The Hero and Heroine’s Journey: More Plotting for the Feminist Romance Author

The year was 19-something or another—I’m not tempted to date myself too much here—and that was the first I head of Joseph Campbell and his books regarding myths. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d been fascinated by fairy tales and other myths. I will date myself quite a bit here, but when I was little, Disney hadn’t remade many of the tales in their image, except for three. So I’d been reading the “real” myths that were full of dark forests, conniving and mischievous tricksters, violence, neglect, abandonment, and death. So much death.  

I was in college when I’d heard Campbell’s name and then devoured Bill Moyer’s video series featuring Campbell. I bought book after book. Sadly, I always came away a little empty after reading Campbell. Then I found Women Who Run with the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés. Finally, my heart felt full. And free. (I’ll get to the Wolves book later. :)) 

Don’t get me wrong. I love Campbell and his work. Further, I know he studied goddesses and myths regarding females later in his life. But I still feel a little flat when I read his work. And I feel the need to argue, though I’m not sure why I even feel that way. That’s probably why, when reading through Christopher Vogler’s work, I also feel a little flat and want to pick a fight with him. (By the way, picking a fight for me is often a silly and humorous debate, not actual fighting-fighting. No yelling. But lots of squinting, thinking, and laughing.)

I’ve heard that Campbell, when asked if women had a version of the hero’s journey, said they were the reward for the journey. I’m not sure if this is true, and it doesn’t exactly sound like his style. And thanks to recent movies, it’s obvious that Vogler’s touch has helped many a female character have her own hero’s journey—The Last Jedi, Wonder Woman, etc. So it’s not because I didn’t think them feminist enough that led me to feel like they were missing something within their texts.  

It wasn’t until I heard an audio taping with Michael Hauge and Christopher Vogler that I finally got it. Hauge argues with Vogler about the inner journey, which Vogler does talk about in his book and many of his seminars, to be fair. But it’s Hauge that ties up the hero’s inner journey succinctly: essence versus identity. The hero’s journey is always about figuring out one’s essence versus one’s identity. The identity is the safety blanket all of us have—our jobs, what we think we are versus who we are underneath our ego. Essence is all about the very ineffable parts of you that make you you. (Lots of yous in that sentence. I apologize.)  

When I first started writing romance, I had a hard time with the terms hero and heroine. It sounded so differential, dividing, and, well, not deserving of love, which unites people. I’ve since started calling the main female character the heroine and the main male character the hero, though I prefer protagonists. Do I think there needs to be a hero’s journey versus a heroine’s journey? 

No. I don’t. I think both the hero and heroine are fighting themselves, the plot, and sometimes each other with the internal quest to find their respective essence versus identity. I think Campbell and Vogler and Maureen Murdock when composing the heroine’s journey are thoughtful, and we can learn a lot about plot and story structure from all of them. But story structure doesn’t amount to much when the “real” story isn’t told—essence versus identity, which in a romance equates to truly loving and being truly loved in return. 

The Drill Sergeant Hero

I've been noticing a trend in many romance books. I call it The Drill Sergeant Hero. This is the guy who not only knows everything, but orders the heroine to do as he wishes. Usually the Drill Sergeant Hero is ordering the heroine about to "protect" her or keep her away from danger, because she's just a woman and can't decipher danger for herself, you know. The Drill Sergeant Hero is usually some sort of expert, like a bodyguard or spy or something along those lines, so he knoweth from which he speaketh.

As an historian, I'm taking a guess that the tendency to "protect" women is a mostly Victorian myth, exacerbated by the Edwardian period (Did you know Jell-O salads and other salads were popular during this era because women were supposed to eat delicate, bird-like meals? I love salad, but...blech.). This idea to shelter women to such an extent that they become childlike and remain innocent until her marriage when she no longer counts as an individual because she becomes her husband's property.

Think I sound tough on the Victorians and Edwardians? Well, be my guest to check out the laws of that time, regarding women's rights to divorce, freedom from a domestic abusive partner, or even her children, which she could not have if she wanted to stop being beaten by her husband.

Anyway, the point is somewhere along the way, we contemporary people have confused the Victorian myths with the fact that women have been figuring out ways to protect themselves for eons. And they've had to protect themselves when they had very few rights to do so.

I think that's why I find the Drill Sergeant Hero so repulsive. I can't finish a book with this kind of hero. He makes me sad and mad. I'm never sure if I want to throw the book across the room or cry a little. Might be good to do both.

I like writing about men who are experts, but they're not going to degrade a woman to make a point. They aren't going to order a woman about because she's a fellow human being, and unless you're a real life drill sergeant that's not cool. Unless you have a particular drill-sergeant kink and request it, of course. :)

What the H/h?

Actually, I'm not asking what the hell in my subject title. I'm asking what the hell is up with authors and readers of romance calling the hero and heroine the Big H and the Little h? What's up with that?

Okay, confession time: I've only been reading romance books for about a decade. So there was a lot about it I didn't know before I even started writing it--like rapey heroes, for one. When I ran into fellow writers calling the hero an H and the heroine an h, I was taken aback, I have to admit. What's so important for the hero to get capitalized? And why can't it be the other way around?

Oh, but it can't, I was informed, like I was a silly, silly child who had asked why the sky was blue.

But I can. It's my freaking book and my freaking characters. So I call my heroes and heroines protagonists, because they are equal in my books. No one gets capitalized. No one gets reduced down to one letter. No way!

I know it's a small thing--calling the hero and heroine protagonists, but feminism is often about the small things, like being equal in the eyes of society. Oh, wait. That's not so small after all. 😉