the ask@AAR: What romance novels show consent beautifully?
This week I read a historical romance novella with a love scene that did consent perfectly. Romance novels routinely show–and now more so than ever which is the best–that sex and intimacy are something two (or more) people decide on together. Consent happens when both (or more) parties agree on what sexual contact is going to be and feel like. Desire and how it is acted upon is mutual, pleasurable, and not to be regretted. As Sierra Simone says in this Jezebel article, The Romance Novelists Guide to Hot Consent, “consent is that parachute that you can strap on your back before you jump out of the plane.”
What romances and authors do this well? Go!
I always enjoyed Dan and Phoebe’s first sex scene in SEP’s It Had To Be You. She asks him to stop whenever she says as they progress through a seduction, and he does. They are more and more physically intimate when she finally asks him to stop after he is actively penetrating, and she tells herself it’s impossible and too much to ask, and he pulls out because she said stop.
Dan is an interesting SEP character. He’s among her most alpha but his whole approach to intimacy, in part, I think, because of the agreement he has with his ex-wife, is replete with great respectful responses.
This comment makes me want to go back and read It Had to Be You. SEP has come under much scrutiny over the years for her construction of belittled female characters and overbearing men. I honestly don’t remember Dan though.
Phoebe is my favorite SEP heroine because I feel like she has the standing to go toe-to-toe with Dan, in a way that many of SEP’s heroines don’t. I like Dan because Phoebe’s position and strength make him feel less of a bully (I mean, she’s literally his boss) than some of SEP’s other heroes who just come across as jerks.
That being said, the scenes with Dan’s ex-wife always skeeved me a little, and Dan definitely has some sexism issues. Worst is a cameo by a real life figure (I don’t want to set off a flamewar by naming this polarizing person but you’ll know when you get there) which does NOT age well.
Dan is a product of his times–it’s clear when you see him in later books, he’s learning to be less sexist. And, for me, the scenes with his ex-wife are exactly what she asked him for and, even though, that sexual dynamic doesn’t do much for me, they come across as two consenting adults.
Eventually, yeah – but the first time you read that scene it’s definitely designed to trick you. It was the author that made me uncomfortable there, not the characters.
Dan is one of my favorite heroes. The moment when Phoebe is exposing her ankle while he’s working out and he can’t focus is so cute. He just is kind of funny with his blind spot that he has to marry a kindergarten teacher if he wants a woman who is good with kids.
Ugh, yes, that cameo. I read the book for the first time around the time of the election and the novel definitely lost points because of it.
Well, it was written in 1995. He was a joke then but not considered a national menace.
I know, I know, it was just bad timing all around. It didn’t help that his name cropped up in other random books I read at the time, but this one was particularly egregious.
Yes–I think making the context of a book connected to alive famous people can often end up not working out the way one planned.
I’ve read a number of books from the early 2000s all the way up to about 2015 where he (or buildings with his name on them) crop up. (He was usually used as a point of reference for wealth.) There’s a Julie James romance where the heroine is waiting for renovations to her condo in the XXXXX Tower in Chicago and I remember thinking, I bet she wishes she could go back and change that. In Molly O’Keefe’s THE TYCOON, the heroine tells the hero that she can’t be with him if he voted for XXXXX in the election.
There was, and maybe still is, much handwringing over #MeToo’s potential impact on sexual relationships. I remember watching an episode of Bill Maher’s HBO show in which some of the panelists, male and female, were actually predicting the end of dating! Fear of female reprisal should a man mess up and get minor things wrong on a date seemed to create a bit of a surreal atmosphere where men were criminalized in advance just for existing and single women were losing out on their romantic chances in life. Maybe the silliest thing I heard was that couples would have to draw up legal contracts and iron out terms of consent prior to a date.
Thankfully, the “reckoning” Jezebel warns is overdue has been mostly a blessing for my romance reading. Rapey heroes, kidnappings, and forced seductions have virtually disappeared from all of the books I have picked up over the past two years. Instead, authors I love are creating worlds where power and consent begin from the first chapter. Here are some of my favs:
Helen Hoang’s The Bride Test – Horrible first sexual encounter quickly transitions to the men in the hero’s life staging an intervention in one of my favorite scenes in a long time. Yeah, the men in this book may all be a little too good to be true, but how wonderful for men to clue each other in on what respect looks like.
Courtney Milan’s The Governess Affair – The hero may present as a villain but as we find out, he’s utterly decent, and when he falls for the heroine, it’s near tear-inducing to see how her happiness is necessary for his. Consent is huge in this story given the theme of rape and the heroine’s traumatic experiences.
Lucy Parker’s The Austen Playbook – So many welcome observations about valuing a woman’s sexual choices. The hero is fearless in his respect for the heroine’s sexual rights and even past sexual mistakes, and I just adored him for the care he accords her.
Kate Clayborn’s Best of Luck – The book feels quietly of-the-moment in its depiction of consent as a foundation of romance and sexual pleasure, and of female autonomy as an underlying principle in a couple’s long-term happiness. There are a number of scenes that show us Clayborn’s philosophy on equality between women and men that I truly appreciate as a reader.
**Highly, highly recommend the Jezebel article too for insight into how some of today’s popular authors develop themes of consent now.
Oh, I love that scene with Michael and Quan counseling Khai! It’s one of those scenes that absolutely make you squirm with delight and awkwardness and embarrassment and sweetness. I definitely think it’s one of those ‘only in a romance novel,’ guys moment – but it’s so well done, I can’t care!
I forgot about the third book in the Clayborn trilogy! So many excellent, quiet moments of consent. HOW DID I FORGET IT?!
Can you link to the Jezebel article?
It’s at the top, in the original post.
Thanks!
Too much consent makes my eyes roll up to the top on my head. We all like different things in our stories. I don’t like reading endless askings of “Can I touch you here?” That interrupts the story.
“I don’t like reading endless askings of ‘Can I touch you here?'” I agree this can definitely be overdone, especially in certain types of stories and situations. It can also be a form of “telling” versus “showing.” Consent can also be shown through body language, reactions to pleasure, character POV, and limit setting or suggestions like, “A little softer” or “You know what really turns me on? XYZ.” Or something like that. Maybe even, “Woah, do you have a train to catch?” I know humor pulls some readers out of sex scenes but it can be another form of intimate communication depending on the couple portrayed. It all depends on the context.
I agree that everyone has different taste in sex scenes, if they even want to read them at all. Personally, I am more tolerant of constant “Can I touch you here?” questions if the hero or heroine in question is a nervous virgin or has a history of trauma/abuse or has a medical condition(s) which could make navigating sex in this way important for physical/emotional safety and security. But yeah, if there have been three or four sex scenes in the story already, maybe the author could shake things up a bit by showing enthusiasm through “come hither” looks or playful banter or even raw, animalistic passion rather than endless repetitions of “Can I touch you here?”
Thanks for the link to the article. Ir was very informative reading, and that includes the comments section,. Interesting how the same dialogue is seen by different readers in different ways – for one person, what the hero says is respectful and sexy, but for another it’s tentative and silly.
Not saying one or the other is right or wrong, just that it’s a topic in romance that’s fascinating because it can be so very subjective. And IMO, the level of consent required to make a story work can vary wildly from one situation/character/book/author to another.
Thanks for all the great recs in this thread too!
If there’s a better consent scene than the consummation one in The Governess Affair by Courtney Milan, I don’t think I’ve read it.
“We’re not going to be doing this that way, Serena,” he said.
She swallowed. “Which way is that way?” Her voice was unsteady.
He removed another hairpin. “Whichever way you’re thinking of right now. Your hands are shaking.”
“What—how—I don’t know—” She choked on her uncertainty, on the dark fears that rose up inside her. But he kept removing her pins, one by one, scarcely touching her as he did so. Her coiffure tilted alarmingly, and then, as he freed a particularly crucial bit of iron, her hair tumbled down to her shoulders.
“What do you intend?” she asked.
“I am not going to consummate this marriage.” He found one last pin, dangling in her curls, and set this against the others that he’d gathered. He arranged them in his hand, a neat row of gray metal.
“You’re not going to consummate the marriage,” she repeated.
“I’m not.” He held out his hand, and when she reached out to take it, he dumped the hairpins in her palm. “But you are.” The heat of his body had warmed the pins. While she was staring at them in confusion, he closed her fingers around them. “This is how it works,” he said. “You may trade a pin for a favor. If you want me to unlace your corset, you can give me a pin. If you want me to give you a kiss, it will cost you a pin. But until you ask, I can’t touch you.”
Milan, Courtney. The Governess Affair (The Brothers Sinister) (pp. 132-133). Courtney Milan. Kindle Edition.
That’s a great one!
I haven’t read “The Governess Affair,” but that sexy passage is a good incentive to read it. I like how Ms. Milan gets creative with the hair pins as currency for sexual favors while still keeping everything respectful and consensual.
I’m not sure if anybody here watches Jenna Moreci’s videos on YouTube for writing tips, but she has a couple of videos about how to write consent without making characters sound like robots or lawyers drawing up contracts. (Not that a robot or a lawyer drawing up a contract couldn’t be sexy if presented in the right way!) Anyway, her videos are worth checking out.
Alyssa Cole’s A Princess in Theory did a fantastic job, IIRC.
I thought Mia Vincy did a fabulous job with consent in A Wicked Kind of Husband.
I don’t read a lot of m/f contemporary, but in the queer contemporaries I’m reading (MOST of my reading these days), consent is almost always front and center in every romantic liaison. I think queer authors do a wonderful job incorporating consent into their stories, so much so that if it’s missing it’s an imaginary horn is blaring in my ear. Authors who are doing this particularly well – from my most recent reading include:
Gregory Ashe, Borealis Investigations series
Jenn Burke, Not Dead Yet series
Keira Andrews – always a feature of her novels
Annabeth Albert – Frozen Hearts series
K.J. Charles – always a feature of her novels
Elizabeth Kingston – Desire Lines
Talia Hibbert – Her entire catalog, but particularly the Ravenswood series, and Work for It (her terrific 2019 release)
Alexis Hall – How to Bang a Billionaire series
Roan Parrish – Riven series; Middle of Somewhere series
Laura Lascaro – The Bravest Thing
Helen Hoang – The Kiss Quotient
Kennedy Ryan – Hoops trilogy, but most memorably Long Shot, Fast Break and Hook Shot
Charlie Adhara – Big Bad Wolf series
Definitely The Kiss Quotient and some authors here like Talia Hibbert and Kennedy Ryan are on my list to read very soon.
I still have mixed feelings about how Elizabeth Kingston handled consent in Desire Lines though. Maybe more than any book I’ve read, the theme of consent is front and center throughout the novel, and as a supporter of #MeToo I was happy to see an author engage with this material so directly. Why didn’t I love this book then? Nan is so protective of her body and autonomy (and for good reason!), but she doesn’t let her guard down with the hero of the book until nearly the end. I think perhaps I started feeling that the concept remained too conceptual in this book and that for a romance, it took Nan too long to see Griff’s goodness?
I enjoyed Desire Lines and Nan, but it’s clear readers are split on the books. They worked for me; Nan emerged from her protective shell on her own terms, ready to welcome Gryff into her life and heart in a way that felt organic to her journey. I liked the time it took her to see Gryff’s goodness and gentle heart…he had to work for it, and so did she. The duology has had a very mixed response from my favorite book readers though (you among them!).
It definitely helped to read Nan first to understand why she is the way she is!
“I think queer authors do a wonderful job incorporating consent into their stories,” I agree! I wonder if this has anything to do with the kind of sexual navigation non-heterosexual couples have typically had to undergo versus heterosexual ones due to a combination of societal expectations and, shall we say, anatomical considerations.
It reminds me of the late Quentin Crisp, a man who was openly gay in 1920s London and got beaten up many times just for his mannerisms. He was sort of famous for being famous and had a well-deserved reputation for wit. (He was often compared to Oscar Wilde.) And one of the things he said later in life (circa 1970s) about gay relationships versus straight ones was something along the lines of, “When men and women want to have sex, they just have to hop into bed and do it. Whereas if two men want to have sex, they must first have a board meeting to discuss who is going to be doing what to whom.”
Obviously, he made the comment for laughs (he was a kind of stand up comedian/philosopher, but not exactly), but he did have a point. Because of some of the differences (or similarities) involved with homosexual lovemaking, dialogue/negotiation is practically a necessity. Whereas, historically in many places, the more “standard” one man one woman variety of sex had clear societal expectations. And those expectations, unfortunately, did not usually include a culture of explicit, enthusiastic consent. (None of this is to say there weren’t any blissfully happy straight couples in history, but the sociopolitical aspects of sex often pushed female happiness into the background.)
Every couple (or ménage, as the case may be) varies considerably in their communication skills, of course. But I think the enthusiastic consent in queer literature may be due to the kind of observation Mr. Crisp made so many years ago.
And I am happy to say that I have not encountered a lack of consent in heterosexual romance either. Those rapist-as-hero romances that earned the slur “bodice ripper” are pretty clearly no longer in vogue, at least in my observations.
To wrap up this post, my rec for beautifully handled consent is the Regency m/m historical romance “A Gentleman Never Keeps Score” by Cat Sebastian. I know I have mentioned Ms. Sebastian before (a lot), but she really handles unconventional HR well.
In “A Gentleman Never Keeps Score,” one of the heroes was sexually abused as a young man. His trauma has made him afraid of sexual contact with men even though he is sexually attracted to them, which is quite a dilemma. Fortunately, he finds a man who is willing to let him take the lead in the bedroom so he can control the pace of his experiences in case he becomes nervous or panics. And likewise, his love interest benefits from allowing a partner to be in control for a change since he is considered a steadfast pillar in his community who can’t afford to show his vulnerable side. My main problem with the story was its rushed conclusion and some HEA choices that made me scratch my head. But none of my complaints are about the well-handled consent.
I really liked the first sex scene in Kate Canterbary’s FAR CRY where the hero asks the heroine what he is permitted to do. A sort of “opt-in” consent. (The scene is really hot, too.)
I should add that Canterbary’s HARD PRESSED also has a wonderful consent storyline because the heroine is not sure how far she wants to go with a new relationship and the hero is willing to meet her at her own pace.
I’ve never heard of her! Readers, here’s a link to Canterbary’s Amazon page.
She was a new discovery for me this year too—now I’m glomming her backlist. She had a way with complicated (one might say “prickly”) characters, especially women. And I very much like that characters are not automatically transformed by love: they might become their best selves, but they remain their essential selves.