Despite book titles and book covers having been identified, defined and discussed as paratexts beginning first with Gérard Genette and by many paratextual and publishing scholars since, there is currently no methodology or defined vocabulary for the identification, analysis, and discussion of their creation, the intent and effect of their structure, and their constituent elements. To address this underserved area of study, I have developed a framework for the analysis of book titles and a methodology for the analysis of book covers. This framework and methodology recognises the unique position book titles and book covers hold as both creative and industry structures, and proposes analytic systems for the classification of their unique elements, the tools deployed for their creation, and the space between their initial intent and their final effect. Following the identification and definition of the functions of a paratext, through this methodology and framework, a new paratextual function emerges. The generative paratext, unlike other paratextual functions, does not direct the observer inward towards the work to which they are attached. Rather, it generates meaning outward, away from the text. This framework and methodology are then deployed to analyse a corpus of Australian rural-set popular fiction. By creating and applying this framework and methodology, I provide the foundations necessary for further academic research and industry discussion into these specific, unique paratextual elements; as well as contributing to the study of Australian popular literature, its texts and contexts, and how it sits within discourse of Australianness.
What's not mentioned in the abstract is that the corpus is composed exclusively of examples of the "Australian rural-set crime and romance genres" (13-14) and that "The final corpus comprises twenty-two romance titles and twenty crime titles" (42), so there's a lot here about romance.
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The Australian rural-set fiction subgenres of crime and romance provide a further refining of this research opportunity as they represent a recent example of a new subgenre in popular fiction. Beginning around 2005 with the reprint of Rachael Treasure’s Jillaroo which was first published in 2002, Australian rural romance dominated local sales through the next decade (Neill). Australian-set rural romance novels are novels that use romance genre frameworks and draw from other romance subgenres, particularly small-town romances and Western romances. The key point of difference in these novels is the setting: every rural romance is set in rural Australia (where rural meets the definition provided below) and the characters and plot concern themselves with one or more aspects of rural life. (38-39)
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consider Julia Quinn’s Bridgerton series of historical romance, all of which use intertextual titles. The first book, The Duke and I is clearly referential to the classic film The King and I. The second book, The Viscount Who Loved Me, references the classic James Bond film, The Spy Who Loved Me. While the titles have been changed to better reflect the story that will be found within the pages of the book, there are no parallel links that create a deeper intertextual connection between the stories found within the books and the stories found within the original media. On the surface, it may seem that The Duke and I and The King and I would have some audience cross-over, both being romantic historical dramas with strong female characters, but it is there that the similarities end. The Duke and I features a fairly standard fake relationship story between a well-bred, aristocratic woman and a well-bred, aristocratic man set in 1813 London, a far cry from the 1860s Thailand setting of The King and I with its forbidden love story. Turning to The Viscount Who Loved Me, there is not even the barest of similarities between plots, setting, or character. The hero of The Viscount Who Loved Me is another titled aristocratic gentleman and not a spy and the happy-ever-after ending requirements of romance novels do not allow for the style of love-’em-and-leave-’em affairs common within the James Bond franchise. However, it is not necessary for this deeper link to be established for the intertextuality to create the necessary emotional resonance within the reader to incite their curiosity and move from step one of noticing the book to step two of picking the book up. (61)
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this use of intertextuality to create connection generated its own title trend and associated genre markings in the late 1990s and into the 2000s. In the case of this trend, the generative properties indicated a light-hearted romance, normally with excellent dialogue and strong female characters, and most often associated with light-hearted historical romance fiction. While examples of this kind of title continue to be published, it is associated with those specific years between around 2000 and 2009. (62-63)
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If we look to contemporary romance novels within the Mills & Boon model, we can see strong examples of trope reliant titles. Consider The King’s Bride by Arrangement, a romance novel written by Annie West for Mills & Boon Modern. Focusing only on the title, The King’s Bride by Arrangement provides a great deal of information about the work to which it is attached. The use of the royal title King references a character trope, sharing with the reader that there will be royal characters with the attendant heightened stakes. Characters in this work will need to navigate their love story in consideration of both public opinion and the dignity and history of a royal family. The use of the word Bride tells us that there will be a wedding in the story; readers may surmise that the bride will not be at the altar for true love’s sake. By signposting the wedding in the title, it is likely that this wedding will occur at the beginning or the middle of the story; weddings at the end of a romance novel are expected and not worth noting. To use ‘wedding’ in the title is to suggest that the ceremony will happen before the characters have fully committed to each other, adding an extra layer of emotional intensity and conflict. The final two words, by Arrangement, add weight to this analysis and provides one last trope for readers to consider when making their purchasing decision. Marriage of convenience or arranged marriage tropes have a long history in romance fiction in historical novels; between characters from cultures where arranged marriages and marriages of convenience happen with greater frequency; and through some legal machinations. In a contemporary romance novel, however, an arranged marriage plot must have a realistic underpinning, which suggests a strong conflict, compelling reasons, and stakes ratcheted even higher than previously assumed. (65)
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The information the reader gleans from the use of trope-based words is secondary to the emotional reaction that may be provoked by those same tropes. In this case, the ‘if you like’ built-in recommendations of the title are less about finding works that use similar plot points or conflicts, and more about how reading works with similar plot points and conflicts can reproduce an emotional experience. (67)
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When looking at single-title romance novels, it is possible to find trope reliant, character reliant, and setting reliant titles within the enormous catalogue of books published. However, it is also evident that many single-title romance novels prioritise providing a sense of the tone of the novel over other information about the work. (77)
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Examples of contemporary romance titles that used a dark tone to entice readers seeking their next Fifty Shades-style read include Beautiful Disaster, Hopeless, Fallen Too Far, Pushing the Limits, and Hearts in Darkness. These titles could fall into both the tone reliant and emotionally charged title categories, but as noted above, these titles rely on the aesthetic of darkness, hopelessness, and despair rather than attempting to build an emotionally charged phrase [...] these titles are meant to emulate the tones of dark romance, with profound lows, acute conflicts, and enormous compromises on the parts of the characters to be together. Dark romance is understood to refer to a more conflict-heavy emotional experience, and often flirts with taboo and illicitness in character, plot, and sexual content. (78)
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Turning first to words repeated through the romance corpus, we first find one that upholds the generic promise of the romance genre, and second, one that imbues the title with subgeneric meaning. The first is the word ‘home’, which appears in two titles outright: The Road Home and Feels Like Home, and is implied in the title The House on Burra Burra Lane. There is deep genre meaning in the use of the word ‘home’, though it carries strong place meaning as well. (90)
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in romance fiction, the concept of home as a physical place is superseded by home as an emotional state. On the Teach Me Tonight blog, (a popular romance-themed site maintained by an academic), Sandra Schwab states plainly, ‘The term “home” in romance stands for the protagonists’ love for each other and for a new harmony in their relationship’ (Schwab). Schwab posits home not as a place, but rather a combined, positive emotional experience wherein the protagonists no longer need a physical space to exist but can find their place in the emotional attachment they have formed. When considering how the use of ‘home’ is then deployed in romance titles, it clearly comes from a deep, emotional, and meaningful history. (92)
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The second repeated word from the romance novel corpus is ‘country’, a word that moves from the romance novel genre to the Australian rural-set romance subgenre. (92)
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In romance the word ‘road’ can suggests a deeper, more robust emotional journey undertaken by the characters (and by extension, the reader), a challenge and a reward. This journey is crucial to the romance reading experience; the generic promise of a romance novel means that the ending is never a surprise. Instead, it is about the characters, their conflicts, the path that they follow to move from apart to together. The use of these liminal spaces leans into an adage that might best express the romance reading experience: it is about the journey and not the destination. (95)
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book covers are not straightforward illustrations of what is to be found in the book, but most often a representation of the emotional experience of reading, an indication of how the reader may feel while engaging with the work, and often, particularly in genre fiction, intertextual elements that tie this work to other works that occupy similar literary spaces. (139)
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Both rural-set crime and rural-set romance carry within their covers strong generic markers to signal to readers the emotional journey they can expect to experience if they choose to move past the cover and open the work. The rural-set romance beckons readers looking for a sense of optimism and hope, stories about battles fought and won by being authentic and open, emotionally vulnerable and, in the end, successful not only in life but also in love. Importantly, as noted by Kylie Mirmohamadi, the female protagonist is also central, her ‘transition towards full belonging and participation in a local community, and romantic fulfilment’(205). (179)
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Everywhere on romance covers we see evidence of a landscape made compliant through the hard work, intelligence and – most importantly – heart of the characters of the book. There is optimism in these landscapes, a sense of a strong, honest, straightforward way of life, a naturalness that leads to strong, honest relationships. (182)
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In the romance corpus, seventy-two per cent of the romance covers feature a single, female subject. The remaining covers feature a single, male subject (just over eighteen per cent) and a heterosexual couple (just over nine per cent). This balance underscores the importance of the female point-of-view in these works, a clear indication that this subgenre remains a part of the romance genre (203)
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The prevalence of headwear across both men and women subjects has led to the industry shorthand of ‘girl-in-hat’ covers, a phrase understood within both publishing houses and bookshops. If the subject’s bottom half is included in the image, they are universally denim-clad. If we see her feet, she is wearing boots. These four elements of attire – hat, work shirt (or singlet), jeans, and boots – generate an expected costume and, subsequently, a shorthand for Australian rural-set popular romance. Regardless of the character’s preferences, job, role, or character inside the work, if they are to be set within this subgenre, this is what they will wear on the cover. (203)
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These subjects model four distinct aspects of representation that, despite the progressiveness often found in the texts, are discouragingly conservative in terms of race, ability, class, and feminism. First, all the subjects are white. By linking the ‘real’ Australia, shown in the salient images and solidified by the compositional axes, with white Australians chosen as the cover subjects, these covers stake a visual claim on traditional Australian landscapes. Second, the cover models are all young, fresh-faced, and healthy. Ableism is an ongoing concern for diverse representation across all genres of fiction, and disability does not visibly appear on these covers: there are no facial differences or mobility aids, no support workers or support animals. And although mental illness is often an invisible disability and does not have outside signifiers, there is no sign of struggle on any of the subjects’ faces. They are the (actual) picture of glowing health, well-rested and wholesome.
Third, there are class markers. The hats and clothing noted above are well made, clean, neat, not fraying or well worn. The models all have healthy skin, hair, and teeth, suggesting access to medical and dental care. (204)
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While most of the female subjects are smiling or have relaxed expressions, the male subjects are universally unsmiling – at most, they have a relaxed neutral expression, but prevalently the subjects appear stern, sometimes straying close to a frown. These subjects are serious men with serious concerns, who can meet any challenges that come their way. (205)
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The use of C-format creates another difference in Australian rural romance: a word count. To best suit a C-format package, the work inside needs to be long enough to fill the book, to create visibility and heft on the shelf, to suggest value for money. While Harlequin Mills & Boon works are generally around 55 000 words, Australian rural romances tend to be between 90 000 and 110 000 words. As a result, the works contain a central romance story, but there is space for more complicated or nuanced main plots, secondary plots, and more deeply developed conflicts and secondary characters. This further supported the genre’s removal from a strict romance space and into women’s fiction. Without the traditional clinch, and large enough to fulfill the necessary dimensions of a C-format book, Australian-set rural romances were able to move onto the general fiction shelves next to their general fiction brethren. (231)
Here's the abstract:
What's not mentioned in the abstract is that the corpus is composed exclusively of examples of the "Australian rural-set crime and romance genres" (13-14) and that "The final corpus comprises twenty-two romance titles and twenty crime titles" (42), so there's a lot here about romance.
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