It will come as no surprise that I am an avid reader. A graduate of an arts degree that, along with journalism, enriched my already deep love of literature, I am a books over television kind of girl (this amuses my husband who is the opposite and constantly jokes that I should just wait for the movie to come out!)
Recently I read a post that ranked, by popular vote, the top 20 fictional romances. You can find it here.
First on the list was that perennial favourite that never fails to satisfy, the romance of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Another couple, further down the list, Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe, I could also heartily agree with. Having recently devoured the whole series, again, their fidelity, sacrificial love and lasting marriage are a romance for the ages.
But the rest of the list became somewhat disappointing. Not that the others listed didn’t belong to great reads, but because the portrayal of romantic love fails to live up to real love; willing the good of the other.
Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara? Rourke and Eve Dallas? To be honest, other than a few notable exceptions, I think the list was more about sexual tension, rather than love.
Some books I had not read, nor do I intend to, including the Twilight Saga and Outlander, but I believe they fall into the above description though I would love to hear your thoughts if you disagree.
But even in the classic romances that were voted for, I was pretty disappointed. Now I have to admit that as a teenager I devoured Jane Eyre, it was one of my favourite books of all time. I purchased a BBC miniseries of it, which is done remarkably well; it’s so atmospheric. And it never really occurred to me until my early twenties that actually, the relationship between Jane and her Mr Rochester was less than ideal.
Now I’m not veering down the feminist path here, the one that I studied in high school, but rather that Rochester did not love Jane as best he could. I mean, the man tried to marry her, despite being already married. Yes, his wife was insane, but he knew that the marriage would be invalid and that he would, in effect, be making Jane his mistress without her knowledge and consent but he was so desperate to have her that he took them down a road that would lead only to sin and destruction.
And its best not to get me started on the relationship between Cathy and Heathcliff. I think readers of this book are in two camps, those who love it and those who don’t. I’m firmly in the latter category. How can you love someone, be ‘soul mates’ and yet deliberately inflict such pain and cruelty? On each other and innocent bystanders?
So I’m interested to know what your favourite fictional romances are. And also why!
I’ll start the ball rolling! I would definitely include Elizabeth and Darcy, and Anne and Gilbert for that matter, but I’d also include Margaret Hale and John Thornton from Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South, and Joanie and Brandon Vaughn from Arms of Love.
Originally posted 2016-06-30 02:49:46.