Another TV break up? *Yawn*

(WARNING: Contains spoilers for New Girl, Glee, Sex and the City, Friends, Scrubs, How I Met Your Mother... seriously, how many shows have done this?)

I know this is supposed to be a book blog, but as constructing narratives comes in many different forms today I'm going to be looking at TV, because TV is great.

Today I was catching up with one of my favourite US comedies, New Girl, which I've been massively behind on due to forgetting that streaming exists, when the unthinkable happened: Jess and Nick broke up. But before you fall into a chasm of despair and start watching Dirty Dancing on repeat, remember: they WILL get back together. They are 'endgame' - the recurring relationship being such a re-used trope that it has its own title.

At least Glee are self-aware:

I think all the viewers knew how this was going to end, too *sniff*

TV, to a certain extent, reflects real life and unfortunately breaking up is part of that. The demise of a romantic relationship allows for the development of a character as a single person, or in a new relationship. It's a way of reflecting on the fact that not everything works out the way you'd like it or expect it to.

There are, of course, a number of couples who have broken up and gotten back together. Ross and Rachel, Carrie and Big, Ted and Robyn, JD and Elliot... the list goes on. I'm sure if Cory Monteith hadn't sadly passed away then Rachel and Finn would have fulfilled his character's "endgame" prophecy. This perpetually gives dumped losers like myself unfortunate doses of false hope. Not that you should look to ANY show where a columnist for a lesser-known New York newspaper can afford (seemingly) weekly pairs of Manolo Blahnik's and Prada shopping sprees for gritty realism.

But these are usually comedies, and we love a happy ending. In the case of Sex and the City's Carrie and Big, their turbulent off-on relationship was necessary. Carrie's never-ending quest for 'the One' turns a full circle, showing that her match was in front of her the whole time (it was obviously difficult to notice that when he was married to someone else and screwing her around, but oh well). It was the different experiences and development of both parties throughout the six series that made them realise they were right for each other in the end (I didn't entirely agree with that ending).

But what about contriving issues in already perfect pairing which leads to the eventual break up? Jess and Nick's break up left me scratching my head. It seemed to come out of nowhere, based on issues that up until that moment, weren't really evident to viewers. There comes a point in many long-running series where the writers may find themselves scrabbling for fresh ideas - and this may have been one of them. It creates a brand new conflict for when ideas begin to go a bit stale.

We love a good break up - well, not if it happens to us, obviously - but when it happens to a favourite couple it generates the emotional response the writers crave. Not to mention excitement. Will they? Won't they? Etc. Etc. And then the much desired happy ending when the estranged lovers eventually reconcile. And if you don't love a happy ending then I don't even know.

And when a couple have fought for their love, it seems in fiction land that the relationship is more meaningful. Passion and arguing go hand in hand, apparently. You're not soul mates unless you're fundamentally incompatible in some way.

But the main issue is, such contrived situations just seem like a cop out. It's like once a couple are together, there's no other way to develop them, or each part as individuals. There are plenty of other channels to explore, sources of conflict and excitement that deviate from this tired old formula - platonic relationships, careers, maybe even getting arrested. Just anything else. Otherwise you get characters that seem to primarily exist for their romantic possibility.

But some kind of relationship is obviously necessary. Because heaven forbid a character should find themself single when your show has run its course.

Fifty Shades of Harry Styles: The appeal of the tortured soul

I thought long and hard and that was the most compelling title I could think of. I'm sorry.

If you have an internet connection you probably noticed that the Fifty Shades of Grey trailer was released last month. That's two and a half saliva-inducing, or cringe-worthy (you decide, mine was the latter) minutes of watching Christian and Ana rendered cross-eyed by the weight of their desire. All for your viewing (ahem) pleasure.

In the unlikely event that you're unfamiliar with the plot, here's a quick run down. Ana Steele (geddit) is an English major who has never before experienced sexual attraction, let alone imagine herself strung up by her ankles in anyone's "red room of pain". This all changes, of course, when she meets Christian Grey, a sexually-driven stalker - sorry, I meant hottie - who “doesn't do” relationships. His broodiness is such that he feels compelled to play melancholy, post-coital sonatas on his million-dollar piano. Overwhelmed by a sudden, unfamiliar desire Ana signs a contract which essentially allows him to own her, thus reducing her body to a commodity and their relationship to a business transaction. And who said romance was dead?

It all sounds too contrived to for a realistic story, as though James is setting up a modern day Beauty and the Beast fable, with whips, chains and archetypal characters, that we're only meant to take as symbolic fantasy. And that's exactly how the story goes. As the trilogy progresses, Ana becomes more sexually “liberated”, while her love heals Christian's tortured souls until he's more partial to playing jolly post-bondage gavottes. Hurrah. 

This is not to be confused with the Twilight series or, more recently, Anna Todd's soon-to-be-published online trilogy After. If the popularity of these books is anything to go by, emotionally-damaged love interests, a la Christian Grey, are flavour of the moment in romance. James' association of Christian's desire to be sexually dominant with his emotional trauma has been criticised for promoting a generally incorrect stereotype of those who enjoy BDSM.  But these male leads, far from being portrayed as men in need psychological help, their issues are fetishised.

In the Fifty Shades of Grey trailer Ana (played by Dakota Johnson) dully describes Christian (Jamie Dornan) as “intimidating”, as though she's reeling off shades of beige from a Dulux colour chart. This single word hints at the fantasy of dominance, which is a major selling point of the film, whilst alluding to the sinister potential of Christian's wealth and power. His obsessive personality becomes apparent in the early stages of their relationship, and he exhibits “dominant” behaviour before Ana even signs the contract. I get the impression that it doesn't matter to Christian whether Ana agrees to be his submissive or not; he will not take no for an answer. While chewing over the idea of signing away her autonomy Ana phones him, drunk and laughing, from a nightclub. Thinking she MUST be in danger, he shows up like an embarrassing parent to nip that independent merry-making right in the bud. Luckily, he's just in time, as he's able to intercept her male friend's sexual advances. Again, it's a highly contrived situation, but with it James attempt to justify Christian's over-reactive and overbearing behaviour and make him some kind of white knight figure because of it. You can imagine someone reading it, thinking “Well, what was she thinking, going to club and drinking (dancing provocatively, no doubt), unaccompanied by her (billionaire) male chaperone?” That's exactly what Christian, the modern woman's fantasy boyfriend, is thinking. It's 2014 and we're trying to unravel dated ideas about victim blaming. Perhaps Christian should just get back to the Round Table.

That's not even the worst of it. In Fifty Shades Darker, Christian finds himself jealous suspicious of Ana's new boss. He remedies this, not by examining his romantic insecurities and perhaps reading a self help book, but by BUYING THE COMPANY. Again, James shows that he's completely correct in his paranoia and saves the day once more. But a billionaire boyfriend isn't so appealing when he can use his money to gain control over your life and stalk you with his private helicopter. 

So by depicting Christian as some kind of danger-sniffing blood hound, James implies that his tenacious behaviour is not only acceptable, but necessary. In Ana she creates a traditional damsel figure who requires Christian's heroic intervention whenever she steps out and behaves like the adult she is. It's significant that he "rescues" her from the nightclub during the period where she is deciding whether she wants to be his submissive - the only kind of sexual relationship he will have with her. It cements one idea in her mind: she needs him, she needs him to tell her what to do, or who knows what would happen. 

We know that women don't need men to keep them on the straight and narrow, but that doesn't seem to be the kind of relationship James wants us to fantasise about; so much for liberating the female readership.

After also features an excessively-controlling male love interest. The trilogy centres on Tessa, another virginal English major, and her turbulent relationship with an emotionally-abusive moron. It's totally cool, though, because that very moron just so happens to be no less Harry Styles, therefore legions of young fans are jumping to his character's defence. He's another brooding, modern-day interpretation of a Byronic hero, but the kind that laughs at his girlfriend when she's on her period. Okay then. And yes, there is a lot of sex in it, and I really struggle to imagine Harry Styles in a sexual context. Every time I walk past 1D merchandise (which is all the time) and see all their many happy eyes bore into me I spasm with embarrassment. It's like they know.

Harry (the fictional one) treats Tessa appallingly. He deceives her, and reacts aggressively towards any man who talks to her. He constantly appears at her workplace and even makes life-changing decisions on her behalf so he can keep her to himself. He reels her in and spits her back out again, acting interested and then insulting her and calling her desperate for reciprocating.  Despite this, he has her hooked from the first time he verbally degrades her. And, obviously, he becomes better through her love.

After was a far more compelling read than Fifty Shades of Grey, but I read it like I read Lolita – I wanted her to get out of that relationship as fast as possible. I'm not on Team Harry or Team Zayn, but Team “make some friends and join the literature club, Tessa, you're 21. Seriously”. And does she actually write her assignments? Because it seems that her whole university life is consumed by Harry with little time or thought for anything else. Honestly, Todd has woven a pretty good plot. In Harry she's created a character who I want to reach through my computer screen and strangle, and that's quite admirable.

Todd depicts Harry's behaviour as a byproduct of his traumatic past. He mistreats Tessa because he can't handle the weight of his love for her. When Tessa feels betrayed, yet again by Harry her friend (none other than Liam Payne of One Direction fame) claims that Harry really is deeply in love with her. Well, that's okay then!

(It's actually not okay).

This all boils down to the dual fantasy sold to women in these two novels. There is a trade-off: sexual experience for emotional salvation. In this respect, the male protagonists become mentor figures who exude a kind of parental control over their female partners. At the same time, it also offers female readers a "maternal nurturer" fantasy. Both Christian and Harry (I'm still not used to writing about Mr Styles as a fictional character) are deeply disturbed. James attributes Christian's need to dominate his female partners to his troubled youth; his mother was a drug addict who died when he was very young, and he entered into a sexual relationship with a much older female dominant, Elena, while he was underage. James' depiction of Elena, as not only being a dominant, but one who commits statutory rape. This depiction relates to the gender roles assigned in the novel; sexual dominance is a male role, and in a female it is viewed unnatural. Christian is "redeemed" at the end of the novel, whereas Elena is disgraced.

Ana then, like the female submissives who preceded her, receives punishment on behalf of the women who Christian feels have wronged him (in the case of Elena, this feeling is repressed). It is a way for him to regain the control he lost in his youth. He will not let Ana touch him, indicating his deep mistrust towards women. James takes a situation where Ana is repressed and places the blame on other women, further attempting to justify Christian's behaviour. 

It is up to Ana to atone for the perceived wrongdoings of her sex, and “love Christian better”. As she is correcting the behaviour of the women who were in positions of care she becomes a maternal substitute, adding a whole new meaning to that awful term "mommy porn". Freud would have a field day with this book. Because of this, Ana agrees to continue being punished by Christian, although she abhors it. She does not enjoy being his submissive, but feels a sense of obligation and pity, and because he will not pursue a "vanilla" relationship with her. And she needs him, right?

In After, Harry's behaviour is also affected by a childhood trauma. His father was an alcoholic, and was too drunk to protect Harry's mother when she was violated. The young Harry witnessed this event, powerless to stop it, and has since been plagued with nightmares recalling the events. Naturally, the only thing that can stop these nightmares is sharing a bed with Tessa (I think I'm going to need a contrivance bell). Though it's his father he resents, Tessa still serves as a maternal substitute, providing the security that was stripped from Harry as he watched his mother's abuse. Tessa, like Ana, feels guilty for leaving Harry after his terrible behaviour. She frequently references images of a young boy “crying for his mother”, associating the state where Harry needs her with his infantile self, therefore feels she cannot leave him alone with his nightmares.

Both these trilogies offer a fantasy of need: to both need, and be needed. The dynamics of the relationships shift constantly: the male is paternal and controlling, or the female is maternal or nurturing. It's like a set of unbalanced scales, and equality can not be achieved in either relationship. The idea of being needed by a man, and being so special to change the unchangeable compels Ana and Tessa to stay, and is being sold to readers of the books. The “bad boy” status of these male love interests, and their eventual change, not only provides an obstacle that makes the stories interesting, but affirms the strength of the romance. Because if Tessa or Ana fell in love with someone who is nice to everyone, that clearly wouldn't be so significant. These two novels, not to mention Twilight, are based around the idea that for a young woman, there's nothing more significant than having a boyfriend who needs you. Getting the emotionally-unavailable man to commit is a source of self-esteem that they inspire readers to wish for. This isn't really my idea of a modern love story.

After sells this fantasy to a particularly young market. By using Harry Styles and therefore attracting One Directioners, she sells this fantasy to a young audience who see her depiction of Harry Styles as the ideal because he's Harry Styles. Some have even accused Tessa of being too picky, like she should take any kind of emotional abuse and control because it's Harry bloody Styles. Similarly, I've always wondered if Bella Swan would have been as okay with it if she had woken up to find bespecktacled, pockmarked Jimmy from the bleachers watching her sleep rather than a sexy constipated-looking vampire. Probably not.

Perhaps this is why Ana and Tessa are both English students who adore nineteenth-century romance. Direct parallels are drawn between Harry and Tessa and Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy. It's a testament to the enduring popularity of stories about the redemptive power of love. Mr Darcy? Saved. Mr Rochester? Saved. And apparently Edward Cullen's namesake. Heathcliff? Okay, terrible example, but you get the idea.

In the Victorian novel, changing a man has been a sign of female triumph. In Beauty in the Beast, the Beast's love of Beauty enables him to return to civilised society. Post-Victorian romance (this theme has probably been kicking around before that) this transformation and civilisation is represented by marriage and the eventual domestication of the man. These gender-based ideas are still around in the modern day, with heroines like Tessa and Ana desiring love and marriage, while their male partners do not. The references to classic literature refer to their stereotypically female desire for romance and a happy ending, as outlined in the classics, but also shows that these kind of scenarios are, alas, largely fictional.

Oh no, they did not

In reality, love is not about being selfish, but it's not about losing yourself in another person's needs, either. These novels rely too much on a relationship as a source of happiness and fulfilment, and forcing something until it fits. It's this fantasy of self-worth that makes the "bad boy" so appealing (in some literature, at least, I'm not going to leave open an opportunity for some self-confessed "nice guy" to whine about how women don't want nice men, because I don't buy that at all). It's not realistic, and it's certainly not healthy. I'm not sure if similar novels exist where the gender roles are reversed, if there are they aren't as mainstream, but I'd definitely be interested in reading one to compare.

So forget Harry Styles' whinging, and go and watch a bit of Colin instead.