Looking back through my work, I see that it is invariably where I lacked a political purpose that I wrote lifeless books and was betrayed into purple passages, sentences without meaning, decorative adjectives and humbug generally.

                                  —George Orwell, Why I Write

On Mr. Orwell’s insightful note, here’s your guide—in the form of pop culture articles—to the politics of A Villainous Affair, my epic steampunk romance. The story is about two villains who fall in love while plotting to conquer England—but not for the reasons you might think.

(Learning about this sci-fi romance series for the first time? Read the story description for book one, A Tale of Two Thieves.)

It’s Ruby Darling’s fault that she’s a villain

At Electric Lit, Elyse Martin analyzed the pop culture portrayal of villains like Cruella de Vil, Harley Quinn, and Maleficent in “Please Just Let Women Be Villains.” The author notes that:

American culture tends to want to explain away the evil actions of women—mostly fictional women, but sometimes real ones—because female villainy rests uncomfortably with lingering cultural perceptions of women’s purity and virtue…The cult of domesticity centered around cis white women, whose virtue is still used as a pretext for violent rhetoric and action against Black and trans people, from whom their purity must be protected. And in fiction, when pop culture focuses on a woman who committed a crime, it’s either a cautionary tale or one of these rehabilitation stories, focused on the idea that the villainess’s fallen state is not her fault and is certainly not permanent.

The lack of gender equality in the area of fictional villains is a problem because it’s another way that cis white women and their cis white male allies unleash violence against Black and trans people. In essence, they’re using entertainment as a weapon of propaganda. Otherwise, as Martin points out, why don’t female villains enjoy the same treatment as male villains like Joker from Batman?

Even Joker allowed its main character to exist within a realm of moral ambiguity; though it was clear social systems had failed him on every level, the movie makes no apologies for Arthur Fleck’s descent into murder.

Why not take the same approach for cis white female villains? Let’s stop treating such characters with kid gloves and give them the agency they deserve. If you need further proof of how violent real-life cis white women can be, read They Were Her Property by Stephanie E. Jones-Rogers. Representation matters, right? So let’s represent white cis female villains accurately on a consistent basis, as amoral characters who are neither angelic, pure, nor virtuous.

A Villainous Affair subverts the concept of the “fallen angel” white, cis female villain narrative in that Ruby Darling is unapologetically villainous. She not only acknowledges being a criminal but also embraces her villainous talents. Ruby chooses to be bad because she believes the strategy will best help her achieve her goal. Furthermore, she retains her agency because she drives the plot forward by engaging in increasingly villainous endeavors.

Ruby enters the story a villain, acts like a villain throughout the story, and remains a villain by the story’s end. She has a character arc, but it’s separate from her villainy. And there’s a twist—the true nature of Ruby’s villainy isn’t the usual suspect, and may shock some readers.

Decolonizing history in fiction and romance novels

A current fiction trend is stories that actively decolonize history. One such tale is Hulu’s Harlots:

Margaret Wells struggles to reconcile her roles as brothel owner and mother to daughters Charlotte and Lucy. When her business comes under attack from Lydia Quigley, a rival madam with a ruthless streak, Margaret must fight back even if it means losing her family and possibly her life.

Journalist, editor, and author Annalee Newitz describes the show’s appeal in History for people who are sick of queens and moguls:

Created by Moira Buffini and Alison Newman for Hulu, Harlots shifts our focus from the center to the margins of society, and epitomizes a new trend in historical storytelling where social power isn’t always located in mansions and palaces. It comes from the streets, the bars, and the brothels…

…Its [HARLOTS’] streets are thronging with people of color, sex workers, and GLBT folks whose existence is usually ignored in period dramas…Here, at last, we have a history that doesn’t feel like a fairy tale. It foregrounds the struggles of ordinary people without titles, and acknowledges that England’s colonial incursions have turned London into a city full of immigrants and refugees from Africa, Asia, and the Americas.

Fans of Harlots will find A Villainous Affair appealing because it includes similar themes, characters, and struggles. Newitz observes that “Margaret and Lydia want more than a steady stream of money; they want political influence.” Ruby Darling of A Villainous Affair craves political influence as well because she needs such power to enact wide-scale social reforms to address problems like poverty, systemic racism, and gender discrimination.

And also like Harlots, A Villainous Affair bakes diversity and social justice themes into the very fabric of the character arcs and plot. Rather than center the aristocracy, it focuses on characters who have been marginalized, oppressed, and villainized by those in power. But that’s not all—A Villainous Affair also interrogates whiteness and examines how even destitute white people benefit from systemic racism.

The transformative power of historical romances and period drama movies and television

In Catapult Magazine, Natasha Oladokun analyzes why ‘Bridgerton’ Is a Gilded Failure of Imagination. The article’s most important takeaway is how period dramas tend to maintain the societal status quo rather than using their lens to offer commentary on contemporary times:

I am endlessly intrigued by the appeal period dramas hold in the mainstream. I too am implicated in this, as I am deeply fascinated by the gloss and theatrics that usually accompanies the genre. I also wonder about how much escapism and nostalgia play a role in the public’s interest in the form. In a time of contemporary upheaval, domestic terrorism, war, climate change, disease, what is going on with the cultural obsession with television and film set so firmly in the past? Why is there often so little meaningful interest in doing anything transformative with imagining if not “the” past, but a fictional past?

Marginalized creators can relate to the lack of “transformative” period dramas because many of them are writing stories that do exactly that. Unfortunately, mainstream media (i.e., traditional publishers, Hollywood) often shuts the door in their faces when they try to bring progressive perspectives to period tales.

Books by romance authors such as Alyssa Cole (who writes “Inclusive Historical, Contemporary, and Sci-Fi Romance”) and E.E. Ottoman (known for his “radical trans happily ever afters”) have long been creating the transformative work of which Oladokun writes, but alas, it’s doubtful we’ll ever be treated to a big-budget streaming or movie adaptation of their books because, you know, classism, racism, sexism, transphobia, and bigotry still pose major obstacles. I fervently wish Hollywood would prove me wrong.

The idea of a period drama “doing anything transformative with imagining…a fictional past” resonates with me as well because I’m a marginalized creator (cis female, biracial, and queer) who has, with deliberate purpose, written a transformative work in the form of A Villainous Affair.

Bridgerton is as much a historical fairy tale as my alternate history Victorian steampunk romance series, but whereas Bridgerton seeks to uphold the status quo of things like classism and “…the inflexible predation of Black men and the innocence of white women, a trope as old as slavery itself…,” A Villainous Affair seeks to disrupt the status quo by interrogating whiteness, weaving social justice themes into the very fabric of the story, exploring the dangers of white feminism, and confronting the harm of white saviorism.

Readers and viewers should question why they allow corporate gatekeepers to force-feed them a steady stream of stories that relentlessly uphold the status quo—the kind of gatekeepers who believe the rich should get richer and the poor should get poorer and then die off so rich people don’t have to bother with them anymore. This is a form of violence, one that’s all the more insidious because of how it’s unleashed.

Again, I’d love to be wrong about this issue. Many of us yearn for a time when big-budget progressive shows and films are the norms rather than the exception. All we can do is keep the conversation going and keep working toward that goal. It’ll take thousands of us trying for just one marginalized creator to break that glass ceiling.

Meaning of the Chosen One and subverting the trope

The Flawed Fantasy of the Chosen One by Margaret Owen

Owen’s article presents an informative critique of the Chosen One trope. At its best, the “…Chosen One tropes remind us that even an individual’s actions can change lives and worlds for the better. Additionally, they can inform someone’s sense of right and wrong, and hopefully inspire them to good deeds of their own.” At its worst, it fails to address the need for systemic change:

The Chosen One as a silver bullet further entrenches the idea that it just takes one humble outsider to restore the monarchy to its rightful function, instead of questioning the ethics of a monarchy in the first place. It eschews experience and expertise in favor of secret bloodlines and divine limericks, handwaving the innate flaws of a power structure because the “right person” has temporarily been empowered.

A Villainous Affair is “…one of many new stories pushing the trope into new areas.” AVA does this by subverting it. One example: Ruby anoints herself as the Chosen One (the significance being that she’s from a marginalized gender group and does so in the historical context of Chosen One characters skewing toward able-bodied, allocishet white men). In turn, she invites other Chosen Ones to join her because she knows it will take a village to achieve wide-scale social reform. To reveal other details would constitute spoilers, but suffice it to say that A Villainous Affair engages with the Chosen One trope in non-traditional ways.

Additionally, Ruby’s power comes from her ability to save and help others long before she takes advantage of aether technology. Her true superpower isn’t her aether-based skills; rather, it’s her compassion and dedication to social reform. Nor is her power related to a prophecy or the other usual suspects. To wit: What We Lose When We Give Fem Heroes ‘Chosen One’ Status.

Subversion and a more nuanced version of the Chosen One trope is great and all, but Ruby’s skin color doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Therefore, A Villainous Affair also tackles the problems of white privilege and white saviorism in the context of a white person Chosen One.

Racism in romance books and the importance of interrogating whiteness and white feminism in the romance genre

Romanticizing White Supremacy by Elizabeth Kingston

This article is a must-read for every romance reader because it alerts us to the longtime problem of white supremacist content in the romance genre. Just as importantly, it offers a call to action:

Hate truly can only be driven out by love. And if there's one thing Romance knows how to do and do well, it's love.

A Villainous Affair answered the call. The story uses sci-fi and romance genre tools to, as Kingston stated, "…question the structures of our society and the hidden costs of wealth and privilege." It also celebrates all kinds of love: queer, platonic, romantic, and familial.

Fuck Lena Dunham and the White Feminist Horse She Rode In On by Sherronda J. Brown and Lara Witt

A Villainous Affair interrogates whiteness as well as addresses the flaws and dangers of white feminism. It also explores the terrifying breadth of societal damage that white feminists can inflict—even if they mean well. This quote from Brown and Witt’s article further illustrates the issue:

White feminism will always, always fail us, because it has never been what it always should have been. Imagine if white feminism created spaces dedicated to combating white supremacy and its connections with sexism and misogyny. Imagine if the white feminists who are obsessed with Trump’s “grab ’em by the pussy” quote were just as concerned about Hillary calling Black children “super-predators.”

Imagine if the white feminists who have raved about “The Handmaid’s Tale”, “The Beguiled”, and the co-opted #MeToo movement also cared about the sexual violences inflicted upon the Black people who have been conveniently erased and overshadowed by each of these.

Imagine if white feminists held themselves and each other accountable for their own investment in white supremacy, actually evolving from the trash heap of a stolen movement that it began as. Imagine if the white feminists who charge the world with raising fewer Harvey Weinsteins, Louis CKs, and Elliott Rodgers were also invested in raising fewer Lena Dunhams. 

Why we love female villains, wicked women, and morally gray characters

Quote of the Day: Angelina Jolie Praises "Wicked" Women by Rachel Montpelier

"'Wicked women’ are just women who are tired of injustice and abuse," Jolie declares. "Women who refuse to follow rules and codes they don’t believe are best for themselves or their families. Women who won’t give up on their voice and rights, even at the risk of death or imprisonment or rejection by their families and communities." She concludes, "If that is wickedness, then the world needs more wicked women."

Why Are Morally Gray Characters So Popular in Television? by Florence Mendoza

Why is TV filled with characters who have questionable morals? And why do we love them so much?...Now, TV is filled with protagonists who have a dark side to them. They’re still fighting the forces of evil, but they’re also fighting for self-interest…The reason, it follows, that morally relativistic characters are popular, is that we are a morally gray audience living in morally relativistic times.

A Villainous Affair entertains with villainous and morally gray characters who fight for social justice using methods we might not agree with while simultaneously exploring the issue of whom society casts as villains and why.

Why do cis white people in power often villainize BIPOC for using government-subsidized services like food stamps (the so-called “welfare queen”), but don’t paint rural poor white people with the same brush?

Why do so many cis white filmmakers queer code villains in film and television? Why does society villainize women for expressing their sexuality but doesn’t stigmatize promiscuous men for having multiple sexual partners?

Why do cis white people in the judicial system jail black men disproportionally when so many white men escape consequences for financial crimes that cause far more societal damage? Why do rich people frame poor people as villainous and immoral?

When people in power villainize members of marginalized groups, the result is often violence, harmful laws, and further oppression of said groups. Which begs the question, who is the real villain here? That’s yet another theme in A Villainous Affair. 

The Trouble With Hollywood's Gender Flips by Amanda Hess

It’s hard not to watch these female ensembles and yearn for the heights of “Bridesmaids,” or more recently, the coastal California social satire-murder mystery “Big Little Lies,” both of which lean into conflict between women instead of shying away. These stories acknowledge that women have problems that originate within and between themselves, not just in their relationships with men. In short, they let women be interesting.

A Villainous Affair offers a plethora of interesting women. Independent women. Women entrepreneurs. Single mothers. Warrior women. Trans women sex workers. Lady pirates. Elderly women. Butch lesbians. Women of color. They don’t get along all the time, either, which makes the story more…interesting!

Rise of the romance books with consent 

Opinion: Are Hollywood movies teaching men and boys that predatory behavior is OK?  by Jonathan McIntosh

Yep, pretty much. Predatory male MCs and rape fantasies are also an entrenched part of the romance genre (see also: alien abduction science fiction romances and alien pregnancy romance books).

There’s also a world of romance books that promote consent and related courtship alternatives—too many to list here. More authors than ever have become masters of making consensual sex the ultimate aphrodisiac.

A Villainous Affair also answers the author's call for "…models of healthy romantic relationships in our entertainment." Just because Ruby and Nathan Darling are supervillains doesn’t mean they have to be mired in a dysfunctional relationship. Their romance is subversive in that regard, as well as being based on solidarity and trust. And the wonderful thing about Nathan is that he doesn’t need to be tamed or reformed—he’s already a kind, nurturing partner! 

Social justice romances and the breathtaking power of the happily-ever-after

Romance as resistance: How the happily-ever-after genre is taking on Trump by David Canfield

Canfield notes that "…the romance industry — which rakes in $1 billion a year — is poised to become more politically relevant than ever."

These days, more romances than ever explore politics and social justice themes in overt ways. Two examples are Lise MacTague’s On Deception’s Edge trilogy and Piper Huguley’s The Preacher’s Promise. And that's terrific because all art is political.

Unfortunately, it took a long time to reach this point. Why? Well, one reason is that back in the day, the CIA (the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency) spread "show, don't tell" propaganda using a covert operation because the government wanted authors to avoid broad social commentary in fiction writing and journalism. What better way to sabotage critical analysis before it starts than by labeling "tell" as "bad writing"? To wit: How the CIA Infiltrated the World's Literature and How Iowa Flattened Literature.

Welp, the cat's out of the bag. Good luck putting that wily feline back inside. Fool me once, etc., etc.

Both writers and readers need to question the use of oppressive writing advice that’s designed to reinforce racism, classism, colonialism, and white supremacy. Social justice themes in romance, SFF, and other genres are here to stay, and authors have the right to express their unique brand of such content in any creative way they wish.

A Villainous Affair is overtly political in its themes, characters, and narrative structure. The social justice content is baked right into the plot. I had an unabashed political agenda in mind while writing it, which resulted in an exciting, action-packed story with loads of smart social commentary—the exact opposite of “bad writing.” A Villainous Affair won’t be for everyone, but the story is anything but lifeless. In fact, its political purpose gives it life.

For the social justice win: romance books by Black romance authors

Despite overwhelming odds such as CIA propaganda and decades of cis white folks in power at mainstream publishers, Black romance authors, in particular, have persisted in telling their politically-driven stories because Black Romance Matters Too:

African American romantic fiction has always been politically relevant and socially meaningful in both overt and subtle ways. Implicitly, the mere depiction of black love makes an affirmative statement about black lives and humanity when those things are challenged every day in mainstream discourse and the law. Black historical romance also has explicitly activist lineage and themes, as scholar Dr. Rita Dandridge has meticulously documented.

Black sci-fi romance and SFF authors have done the same, which is why I’ve enjoyed books by P.J. Dean, N.K. Jemisin, Deborah A. Bailey, Nnedi Okorafor, and Alyssa Cole. Go get you some right now!