Today is Halloween. It’s the day the veil lifts between the living and the
dead. The day the barriers between the worlds become silk-thin. Thin enough to
see through, if you have that gift.
It is also Jericho Barrons’ birthday
Well, kind of. See, Jericho doesn’t exactly have a birthday…it’s
complicated. And I don’t want to spoil it. So moving on. Jericho Barrons, from
Karen Marie Moning’s Fever series, is the absolute epitome of perfection
when it comes to dark, dangerous heroes.
I think a lot of romance novel writers are a bit nervous about dark heroes.
Either there’s too much of a save-the-kitten factor, or the guy goes overboard
and is more asshole than sexy-dangerous-awesome. In older books—like romance
novels from the sixties to eighties—I think it was more common for authors to
go too far over that line. I’ve read a lot of pseudo- or sometimes outright
rapey misogynist heroes, and been utterly baffled as to why the heroine
actually liked those guys. And in newer romances, I get the sense that a lot of
authors are nervous about walking too close to that line. The heroes are
presented as big and bad, but there’s too much of a softie undercurrent. For
some women, that’s sexy. But my tastes run a bit darker than that.
JZB walks that razor thin line—between sexy and psychotic—with perfect grace.
He admits to murdering innocent people. He has zero save-the-kitten factor
whatsoever when we meet him—and it doesn’t get much more than a smidge better
when we know him. He never rapes anyone, but he is not against the occasional
foray into sex so dominant that it toes a few lines.
He is, essentially, a scary-ass motherfucker.
And yet he is so, so sexy.
So why is this? Why do we—not all of us, but those of us who have this
particular taste—like our heroes with a side of, as Jericho Barrons would say,
raw meat and razorblades?
We're not all masochistic women who always wind up
with abusive guys. It’s also true for many of us who have normal, functional
relationships in real life—with guys who both turn us on and who we can introduce
to our parents. But why is it that for some of us, the sweet, nice, sexy flavor of romance hero just
isn’t as compelling?
There’s a scene in one of the Fever series where Moning—through Mac, the
heroine—explains it perfectly. I don’t have the book in front of me, so this
won’t be a direct quote. But it’s a scene where Mac is in one of JZB’s
fast cars. They both have a thing for cars. And he lets her drive. They have an
extremely adversarial relationship, and this is one of their first really
friendly moments.
And what she says is this. Something like, when the biggest, scariest beast in
the forest leans over and licks you instead of tearing your head off—like it
does with everyone else—you know you’re special.
As soon as I read that line, I felt a chill go up my spine. I thought, This
woman GETS it.
See, the nice guy is nice to everyone. He’s nice to his mom. He’s nice to his
friends. He’s nice to his exes, even. Sure, he’s also nice to you. That’s
great. But it’s not unusual. The fact that he’s also nice to you doesn’t make
you special.
Now, a puma laying its inky head in your lap and
purring—that’s a different story.
The really bad-ass dark hero’s charisma comes from the way he makes us believe
that, as women, we can be the special ones. We can be the rare, beautiful,
sparkly unicorn who makes him roll over and purr—just for us. The woman who can
make somebody like Jericho Barrons want to stick around must be really, really
special. And the fact that he’s a scary-ass motherfucker only heightens that
effect.
I know it’s a dangerous attraction. And when carried over into real life, it
can lead to some crappy—sometimes even abusive—relationships. Some of us go
through a lot of guys like this, more in love with the idea of being the
special one than with him specifically, before getting wise and
settling down with someone we can actually make a life with.
Because that’s the thing about dark heroes. In real life, they
are not life mates. In real life, the puma will not turn into a cuddly kitty
because you are so, so special. No. It will eat you. Because that’s what it
does. And the worst part is, it’s nothing personal. No matter how special you
think you are, in the end you’re dinner. Just like everyone else.
It’s only in novels that we have the power to turn that
dangerous predator into the man of our dreams. And feeling like we alone have
that power is exhilarating. But Jericho Barrons is fictional. Even his birthday is fictional. Ultimately, so is that exhilarating feeling.
And really, even though it feels so, so good--it's better that way.
And really, even though it feels so, so good--it's better that way.
So happy
fictional birthday, Jericho Barrons—and happy Halloween.
