Despite the prevalence of happy romantic heroes, I’m most intrigued by the ambiguous love story. My favorite titles reveal that the land of love can be treacherous terrain—migration, murder, parental illness, a stranger impregnated. Occasionally, even, the lover dies—shot in bed, languished in a cave, or disappeared by the government.Article continues after advertisement
Trouble is expected—what is a love story, if not a series of escalating tests of love? But this is not trouble that leads anyone down the aisle, so why do these ambiguous stories resonate? For many, the happy ending is the point. The world is a shitshow last I checked, and what joy those happy stories provide.
I am not immune. I inhaled Heated Rivalry almost as fast as Shane Hollander can say, I kind of prefer being the hole rather than the peg. In book form, I devour the wit and yearning leading to the lovers’ midway union. With that desire fulfilled, another must appear. Not just happiness, but certainty.
Here the breezy fun veers into a reality I don’t buy, because much of life is uncertain, neither happy nor ever after. The world we actually live in is a dangerous and messy place. Promises—like hearts—can be broken, sometimes beyond repair.
