Appealing to an Audience: a Link Round-Up

I've been sick with what I'm assuming is just a minor case of polio, tuberculosis, or a fatal strain of influenza for a few days. Naturally, being solely focused on my task as a blogger, this crippling illness sparked a train of thought. As I sat in bed, nasal passages clogged, chest full of fluid but heart aflame, I wondered if any romance author had yet taken it upon herself to write a disease-related novel. Lo and behold, Patricia Cabot had.

Not only that, but I later discovered that GravityGirl had already saved me the effort of reviewing it, too. Lucky me.

The existence of the 19th-century-Scottish-countryside-riddled-with-disease romance is sort of unsurprising considering the amount of niche fiction that gets published under the guise of romantic literature.

You want questionably historically-accurate historical romance? You've got it.

Paranormal activity more your thing? Okay, there's a site for that, too.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any websites dedicated strictly to churning out bodice-rippers which center around medical anomalies. Why hasn't anyone written about two star-crossed lovers, separated only by debilitating IBS? I can almost guarantee that there's a market for that. I could see myself getting into leper love as well.

On a more exciting note, I stumbled across this site (to which Teresa made a reference last week) while on a wayward google search for "romance novel ebola" (fruitless -- I call dibs on this idea). Admittedly, the authors are a bit more generous in their appraisals of romantic fiction, but I can appreciate what they're doing.

The Ja(y)nes over at Dear Author,... are working on a somewhat similar project as well, albeit with an even more approving tone than the Smart Bitches. I wonder how long it will take for Nora Roberts to be officially  inducted into the literary canon.

All things considered, I'm not sure how to react to the large amount of positive attention these novels are receiving in the blogosphere. Is it good? Is it bad? Is it irrelevant? Does this bode well for the future of literature as a whole? I don't know, but it certainly makes me feel funny.