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A long time ago, in a galaxy far away, romance novels had covers (not) affectionately referred to as bodice rippers. Now, some of you may know that romances are targeted primarily toward women — and we certainly don’t share the male fascination with the female bosom (we are, actually, a bit pragmatic about our body parts). Those lurid, awful covers were geared toward male buyers for book chains and distributors. Women were, to put it politely, ashamed to be seen in public with such covers. Then came Fabio, and, while women appreciate a good-looking man, the covers were still embarrassing. Which is too bad, because the books were good. This is all a way of saying that when it comes to writing, romance authors get little respect. Which we always find surprising because love and relationships certainly comprise a great portion of the human condition (more so, we believe without doing a scientific study, than murder).

• Unhand me, Fabio!