Queering the rom-com
or, being a nerd about Alexis Hall's contemporary titles
I have messy complicated feelings1 about the term "queer", which is to say that I am just about old enough to remember it as aggressive, abusive, insulting etc, but also young enough to have encountered "queer theory" in a university setting - in the academic texts at least, if not particularly often socially. (Mostly for sexual orientation labels I refer to Alan Bennett's iconic line: "it's rather like asking a man crawling across the Sahara whether he'd prefer Malvern or Perrier.")2
Queer can be a helpful umbrella term and also more useful than the alphabet+ version in many situations - some labels are designed for groups (or groups of groups) and some are more effective for individuals. (In various arenas, members of marginalised or underrepresented or screwed-over populations have noted the problem with labelling an individual with a group name when only one element might apply to them.) It can also, for many, still be troublesome; there is an exchange in All Of Us Strangers about this, between the two lovely Irish lads.3 Generationally, what was used as the slur in school - was it "queer" or "gay"? That's likely to shape what labels you feel like "reclaiming" and/or using in adulthood.
(What I want to get at here, I suppose, is that I am using this word but I do not want to presume to tell anyone else how they should feel about it. I would also note the ickiness of policing others about such things.)
Anyway. Onto the books bit. Alexis Hall! Alexis Hall writes queer romances and they… queer. In that academic sense. In that verb sense. They "queer" expectations and narratives (in tremendously readable ways) not just by having the characters or relationships or sex acts fall under certain labels or involve certain identities and/or bodies but by other ways of resisting "straight", "traditional", "conforming" ideas.
(In another sense, of course, these are very conformative books - rom-coms adhering to that particular structure. And there is a wider publishing trend of "classic tropes but make it gay", which can sometimes lead to work that feels well-intentioned if still fairly shallow - it's "representation" in a familiar storyline without too much interrogation of it all. There's a value to this, too, but I'm more interested in how the shift of focus - the representation - means we might rethink our sense of what "normal" looks like.)
Anyway, I am smitten. I mentioned in my "best books of 2024" post, briefly, that I'd been reading the Spires series, but let me talk about that a bit more because. Oh. My heart.
The Spires series is a loosely-linked set of books connected to Oxford, recently republished with some delightful authorial footnotes (you can see, I hope, already, the appeal of this). The footnotes are this gorgeous mix of writery thoughts (while also explicitly holding back on insisting on one single reading of the text), critical theory references, and pop culture. There is one (I think Waiting For The Flood and its sequel?) that goes from earnestly talking about linguistic history to discussing Star Trek. (All the heart-eyes emojis!)
There are four titles in the series so far and another two on the way; there is bonus material (or, y'know, authorial peritext) in each volume. Each engages with a particular romance trope or two and dances between replication and interrogation of it/them, giving us the romance-novel-thrills while also playing with it a little bit. The hovering between escapism and realism is delicious, particularly when it comes to people's own fucked-up-ness. (Looking at you, Ash from Glitterland and both Fen and Alfie from Pansies.) What does that actually look like, in a romance or rom-com setting? What work needs to be done in order to make this a healthy, appealing relationship?
Hall is not the only writer asking these questions, of course. Romance is a genre where the authors and readers do a helluva lotta thinking about the stories they're telling, the tropes they're using (or subverting), and what it might all mean. In terms of m/f romance (I am reluctant to say "straight" because relationships are not identities, but also "straight" is exactly what I'm thinking), Emily Henry does a brilliant job with this stuff. But I like what Hall is doing a whole lot, in part because of the footnotes, I suppose, and in part because the British setting feels, if still a tad aspirational/wish-fulfilment in some of the texts, more relatable than the default of genre-stories-only-happen-in-America.
And then there is the way he interrogates what our expectations might be for queer romance, even as it ticks some familiar boxes - the vibe is very much, let's pick which boxes. Let's throw some others out entirely. It's a mix of conventional and radical, which feels authentic in a world where same-sex marriage is legal and yet where many of us still remember the strong cases made against it from within the LGBTQ+ community - not arguing against it in a homophobic way, but raising questions about the institution itself, and monogamy, and formal recognition versus chosen connections, and so many other things.
And I am not an expert on this stuff, nor am I suggesting that the legalisation of same-sex marriage is not anything other than good or necessary. (In 2015, Ireland legalised same-sex marriage by popular vote, the first country in the world to do so. I hate/resent that the nature of our constitution meant it had to be done this way, see also three years later with Repeal the 8th, but I am so glad we have it.) But I am pointing to that multifaceted definition of queer - the capacity to disrupt and challenge the norms, rather than assimilate or conform.
And so onto some of Hall's other contemporary work (the prolific fiend also has fantasy and historical titles) - Boyfriend Material and Husband Material. These are extremely tropey4 (fake dating! Grumpy/Sunshine!), extremely delightful stories about Luc, a child of aged rock stars working in the charity sector, and Oliver, an uptight lawyer. The second book, and yes spoilers are coming, does an amazing job at looking at marriage - what it means, all the expectations around it, and why it may or may not fit a particular couple, particularly if they are gay/queer/whatever label you're having. The ending of this book solidified Hall for me as a writer I wanted to read more of, and hear more from; it was deeply romantic but also very much… that word again… queer.
I am reluctant to overuse it, to drain it of its power, or to fall into that tiresome hierarchical thing of sneering at anything "mainstream" as automatically inferior. But I do very much like that there are books that "queer" romance tropes, not just by changing the sex of one of the participants, but by seriously considering what those tropes mean in the first place and what this from-this-angle perspective can do to help us rethink them. I love getting my thinkiness wrapped up in genre stuff, in stories that are feel-good with the occasional weepy moment.
Recommendations for other queer romance/rom-com titles very much welcome in the comments! Or if you’re looking for others, might I suggest Kate Young’s Experienced, Cat Sebastian’s We Could Be So Good and You Should Be So Lucky, or Ashley Herring Blake’s Delilah Green Doesn't Care and related titles as places to get started.
Regular readers: I mean, when do I not.
Can’t do a good imitation of him though. Am no Ian Hislop.
I think I wrote a draft of this before having dipped my toes into the baking ones and the first billionaire title (from that Fifty Shades era) … which are even more so.