, the corpus at times resisted and at times reaffirmed both conservative and progressive conventions of femininity and female sexuality, reproducing the contemporary anxiety towards adolescent girls and girlhood. This chapter argues that the immense social and cultural importance food, feasting and meals have within society provided unique opportunities for this resistance and reaffirmation. This was strengthened by the historical importance of food and feasting within both children’s literature and the literary fairy tale, genres which the contemporary supernatural romance connects to via the romance web. The interactions between femininity, food and feasting in the texts reinforce my argument that the contemporary supernatural romance is a genre of nuance and contradiction, rather than the superficial ‘froth’ it is stereotyped as.

251

Representations of food, feasting and food preparation are frequently associated with the feminine and maternal. In previous chapters, I argued that normative conventions of femininity, particularly in relation to domesticity and domestic labour, are ultimately reproduced within the texts studied. These conventions are further reinforced through representations of specific foodstuffs and food preparation. More specifically, scenes of baking and representations of baked goods invoke nostalgia for an idealised femininity and reproduce the association of femininity with the domestic sphere.

Both Red Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls reproduce the uncertainty surrounding femininity and feminine beauty in the early twenty-first century through the presence of the skinny glutton character trope. I argue that by invoking this specific character trope, both texts reproduce the double bind of beauty and authenticity present in contemporary society. Grace and Valerie’s ability to eat large amounts of food, their lack of impression management and their maintenance of an ideal body type with little

(if any) visible effort reinforces both contemporary feminine beauty ideals and the belief that to make a visible effort regarding one’s appearance, is worthy of criticism and indicative of misplaced priorities. This narrative is complicated, however, by the skinny glutton character trope also providing narrative opportunity for representations of female sexual desire through the association of sexual and gustatory appetites. I argue that Valerie and Grace’s gustatory appetites represent their sexual appetites in the texts, allowing for representations of characters who acknowledged and explored their own sexual desires and pleasure.

This complexity is also present in the texts’ relationship with and reinterpretation of the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ fairy tale, particularly the construction of the female characters as literally and figuratively edible, and the ‘abominable appetites’ (Daniel

252

2006, p. 139) of the wolf characters. The ambiguity surrounding constructions of adolescent girls as at once vulnerable and out of control is rehearsed in the texts studied. The ‘edibility’ of the female characters in Sisters Red, Red Riding Hood and

Wolves of Mercy Falls not only draw on the well-established sexualised consumption of Red Riding Hood by the wolf, but also reproduces the construction of the characters as passive sexual (and edible) objects. Shelby’s gustatory and sexual hunger in Wolves of Mercy Falls, conversely, resist the labelling of the adolescent girl as passive and edible, instead drawing on traditional horror tropes regarding the out of control adolescent girl, and anxieties surrounding female sexual subjectivity.

In the following and final chapter, I conclude my thesis by exploring how the representations of femininity and female sexuality in the texts reveal, reinterpret and reproduce contemporary ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood. I assess the multiple ways in which the texts studied, as part of the contemporary supernatural romance genre, resist the stereotypes of the romance novel and feminine text as superficial texts that merely reproduce the well-established and conservative conventions of femininity and female sexuality. I argue for the locating of the texts within a broad and dynamic genre that provides multiple representations of femininity, female sexuality and heterosexual relationships, echoing contemporary attitudes regarding women and womanhood.

253

Conclusion

The romance genre is often described as active and dynamic. Kamblé (2014p. 157), for example, refers to the romance as ‘[a]n evolving organism’, while Crawford (2014) argues that the genre has a natural adaptability. This adaptability allows the genre to be ‘consistently’ adjusted to environmental changes on both the ‘macro level (such as tectonic shifts in economic systems) and the micro level (such as reader preferences for a particular concept like the paranormal)’ (Kamblé 2014, p. 157). Kamblé’s (2014, p. 157) comment regarding ‘reader preferences’ for the paranormal acknowledges the ways in which the sub-genre ‘hooked into’ (Gelder 2004, p. 7) popular culture in the

2000s and 2010s and had an impact on popular culture and literature that cannot be ignored. This impact was as varied as influencing romance novel cover art, changing literary trends, and influencing mainstream discourse on the female reader, feminine texts and the concept of the ‘guilty pleasure’. The simultaneous popularity of the supernatural romance alongside the multiple negative critical responses, its location within a larger ‘web’ of literature and the explicit and implicit relationship with the fairy tale tradition reveal a genre that should be recognised as part of a larger history of social and cultural commentary, examination, resistance and reproduction.

At the time of writing, however, the domination of the supernatural romance within mainstream literature has plateaued, if not diminished. The Retold Fairy Tales series

(of which Sisters Red was the premiere novel), as well as the sequel to Low Red Moon

(Moonrise), for example, were both cancelled due to poor sales (Pearce). Trends in popular culture, YA literature and romance have moved beyond the supernatural romance, with sub-genres such as post-apocalyptic fiction, ‘sick-lit’ (texts with narratives that feature chronically or terminally-ill characters) and horror experiencing

254

popularity or revivals.107 In studying the supernatural romance after its peak in popularity, however, I am able to more clearly examine the genre in relation to the greater romance (and popular culture) web, as well as theorise potential avenues for further research.

Over the course of this thesis I have examined representations of femininity and female sexuality within a selection of contemporary supernatural romance novels. A central aim was to argue for the supernatural romance as a site of cultural criticism, examination and commentary, contesting the stereotypes surrounding the genre. Using an analytical approach that incorporated both literary and cultural studies, this thesis argued that contemporary supernatural romance genre is a site in which complex and contradictory negotiations and examination of adolescent girls and girlhood take place.

I argued that the texts studied exposed and rehearsed the contemporary ambivalence and attitudes surrounding (and at times experienced by) adolescent girls. These texts do not merely reproduce and affirm the well-established normative conventions of femininity and female sexuality, but also adapt and resist them. My analysis provided new insights into the contemporary supernatural romance that support and complement existing scholarship on the genre. In this concluding chapter, I discuss both the findings of my research and suggest potential avenues for future investigation.

This thesis began with examination of the literary and cultural context of the contemporary supernatural romance (chapters one and two). This context spans centuries, genres and literary forms, revealing a connection to a larger literary history that is frequently overlooked in discussion of the genre. My examination of the history

107 In May 2020, Twilight author Stephenie Meyer announced that Midnight Sun, her reworking of the first novel in the Twilight series written from the perspective of Edward Cullen, was being released in August 2020. This was after a twelve-year hiatus Meyer took from the series after early chapters of Midnight Sun were leaked online and contributed to a revived interest in Twilight.

255

and context of the supernatural romance (chapter one) therefore was a similarly expansive examination of the romance. I traced the history of genre through medieval chivalric romances, the literary fairy tale, seventeenth and eighteenth-century amatory fiction, the twentieth century romance and the genre’s temporary decline and replacement with chick lit. In conducting this examination of the romance genre, I was able to provide a history of both the genre and its identity as a site for cultural commentary, criticism, adaptation and reproduction. Part of this critical evaluation of the genre was my conceptualisation of a ‘romance web’. The romance web is an adaptation of Bacchilega’s (2013, p. 443/6168) ‘fairy tale web’, a method of reading and analysis that acknowledges the ways in which the development of a literary genre is non-linear and deeply connected to its social and cultural context, as well as to other genres.

The romance web consists of multiple interwoven strands, linking genres such as the literary fairy tale to gothic fiction, chick lit and the bodice ripper. Having provided a discussion of the broad history and context of the romance genre, in chapter two I was then able to examine the development of one specific genre to which the texts studied belong, the supernatural romance. Crawford (2014) argues that the decline in popularity and dominance of the medieval romance led to the unravelling of the supernatural and the romance from mainstream popular literature. However, the development of the supernatural romance as it is recognised today, in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, saw the re-entanglement of ‘stories of love and the supernatural’ (Crawford 2014, p. 13).

This examination demonstrated how the contemporary supernatural romance contains and negotiates elements of older and more contemporary conventions from within the romance web, such as the literary importance of domesticity (from the gothic novel)

256

to the centring of female sexual desire, present in the contemporary romance. In chapter two, I examined the ways in which the (re)introduction of elements of the supernatural and enchantment created distinct narrative spaces for the exploration of contemporary women’s anxieties regarding femininity, sexuality and sexual activity, and (heterosexual) relationships. I could then locate the contemporary supernatural romance within a distinct and well-established history and framework that emphasises the genre’s role as a source of cultural commentary and examination.

The emergence of mass culture criticism in the eighteenth and nineteenth century saw the development of arguments (described as ‘common sense’ arguments by Hollows

(2000, p. 70)) regarding the feminine text that are present in mainstream discussion of the female author and reader. This includes dismissal of texts aimed at a female audience as shallow and overly focused on emotion. As Frantz and Selinger (2014) and Bode (2010) both argue, a text or genre’s association with female authors and writers leads to criticism and dismissal. By locating the supernatural romance within a larger web of literature and culture, however, its identity as a site for cultural commentary, adaptation and criticism is highlighted.

Analysis of the texts themselves began in chapter three with a critical investigation of the presence of the supernatural and its relationship with the texts’ representations of adolescent female sexuality and sexual activity. The intensity of the presence of the supernatural varies in each text, drawing on its location within the contemporary supernatural romance sub-genre (which itself draws on both the gothic and horror genres) as well as their connection to the fairy tale tradition. At the same time, I assert that the presence of the supernatural and enchantment can also lead to the reinforcing of these normative conventions, providing conflicted and contradictory representations of female sexuality, sexual desire and pleasure. By investigating the

257

ways in which representations of the supernatural reproduce and resist these conventions, this study demonstrated the tension and complexity present within the contemporary supernatural romance.

One of the most common stereotypes regarding the supernatural romance (and the greater romance genre) is that it reproduces conservative ideologies of female sexuality. This reproduction includes reinforcement of discourses of female vulnerability and the risk and danger surrounding sexual activity and desire, as well as the construction of male character and male sexuality as inherently dangerous (or beastly). As discussed, criticism of the supernatural romance, particularly Twilight, mentioned concerns regarding the potentially-negative influence the genre would have on female readers (Wilson 2011), the genre’s potential as a ‘gateway novel’ to the traditional romance genre (Henke 2008) and the reproduction of conservative and regressive representations of heterosexual adolescent relationships (Diamond 2011).

These attitudes drew on the well-established negativity surrounding both the greater romance genre and the feminine text.

Analysis of the texts studied, however, revealed that the narratives centred and emphasised female sexual desire and pleasure, presenting female characters who were active and confident sexual subjects. This was made possible and supported by the reinterpretation and revision of the animal bridegroom narrative within the texts. In this section, the work of Diamond (2011) was especially useful, providing a foundation on which to base my own analysis and exploration. Diamond (2011) argues that

Twilight reinterprets the animal bridegroom tale to reveal and address a complex fantasy for adolescent girls. That is, how to have and pursue sexual desire and pleasure within an environment that does not critique or punish adolescent female sexuality. I

258

developed this argument, drawing conclusions about the supernatural romance through analysis of the texts studied, rather than exclusively Twilight.

Within the corpus the relationship between the heroine and her supernatural boyfriend revises the confrontation and taming of male sexuality present in the traditional animal bridegroom narrative. The heroine accesses sexual desire and pleasure in ways unavailable to ‘real’ adolescent girls through identification with the ‘beastly’ or wild identities and sexualities of their supernatural boyfriends. Within the narratives, this is achieved in various ways: while Sisters Red and Red Riding Hood provide more ambiguous representations of sexuality and supernatural identification, emphasising the potential danger of a human/wolf relationship, Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red

Moon embrace the potential for a ‘wild’ or beastly female sexuality. The reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom tale partially removes the narratives from the ‘real world’ in which adolescent female sexuality is treated with ambivalence.

Simultaneously, through identification with a supernatural being, the heroines are removing themselves from contemporary expectations regarding female sexuality and sexual activity and can draw on the well-established narratives of lycanthropy and sexuality. As a result, the texts reveal alternative (albeit fantasy) representations of adolescent female sexuality that negotiate the complex fantasy and anxieties regarding adolescent girls, their sexual desire and pleasure.

Concurrent with these positive representations of adolescent female sexuality, however, were ways in which the supernatural presence also reinforces normative constructions of heterosexuality. This contradiction complicates the narratives’ superficially progressive representations of female sexuality and sexual activity. In presenting these narratives, the texts reveal and reproduce the contemporary

259

ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood, specifically attitudes surrounding adolescent female sexuality.

Central to this analysis were examinations of representations of sexuality in contemporary YA media by Kelly (2009) and Seifert (2015). Within the texts, the presence of the ‘management script’ of heterosexual sexuality revealed the ways in which progressive and conservative representations of sexuality existed in the narratives (Kelly 2009, p. 482). While female sexual activity, sexual desire and pleasure are presented in a primarily progressive way, and without the anxieties surrounding the at-risk girl figure, these representations are primarily constrained by the notion that they must be ‘managed’ and performed correctly. The positive representations of Grace Brisbane and Avery Hood’s sexual desire and activity, for example, are made possible only through their adherence to ‘appropriate’ heterosexuality and romantic relationships. This is analysed through my development of Seifert’s (2015) concept of pseudovirginity into the concept of the pseudo-marriage, providing a ‘progressive’ solution to a traditional or conservative issue.

The narratives reveal the ambiguity and tensions surrounding adolescent female sexuality and sexual activity. While female sexuality and sexual desire are centred, if not encouraged, in the texts, this encouragement is reliant on the presence of relationships that adhere to the management script of sexuality and are legitimised through the pseudo-marriage. In this way the texts feature both progressive and conservative ideologies of female sexuality, and in doing so reveal and ultimately reproduce the ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood.

This ambivalence is further exposed in the texts’ representations of domesticity and domestic labour, examined in chapter four. An aim of this thesis was to explore the

260

ways in which the contemporary supernatural romance was a site in which multiple conventions of femininity and female sexuality, both progressive and conservative, were exposed, resisted and even reaffirmed. Building on arguments regarding both the romance and literature aimed at adolescents as sites of contemporaneous disruption and conformity as well as contradiction and complexity, my analysis of representations of domesticity and domestic labour suggests that while attitudes surrounding adolescent female sexuality have changed over the past decades, rigid boundaries remain in place regarding femininity and the performance of gender norms. This draws on arguments made by Younger (2003), Crisp (2009) and Stein (2012)—that narratives featuring progressive representations of adolescent female sexuality will often also feature conservative or traditional representations of femininity.

Integral to this analysis was the exploration of how the domestic sphere and domestic labour were represented in the narratives. Drawing on examinations of domesticity and foodwork in literature by DeVault (1991) and Daniel (2006), I argued that entrenched attitudes to women which construct them as inherently domestic, nurturing and caring, are reproduced within the texts through scenes of domestic labour, the ways in which descriptions of characters’ kitchens act as representations of their femininity, and the reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom narrative. Domesticity and foodwork in the texts are performed almost entirely by female characters who are not seen questioning or criticising this uneven distribution of domestic labour. Rather, they reproduce the construction of femininity and domesticity as inherent female traits, as well as reinforcing the maternal figure as central to the traditional nuclear family and women as innately caring, empathetic and nurturing figures.

The domestic labour of Grace Brisbane, Debby Hood and Rosie March, for example, reveals the characters’ adherence to traditional constructions of femininity and

261

emphasises their connection to the domestic sphere. The resistance shown by Valerie and Scarlett March, conversely, exposes contemporary tensions regarding femininity and the distribution of domestic labour: their lack of cooking skills prevents them from producing and reinforcing a traditional family unit, yet also frees them from expectations regarding domestic femininity.

The intersection of domesticity and femininity within the texts also at times complicates their reinterpretation of the animal bridegroom fairy tale narrative. More specifically, in both Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon, texts that contain complex representations of female sexuality, the confrontation and taming of male

‘beastliness’ is revised in unique ways. I argued that the abilities of Grace Brisbane and Avery Hood’s ability to halt or reverse the supernatural transformations of their boyfriends (effectively relocating these characters from the supernatural to the domestic sphere) clearly reproduces traditional elements of the animal bridegroom story.

As Crawford (2014) notes, the psychic heroine in the supernatural romance can be considered a hyperbolic representation of the traditional romance heroine, with

‘feminine’ traits such as empathy, emotional connections and intuition exaggerated through psychic powers. The presence of a psychic heroine and her ability to transform

(or domesticate) her boyfriend complicates the argument that the supernatural presence provides narrative space for progressive representations of sexuality while strengthening the argument that the texts are at once traditional and reformist. By drawing on these well-established conventions of femininity and domesticity the texts cloud their presentation of female adolescence as a time of rebellion, disruption and progress. This reveals the texts’ exposure and rehearsal of the tension between

262

women’s gains in terms of social, legal and political rights and the rigid and entrenched conventions of femininity and feminine beauty.

An original aspect of this thesis was the examination of representations of scent and food within the narratives, acknowledging the texts’ location amongst the web of genres and literary traditions and how this location influenced both the narrative itself and representations of gender and sexuality. In chapter five, I explored the ways in which these representations reinforced my argument regarding the complexity of the supernatural romance and its role as a site for criticism, resistance and reproduction.

Scent and the sense of smell within the texts provide a narrative space in which positive representations of female sexual pleasure can exist alongside the reinforcing of the beauty/authenticity double bind of contemporary femininity. The texts contain both didactism and subversion, echoing constructions of the adolescent female experience

(and texts aimed at adolescent and YA readers) as sites for rebellion and conformity.

The texts drew from the well-established associations surrounding pleasant and unpleasant scents to examine and engage with conventions of femininity, female sexuality and monstrosity. Representations of aromatic scents, for example, both reproduced normative conventions of femininity while emphasising female sexual desire and pleasure. Building on discussion of the tension between beauty and the concept of ‘authenticity’ (Nelson 2013), analysis of these representations revealed how they strengthen and duplicate essentialised constructions of gender through the naturally occurring ‘gendered’ scents of the characters.

This is particularly prevalent within the natural scents attributed to female characters; whose food-based scents further associate women with the domestic sphere and reproduce femininity as innate. These representations contribute to the texts’

263

reproduction of conventional femininity as effortless and inherent. Furthermore, this is supported through analysis of the ‘unpleasant’ and artificial scents of contrasting female characters. Female characters who wear scented products and perfumes are criticised in the narratives; their ‘artificial’ performances of femininity are contrasted with the natural femininity (and scents) of their peers. Through negative representations of scented products and positive representations of innate scents, the texts reproduced constructions of femininity as innate and associated with domesticity and the domestic sphere. As a result, traditional representations of femininity remain ultimately unchallenged and unchanged within the texts.

These representations of pleasant scents, however, simultaneously provide unique narrative prospects for scenes of female sexual pleasure and enjoyment in both Wolves of Mercy Falls and Low Red Moon. Sceats (2000) and Daniel’s (2006) examination of the symbolic importance of food and feasting within children’s literature were essential to this section. I extended Daniel’s (2006) examination of representations of food and scenes of feasting in children’s literature to consider representations of scent.

Analysis of the texts revealed that the supernatural and scent interact within both texts to provide a means of representing adolescent female sensual and sexual pleasure. In both texts, the heightened supernatural abilities of Avery Hood and Grace Brisbane allow the characters to experience sensory enjoyment and pleasure that would otherwise be unavailable. The stereotype of the romance novel as reproducing dangerous and outdated representations of female sexuality is resisted, while female sexuality is presented outside of the binary of raunch and purity cultures.

My analysis also revealed that representations of malodorous scents in the texts complicated the overall positive representations of female sexuality, specifically in

Sisters Red and Wolves of Mercy Falls. These texts draw from discourses such as the

264

at-risk girl or ‘Ophelia thesis’ (Projansky 2014, p. 4), where adolescent girls are constructed as sexually and physically vulnerable. Representations of the malodour of the Fenris and Shelby contain the well-established horror convention of the monstrous

Other as representative of contemporary fears regarding humanity, gender and sexuality. More specifically, these representations examine and reproduce the contemporary discourse surrounding sexual violence, female culpability and representations of the monstrous feminine. Shelby’s scent marking and wolf identity locates her in the animal and supernatural spheres and provides a site for examination of the ‘out of control’ adolescent girl. Wolves of Mercy Falls disrupts boundaries between the real and supernatural, human and animal and highlights the contemporary complex construction of and attitudes towards adolescent girls and girlhood.

Exploring the malodour of the Fenris, my analysis also exposed the well-established narrative surrounding adolescent girls and their culpability in sexual violence. The malodour of the Fenris in Sisters Red draws on well-established constructions of monstrosity and the Other to reinforce male sexuality as dangerous and violent, and adolescent girls as vulnerable and in danger (or at risk). I negotiated a space amongst, and drew from, works focused on examination of violence, danger and risk in ‘Little

Red Riding Hood’, acknowledging the story’s history as a cautionary tale warning young female readers of sexual violence (Orenstein 2002; Zipes 1993). Previous examinations of the tale have emphasised the role of stereotypes regarding the wolf and lycanthropy (Orenstein 2002; Zipes 1993; du Coudray 2006). My aim in this section, however, was to explore how the primal associations accompanying scent and the sense of smell provided a distinct representation of the Fenris as villainous and monstrous and reproduced well-established narratives surrounding female culpability in ‘stranger rape’ or ‘blitz attacks’ (Anderson 2011).

265

Engaging with analysis made in my previous three chapters, I argued that the symbolic importance of food in literature as well as the presence of the supernatural and enchantment in the contemporary supernatural romance provided a distinct narrative space in which the tensions between femininity and female sexuality are once again negotiated and explored in chapter six. The work of Daniel (2006) and Sceats (2000) was of immense importance in this chapter to make my argument that representations of food in the texts studied evoke an idealised traditional construction of femininity through the symbolic associations of certain food and food work, as well as reproducing the beauty/authenticity double bind, revealing contemporary anxieties regarding feminine beauty ideals.

My analysis revealed that specific foodstuffs, namely, baked goods, acted as indicators of nostalgia and traditional femininity and bolstered the already well-established association of the female characters with both the domestic sphere and an incarnation of traditional femininity that did not in fact exist. As established in my analysis in chapter four, the association of femininity with the domestic sphere has remained in contemporary discourse surrounding, femininity and feminism. The ‘female specificity’ required in contemporary representations of women and femininity is present in the texts studied through characters’ engagement with and performance of domestic labour. In this chapter, I argued that this connection was reinforced and refined through the presence of specific food and domestic acts, namely, baked goods and baking. They are presented as at once sources of traditional domesticity and femininity, reproducing normative conventions of maternity and womanhood, sites of financial and personal independence and security, and acts of relaxation. This reveals the complex relationship between femininity and domesticity in contemporary society.

266

Part of this chapter was also an examination of the ways in which contemporary constructions of feminine beauty and the concept of authenticity and gender were reproduced and reinforced within Red Riding Hood and Wolves of Mercy Falls through representations of feminine gustatory appetites. Drawing on Nelson (2013) and

Andrievskikh’s (2014) work regarding effort, authenticity and food in particular, I argued that the representations of the skinny glutton character reproduced an unobtainable body shape as an ideal and reinforced the double bind regarding beauty and ‘effort’. The texts reproduce contemporary conventions of beauty through the ability of Grace Brisbane and Valerie to eat large amounts of unhealthy or ‘masculine’ foods without concern for (or impact on) their physical appearance. This lack of effort also avoids labelling the characters as shallow or vain.

At the same time, the association of gustatory and sexual appetites within the texts complicated this tension and prevented an entirely negative representation of femininity. I argued that the gustatory appetites of Grace and Valerie act as representations of their sexual appetites, revealing characters who were aware of, and explored, their sexual desires. Through representations of gustatory appetites, the texts present characters who are confident and active sexual subjects as well as scenes that acknowledge female sexual pleasure.

Further exploring representations of consumption and appetite, I then examined the texts’ relationship with ‘Little Red Riding Hood’. I argued that the texts reproduce the construction of the Red Riding Hood character as ‘edible’ through associations of the heroines with food and discussion of wolf attacks. This construction reproduces narratives of female passivity. The ‘edibility’ of female characters in Sisters Red and

Wolves of Mercy Falls is revealed through comparison of the characters to literal foodstuffs. This comparison reproduced the construction of women and adolescent

267

girls as passive sexual objects, a construction that complicated Wolves of Mercy Falls’ representation of Grace as active and confident. Sisters Red and Wolves of Mercy Falls also reinforced the sexualisation of the wolf’s consumption of Red Riding Hood in unique (yet opposing) ways. The Fenris in Sisters Red ultimately reproduce discourses on risk and sexual violence, as well as female culpability in sexual assault through the sexualisation of their attacks on and consumption of young girls. Simultaneously,

Shelby’s role as a female wolf-villain reveals fears surrounding ‘incorrect’ female sexuality. These representations complicate the progressive representations of adolescent female sexuality in the texts, presenting instead an ambivalence that echoes contemporary attitudes surrounding adolescent girls and sexuality, as a result of the contradictory discourses regarding sexual desire and activity.

Avenues for Further Research

Although this research is not comprehensive (only seven texts were studied), it has provided analysis of both the feminine text and the supernatural romance sub-genre in the ‘post-Twilight world’ (Wilson 2011, p. xiv). There remains, however, avenues for further exploration of the supernatural romance’s location within the larger romance web, particularly its relation to the gothic and horror genres and how the supernatural romance has irreversibly influenced literary tropes and conventions within these genres.

My research provided limited discussion of race and sexuality in the supernatural romance genre, as the texts studied featured exclusively white American (or European) heterosexual characters. As a result, my discussions of the ways in which femininity and female sexuality are portrayed within the contemporary supernatural romance refers exclusively to representations of white Western normative femininity and heterosexuality. It is incorrect to assume that the contemporary supernatural romance

268

genre exclusively features white, heterosexual female characters; texts such as Clare’s

The Mortal Instruments series, Maguire’s Wayward Children series and Older’s

Shadowshaper, for example, feature LGBT+ characters and characters of colour. This analysis, then, provoked a desire to examine the ways in which adherence to feminine beauty norms and the construction of ‘appropriate’ sexuality and sexual activity is explored in texts that feature women of colour and women in the LGBT+ community, who frequently have ambiguous and tense relationships regarding normative constructions of femininity and female sexuality.

Also of interest is the ways in which the contemporary supernatural romance influenced and contributed to the development of literary trends in the mid to late

2010s, as part of a larger genre that encompasses multiple genres and categories. As discussed, the contemporary supernatural romance is part of, as Roach (2016, p. 3) argues, the romance narrative, or the ‘central storyline of human culture’. As a result, the development of the contemporary supernatural romance should not be considered as entirely linear and independent. In this thesis, I developed Bacchilega’s (2013, p.

443/6168) concept of the ‘fairy tale web’ to discuss the history and literary connections of the supernatural romance. The genre does not just reach ‘back’ and ‘across’ but forward, with clear ‘threads’ connecting the contemporary supernatural romance to modern horror (and what Rose (2017, n.p.) refers to as ‘post horror’) as well as contemporary feminine texts and culture, such as participatory culture (including fanfiction and fandom).

As a result of my study, further research may be conducted on these genres, focusing specifically on representations of femininity and female sexuality, how the ambivalence surrounding adolescent girls and girlhood is explored and how contemporary attitudes and anxieties regarding feminine culture contribute to the

269

dismissal of texts aimed at and consumed by female readers. Of particular interest is the development of the contemporary horror genre. The findings of my thesis could be of use in this further research, due to the identification of the texts studied as feminine texts, as well as the connection the texts have to older genres such as gothic fiction and new interpretations of the supernatural and horror, and their focus on attitudes surrounding femininity and adolescent girls.

Pulliam (2014) theorises that contemporary YA horror does not reproduce sexist constructions of femininity and adolescent girlhood but subverts and deconstructs them through the figure of the monstrous female Other. Pulliam (2014, p. 20) argues that, ‘more than realistic fiction, YA horror allows a coded exploration of issues of gender, sexuality and agency’ through the presence of monstrous female figures such as werewolves or witches. This differentiates YA horror from mainstream or

‘traditional’ horror, which Rose (2017, n.p.) claims is ‘one of the safest spaces’ in media as it is so often governed by specific rules and codes. Mainstream horror in the

2010s disrupts this construction of the genre as a ‘safe space’ where traditional ideologies are reproduced, instead emphasising the unknown. This new horror also focuses on the experiences of those previously considered outside of white heteronormative western society; such as Jordan Peele’s (2017, 2019) exploration of racism, classism and poverty in America in his horror films Get Out and Us, or Robert

Eggers’ (2015) film The VVitch examining ‘the limited and punishing road to womanhood’ (Cohen 2016, n.p.).108 The coded explorations Pulliam (2014) identifies

108 In 2018 and 2019 there was also an increase in mainstream discourse and attention on Diablo Cody’s (2009) horror film Jennifer’s Body, a film which explored adolescent girlhood, same-sex attraction and the female monstrous Other. Cohen (2018, n.p.) labelled the titular Jennifer ‘the feminist revenge hero who came too early’.

270

are permeating mainstream horror in the past five years, expanding the genre to become a site of not just safety and reproduction but resistance and exploration.

The texts studied in this thesis do not have strong elements of horror and are associated most closely with romance narratives. It is clear, however, that the contemporary supernatural romance is connected to horror in the popular culture and the literary web and, as Pulliam (2014) argues, is a space for the subversion and deconstruction of traditional ideologies of gender and sexuality through the presence of the supernatural, monstrosity and enchantment. The findings of this thesis could be of interest and use in the examination and analysis of the development of representations of the Other and supernatural in genres such as contemporary horror.

The contemporary supernatural romance should not be reduced to sparkly vampires,

‘unhealthy’ relationships or supernatural bodice rippers. Furthermore, the texts studied in this thesis are not merely reflections or reproductions of the society in which they were written, featuring one dimensional characters and stereotypical plots. They are instead sites of examination, criticism, reinterpretation and, at times, reproduction.

They feature representations of femininity, female sexuality and heterosexual relationships that echo the multiple and conflicting discourses on gender and sexuality within twenty-first century culture. Most importantly, they are part of a ‘feminine culture’, a space where female authors (and readers) do not need to automatically accept and absorb contemporary constructions of gender, sexuality and heterosexual relationships. The supernatural romance, as part of this feminine culture, reveals the complexity and contradictory nature of popular feminine texts, where women can explore, critique and reinterpret the social and cultural constructions and expectations of the society in which they live.

271

Reference List

Ahsan, S 2018, 'In Defence of the Trashy Summer Read', National Post, viewed 02/04/2019, .

Allen, B 2003, 'Review: Byron: Revolutionary, Libertine and Friend', The Hudson Review, vol. 56, no. 2, pp. 369–76.

Althubaiti, TS 2015, 'Race Discourse in Wuthering Heights', European Scientific Journal, vol. 11, no. 8, pp. 201-26.

Anatol, G (ed.) 2011, Bringing Light to Twilight: Perspectives on the Pop Culture Phenomenon, Palgrave Macmillan, New York.

Anderson, I 2011, 'What is a typical rape? Effects of victim and participant gender in female and male rape perception', British Journal of Social Psychology, vol. 46, no. 1, pp. 225-45.

Andrievskikh, N 2014, 'Food Symbolism, Sexuality, and Gender Identity in Fairy Tales and Modern Women's Bestsellers', Studies in Popular Culture, vol. 37, no. 1, pp. 137-53.

Anselmo-Sequeira, D 2015, 'Screen-Struck: The Invention of the Movie Girl Fan', Cinema Journal, vol. 55, no. 1, pp. 1-28.

Aronson, P 2003, 'Feminists or 'Postfeminists'?: Young Women's Attitudes towards Feminism and Gender Relations.', Gender and Society, vol. 17, no. 6, pp. 903-32.

Ashe, L 2010, 'Introduction', in L Ashe, I Djordjevic & J Weiss (eds), Exploitations of Medieval Romance, Boydell & Brewer, Suffolk.

Assiter, A 1988, 'Romance fiction: Porn for women?', in G Day & C Bloom (eds), Perspectives on Pornography: Sexuality in Film and Literature, Macmillan, Basinstoke.

Atkinson, M 2012, 'A Heathcliff We Haven’t Seen Before', In These Times, vol. 36, no. 11, p. 38.

Auerbach, N 1997, Our Vampires, Our Selves, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Bacchilega, C 2013, Fairy Tales Transformed? Twenty-First Century Adaptations and the Politics of Wonder, Wayne State University Press, Detroit.

—— 2015, 'Narrative Cultures, Situated Story Webs, and the Politics of Relation', Narrative Culture, vol. 2, no. 1, pp. 27-46.

272

Ballaster, R 1998, Seductive Forms: Women’s Amatory Fiction from 1684-1740., Oxford University Press, Oxford.

Bans, L 2014, Nobody Wants to be the Girl on the Diet, 07/01/2019, New York Media LLC, New York, .

Barnett, D 2009, 'How much harm does a bad book cover do?', The Guardian, .

Barton, B & Mabry, H 2018, 'Andro-privilege, raunch culture, and stripping', Sexualities, vol. 21, no. 4, pp. 605-20.

Bawarshi, AS & Reiff, MJ 2010, Genre: An Introduction to History, Theory, Research, and Pedagogy, Parlor Press, Anderson.

Bazerman, C 2010, 'Preface', in AS Bawarshi & MJ Reiff (eds), Genre: An Introduction to History, Theory, Research, and Pedagogy, Parlor Press, Anderson, pp. xi-xii.

Beckett, SL 2002, Crossover Fiction: Global and Historical Perspectives, Routledge, New York.

Bell, E, Haas, L & Sells, L 1995, 'Introduction: Walt’s in the Movies', in E Bell, L Haas & L Sells (eds), From Mouse to Mermaid: The Politics of Film, Gender and Culture, Indiana University Press, Bloomington.

Benefiel, CR 2004, 'Blood Relations: The Gothic Perversion of the Nuclear Family in Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire', The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 38, no. 2, pp. 261-73.

Berkin, A 1990, '“I Woke Myself”: The Changeover as Modern Adaptation of “Sleeping Beauty”', Children’s Literature in Education, vol. 21, no. 4, pp. 245-51.

Björkqvist, K 1994, 'Sex Differences in Physical, Verbal, and Indirect Aggression: A Review of Recent Research ', Sex Roles, vol. 30, no. 3/4, pp. 177-88.

Blakley-Cartwright, S 2011, Red Riding Hood., Atom Books, London.

Bloom, H (ed.) 1987, The Brontës, Chelsea House, New York.

Bode, L 2010, 'Transitional Tastes: Teen Girls and Genre in the Critical Reception of Twilight', Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 24, no. 5, pp. 707- 19.

Boehm, M 2016, 'Crossover fiction and the adolescent economy of writing in the works of Margo Lanagan', Textual Practice, pp. 1-19.

Bondy, R 2014, 'Tied to Apron Strings', Herizons, vol. 27, no. 4, p. 13.

273

Borgia, DM 2011, 'Twilight: The Glamourization of Abuse, Codependency, and White Privilege.', The Journal of Popular Culture., vol. 47, no. 1, pp. 153-73.

Boyde, M 2009, 'The Modernist roman à clef and Cultural Secrets, or I Know That You Know That I Know That You Know', Australian Literary Studies, vol. 24, no. 3- 4, pp. 155-66.

Brabon, B & Genz, S 2007, 'Introduction', in B Brabon & S Genz (eds), Postfeminist Gothic: Critical Interventions in Contemporary Culture, Palgrave Macmillan, New York, pp. 1-15.

Bradford, C, Mallan, K, McCallum, R & Stephens, J 2008, New World Orders in Conteporary Children’s Literature: Utopian Transformations, Palgrave MacMillan, Basingstoke.

Brontë, C 1847, Jane Eyre, Penguin Books, London.

Broughton, R 1873, 'The Man with the Nose', in R Broughton (ed.), Tales for Christmas Eve, Richard Bentley and Son, London, pp. 33-82.

Brown, LM 2003, Girlfighting: Betrayal and Rejection Among Girls, NYU Press, New York.

Brown, LM & Gilligan, C 1992, Meeting at the Crossroads: Women’s Psychology and Girls’ Development, Ballantine Books, New York.

Brown, M 2010, 'The Sad, the Mad and the Bad: Co-Existing Discourses of Girlhood', Child Youth Care Forum, vol. 40, no. 2, pp. 107-20.

Brownlie, D & Hewer, P 2011, '"(Re)covering" the Spectacular Domestic: Culinary Cultures, the Feminine Mundane, and Brand Nigella', Advertising & Society Review, vol. 12, no. 2.

Bruni, F & Steinhauer, J 2017, A Meatloaf in Every Oven: Two Chatty Cooks, One Iconic Dish and Dozens of Recipes - from Mom's to Mario Batali's Grand Central Life and Style New York.

Byrne, D 1996, 'The Lure of the Unspeakable: Why Vampires Don’t Have Sex', AUETSA 96, I-II: Southern African Studies, vol. 2, pp. 76-80.

Cabrera, C & Ménard, AD 2013, '“She Exploded into a Million Pieces”: A Qualitative and Quantitative Analysis of Orgasms in Contemporary Romance Novels', Sexuality and Culture, vol. 17, no. 2, pp. 193-212.

Carpenter, LM 2005, Virginity Lost: An intimate portrait of first sexual experiences, New York University New York.

Cart, M 2010, Young Adult Literature: From Romance to Realism, American Library Association Chicago.

274

Carter, A 1977, The Fairy Tales of Charles Perrault, Penguin Classics, London.

—— 1979, The Bloody Chamber, Penguin Books, London.

—— 2006, Burning Your Boats, Random House, London.

Casey, E 2018, 'From Cookery in Colour to The Great British Bake Off : Shifting gendered accounts of home-baking and domesticity', European Journal of Cultural Studies, vol. 12, pp. 1-16.

Cawelti, J 1976, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance: Formula Stories as Art and Popular Culture, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Cavazza, N, Guidette, M & Butera, F 2015, 'Ingredients of gender-based stereotypes about food. Indirect influence of food type, portion size and presentation on gendered intentions to eat', Appetite, vol. 91, no. 1, pp. 266-72.

Chandra, A, Martinez, GM, Mosher, WD, Abma, JC & Jones, J, Ph. D 2005, Fertility, family planning, and reproductive health of U.S. women; data from the 2002 national survey of family growth, Journal Issue, U.S. Dept. of Health and Human Services, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, National Center for Health Statistics, .

Charles, J 2016, 'Another Look At: Kathleen E. Woodiwiss' The Flame and the Flower', The Booklist, vol. 113, no. 2, p. 38.

Cills, H 2018, The Rise and Fall of the Popstar Purity Ring, Gizmodo Media, New York, .

Clasen, T 2010, 'Taking a Bite Out of Love: The Myth of Romantic Love in the Twilight Series', in M Click, J Aubrey & E Behm-Morawitz (eds), Bitten by Twilight: Youth Culture, Media, and the Vampire Franchise, Peter Lang Publishing, New York.

Classen, C, Howes, D & Synnott, A 1994, Aroma (The Cultural History of Smell), Routledge, London.

Click, M, Aubrey, JS & Behm-Morawitz, E 2010, 'Introduction', in M Click, JS Aubrey & E Behm-Morawitz (eds), Bitten by Twilight: Youth Culture, Media, and the Vampire Franchise, Peter Lang Publishing New York.

Coghen, M 2011, 'Lord Byron and the Metamorphoses of Polidori's Vampyre', Studia Litteraria Universitatis Iagellonicae Cracoviensis, no. 6, pp. 29-40.

Cohen, A 2018, Jennifer’s Body and the Feminist Revenge Hero who Came Too Early, New York, .

275

Cohen, D 2016, ''The Witch' Isn't a Horror Flick—It's a High-Powered Feminist Manifesto', Marie Claire, viewed 11/05/2019, .

Coker, C 2011, 'Bella, Buffy, and the Feminist Ethics of Choice in Twilight and Buffy the Vampire Slayer', Slayage, vol. 8, no. 4.

Crawford, J 2014, The Twilight of the Gothic?, University of Wales Press, Cardiff.

Creed, B 1993, The Monstrous Feminine: Film Feminism, Psychoanalysis, Routledge London.

Crisp, T 2009, 'From Romance to Magical Realism: Limits and Possibilities in Gay Adolescent Fiction', Children’s Literature in Education, vol. 40, no. 4, pp. 338-48.

Crusie Smith, J 1999, 'This is Not Your Mother’s Cinderella: The Romance Novel as Feminist Fairy Tale', in AK Kaler & R Johnson-Kurek (eds), Romantic Conventions, Bowling Green State University Press, Bowling Green.

Cuccinello, H 2017, 'Fifty Shades Of Green: How Fanfiction Went From Dirty Little Secret To Money Machine', Forbes, .

Culler, J 1997, Literary Theory: A Very Short Introduction, Oxford University Press, Oxford.

Daniel, C 2006, Voracious Children: Who Eats Whom in Children's Literature, Routledge, New York.

Davidauskis, A 2015, 'How Beautiful Women Eat: Feminine Hunger in American Popular Culture', Feminist Formations, vol. 27, no. 1, pp. 167-89.

Davis, K 1984, Two-Bit Culture: The Paperbacking of America, vol. Boston, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Davison, C 2004, 'Haunted House/Haunted Heroine: Female Gothic Closets in The Yellow Wallpaper” ', Women’s Studies, vol. 33, pp. 47-75.

De Kosnik, A 2015, 'Fifty Shades and the Archive of Women’s Culture', Cinema Journal, vol. 54, no. 3, pp. 116-55.

Dee, A-C 2005, 'Queering the Bitch: Spike, Transgression, and Erotic Empowerment', European Journal of Cultural Studies, vol. 8, no. 3, pp. 313-28.

Delamotte, E 1990, Perils of the Night: A Feminist Study of Nineteenth-Century Gothic, Oxford University Press, Oxford.

DeVault, ML 1991, Feeding the Family: The Social Organization of Caring as Gendered Work, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

276

Devlin, I 2009, Low Red Moon, Bloomsbury USA Children's Literature, New York.

Diamond, F 2011, 'Beauty and the Beautiful Beast: Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight Saga and the Quest for a Transgressive Female Desire', Australian Feminist Studies., vol. 26, no. 67, pp. 41-55.

Dickerson, V 1996, Victorian Ghosts in the Noontide: Women Writers and the Supernatural, University of Missouri Press, Columbia.

Doody, MA 1996, The True Story of the Novel, Rutgers University Press, New Brunswick.

Douglas, ER 2013, 'Eat or Be Eaten: A Feminist Phenomenology of Women as Food', PhaenEx, vol. 8, no. 2, pp. 243-54.

Douglas, SJ 2010, Enlightened Sexism: The seductive message that feminism's work is done, Times Books, New York.

Dowd, M 2007, 'Heels Over Hemmingway', The New York Times, viewed 15/04/2019, .

Driscoll, C 1999, 'Girl Culture, Revenge and Global Capitalism: Cybergirls, Riot Grrrls, Spice Girls', Australian Feminist Studies., vol. 14, no. 29, pp. 173-93.

—— 2006, 'One True Pairing: The Romance of Pornography and the Pornography of Romance', in K Hellekson & K Busse (eds), Fanfiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, McFarland & Company Jefferson, North Carolina.

Du Coudray, CB 2006, The Curse of the Werewolf: Fantasy, Horror and the Beast Within, I. B. Tauris, New York.

Duruz, J 2004, 'Haunted Kitchens: Cooking and Remembering', Gastronomica, vol. 4, no. 1, pp. 57-68.

Elias, AS & Gill, R 2018, 'Beauty surveillance: The digital self-monitoring cultures of neoliberalism', European Journal of Cultural Studies, vol. 21, no. 1, pp. 59-77.

Eliot, G 1883, The Essays of “George Eliot”, ed. N Sheppard, Funk & Wagnalls, New York, .

Ellis, K 1989, The Contested Castle: Gothic Novels and the Subversion of the Domestic Ideology, University of Illinois Press, Urbana.

Ellis, L 1999, Appearing to Diminish: Female Development and the British Buildungsroman, 1750-1850, Bucknell University Press, Lewisburg.

277

Ehrenpreis, JE, Deslauriers, C, Lank, P, Armstrong, PK & Leikin, JB 2014, 'Nutmeg poisonings: a retrospective review of 10 years experience from the Illinois poison center, 2001-2011. (Report)', Journal of Medical Toxicology, vol. 10, no. 2, pp. 148- 52.

Ewens, H 2017, 'How 'Buffy' Made Kinky Sex Mainstream', Vice, .

—— 2017, Quit Making Fun of Teen Girl Fans, They Probably Think You’re Lame, 14:11:17, Vice Media, London, .

Faircloth, K 2016, 'The Sweet, Savage Sexual Revolution that set the Romance Novel Free', Pictorial, viewed 27/04/2018, .

Farady, M 2010, 'The Girl-Crisis Movement: Evaluating the Foundation', Review of General Psychology, vol. 14, no. 1, pp. 44-55.

Fathalla, JM 2017, Fanfiction and the Author : How Fanfic Changes Popular Cultural Texts, Amsterdam University Press, Amsterdam.

Faulkner, J 2010, 'The Innocence Fetish: The Commodification and Sexualisation of Children in the Media and Popular Culture', Media International Australia, vol. 135, pp. 106-17.

Fernando, C 2011, 'What a vampire slayer taught me about feminine strength', University Wire.

Ferriss, S & Young, M 2005, 'Introduction', in S Ferriss & M Young (eds), Chick Lit: The New Woman’s Fiction, Routledge, New York, pp. 1-13.

Field, R 1999, 'Romance in England, 1066–1400', in D Wallace (ed.), The Cambridge History of Medieval English Literature, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Fowler, C 2017, 'Was Emily Brontё’s Heathcliff black?', The Conversation, viewed 27/06/2018, .

Frantz, SSG 2012, '“How we love is our soul”: Joey W. Hill’s BDSM Romance Holding the Cards', in SSG Frantz & E Selinger (eds), New Approaches to Popular Romance Fiction: Critical Essays, McFarland & Company, Jefferson.

Frantz, SSG & Selinger, E 2014, 'Introduction: New Approaches to Popular Romance Fiction', in SSG Frantz & E Selinger (eds), New Approaches to Popular Romance Fiction: Critical Essays, McFarland & Company Jefferson.

278

Frasl, B 2018, 'Bright young women, sick of swimmin’, ready to…consume? The construction of postfeminist femininity in Disney’s The Little Mermaid', European Journal of Women’s Studies, vol. 25, no. 3, pp. 341-54.

Freeman, N 2013, 'Sensational Ghosts, Ghostly Sensations', Women's Writing, vol. 20, no. 2, pp. 186-201.

Frith, G 1993, 'Women, Writing and Language', in D Richardson & V Robinson (eds), Introducing Women’s Studies: Feminist Theory and Practice, Macmillan, London.

Frost, L 2013, The Problem with Pleasure: Modernism and Its Discontents, Columbia University Press, New York.

Frye, N 1976, The Secular Scripture: A Study of the Structure of Romance, Harvard University Press, Cambridge

Gagnon, J & W, S 1973, Sexual Conduct: The Social Sources of Human Sexuality, Aldine, Chicago.

Gans, H 2008, Popular Culture and High Culture: An Analysis and Evaluation Of Taste, Basic Books, New York.

Garber, M 2016, 'The Paradox of ‘Pretty’', The Atlantic, viewed 15/11/2018, .

Gelder, K 2002, Reading the Vampire, Routledge, New York.

—— 2004, Popular Fiction: The Logics and Practices of a Literary Field, Routledge Abingdon.

Gerstein, J 2013, The Myth of the Eating Actress, SpinMedia, New York, .

Gilbert, S & Gubar, S 2000, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination, 2nd edn, Yale University Press, New Haven.

Gilchrist, PT & Schnall, S 2018, 'The paradox of moral cleansing: When physical cleansing leads to increased contamination concerns', Journal of Behaviour Therapy and Experimental Psychiatry, vol. 61, pp. 38-44.

Gill, R 2007, 'Postfeminist Media Culture: Elements of Sensibility', European Journal of Cultural Studies, vol. 10, no. 2, pp. 47-166.

—— 2009, Gender and the Media, Polity Press, Cambridge.

—— 2012, 'Media, Empowerment, and the 'Sexualization of Culture' Debates', Sex Roles, vol. 66, pp. 736-45.

279

Gill, R & Herdieckerhoff, E 2006, 'Rewriting The Romance: New Femininities in Chick Lit?', Feminist Media Studies, vol. 6, no. 4, pp. 487-504.

Gill, R & Scharff, C 2011, 'Introduction', in R Gill & C Scharff (eds), New Femininities: Postfeminism, Neoliberalism and Subjectivity, Palgrave Macmillan, New York.

Gilligan, C 1982, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development, Harvard University Press, Cambridge.

—— 1990, 'Prologue', in C Gilligan, NP Lyons & TJ Hanmer (eds), Making Connections: The relation worlds of adolescent girls at Emma Willard School, Harvard University Press, Cambridge.

Gonda, C 1996, Reading Daughter’s Fictions 1709-1834: Novels and Society from Manley to Edgeworth, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Gonick, M 2004, 'The 'Mean Girl' Crisis: Problematizing Representaions of Girls' Friendships.', Feminism & Psychology, vol. 14, pp. 395-9.

—— 2006, 'Between 'Girl Power' and 'Reviving Ophelia': Constituting the Neoliberal Girl Subject.', Feminist Formulations, vol. 18, no. 2, pp. 1-23.

Goris, A 2011, 'Matricide in Romance Scholarship? Response to Pamela Regis’ Keynote Address at the Second Annual Conference of the International Association for the Study of Popular Romance', Journal of Popular Romance Studies, vol. 2, no. 1

Gottlieb, R 2017, 'A Roundup of the Season’s Romance Novels', The New York Times, viewed 07/06/2018, .

Grady, C 2016, Why We’re Terrified of Fanfiction, Vox Media, New York, .

Greer, G 1970, The Female Eunuch, MacGibbon & Kee, London.

Haase, D 2004, 'Feminist Fairy Tale Scholarship', in D Haase (ed.), Fairy Tales and Feminism: New Approaches, Wayne State University Press, Detroit.

—— 2006, 'Hypertextual Gutenberg', Fabula, vol. 47, no. 3/4, pp. 222-30.

Ha, T-H 2015, Why does this brilliant, bestselling book have such a cheesy cover?, 18/05/2018, Atlantic Media, Washington, D.C, 29/09/2015, .

280

Haggerty, GE 1998, 'Anne Rice and the Queering of Culture', Novel, vol. 32, no. 1, pp. 5-18.

Hamilton, M 2008, What's Happening to Our Girls? (How Our Kids are Overstimulated, Oversold and Oversexed). Penguin, Camberwell.

Hand, M, Shove, E & Southerton, D 2007, 'Home Extensions in the United Kingdom: Space, Time, and Practice', Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, vol. 25, no. 4, pp. 668-81.

Hanke, K 2008, 'Twilight', MountainX, viewed 11/05/2019, .

Hannon, P 1998, Fabulous Identities: Women’s Fairy Tales in Seventeenth-Century France, Faux Titre, Rodopi, Amsterdam.

Harris, A 2004, Future Girl: Young Women in the Twenty-First Century, Routledge, New York.

Harzewski, S 2011, Chick Lit and Postfeminism, University of Virginia Press, Charlottesville, Virginia.

Hemmungs Wirten, E 1998, Global Infatuation: Explorations in Transnational Publishing and Texts, The Case of Harlequin Enterprises and Sweden, Uppsala University, Uppsala.

Higgs, M 2017, 'Why We Still Call Them Bodice Rippers', Racked, viewed 10/02/2018, .

Higonnet, A 1998, Pictures of Innocence: The History and Crisis of Ideal Childhood, Thames and Hudson, London.

Hinnant, C 2006, 'Jane Austen’s “Wild Imagination”: Romance and the Courtship Plot in the Six Canonical Novels', Narrative Culture, vol. 14, no. 3, pp. 294-310.

Hoeveler, DL 1998, Gothic Feminism: The Professionalization of Gender from Charlotte Smith to the Brontës, Penn State University Press, University Park, PN.

Holland, S & Attwood, F 2009, 'Keeping Fit in Six Inch Heels: The Mainstreaming of Pole Dancing', in F Attwood (ed.), Mainstreaming Sex: The Sexualization of Western Culture, I.B Taurus and Company, Limited, London.

Hollows, J 2000, Feminism, Femininity and Popular Culture, Manchester University Press, Manchester.

Hull, EM 1919, The Sheik E. Nast & Grayson, London.

Hunt, P 2003, 'Introduction: The Expanding World of Children’s Literature Studies', in P Hunt (ed.), Understanding Children’s Literature, Routledge, Abingdon.

281

Huyssen, A 1986, After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmodernism, Inidana University Press, Bloomington.

—— 2002, 'High/Low in an Expanded Field', Modernism/Modernity, vol. 9, no. 3, pp. 363-74.

Jackson, S, Vares, T & Gill, R 2013, ''The whole Playboy Mansion Image': Girls' Fashioning and Fashioned Selves within a Postfeminist Culture', Feminism & Psychology, vol. 23, no. 2, pp. 143-62.

Jamison, A 2013, Fic: Why Fanfiction is Taking Over the World, SmartPop, Dallas.

Jarmakani, A 2010, ''The sheik who loved me': romancing the war on terror', Signs, vol. 35, no. 4, pp. 993-1017.

Jay, P 2014, The Humanities “Crisis” and the Future of Literary Studies, Palgrave Macmillan, New York.

Jonas, J 2013, 'My Life as a Jonas Brother', Vulture, vol. 2020, Vox Media, New York, .

Jones, CA & Schacker, J (eds) 2012, Marvelous Transformations: An Anthology of Fairy Tales and Contemporary Critical Perspectives, Broadview Press, Peteborough.

Jones, C 2013, 'Unpleasant Consequences: First Sex in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Veronica Mars, and Gilmore Girls', Jeunesse: Young People, Texts, Cultures, vol. 5, no. 1, pp. 65-83.

Jones, M 2007, 'Food Choice, Symbolism, and Identity: Bread-and-Butter Issues for Folkloristics and Nutrition Studies ', Journal of American Folklore, vol. 120, no. 476, pp. 129-77.

Jordison, S 2012, 'Twilight v Dracula: Vampires-readers’ responses', The Guardian, viewed 10/04/2019, .

Jorgensen, J 2008, 'Innocent Initiations: Female Agency in Eroticized Fairy Tales', Marvels & Tales., vol. 22, no. 1, pp. 27-37.

Kaeh Garrison, E 2000, 'U.S Feminism-Grrrl Style? Youth (Sub)Cultures and the Technologies of the Third Wave.', Feminist Studies, vol. 26, no. 1, pp. 141-70.

Kaganoff, P 1992, 'Paperbacks —Possession by Lori Herter', Publishers Weekly, vol. 239, no. 1, p. 53.

Kale, SD 2002, 'Women, the Public Sphere, and the Persistence of Salons', French Historical Studies, vol. 25, no. 1, pp. 115-48.

—— 2006, French Salons : High Society and Political Sociability from the Old Regime to the Revolution of 1848 The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore.

282

Kamblé, J 2014, Making meaning in popular romance fiction : an epistemology Palgrave Macmillan, New York.

Kane, K 1989, 'Who Deserves a Break Today? Fast Food, Cultural Rituals and Women’s Place', in MA Schofield (ed.), Cooking by the Book: Food in Literature and Culture, Bowing Green State University Press, Bowling Green, pp. 138-46.

Kan, M-Y & Laurie, H 2018, 'Who Is Doing the Housework in Multicultural Britain?', Sociology, vol. 52, no. 1, pp. 55-74.

Kaveney, R 2012, 'Dark Fantasy and Paranormal Romance', in E James & F Mendelsohn (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Fantasy Literature, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp. 214-23.

Kearney, MC 2009, 'Coalescing: The Development of Girl's Studies', Feminist Formulations, vol. 21, no. 1, pp. 1-28.

Kelly, M 2009, 'Virginity Loss Narratives in "Teen Drama" Television Programs', The Journal of Sex Research, vol. 47, no. 5, pp. 479-89.

Keymer, T & Sabor, P 2007, Pamela in the Marketplace: Literary Controversy and Print Culture in Eighteenth-Century Britain and Ireland Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Keyser, T 2010, 'Passion for the Paranormal: The Supernatural in Romance Fiction', Skeptical Inquirer, vol. 34, no. 6, pp. 51-3.

Kokkola, L 2010, 'Virtuous Vampires and Volptuous Vamps: Romance Conventions Reconsidered in Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" Series', Children's Literature in Education, vol. 42, pp. 165-79.

—— 2013, Fictions of Adolescent Carnality: Sexy Sinners and Delinquent Deviants, John Benjamins Publishing Company, Amsterdam.

Koncharr Farr, C 2010, 'It was Chick Lit all Along: The Gendering of a Genre', in LJ Goren (ed.), You’ve Come a Long Way Baby: Women, Politics and Popular Culture, University of Kentucky Press, Lexington, pp. 201-14.

Kroonenberg, S 2013, Why Hell Stinks of Sulfur: Mythology and geology of the underworld, Reaktion Books London.

Lamb, S 2010, 'Feminist ideals for a Healthy Female Adolescent Sexuality: A Critique', Sex Roles, vol. 62, no. 5, pp. 294-306.

Lamb, S & Peterson, Z 2012, 'Adolescent Girls' Sexual Empowerment: Two Feminists Explore the Concept', Sex Roles, vol. 66, no. 11, pp. 703-12.

Lau, KJ 2008, 'Erotic Infidelities: Angela Carter's Wolf Trilogy', Marvels & Tales., vol. 22, no. 1, pp. 77-94.

283

Lawson, N 2000, How to be a Domestic Goddess, Hachette, London.

Lee, L 2008, 'Guilty Pleasures: Reading Romance Novels as Reworked Fairy Tales', Marvels & Tales, vol. 22, no. 1, pp. 52-66.

Lee, SWS & Schwarz, N 2011, 'Wiping the Slate Clean: Psychological Consequences of Physical Cleansing', Current Directions in Psychological Science, vol. 20, no. 5, pp. 307-11.

Levy, A 2005, Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture, Free Press, New York.

Liu, Y 2006, 'Middle English Romance as Prototype Genre', The Chaucer Review, vol. 40, no. 4, pp. 335-53.

Lois, J & Gregson, J 2015, 'Sneers and Leers: Romance Writers and Gendered Sexual Stigma', Gender and Society, vol. 29, no. 4, pp. 459-83.

Longard, J 2016, 'Making Your Memory Mine: Marie de France and the Adventures of the Bretons', TranscUlturAl, vol. 8, no. 1, pp. 17-37.

Magee, S 2014, 'High School is Hell: The TV Legacy of Beverly Hills, 90210, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer', The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 47, no. 4, pp. 877- 94.

Maguire, M 2010, 'Scare Tactics: Supernatural Fiction by American Women', The Irish Journal of Gothic and Horror Studies, no. 8, pp. 53-5.

Mattelart, M 1986, Women, Media, Crisis: Femininity and Disorder, Comedia Publ. Group.

Meah, A 2014, 'Reconceptualizing power and gendered subjectivities in domestic cooking spaces', Progress in Human Geography, vol. 38, no. 5, pp. 671-90.

Mendes, K & Silva, K 2013, 'Introduction: Fifty Shades of Grey', Feminist Media Studies, vol. 13, no. 3, pp. 557-8.

Menon, P 2003, Austen, Eliot, Charlotte Brontë and the Mentor-Lover, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke.

McCallum, R & Stephens, J 2010, 'Ideology and Children’s Books', in K Coates, S Wolf, P Enciso & C Jenkins (eds), Handbook of Research on Children’s and Young Adult Literature, Routledge London and New Yorj, pp. 359-71.

McCann, H 2015, 'Pantomime Dames', Australian Feminist Studies., vol. 30, no. 85, pp. 238-51.

McDonald, N 2004, Pulp Fictions in Medieval England: Essays in Popular Romance, Manchester University Press, Manchester.

284

McDonnell, A 2014, Reading Celebrity Gossip Magazines, Polity Press, Cambridge.

McKibbin, R 1998, Classes and Cultures: England 1918-1951, Oxford University Press, Oxford.

McMahon-Coleman, K & Weaver, R 2012, Werewolves and Other Shapeshifters in Popular Culture, McFarland and Company, North Carolina.

McRobbie, A 1997, 'More! New sexualities in girls’ and women’s magazines.', in A McRobbie (ed.), Back to Reality? Social Experience and Cultural Studies., Manchester University Press, Manchester, pp. 119-209.

—— 2007, 'Postfeminism and Popular Culture: Bridget Jones and the New Gender Regime', in Y Tasker, D Negra, L Spigel & A McRobbie (eds), Interrogating Postfeminism: Gender and the Politics of Popular Culture, Duke University Press, Durham, pp. 27-39.

McWilliams, M 2012, The Story behind the Dish: Classic American Foods, Greenwood, Connecticut.

Milbank, A 2013, 'Byron, Ann Radcliffe and the Religious Implications of the Explained Supernatural in Don Juan', in G Hopps (ed.), Byron’s Ghosts: The Spectral, The Spiritual and the Supernatural, Liverpool University Press, Liverpool.

Mitchell, JL 2012, 'Rudyard Kipling, The Vampire, and the Actress', English Literature in Translation, 1880-1920, vol. 55, no. 3, pp. 303-14.

Mißler, H 2016, The Cultural Politics of Chick Lit : Popular Fiction, Postfeminism and Representation, Routledge Studies in Contemporary Literature, Taylor and Francis, New York.

Modleski, T 1982, Loving with a Vengence: Mass-Produced Fantasies for Women, Archon, Hamden.

Moers, E 1976, Literary Women, The Women’s Press, London.

Montemurro, B & Siefken, JM 2012, 'MILFS and Matrons: Images and Realities of Mothers' Sexuality', Sexuality and Culture, vol. 16, no. 4, pp. 366-88.

Moore, S 2001, 'Pure oral fantasy: Nigella Lawson, irresistible TV personality and housewife-superstar, seems to have it all. And she has suffered, too. ', New Statesman, .

Moslener, S 2012, '“It’s Like Playing with a Nuclear Bomb”', Theology & Sexuality, vol. 18, no. 3, pp. 253-69.

—— 2015, Virgin Nation: Sexual Purity and American Adolescence, Oxford University Press, New York.

285

Mukherjea, A 2011, 'My Vampire Boyfriend: Postfeminism, "Perfect" Masculinity, and the Contemporary Appeal of Paranormal Romance', Studies in Popular Culture, vol. 33, no. 2, pp. 1-20.

Mulvey-Roberts, M 2009, 'From Bluebeard’s Bloody Chamber to Demonic Stigmatic', in D Wallace & A Smith (eds), Female Gothic, Palgrave Macmillan, London.

Muscarella, F, Arantes, L & Koncsol, S 2011, 'A Rose by Any Other Name: Scent Preferences, Gender, and Sexual Orientation', Electronic Journal of Human Sexuality, no. 14.

Mussell, K 1984, Fantasy and Reconciliation: Contemporary Fantasies of Women’s Romance Fiction, Praeger, Westport.

Nakagawa, C 2011, 'Safe Sex with Defanged Vampires: New Vampire Heroes in Twilight and the Southern Vampire Mysteries', Journal of Popular Romance Studies, vol. 2, no. 1.

Natalier, K 2004, 'Avoiding the housework: Domestic Labour and Gender in Group Living Contexts', Electronic Journal of Sociology.

Nelson, CK 2013, 'Unbinding an Audience and a Speech: Dove’s Answer to the Beauty/Authenticity Double bind', Qualitative Research reports in Communication, vol. 1, pp. 112-8.

Ness, M 2017, 'Enchantment and Distrust: Marie-Jeanne L’Heritier’s The Discreet Princess', tor.com, viewed 01/04/2019, .

Nicol, R 2011, '“When you kiss me, I want to die”: Arrested Feminism in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the Twilight Series', in G Anatol (ed.), Bringing Light to Twilight: Perspectives on a Pop Culture Phenomenon, Palgrave Macmillan New York.

Orenstein, C 2002, Little Red Riding Hood Uncloaked: Sex, Morality and the Evolution of a Fairy Tale., Basic Books, New York.

Orenstein, P 1994, Schoolgirls: Young Women, Self-Esteem and the Confidence Gap, Anchor Books, New York.

—— 2011, Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the new Girlie-Girl Culture, Harper Collins, New York.

O'Shaughnessy Bowers, T 1994, 'Sex, Lies, and Invisibility: Amatory Fiction from the Restoration to Mid-Century', in J Richetti (ed.), The Columbia History of the British Novel, Columbia University Press, Columbia.

Paris, L 2016, 'Fifty shades of fandom: the intergenerational permeability of Twilight fan culture', Feminist Media Studies, vol. 16, no. 4, pp. 678-92.

286

Park, O & Davidson, T 2010, 'Cupcakes, gender, nostalgia', Briarpatch, vol. 39, no. 2, pp. 26-8.

Peakman, J 2016, Amatory Pleasures: Explorations in Eighteenth-Century Sexual Culture, Bloomsbury Publishing, London.

Pearce, J 2010, Sisters Red, Hodder Children's Books, London.

Pender, P 2006, I'm Buffy and You're History: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Contemporary Feminism, I.B Tauris & Co., London.

Pipher, M 1994, Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls., G.P Putnam & Sons, New York.

Platt, CA 2010, 'Cullen Family Values: Gender and Sexual Politics in the Twilight Series', in M Click, et al (ed.), Bitten by Twilight: Youth Culture, Media, and the Vampire Franchise, Peter Lang Publishing, New York.

'The Popular Novels of the Year' 1863, Fraser’s Magazine for Town and Country, vol. 68, 404, Longmans, Green and co [etc], London, pp. 253-69.

Pratt, A 1981, Archetypal Patterns in Women’s Fiction, Indiana University Press, Bloomington.

Projansky, S 2014, Spectacular Girls: Media Fascination and Celebrity Culture, NYU Press, New York.

Pulliam, J 2014, Monstrous Bodies: Feminine Power in Young Adult Horror Fiction, McFarland & Company Jefferson.

Punday, D 2002, 'Narrative Performance in the Contemporary Monster Story', The Modern Language Review, vol. 97, no. 4, pp. 803-20.

Punter, D 2004, The Gothic, Wiley-Blackwell, London.

Purvis, J 2013, 'What was Margaret Thatcher’s Legacy for Women?', Women’s History Review, vol. 22, no. 6, pp. 1014-8.

Putter, A 2014, 'Introduction', in A Putter & J Gilbert (eds), The Spirit of Medieval Popular Romance, Routledge, Abingdon.

Pyrhönen, H 2010, Bluebeard Gothic: “Jane Eyre” and Its Progeny, University of Toronto Press, Toronto.

Radford, J 1986, 'Introduction', in j Radford (ed.), The Progress of Romance, Taylor & Francis, London.

Radway, JA 1991, Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy and Popular Literature, 2 edn, The University of North Carolina Press, North Carolina.

287

Rahimi, R 2009, 'What Does She Expect When She Dresses Like That? Teacher Interpretation fo Emerging Adolescent Female Sexuality', Educational Studies, vol. 45, no. 6, pp. 512-33.

Reade, L 2011, 'Festive fragrances: Lou Reade sniffs out the chemistry behind some well-known seasonal smells, from the festive fug of gift shops to the welcoming scent of the Christmas tree.', Chemistry and Industry, vol. 75, no. 24, pp. 17-9.

Reeve, C 1816, The Old English Baron, London

Regis, P 2003, A Natural History of the Romance Novel, University of Pennsylvania Press, Pennsylvania.

—— 2011, 'What do Critics Owe the Romance? Keynote Address at the Second Annual Conference for the International Association for the Study of the Romance Novel', Journal of Popular Romance Studies, vol. 2, no. 1.

Reynolds, K 2007, Radical Children's Literature: Future Visions and Aesthetic Transformations in Juvenile Fiction, Palgrave MacMillan, New York.

Roach, C 2016, Happily Ever After : The Romance Story in Popular Culture, Indiana University Press, Bloomington.

Rodale, M 2015, Dangerous Books For Girls: The Bad Reputation of Romance Novels Explained: Expanded Edition, Maya Rodale, Kindle Edition.

Rodriguez, A 2017, 'Twenty years ago, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” created the blueprint for what we watch today', Quartz, viewed 05/04/2019, .

Romance Writers of America, About the Romance Genre, viewed 30/01/2018 2018, .

—— Romance Subgenres, viewed 06/09/2018 2018, .

—— 2015, Romance Statistics Romance Writers of America, .

Rose, S 2017, 'How post-horror movies are taking over cinema', The Guardian, viewed 11/04/2019, .

Rosenbaum, JE & Weathersbee, R 2013, 'True Love Waits: Do Southern Baptists? Premarital Sexual Behavior Among Newly Married Southern Baptist Sunday School Students', Journal of religion and health, vol. 52, no. 1, pp. 263-75.

288

Ross, DL 2015, Excellence of Falsehood : Romance, Realism, and Women's Contribution to the Novel, University of Kentucky Press, Lexington.

Rout, K 2003, 'Who Do You Love? Anne Rice's Vampires and Their Moral Transition', Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 36, no. 3.

Rudd, D 2010, 'The Development of Children’s Literature', in D Rudd (ed.), The Routledge Companion to Children’s Literature, Routledge Oxon.

Ryan, KM 2011, 'The relationship between rape myths and sexual scripts: The social construction of rape.', Sex Roles, vol. 65, no. 11-12, pp. 774-82.

Sarkar, A 2018, '‘Porn for women’ Searches are up, but female sexuality existed long before Fifty Shades', The Guardian, viewed 14/02/2018, .

Saunders, K 1996, 'Introduction', in EM Hull (ed.), The Sheik, Virago, London, pp. v- xi.

Sceats, S 2000, Food, Consumption and the Body in Contemporary Women's Fiction, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Schneider-Mayerson, M 2010, 'Popular Fiction Studies: The Advantages of a New Field', Studies in Popular Culture, vol. 33, no. 1, pp. 21-35.

Seifert, C 2015, Virginity in Young Adult Literature after Twilight, Roman and Littlefield, New York.

Seifert, LC 2004, 'On Fairy Tales, Subversion and Ambiguity: Feminist Approaches to Seventeenth-Century Contes de fées.', in D Haase (ed.), Fairy Tales and Feminism: New Approaches, Wayne State University Press, Detroit.

Shaffer, J 1992, 'Not Subordinate: Empowering Women in the Marriage-Plot - the Novels of Frances Burney, Maria Edgeworth, and Jane Austen', Criticism : a Quarterly for Literature and the Arts, vol. 34, no. 1, pp. 51-73.

Shen, LC 2018, 'Gender and cross-genderism in children’s literature: a comparative case study of the figure of the tomboy', Neohelicon, vol. 45, no. 2, pp. 653-70.

Slavitt, D 2013, 'Foreward', in D Slavitt (ed.), The Lays of Marie de France, AU Press, Edmonton, AB.

Sledzik, PS & Bellantoni, N 1994, 'Bioarcheological and Biolcultural Evidence for the New England Vampire Folk Belief', American Journal of Physical Anthropology, vol. 94, no. 2, pp. 269-74.

Smith, A 2013, Gothic Literature, Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh.

289

Smith, A & Wallace, D 2004, 'The Female Gothic: Then and Now', Gothic Studies, vol. 6, no. 1, pp. 1-9.

Smyczyńska, K 2007, The World According to Bridget Jones: Discourses of Identity in Chicklit Fiction, Peter Lang, Pieterlen.

Snitow, AB 1979, 'Mass Market Romance: Pornography for Women is Different', Radical History Review, vol. 20, pp. 141-61.

Sobba Green, K 1991, The Courtship Novel 1740-1820: A Feminized Genre, University Press of Kentucky, Lexington.

Sonnet, E 1999, '‘Erotic Fiction by Women for Women’: The Pleasures of Post- Feminist Heterosexuality', Sexualities, vol. 2, no. 2, pp. 167-87.

Spence, C 2017, 'Comfort food: A review', International Journal of Gastronomy and Food Science, vol. 9, pp. 105-9.

Spicer, A 2002, '“Love’s Bitch but Man Enough to Admit It”: Spike’s Hybridized Gender', Slayage, vol. 7, no. 2.3.

Starker, S 2012, Evil Influences: Crusades Against the Mass Media Transaction Publishers, Piscayaway.

Stephens, J 1992, Language and Ideology in Children's Literature., Longman, London.

Stephens, J & McCallum, R 1998, Retelling Stories, Framing Culture: Traditional Story and Metanarratives in Children's Literature, Routledge.

Stiefvater, M 2009, Shiver, vol. 1, 4 vols., Wolves of Mercy Falls, Scholastic, New Hampshire.

—— 2010, Linger, Wolves of Mercy Falls, Scholastic, New Hampshire.

—— 2011, Forever, Wolves of Mercy Falls, Scholastic, New Hampshire.

—— 2014, Sinner, Wolves of Mercy Falls, Scholastic Press, New Hampshire.

Stein, K 2012, '"My Slippery Place": Female Masturbation in Young Adult Literature', Children’s Literature Association Quarterly, vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 415-28.

Stein, S 2009, Type-Casting: The Skinny Glutton, New York, .

Stevanovitch, C 2011, 'Enquiries Into the Textual History of the Seventeenth- Century Sir Lambewell (London, British Library, Additional 27897)', in L Carruthers, R Chai-Elsholz & T Silec (eds), Palimpsests and the Literary Imagination of Medieval England: Collected Essays, Palgrave Macmillan, New York.

290

Stokes, M 2014, 'Lanval to Sir Launfal: A Story Becomes Popular', in A Putter & J Gilbert (eds), The Spirit of Medieval Popular Romance, Routledge, Abingdon.

Strohm, P 1977, 'The Origin and Meaning of Middle English Romaunce', Genre, vol. 10, pp. 1-28.

Synnott, A 1991, 'A Sociology of Smell', The Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology, vol. 28, no. 4, pp. 437-59.

Talbot, M 2002, 'Girls Just Want to Be Mean.', New York Times Magazine.

Talairach-Vielmas, L 2010, 'Beautiful Maidens, Hideous Suitors: Victorian Fairy Tales and the Process of Civilization', Marvels & Tales., vol. 24, no. 2, pp. 272-96.

—— 2013, 'Sensation Fiction: A Peep Behind the Veil', in A Smith & W Hughes (eds), The Victorian Gothic: An Edinburgh Companion, Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh, pp. 29-42.

Tan, C & Wendell, S 2009, Beyond Heaving Bosoms: The Smart Bitch’s Guide to Romance Novels, Simon and Schuster Digital Sales Inc, New York.

Tasker, Y & Negra, D 2014, Gendering the Recession: Media and Culture in an Age of Austerity, Duke University Press, Durham.

Tatar, M 2003, The Hard Facts of the Grimms' Fairy Tales., 2nd edn, Princeton University Press, New Jersey.

Teo, H-M 2010, 'Historicizing The Sheik: Comparisons of the British Novel and the American Film', Journal of Popular Romance Studies, vol. 1, no. 1.

Tobin-McClain, L 2000, 'Paranormal Romance: Secrets of the Female Fantastic', Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts, vol. 11, no. 3, pp. 294-306.

Tolman, D 2002, Dilemmas of Desire: Teenage Girls Talk about Sexuality, Harvard University Press, Cambridge.

Townsend, JR 1990, Written for Children: An Outline of English-Language Children’s Literature, 5th edn, Bodley Head, London.

Trites, R 1997, Waking Sleeping Beauty: Feminist Voices in Children’s Novels University of Iowa Press, Iowa City.

—— 2000, Disturbing the Universe: Power and Representation in Adolescent Literature., University of Iowa Press, Iowa City.

Turcotte, G 2012, 'Forward: Shapeshifters Know No Bounds', in K McMahon- Coleman & R Weaver (eds), Werewolves an Other Sapeshifters in Popular Culture, McFarland & Company, Inc. , Jefferson.

291

Turner, E 2014, 'The Sheik Returns: Imitations and Parodies of the Desert Romance', in J Helgason, S Kärrholm & A Steiner (eds), Hype: Bestsellers and Literary Culture, Nordic Academic Press, Lund.

Twitchell, JB 1985, Dreadful Pleasures: An Anatomy of Modern Horror, Oxford University Press, New York.

Valenti, J 2009, The Purity Myth: How America’s Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women, Seal Press, Berkeley.

Vial, C 2011, 'The Middle English Breton Lays and the Mists of Origin', in L Carruthers, R Chai-Elsholz & T Silec (eds), Palimpsests and the Literary Imagination of Medieval England: Collected Essays, Palgrave Macmillan, New York.

Vosnaki, E 2013a, Perfume Primers: Gourmand Fragrances for Beginners and Beyond, .

—— 2013b, Perfume Primers: The Much Maligned Fruity Florals for Beginners & Beyond, .

Vranjes, V 2014, 'Jane Austen, Lord Hardwicke's Marriage Act, and the National Courtship Plot', Clio, vol. 43, no. 2, pp. 197-293.

Wahlquist, C 2019, 'How I Fell in Love with Romance Novels', The Guardian, viewed 01/04/2019, .

Wallop, H 2010, 'Wuthering Heights sales quadruple thanks to Twilight effect', The Telegraph.

Walls, K 2016, 'The Generic Ambiguity of Margaret Mahy’s The Changeover', Children’s Literature Association Quarterly, vol. 41, no. 1, pp. 59-73.

Walpole, H 2012, The Castle of Otranto, ed. H Morley, Project Gutenberg Urbana.

Warde, A 1997, Consumption, Food and Taste : Culinary Antinomies and Commodity Culture, Sage London.

Warner, M 1995, From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and their Tellers, Vintage Books, London.

—— 2007, Monsters of Our Own Making: The Peculiar Pleasures of Fear, The University Press of Kentucky, Kentucky.

Watt, I 1957, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson and Fielding, University of California Press, Berkley.

292

Weekes, P 2018, Amatory Fiction, the Fallen Damsel & Fantomina, or Love in a Maze, 10/10/2018, New York, .

Weinberg, A 2003, 'She’s Come Undone: Chick lit was supposed to be the bright light of postfeminist writing. What happened?', Book, vol. July-August, pp. 46-50.

Wendell, S 2008, Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books LLC, .

Wilson, N 2011, Seduced by Twilight: The allure and contradictory messages, McFarland & Company, Jefferson.

Wiseman, R 2002, Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends and Other Realities of Adolescence, Random House, New York.

Yang, SR & Healey, K 2016, 'Introduction: Haunted Landscapes and Fearful Spaces— Expanding Views on the Geography of the Gothic', in SR Yang & K Healey (eds), Gothic Landscapes: Changing Eras, Changing Cultures, Changing Anxieties, Palgrave Macmillan, Cham.

Younger, B 2003, 'Pleasure, Pain, and the Power of Being Thin: Female Sexuality in Young Adult Literature', NWSA Journal, vol. 15, no. 2, pp. 45-56.

Zarzo, M 2013, 'What is a Fresh Scent in Perfumery? Perceptual Freshness is Correlated with Substantivity', Sensors (Basel), vol. 13, no. 1, pp. 463-83.

Ziolkowski, JM 2009, Fairy Tales from Before Fairy Tales : The Medieval Latin Past of Wonderful Lies, University of Michigan Press, Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Zipes, J 1993, The Trials and Tribulations of Little Red Riding Hood, 2nd edn, Routledge, New York.

—— 2002, Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales., 2, revised edn, University Press of Kentucky, Lexington.

—— 2006a, Why Fairy Tales Stick: The Evolution and Relevance of a Genre., Routledge, New York.

—— 2006b, Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion., 2 edn, Routledge, New York.

—— 2007, When Dreams Came True: Fairy Tales and their Tradition., 2 edn, Routledge, New York.

293