Romantasy Pt. 1

In 2023, romantasy brought in 454 million. In 2024, it brought in around 610 million, with a 47% increase year-over-year in books sold. In comparison, adult fiction sales have stalled. According to the NYTimes, “Publishers are frantically searching for the next breakout romantasy series”. Five out of the top ten books of 2024 were romantasy.

What is romantasy? Romantasy blends the (older) genres of romance and fantasy. How does it differ? I would say the distinction between romantasy and fantasy is that, in romantasy, the protagonist always grows in the right direction and always wins. The ending is cozy and uncomplicated (in contrast to, say, Game of Thrones). Additionally, romantasy mostly features a female protagonist, and there are more interior monologues that build sexual tension. What is the difference between romantasy and romance? In romantasy, there is a physical obstacle against which the protagonist wins. That is the ultimate climax, whereas in traditional romance the climax is the resolution of the romantic tension.

Romantasy is also a genre (overwhelmingly) written by women, featuring women, for women. And yes, there’s a good deal to be said about how TikTok marketing and the network effects of cult appeal drive sales. But even so, to write a popular romantasy is also to ask, “what do women desire?” And I argue that romantasy is many things – it is an escape, it is a balm for hard days, it is a form of pleasure that speaks to female pleasure, but also also, romantasy is a power fantasy. Romantasy protagonists start as underdogs. But they overcome mental, physical, and societal obstacles to come into their own power and save the ones they love.

There’s a quote from the movie Rocky

Ah come on, Adrian, it’s true. I was nobody. But that don’t matter either, you know? ‘Cause I was thinkin’, it really don’t matter if I lose this fight. It really don’t matter if this guy opens my head, either. ‘Cause all I wanna do is go the distance. Nobody’s ever gone the distance with Creed, and if I can go that distance, you see, and that bell rings and I’m still standin’, I’m gonna know for the first time in my life, see, that I weren’t just another bum from the neighborhood.

I feel similarly reading this as I do reading the climax of most romantasies. And just like Rocky, romantasies are dominated by the training montage. In Fourth Wing, the protagonist, Violet, is small and fragile. She has a genetic disease, shared by the book’s author, that attacks the connective tissue in the body. And then her mom forces her into army school, a place where she will either learn to fight – or die. She is there against all the odds, and sometimes she doubts herself. But she finds other people who believe in her, push her, and train her. She then starts training every day. In this passage, she practices “shielding”, blocking others from accessing her inner thoughts.

Ground. Shield. Imagine closing your door. Build your wall. Sense who and what has access around you…

Visualize.

Imagine a knot of power–not too intricate; no one’s ready for that yet–in front of you, then untangle it. Unlock the door.

Visualize.

And then, finally, the sweet payout.

The claws slammed into my mind a moment later.

And bounced harmlessly off a black, glimmering shield of adamant.

He blinked, “You practiced.”

I rose from the table and walked away. “I had nothing better to do.”

That passage was from A Court of Mist and Fury. Shielding/grounding actually features in the magic systems of Fourth Wing, A Court of Mist and Fury, and The Serpent and the Wolf. The characters learn to shield their minds, to ground themselves before fighting. As they learn to control intrusive thoughts into their minds, their emotional health improves as well. The analog to this in our modern world is mindfulness and meditation.

While I was writing this newsletter, there was one time I couldn’t sleep at night. I decided to read the “grounding” scene in The Serpent and the Wolf to see if it would help me therapeutically. It did calm my racing thoughts, and I finally fell asleep. When I heard the author speak about the book, she said this had been the hardest scene for her to write. She had been dealing with extreme anxiety at the time, she said. Similarly, in this scene, her protagonist is stuffed with a suffocating power. Coached by the women around her, she controls and grounds it to the floor. The power drains into rivers, and the women join her on the floor. The author cried, she said, and cried for all the women in her life, who had gone under the tables and sat on the floor for her.

Power, in this way, is described through the magical system. But it is also a metaphor for a very different type of power. As the protagonists learn how to control and wield their magical power, so too, they learn how to manage their own emotions and build power — to stand up for justice, defend others, and lead.

One of the hallmarks of great literature is that it works under the surface. The iceberg metaphor is that you are conscious of 1/10th of the novel, but it’s the 9/10ths that are not obvious that are doing most of the work. I’m not sure I would call any romantasy great literature. By definition, they all stick to the same trope beats. The slaying of dragons and evil wizards is cheap dopamine, and so is the romance. But I do think popular romantasies work under the surface. Romantasies make people feel better, and it’s not all cheap dopamine. I remember talking to a friend who was reading Fourth Wing as she was battling cancer. Protagonists in romantasy accomplish insurmountable obstacles because at some point they decide they must. They train, they fall, they get a lot of help. Both mentally and physically. And then they find the purpose to train some more.

From A Court of Mist and Fury:

“You want to save the mortal realm?” he asked. “Then become someone Prythian listens to. Become vital. Become a weapon. Because there might be a day, Feyre, when only you stand between the King of Hybern and your human family. And you do not want to be unprepared”.

From Fourth Wing:

“Maybe if you stopped sulking in your self-pity, you’d see that you have everything you need to scale the Gauntlet,” he calls after me, his voice echoing down the hallway.

“My self-what?” I turn around, my jaw dropping.

“People die,” he says slowly, his jaw ticking before he drags in a deep breath. “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die…”

“I’m too short to span the distance!” I hiss, uncaring that anyone could hear us.

“The right way isn’t the only way. Figure it out.” Then he turns and walks away.

Fuck. Him.

These stories are still fantasies. Not all of us have the coaches or the powers that the protagonists do. And, in these books, the protagonist can risk it all and find a victory. And yet, as Nate Silver writes in his book On the Edge, risks usually do bear fruit. And there’s something about the journey to gain agency and power, enough to do what you must, that is inspiring. I also think it matters that the protagonists are continually underestimated and diminished. They are humans in a supernatural realm, or disabled in an abled world, or depressed – and almost always female. But they outsmart opponents, outmaneuver enemies, and keep going past the expectations of everyone else. The ride is exhilarating, blood pumping to a cathartic end.

This was Part 1, Romantasy as a Power Fantasy. To hear more about the romance (and complexities within), stay tuned for Part 2…