This thesis is a Composition and Rhetoric study of the monster romance genre, a growing yet often misunderstood site of rhetorical activity. It centers on a survey, “Reader Perceptions of Shame, Empowerment, and Genre in Monster Romance Fiction,” distributed through Instagram to 176 readers. From this data, the project analyzes both quantitative trends and qualitative responses to examine how readers describe their emotional and interpretive relationships to the genre. Grounded in rhetorical genre theory and affect theory, particularly the work of Kenneth Burke, Carolyn Miller, Charles Bazerman, Anis Bawarshi, Sara Ahmed, and Eve Sedgwick, this study approaches genre as something shaped through social interaction and emotional experience. The analysis identifies four central themes in reader responses: identification, comfort and desire, shame and stigma, and empowerment and belonging. Together, these themes show how readers use monster romance to explore non-normative identities and desires while also navigating and reworking cultural stigma. Ultimately, this thesis argues that readers do not simply consume genre, but actively participate in creating it. It concludes that monster romance operates as a participatory rhetorical ecosystem shaped through reader engagement, and points to the need for further research into reader-driven genre formation.
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My place within the community is what inspired me to create this project, which consists of a sustained analysis of survey results gathered via social media. Through this survey, I gathered 176 responses from other readers within the monster romance community. I asked detailed, but open-ended, questions to investigate how readers interact with the genre and how they articulate that interaction. (2)
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This project is guided by three interconnected research questions inspired by my own positionality as a reader within the community: 1. How do readers of monster romance articulate their emotional relationships to the genre? 2. What role do readers play in shaping monster romance as a genre? 3. How does monster romance function as a site for transforming stigmatized emotions into sources of empowerment and belonging? (3)
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Monster romance is a subgenre of romance fiction in which one or both romantic partners are non-human creatures. While paranormal romance (often featuring vampires, werewolves, and other supernatural beings) has existed for decades, even centuries, monster romance distinguishes itself through its embrace of radical physical difference. The monsters in these narratives are not simply humans with fangs or the ability to transform, they are genuinely, visibly non-human. (4)
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many monster romance stories feature the “fated mates” trope, which means that the monster recognizes the human as their desired partner for life, often through some kind of supernatural or biological mechanism (soul bond, mating bite, resonating chest parasite). (5)
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Another mainstay within the genre is a frequent and explicit conversation of consent. While some texts do not adhere to this convention, there is a concerted effort within many representative works (such as Ice Planet Barbarians and Duskwalker Brides) to make sexual encounters a matter of choice, even within the bounds of romantic compulsion or “mate” bonds. The monsters may be physically powerful, possessive, or dangerous, but they negotiate boundaries with their partner and honor them. This combination of intensity and care is essential for the genre and is displayed throughout many of the given examples. (6)
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Body diversity among human protagonists also appears frequently in monster romance. Plus-sized heroines, disabled protagonists, neurodivergent characters, and gender non-conforming characters are somewhat common in monster romance in ways that readers celebrate. When the love interest is a monster, the protagonist’s size sixteen body or chronic pain or social anxiety becomes less remarkable, and is less of a barrier for desirability. (6)
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perhaps most importantly, the monster’s difference from humanity is treated not as something to overcome but as part of their desirability. The monster is not still handsome despite their tusks or claws, but they are attractive because of their entire monstrous being. Readers are not asked to imagine the monster as secretly human, not asked to wait for the Beauty and the Beast transformation, rather they are asked to desire the monster in their monstrous form. (7)
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The boundaries of the genre remain very fluid—is it monster romance if the creature is a vampire? Werewolf? Gargoyle? Lovecraftian horror?—and though a full accounting of these questions is outside the scope of this project, this ambiguity is itself productive for genre analysis. (7)
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as Charles Bazerman (2011) and Anis Bawarshi (2001) have argued, genres emerge from and are sustained by the social actions and practices of the people who use them. Readers are not passive consumers of genre conventions; they are active participants in creating, maintaining, and transforming what a genre is and what it can do.
In the case of monster romance, this reader-centered understanding of genre is particularly important. This genre has developed largely outside traditional publishing. (9)
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four core themes include identification with monstrous and human characters, comfort and narrative safety, the exploration of desire, and the presence of shame alongside empowerment. (29)
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One respondent articulated:
I’ve read about how monstrous lovers can be a way of going beyond the gender binary, and I love that as a trans person. I like the theme of ‘you’re different/scary/not like me, but I still want you.’ [...]
This response demonstrates that there are multiple layers to monstrous identification: the monster’s non-human being offers a framework for looking at gender beyond imposed binaries, and the phrase “you’re different/scary/not like me, but I still want you” engages with what many queer and trans readers desire as people who feel “othered.” I also see where the monster’s burden of discrimination may mirror the reader’s own struggles with acceptance and validation from society.
Another respondent expanded on this theme of queerness and feelings of alienation in powerful terms, stating,
…it is possible to be considered worthy of love, friendship, and care, even when all conventional wisdom says that the monstrous offender should be denied such things, and that anyone opposing that thought is socially, morally, or legally wrong for it. It’s an externalization of an internal feeling of being fundamentally wrong. And it’s an externalization that provides relief by providing a concrete reason one can point to for why one is thought of as “wrong.” Being queer when you’ve never encountered another queer person just feels alienating and like YOU are the problem. Being queer with the knowledge that other queer people exist, love, and thrive somewhere You Are Not gives you a GOAL.
This response gives a glimpse into why this monstrous identification matters. The respondent here describes an “internal feeling of being fundamentally wrong,” which is a feeling familiar to many queer, trans, neurodivergent, and marginalized people who have this sort of internalized message that their identity or way of being is wrong. (42-43)
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fat women might be over-represented in monster romance when compared to other romance subgenres, and this over-representation is valued by its readers. (45)
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This focus on consent creates emotional safety for readers, especially those who are processing trauma or figuring out their own boundaries around desire. Like mentioned earlier, one reader said:
It brings me comfort for sure. I have a fear of men in real life due to different types of abuse and neglect from a very young age. Men just hurt you, but monsters feel safe. They could protect you and often want to be possessive and hurt others for you.
For this reader, the monster’s protective possessiveness combined with the genre’s consent culture gives a fantasy of intensity without violation. This is something that wasn’t available in relationships with human men who caused harm. (50)
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She also notes that monsters and aliens are often “autistic coded,” which creates a connection between the genre and her own relationship. This is an observation I have made in my own reading as well, since many monstrous characters operate outside of neurotypical expectations. (60)
Here's the abstract:
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