The case for… Romance novels

Do people dislike that they are sexy? Or disingenuously so? Some scoff that these books’ libidinal allure must be smuggled in, under the cover of romance. They suspect this is all heavy petting, disguised as genteel feeling. Not so. Love and sex aren’t exclusive. They can be, of course – but together they’re a knockout, complementing each other like salt and pepper. Or something hotter. Justin Trudeau eating a magma Pop Tart?

We invoked love just now. Is that the same as romance? Is this the charge that sticks, that rose petals and grand gestures lack depth? Maybe; but petals are very nice. Many people lack fantasy in their day to day. If they find it between covers, in taboo tattoos inked on wood, does that make it less vital? A feeling is a feeling. It can be the warmth that fuels a life, a fun life, way better than your rubbish one.

So bring on Fabrizio. Bring on Lorenzo. Bring on the billionaire with intimacy issues who needs the right woman to unlock him (better than the real ones screwing us all). I need 40% more heaving bosoms, a case-load of jodhpurs. I want servants banging servants, and her nibs upstairs. And his nibs upstairs. I want it on sofas and stable hay and IKEA showroom beds. So give it to me, you brute. I love you and it’s mad and this is how we live forever. This moment is how we live forever.

Photograph by Getty Images

Rhik Samadder is co-running a creative writing retreat in Tuscany, 20-27 September, open to all. See The Tuscan Table for details