The Theory of Procrastinated Rape

At the heart of every romance, be they traditional, trendy or ancient, lies the theory of procrastinated rape. Put simply it means there is always a culminating scene where 'forced' sex, either figuratively, metaphorically, or literally, takes place. And the longer it takes to get to that scene, the more procrastinated and long-drawn out the rape is, then the 'better' the book. Or at least the more it is serving up the romance genre, in its 'purest' form.

There is a lot of debate on what the first romance was, romance as a term having had a different meaning as recently as Victorian times. Then it referred to classic tales, with 'romantic' themes such as castles and knights in shining armour, often with supernatural and fantastic elements. Romantic meant otherworldly, noble, even inspirational. They were usually also melodramatic and often involved thwarted lovers and flowery bowers. It was these parts that were developed and mutated into the romance novel as we know it today.

Both the Bronte sisters were, and are, credited as writing the first modern romance, a fact which keeps their books actively read today when (unintentionally funny) gems such as The Castle of Otranto, or The mysteries of Udolpho are read more as academic exercises, or amusing curiosities.

Just as the Bronte sisters were very different people so are their books very different. Without a doubt Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre is by far the more conventional of the two, featuring a now standard - although it wasn't then - brooding, saturnine hero and a hard done-by little mouse with a feisty streak.

Modern romance writers, doing what the world and his dog does with all art, have levelled out this 'format' until it is now the classic and universally recognised Mills & Boon style that (unfortunately) pervades not only all romance, but a good percentage of 'women's books' ( define , please, someone), films and even ostensibly unrelated mainstream literature. In short, 'romance' has become a synonym for 'love interest' that is applied in all walks of life.

Of course, it is easy to forget that in Charlotte Bronte's day none of this was conventional, and it is always an eye-opener for anyone who has read modern romances first to then read Jane Eyre. They are often amazed by how potent it is, how unexpected, because in fact, to this day, it is vastly superior to the millions of clones it has created.

However, although Jane Eyre is a great romance, Wuthering Heights is plain Art, in no way predictable as a romance.

It would be unfair (and inaccurate) to say that Jane Eyre is a watered down version of Wuthering Heights, nevertheless there is an element of truth to that.

Emily Bronte was a far less refined women than her sister, much more impassioned, less user-friendly, if you will, and that difference of character shows in their work.

Whereas Charlotte, in her meek way, enters into the world of the refined and privileged she does so by the servant's entrance, cap in hand, albeit in a dignified way. Emily's Cathy however tears into the upper classes, in the shape of the Lintons, rather like a disruptive street urchin dragging her trailer trash tendencies with her. Cathy would never remove herself from the presence of 'greatness', while Jane never really feels she can compete.

It was this fundamental difference that makes Jane Eyre a story of star-crossed lovers held apart by class and dark secrets while Wuthering Heights is a story of star-crossed lovers held apart by wilful and bloody-minded bad behaviour.

Even their romantic heroes are worlds apart. Rochester is truculent, sardonic and bored. He comes across as a tired roué who wants the world to stop so he can get off. At times he could almost pass for a bad-tempered headmaster.

Heathcliff on the other hand, although also sardonic, never comes across as a bad-tempered anything. Heathcliff is not truculent, he's savage, genuinely scary. Heathcliff could never be bored, he's too fucking furious for that.

And that brings me to DANNY. I don't know how true the frequently repeated assertions are that it is like Wuthering Heights - although enough people have now drawn the parallel for it not to be dismissed out of hand.

Obviously it has as its lynch pin a very similar central character. John Jackson Moore is every inch (and some would argue more) savage than Heathcliff, and is definitely scarier. Whereas you are never entirely sure whether Heathcliff would commit murder, you know damn well that John wouldn't even take breath to think about it. Not a man to be crossed.

Likewise he is definitely in the tortured mould, but is far less tolerant of anyone attempting to manipulate him. Heathcliff tolerates Cathy being with Edgar Linton where John, I fear, would not.

So, yes, maybe he is a kind of Heathcliff taken to the nth degree. I know there are fans who love him for that, but there are others who can't stomach him, proving that he's crossed a line somewhere, since Heathcliff is certainly a more 'popular' romantic hero.

Which brings us nicely back to romance.

Is DANNY a romance then?

Well, certainly there is a love story at the centre of it, but it no way resembles what is routinely thought of as a love story, breaking just about every convention, and a good few taboos, of the genre. Certainly it has a charismatic, boot-in-the-face, (anti) hero, but he has nothing 'romantic' about him, taking the 'anti' to levels that leave him potentially repellent.

Certainly we have a heroine, of sorts, who just happens to be male and incredibly badly behaved with barely a trace of victim about him and certainly no mouse. Danny wouldn't worry about his 'place', he'd just fuck 'em and leave, laughing as he went out the door.

Then there's the sex, lots of it, hard core and graphic - not your average romance at all.

And lastly, but by no means least, there is the theory of procrastinated rape.

Well, here's the clincher. DANNY both has it in spades, and doesn't have it at all. There is no culminating rape scene, although there is a staggering 990 pages to really work one up. Instead it happens when you're hardly into the story, with minimal build-up.

So, not a romance at all then?

Ah, well, you see, not quite. In DANNY the protracted rape happens all the time, every day, several times a day, over and over again, till you don't know what's rape and what's not, and till you begin to realise that actually maybe the procrastinated rape is somewhere else, about something else.

Procrastinated love, perhaps...

And that, in a nutshell is DANNY. A romance, a mystery, a tale of dark secrets, gothic and violent and highly sexually charged - and none of those things at all.

Rather like Wuthering Heights, in fact.