First and foremost, I want to start with a love letter of sorts for the romance novel. With so much suffering and trauma in the world, romance is a genre that above all shows the power of human connection. Romance is joy. And in more traditional romances, one can expect a happy ever after; no matter the trials and tribulations the two characters face. It’s a genre that inspires hope. For many, reading love stories and romances has the power to be an act of self-care, a small luxury and promise that you’ll allow yourself some down time and escapism. As well as being a much-loved genre, romance novels are hugely profitable. Last year romance novels were reported as being the highest earning genre of fiction in the US. So, it’s safe to say the genre is beloved by many.
My own love of reading is partly owed to romances. I enjoyed books as a child, but it was when I was a teenager that I became a voracious reader. Young adult fantasy and paranormal romances were the books that triggered that change. When reading those stories, I was completely swept away and would spend whole weekends and summer holidays reading non-stop, only to eat or use the bathroom. And yet, despite this adoration of the romance genre, I often felt removed from the heroines in the stories. I enjoyed their worlds, and the love they experienced, but I had the sense that the protagonists weren’t like me. I very rarely related to them; I could put myself in their shoes, but I knew their shoes were not like mine. Consequently, ideas like romance and falling passionately in love appeared more like a fantasy, than a reality, for my teenage self.
Back then, I distinctly remember searching the internet for romance novels featuring British Iranian Muslims. Though, to be honest, I would have settled for Iranian, Muslim, or even Asian (the widest of brackets but even then, it was a struggle to find). I think one main pull of romance fiction is that you’re supposed to see yourself in the protagonist. This means you’ll be able to be swept away in their romance, and you’ll feel their conflict and hurt when things go wrong. And you will likely experience their joy when things do eventually go right at the end. But what message is it sending if the characters that get to experience such joy – and love – look nothing like you?
For myself, and numerous other people of colour, we are often required to make various leaps to imagine ourselves as the heroine in romance novels. As a British Iranian Muslim, my romantic experiences and background were starkly different to the characters I was reading as a teenager – and even now. Back then, I didn’t speak to boys, go to parties, or drink alcohol. So, seeing characters who did all these things, without any internal conflict such as feeling religious guilt, or external conflict from their family obstructing them from such behaviour, required a mental leap for me to imagine myself as them. Even beyond these deep-rooted character details, the visual aesthetics of most characters in a romance are often white and thin. If you read and watch enough romances, there is the danger that subliminally you might come to surmise that only white, thin women are deserving of grand and earth-shattering love. Given the fact that many of us begin reading romance novels as teenagers, such ideas can dangerously embed themselves into our minds without us even realising it.
The main reason I began writing, and wrote my debut novel The Mismatch, was because I longed to see myself reflected in a love story. I had never read a book featuring a British Iranian protagonist – and that is not for want of trying. We are hugely under-represented in literature generally, let alone in love stories. I wanted to write about my specific experience of being a British Iranian woman, who comes from a Muslim background, and navigating love and relationships for the first time in her early twenties. The sheer number of messages I received – and still receive – from women proclaiming it felt as though I had copied and pasted their lives in my novel astounded me. Many said it was the first time they’ve felt represented in literature, let alone a romance. I am glad I was able to provide that for some people – though I wish for more representation in publishing.
I wrote my novel not to represent every British Iranian Muslim, but one individual: my protagonist. I say this because while many related to my protagonist, some didn’t – and that is why we need more books by authors of different backgrounds. We don’t expect white authors to represent their entire community in one book, and so we shouldn’t expect that for authors of colour either. So, that’s why having truly diverse and inclusive publishing, not tokenistic publishing is needed, too.
Looking beyond ourselves, it’s also imperative to see a variety of people falling in love. Reading creates empathy, and it helps us understand each other. If we see people of many ethnicities and backgrounds in romance novels, it will no doubt send the message of unity – and that we are all deserving of brilliant love.
I reference this quote from Toni Morrison so much but it’s true: ‘If you find a book you really want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it’. It takes so much to get a book published. Yes, we need more ‘diverse’ authors to write romances, but we also need publishers to pick these books up – to see the obvious need for these stories. We need them to put marketing budget behind such books to allow for a wide readership. We need investment. There are huge amounts of people who might shy away from reading (and writing) romance because they don’t see their experiences reflected within the pages and might think it’s not for them. It’s often in only seeing something that we can believe it. Beyond entertainment value, from a social responsibility standpoint, it is therefore immensely vital to see a range of people in love stories. Romance novels hold great power – and it’s long overdue that they reflect the society we live in.
Sara Jafari is a British-Iranian writer and editor. She is the author of THE MISMATCH and PEOPLE CHANGE (Penguin Random House). She founded and runs TOKEN Magazine, a platform which showcases writing and artwork by underrepresented writers and artists. Previously, she works in book publishing as an editor. She was in the London Writers Awards programme in 2018-19.
Illustration by Clio Isadora.