This section is divided into three parts. The development of local romance novels and Taiwanese idol dramas is outlined in the first part. The second part includes the discussions of gender politics in romance criticism. Finally, different understandings of postfeminism in recent western academic writings are explored to draw a parallel between the contradictory representations of gender politics and the conflicting definitions of postfeminism.
The romance novels discussed in this study refer to “series romances” or
“category products” which are published and marketed in an industrial mode (F. Lin 251). According to Lin Fang-mei’s observation, Tsi-tai(希代) was the first publishing
firm that ushered in this new production process from Harlequin company. Translated works of American romances were published in the same editorial format, with the same size of the book and a similar cover from 1977 to 1984. Later, it published novels of local writers, imitating the packaging and marketing strategies of Harlequin romances (255). Other publishers followed its footstep to produce local romance novels in similar ways. New books are released regularly in lines with specific names.
They are mass-produced products with uniform book sizes, standardized cover designs and similar page layouts (Hsu 8).
The emergence of this new method in the making of a book upgrades romance novels in book rental stores into sleek cultural products (F. Lin 263). The distribution channel is extended from book rental to mass market retail including chain bookstores, convenience stores, and general merchandising stores (Su-hui Huang 42). Before category romances of local writers dominated the domestic market share, imported works of western romances, Hong Kong romances or adaptations of TV dramas were included in earlier lines (Ya-pei Cheng 85; Lai 32). The enforcement of the copyright law put a ban on unauthorized copies of translated romances and thereby prompted domestic publishing houses to recruit more local romance writers to meet the demand of Taiwanese romance novel market (Hsu 6). With the expansion of local romance publishing, many new lines were established exclusively for works composed by local writers and developed diverse subgenres in the mid-to-late 1990s.
In western romance publishing industry, novels within the same line have similar settings, styles, types of conflicts or certain elements required by publishers to establish distinct features. The names of local romance lines do not connote distinguishing characteristics until some publishers begin lines in which books are characterized by a stronger level of sexuality such as Tsi-tai’s Red Mouth (紅唇情話),
Ho-ma’s(禾馬) Water Tinkle (水叮噹) and Red Cherry (紅櫻桃) (Lai 34; Su-hui
Huang 93). Most names of the lines are just brand names for publishers to promote their books as generic love stories rather than indexical labels for consumers to make a distinction between different story characteristics.
Local category romances dominated the Taiwanese romance novel market from the mid-1990s onwards. The industrial mode of production and distribution makes differentiation between the “commercial romances” and earlier popular romance novels from the 1960s to the 1980s (M. Yang 22; Hsu 7). These market-driven products are seen to mark a departure from classic Chinese romantic fiction in some commentaries while some researchers think they are “impure” and “hybrid” because they are not only influenced by western romance novels but also inherit the writing style of one popular genre of Chinese literature called “mandarin duck and butterfly”
school (鴛鴦蝴蝶派) (S. Li 19; Su-hui Huang 28).
Foreign influences on Taiwanese idol dramas are traceable to the success of Japanese serial dramas in the establishment of an audience base in Taiwan. These Japanese serials are of contemporary romance category called trendy dramas starring handsome actors and beautiful actresses who are well-dressed in designer clothes, live in cosy small apartments, and eat in expensive restaurants on screen (Chua 30). Well received by local audiences through pirated videos and illegal cable service in the
1980s, such dramas attracted urban youths and became hits in the 1990s (Shuling Huang 7). The new name “idol dramas” was introduced by the Taiwan branch of the satellite STAR TV when it started to broadcast Japanese trendy dramas in 1992, capturing audiences’ attention by highlighting the cast (Tsao 14). Later on, other competing cable channels imported Japanese trendy dramas and adopted the same marketing strategy, using the name “idol dramas” to promote the shows (Ke 6).
Meteor Garden(流星花園), the first locally produced idol drama in 2001, was an
adaptation of a Japanese comic book and became such a hit that it stimulated the rise of Taiwanese idol dramas. The domestic market was saturated with 28 or 29 idol dramas per year from 2002 to 2004 (Wu and Chiang 13). Many of the idol dramas were adapted from Japanese comic books during this period. Those based on original scripts also followed the formula of “setting, cast, and music” developed by Japanese trendy dramas (Shuling Huang 11). The characters’ Japanese names, the scenes in Japanese-style houses or the Korean stars included in the cast manifest the hybridization of Taiwanese idol dramas (Shuling Huang 12).
Taiwanese idol dramas distinguish themselves from earlier prime time serials as love dramas that focus on pure love and sweet romance rather than extramarital affairs, struggles in rich families and conflicts between mother and daughter-in-law (N.
Huang 83). They convey strong “belief in love” in contrast with earlier TV dramas
emphasizing mistrust of love (N. Huang 84). Wu Yi-kuo (吳怡國) and Chiang Yi-hui (姜易慧) identify three phases of the development of domestically made idol dramas
as the period of exploration and orientation, the period of competition and elimination, the period of refinement and transformation (19-21). After the first phase between 2001 and 2003, local producers tried substantial experiments with this new TV genre by combining romantic elements with multiple subject matters such as car racing, billiard games, and supernatural events in the second phase from 2004 to 2006 (20).
Despite the diverse subjects, they did not necessarily gain huge popularity. It turned out that variations on the Cinderella formula created a lot of resonance with local audiences measured by higher viewer ratings.
The profit motive results in a rush of production of local romance novels and Taiwanese idol dramas replicating the formula once it proves successful. Local category romances emerging from the late 1980s onwards are considered formulaic texts in local romance criticism. They are often compared with works written by Chiung Yao (瓊瑤), a predominant Mandarin romance novelist before the 1980s. The main characters, as Cheng Ya-pei (鄭雅佩) points out, are endowed with rare
attributes though they are not so perfect as those in Chung Yao’s novels. The hero is a man of a high socioeconomic status like a president of a big company in modern days or an emperor in ancient times. The heroine who used to be fragile turns into an
independent and intelligent woman. She will pursue her love actively instead of awaiting passively while she holds fast to the traditional concept of lifetime monogamy (23-25).
Protagonists in romance novels, according to Hsu Hsiu-pei ( 許秀 珮), are
binarized into “a hardhearted man” and “a softhearted woman”. The hero is bad in the moral, emotional or attitudinal aspect while he is excellent in his career:
The romantic heroes have much in common. They are all handsome, wealthy and powerful. They can be classified into four types: a tall guy, a very determined guy, an arbitrary and an irritable guy. In short, he makes people seized by an oppressive feeling. He may look gentle and polite while he is also sophisticated and gumptious. He may be playful and frivolous. He may be cold and solemn. Or he may be notoriously evil...The male protagonist has the typical look and personality. His attitude toward love is typical as well. His emotional
impotence is typical. (40)
Lai Yu-chin (賴育琴) maintains that protagonists in romance novels are stock
characters. The hero has a good look, a good family background, a good talent but a flawed personality; the heroine is smart but shrewd, or tender but careless (42).
The events described in romance novels usually follow a fixed sequence. The storyline proceeds from “encounter between the potential couple, misunderstandings
and conflicts, a turning point (the heroine’s disappearing act) to a denouement” (Lai 41). Taiwanese idol dramas have a similar narrative path through which the leading characters’ romantic relationship develops in four phases: “the first meeting, courtship, the barriers and the ultimate union” (Hsueh 13). Romance publications and TV productions tend to copy the idea of a previous work that sells well. Exploitation of the successful formula constrains the possibilities of giving it new elements.
Uncreative use of tropes and recurrent stereotypical characters lead critics to charge that the romantic narratives are works of poor originality and conservative ideology.
The formulaic plot development makes category romances largely identical. The writers lacking discernible style are described as “shadow writers” (Y. Lin 1).
Taiwanese idol dramas are criticized for “poorly-written scripts”, “unrealistic plot devices”, “excessive sentiment”, “stiff acting of novices” and “inadequate production budgets” (C. Li 73).
In addition to lack of innovation, a more controversial issue about gender representations draws critical attention. Cheng Yi-wen (鄭伊雯) examines local series
romances released in the late 1980s from a feminist perspective. Her analysis demonstrates patriarchal values are enhanced by the dichotomy between strong males and weak females as well as the endorsement of the virginal heroines in the texts (209). As LinYing-chieh (林英杰) asserts, changes in gender roles occur in category
romances published during the 1990s. Female readers of a new generation prefer a cool and macho hero to a gentle and graceful hero in earlier romances. However, sporadic reworking of gender relations remains contained in the patriarchal system (71-72).
As Lai Yu-chin contends, the glorification of an innocent, chaste and kind heroine in romance texts of the 1990s legitimates the patriarchal order and affirms family values (11). She also detects seeds of changes within the overriding patriarchal context. The portrayal on male physical attractiveness offers the possibility of an active female gaze (69). Besides, a detailed description of the heroine’s sexual pleasure subverts the power structure of heterosexual patriarchy, constructing the female as a desiring subject (77, 79).
The presence of androgynous characters, as Lai Yu-chin concludes, reveals a postmodern turn in romance novels of the 1990s (100). As the trend of crossing gender boundaries continues, it is more common, according to Yang Ming (楊明), to
find heroes with feminine looks in twenty-first-century romance novels (40-41). In addition to the increasing number of heroes of feminine types, heroines classified as the Cinderella type are no longer submissive victims waiting to be rescued. They are active in the pursuit of her happiness or independent-minded enough to abandon the attachment to worldly love. If she remains kind and tolerant, what she seeks for first is
not the love of Prince Charming but her self-growth (M. Yang 48).
Lin Hsin-chieh (林歆婕) states that many Taiwanese idol dramas follow the
Cinderella paradigm, depicting a romantic relationship between a man of a higher socioeconomic status and an ordinary woman who is kind-hearted without economic privileges. Marriage with the male protagonist is the only route through which the female protagonist can achieve success and happiness (119). Such recurrent gender stereotypes and opt-repeated narrative pattern in media texts, as she asserts, reproduce patriarchal ideology and reinforce gender inequality (120).
Monogamous marriage is generally viewed as a patriarchal invention that maintains the status quo and the sexual division of labor. Pamela Regis refutes against the charges made by the critics who claim that the happy ending in marriage enslaves both the heroine and the readers. In Regis’ defense, the ending in marriage or betrothal is not the governing element in determining a text’s meaning but the
“barrier” (the conflict) and the “point of ritual death” (a moment when the romantic union seems impossible) since it is the process rather than the conclusion of the heroine’s quest that romance readers are reading for (14). Moreover, the heroine’s victory, a state of freedom, is manifested when “she overcomes the barrier and is freed from all encumbrances to her union with the hero” (Regis 15). The marriage in the end of romance novels is interpreted by Hsu Hsiu-pei as a signal for satisfaction of
emotional needs:
The utopian imagination of conjugal happiness is extraordinarily significant because most romance readers are aware of women’s difficulties in real life. The nuclear family represents an ideal type that is formed on the basis of romantic love rather than class privilege. Its stability relies on free choices of family members instead of their obligations. It is a site for seeking emotional fulfillment, not for materialistic gains. Therefore, no conflicts should occur. (48) Romance readers, as Wen Tzu-hsin (溫子欣) explains, tend to take up a strategic
reading position in order to derive pleasure from consuming the texts. The happy ending in marriage is interpreted as the heroine’s triumph because she tames the hero at last (116-117). She identifies the interpretative strategy as a resistant reading:
Readers create the meanings they need purposely. Therefore, they reverse women’s inferior positions and strive for gender equality through their romance reading. We cannot make absolute statements about the good or bad impacts of romantic fiction. It is true that patriarchal values are conveyed by reproducing the existing power structure in romance texts. But readers can counterassault against the male-dominated world by interpreting the texts in their own way.
(135)
Janice A. Radway states in her ethnographic study of the Smithon’s romance
readers that the act of reading enables them to “refuse temporarily their family otherwise constant demand” and it can be seen as their attempt to “imagine a more perfect state where all the needs they so intensely feel and accept as given would be adequately addressed (211, 212).
There are disagreements about the role that romance texts play in feminist politics. Radway claims romance reading embodies merely “safe, limited, and barely conscious contestation of patriarchy” while it originates from women’s dissatisfaction with traditional marriages that fail to satisfy their needs (220). Kay Mussel notes that the romance fantasy provides readers with the chance to experience the illusion of change but it fails to promote “genuine change or individual growth” (172). In local critical accounts appear different assessments of the ideological revision within the romance texts. For example, Hsu Hsiu-pei warns readers against being deluded by the patriarchal love fantasy though there are positive significances in the texts. However minor the adjustments in the patriarchal framework are, some researchers believe small changes will accumulate to produce enormous subversive power (Lai 101; Y.
Lin 66).
Differing critical reception of romance texts in part parallels the debate over the mainstreaming and commoditization of feminism in western popular culture. The notion of co-option cannot fully reflect the complex relationship between feminism
and popular culture because the existence of feminism in today’s popular culture has become a form of common sense in which feminist ideas are expressed in a way that does not necessarily correspond with traditional feminist methods and critiques (Genz and Brabon 36). The category of popular feminism, or conceptualized by many as postfeminism, poses a challenge for critics to elaborate on the ambivalent relationship between feminism and popular culture.
The negative reading of postfeminism as antifeminist is offered by Susan Faludi.
She formulates the conservative reaction to feminism as a backlash— “a powerful
counterassault on women’s rights” attempting to “retract the handful of small and hard-won victories” the feminist movement has strived for (xviii). For her, postfeminism is one of the terms coined by the press to stress women’s excessive freedom brought about by women’s movement and then forge the connection of women’s unhappiness with women’s liberation:
[W]omen have achieved so much yet feel so dissatisfied; it must be feminism’s achievements, not society’s resistance to theses partial achievements, that is causing women all this pain. In the ‘70s, the press had help up its own glossy picture of a successful woman and said “See, she’s happy. That must be because she’s liberated.” Now, under the reverse logic of the backlash, the press airbrushed a frown into its picture of the successful woman and announced, “See,
she’s miserable. That must be because women are too liberated.” (Faludi 77) Her anti-media stance is apparent in her accusation of the media’s role as “backlash collaborator” (Faludi 78). She claims the media work well with popular culture and advertising to perpetuate and exaggerate its own false images of womanhood (xv).
The association between postfeminism and backlash in Faludi’s work is elaborated by Angela McRobbie in her discussion about how “the taken into accountness” of feminism in contemporary popular culture leads to the “undoing of feminism” (“Post-feminism” 256, 255). In her analysis, postfeminism as a complexificated form of backlash, draws on feminism to suggest that equality is achieved and discredits its need for renewal (“Post-feminism” 255-256). The irrelevance of feminism for contemporary culture is implied by “a double discourse that works to construct feminism as a phenomenon of the past, traces of which can be found (and sometimes even valued) in the present” (Tasker and Negra 8). Thus, the contradictory nature of postfeminism is characterized by the tension between the acknowledgement and the repudiation of feminism.
As the equation of postfeminism with backlash neglects “how the popular operates as a site of struggle over the meanings of feminism” (Hollow and Mosely 8), Ann Braithwaite finds it necessary to use the term “postfeminism” in a more complex and open-ended way with “an insistence on the plurality of positions and issues” that
it connotes for a whole range of different women (28). Postfeminism, according to Ann Brooks, represents “pluralism and difference” occupying a critical position “in regard to earlier feminist frameworks at the same time as critically engaging with patriarchal and imperialist discourses” (1, 2). This understanding of postfeminism can open up more discussions about how and why elements of feminism become “part of the accepted, naturalized social formation” instead of limiting the possibilities of analysis (Braithwaite 19). In this view, an alternative reading of the relationship between feminism and the popular assumes “a hegemonic negotiation of second-wave ideals” without reducing postfeminism to an overall rejection of feminism (Dow, Prime-Time Feminism 88).
Postfeminism is a highly contested term with multiple definitions just as there are divergent understandings of the relationship between feminism and popular culture. Postfeminism refers to what comes after feminism both in the chronological sense and in the semantic sense (Braithwaite 24). The prefix “post” designates “a journalistic or popular periodisation in which women’s lib is somehow over in the mid 1980s” (Brunsdon 85). Contemporary feminist critics are split on the semantic meaning of “post”. The reading of “post” as “anti” that prevails in the backlash discourse supports the rejection of postfeminist concepts while the prefix “post”
suggests a “critical distance” that allows of new developments of feminism for those
who advocate postfeminist positions (Kalbfleisch 252). Both anti- and pro-postfeminists adopt the “rhetoric of opposition” to represent the relationship between feminism and postfeminism (Kalbfleisch 251). Instead of situating feminism and postfeminism antithetically, the rhetoric of inclusion pits (post)feminism against some Other, facilitating a sense of sisterhood with the identification of a common enemy—patriarchy, for instance (Kalbfleisch 256). In this case, the critical tension
within the (post)feminism coupling is defused (Genz, Postfemininities 21).
This interpretative struggle extends to the signification of contemporary women’s display of traditional femininity. In contrast to viewing conventional femininity as a root of female oppression, women of a new generation refuse to give up the pleasures of feminine adornment and heterosexual romance (Moseley and Read
This interpretative struggle extends to the signification of contemporary women’s display of traditional femininity. In contrast to viewing conventional femininity as a root of female oppression, women of a new generation refuse to give up the pleasures of feminine adornment and heterosexual romance (Moseley and Read