Romance Junkie

 My name is Fiona, and I’m a romance junkie. I’ve read upwards of 500+ romance novels in my life—465 formally recorded on Goodreads, and more that I never had the chance to record. Their names are likely forever lost to the spotty memory of my teenage and adult years.

I don’t talk about my addiction to romance novels very much on this account, partially because it’s a bit embarrassing (will I ever free myself from the shackles of assuming stereotypically feminine activities are shameful? Time will only tell) and partially because I’ve slowed my pace of romance consumption since I started reading literature a bit more seriously and changed my tastes a bit. Also, because there is not much to say about the mindless romance I used to and currently fill my waking hours with. I still indulge in a few here and there. As a treat.

I’ve slowed the breakneck speed because romance has honestly gotten quite boring (it only took me 500 reiterations of the same plot to realize, but alas). It’s always the same canned plot, the same boy meets girl, the same happily ever after, but in different fonts. It’s funny to me when I see romances like Colleen Hoover and Emily Henry’s work get insanely popular and give them a try because they just don’t stick out to me as anything special. I read them, and it’s the same thing as the rest. Very few romances have ever really stuck out to me, but when they do, the rush I get is like nothing else.

I wonder if I’ve become numb to the excitement I used to feel when the two characters confess and embrace and live happily ever after, or if life has changed me, and I now realize there is more to life than that glamour. Perhaps it is more important to love rather than be loved.

My worldview has also shifted from an obsession with love and romance and fairytales to a more wide range of priorities and interests. I've grown, and it's bittersweet to realize that the tropes I used to enjoy were just fantasies of a little girl despite my teenage-hood at the time. Maybe in some ways, by continuing to read romance here and there, I am still clinging to the child within me who dreamt of romance which are as far off as any fantasy novel or series. Not to say that romance like the ones in the books are unattainable, but there is a level of disbelief that must be suspended when yet another girl bumps into the future love of her life and he catches her. There is more to life than romance and love and boys. There is more to relationships than the one I foster with a future partner. There are dreams, hopes, career, family, friends, nature, hobbies. So now I like learning more about people outside of relationships in the books and media I consume more often now, because ultimately, the human condition is made up of so much more than their romantic interactions. And that is what I am constantly searching for answers about. Humans, their tendencies, their experiences, their feelings. 

Don’t get me wrong; most of my favorite books still have a focus on romantic relationships. Call Me By Your Name, Of Human Bondage, The Song of Achilles. Even literary fiction with a focus on romantic relationships like Normal People. Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve expanded my tastes.

Dec. 20, 2023