The “Other” in Romance

Monsters—or otherworldly beings—have almost always been popular subjects for fiction. We can trace vampire romances back at least to the nineteenth century, when we see Carmilla and Dracula both emerge. Neither is truly a romance, but both of them feature some relatively seductive monsters.

Horror and romance have always walked a fine line with each other, as I’ve explored elsewhere. The idea that monsters could be love interests isn’t exactly earth-shattering.

Yet, as I looked at in another post, the “monsters” of fiction are often stand-ins for human beings. And that leads us to a potentially uncomfortable realization: these “monsters” often symbolize “the Other.”

What Is “the Other”?

The concept of “othering” comes to us from post/neocolonial criticisms and critical race theory, which help us critically think about the media we ingest and how we interpret what we’re seeing, hearing, or reading.

The “Other” in particular refers to in-groups and out-groups. The in-group in most English-language literature is the cisgender, white, heterosexual, Christian male. The bulk of our stories use this lens. Our narrator or focalizer is a cisgender, white, heterosexual dude who believes himself a good Christian.

If this is our “in-group,” then the “out-group” is basically everyone else. That includes women, any racialized person, non-Christians such as Jewish people and Muslims, and queer people. The narrator/focalizer is usually able-bodied as well, so disabled people are also in an “out-group.”

In-Groups and Out-Groups

The idea of “in-group” and “out-group” comes to us from psychology. In-groups are those you perceive as similar enough to you to be part of your “group.” In the wild, an in-group might be your family or kinspeople—a kind of clan or tribe. You would work together with these people to protect other vulnerable members of your clan, gather and share resources, and so on.

The out-group is anyone who isn’t part of this group. They are outsiders, and they are usually considered threats.

In modern life, we can see this play out on many stages. Individual families in the middle class, for example, may look down upon “the poor,” claiming they don’t understand “how they live like that” or failing to understand why poor people don’t just “pull up their socks” or have the same values and behaviors as middle-class people. A Christian family may not understand a Muslim family. A white person may exhibit fear or aggression toward Black or brown people. Many able-bodied people express misunderstanding and even fear about disabled people, even though we’re all one accident away from being disabled ourselves.

These “out-groups” do not seem to adhere to the same values, so they threaten the in-group’s way of life. And they are therefore “scary.”

Othering People

In this way, people are constructed as The Other. The Other is not “you” or “me.” They are different, and they are therefore strange. Because of their difference, we may find them threatening or even terrifying.

Note here that terror isn’t always overt fear. It often comes out as aggression. Even that aggression may not be terribly overt. It might be something as simple as saying, “I don’t know how they live like that.”

Othering is not something we always recognize right away, but it happens repeatedly, on many levels, every day. Entire groups are constructed as strange, different, and therefore scary.

In this way, people are de-humanized. They might be categorized as something either less than human (subhuman) or animalistic, or something more than human (such as a vampire or a witch). In either case, they represent the “unknown,” which can be quite terrifying.

In turn, entire groups of people are then categorized as threats. What is different or unknown is scary, and it presents a threat to the way you live your life and the values you hold dear.

The entire exercise creates power dynamics. The in-group holds the power, while the out-group—the “others”—do not have power. And, because they are different, scary, strange, and threatening, the in-group argues they should not have power. We can see this play out in arguments about women (they are too emotional to be in power); queer people (they will corrupt children); and racialized people (they are not “civilized” enough to have power).

Othering thus has the effect—and the intent—of disenfranchising people. It accomplishes this by stripping people of their humanity.

The “Other” as Erotic

The flip of the coin is that the Other is also often considered erotic. The Other may be fetishized, insofar as they are exotic. In-group members are allowed to be curious about the Other, even admire them, so long as it is understood that this is a passing fancy. One example might be that, among certain teenage Japanese subcultures, it is “cool” to have a white romantic partner. It is understood, however, that this is a novelty. The couple will eventually break up, with the Japanese partner leaving the white partner for another Japanese person.

This happens in other cultures, certainly, and it happens outside of racialized groups as well. There is often an expectation that the “in-group” member will return to the in-group in order to pick a partner. Another example might be sorority girls who “experiment” with other girls during their college years, then marry men. These women usually identify themselves as “straight,” despite their queer attraction and experiences. Instead,  they see their bi/lesbian relationships as “experimentation” or “a phase,” which they “grow out of,” rather than as indications of their sexuality being perhaps less-than-straight. Exploration is fine—think of how many men comment on the idea of girls making out with each other—but they return to the expectations of the cishet in-group.

Disabled people can certainly attest to being fetishized in an overtly sexual way, as can many racialized individuals. Yet the idea that an able-bodied person would form a lasting relationship with a disabled person is considered something of a transgression. Society expects that disabled people will only shack up with other disabled people, while able-bodied people should pair up.

The Other in Romance

In this way, it’s easy to see why the Other often figures in romance novels. There is a sense of novelty or fetishization of “The Other,” whether they appear as human or as something more … monstrous.

In fact, we have to be careful with our monsters in romance, because they are often merely stand-ins for “othered” groups. Plenty of people have pointed out that the “brutes” of alien alpha fiction echo stereotypes about Black men. When the MCs of these romance novels are also white women (or even gay white men), a certain discomfort arises. These women are falling for “monsters,” which could be read as, say, Black men. This is especially a consideration when we come up against all those romances that involves “brutes.”

Writing “Brutes” in Evan and the Alpha

It was something I was conscious of when I was writing Evan and the Alpha. That was why I made the aliens far more communal than I might have otherwise. They might look scary, and they might be fierce, but their tendency to violence is part of their culture. Failure to appreciate that leads to a lot of misunderstanding and upset between Evan, a human, and his would-be alien lover.

And that is largely what happens when we encounter “the other” in fiction. We’re usually given one side of the story and told to understand “the other” and their culture in a particular way. This is usually because we’re standing in the “in-group” point of view—and we’re assumed to be part of that in-group as well. In turn, the narrator/focalizer is often asking us to view whatever they’re reporting as strange or even upsetting or disgusting.

Using Dual POV to Combat Stereotypes

It was one of the reasons I adopted dual POV for Evan, even though that’s not usually what I write. (Dual POV really knocks a hole in one of my favorite tension building tropes: miscommunication.) Sobek, the alien love interest, needed to speak, so he could present his cultural understanding. Evan lacks the insight into the culture and nuance that Sobek has. Evan is an outsider, and he doesn’t understand Sobek’s worldview. Only Sobek can give us those insights.

We’re obviously primed to side with Evan, because we’re human beings like he is, steeped in human culture. Sobek’s culture, on the face of it, likely looks strange and maybe even a little unnerving. But this happens all the time with human-to-human cultural exchange. If you’re not part of the in-group, everything looks strange and even a little unnerving. And, as an outsider, there are certain things you just can never understand.

It’s difficult to decenter yourself enough to understand that, when it comes to another culture, you are the outsider. When you’re used to being in-group, it can take a lot of work to realize you are no longer standing at the center when you enter another culture. You are now the out-group.

Of course, minoritized people are often hyper-aware of this reality. They know their experiences are not “normal,” because the in-group repeatedly reminds them that they are outsiders. Disabled people are constantly reminded that they are not part of the in-group. Every day, they encounter challenges in the built environment that simply wouldn’t exist if the world was run by disabled people. Queer people, women, and racialized people have the same issue. Everywhere they turn, they are reminded that this world was not constructed for them.

Why Monster Romances Are Popular

That may be one reason monster romance is so popular. So many, many people are outside the “in-group” in the dominant Eurocentric culture. Yet we need to be careful with monster romances, because they do run the risk of adopting language that is often associated with minoritized groups.

One argument is that we shouldn’t apply this language to human beings at all—“brute” comes to mind. The brute subgenre is full of aliens, but it also often runs up against historical concerns and portrayals of various cultures around the world. Vikings, for example, might be considered “brutes.” And we might think that is well and fine—Vikings were largely white people, so what’s the hurt there?

But when we end up with, say, Huns or Ghengis Khan’s Golden Horde, we must confront the reality of racism. Even in fantasy spaces, we have to be on the lookout for this. I don’t need to scratch very far to find racism undergirding a lot of descriptions of “monstrous” races. Why, even Tolkien does it—although there are certainly those who have sought to explain the tendency to showcase the peoples of Southern Middle Earth as “barbarous” and “dark.”

Being More Cognizent of “The Other”

So even when the “brute” exists on another planet or in a fantasy world, we have to be wary about how the group is depicted.

One thing we as readers can do is examine what the author says about these fantastical races. Is there ever an examination of assumptions? What kind of language are we using? Do these “monsters” ever get a chance to speak for themselves, or are we stuck with the observations and perceptions of others alone?

Asking these questions can help us engage more fully—and be aware of when an author may be perpetuating harmful ideas and stereotypes.

And, as authors, we can guard against this tendency by more fully engaging in conversations around portrayals of “the other” in media and interrogating our own tendencies to “pull a Tolkien”—are our brutes always “dark,” are they always from a desert or a jungle? If so, we may need to take a step back and rethink what we’re writing—and why.