In Praise of Pink Covers and Redefining Chick Lit

Confession: I have a Google Alert for “chick lit”. It’s a term I have little choice but to endure because I am an author who has a vagina and writes about single women, and those single women aren’t trying to solve the disappearance and/or murder of another woman. They also aren’t shopping, obsessed with shoes or getting married or having a baby or even having it all, which puts me in kind of a no-man’s-land…but with vaginas. Therefore, “chick lit”. (Or, if we continue to allow Amazon to dominate the world: “Single Women Fiction.” Um, no. No. Absolutely not. No.)

The Google Alert was set a few months ago, after my second novel was published. With my first, I’d noticed a decline in appreciation for “chick lit” here in the US while Romance reigned. In the UK, “chick lit” seemed to be holding strong. It’s not that I expected much to have changed in those eighteen months, but I decided keep an eye on it. See where the tide was taking us. From the start, the majority of alerts were from English sites, some Irish or Australian, but there were many days without any alerts or the vaguest reference to it. “Chick lit” isn’t quite the booming industry it was in the 90s and early aughts.

Last week, there was an uptick — mostly centered around a BBC interview with author Jojo Moyes that was rehashed by the Daily Mail.

This is not the first time a hugely successful female author has bemoaned the genre that brought her wealth and fame (s’up, Jennifer Weiner). It’s not that Moyes doesn’t have a point; it’s that her point was used to stab “chick lit” in the back. Rather than taking the opportunity to champion the genre and correct the mistake of dismissing its stories as superficial, glittery pink covers or otherwise, she insulted all of us — readers and writers alike — forgetting her books contain what she was quick to pooh-pooh.

“I don’t want to feed into the idea that getting married is going to fix everything, or buying a handbag or pair of designer shoes. I might not be able to fix society’s ills, but I can try not to be part of the problem.”

As I recall, ME BEFORE YOU is the story of a financially struggling young woman whose life is changed by a rich man. Sparing the spoilers, there’s a comfortable sum of money involved (but not too comfortable) with which to live her life, happily clad in bumble bee tights. Certainly not subject matter suited for a pink cover.

I am with Jojo in regards to what I choose to write. Stories about women striving for a wedding ring or going into debt for a pair of shoes are fun and have their place, but they are not the heart and soul of “chick lit”. Not anymore. The genre has evolved.

Maybe it’s because of that evolution reading Moyes’ interview felt like a kick in the shins. She could have been the voice leading the charge, showing those happy to malign “chick lit” the light. She did the opposite, quick to distance herself from the genre she’s so successful in.

Little incenses me more than women who have the power to change things but whinge instead of act. If you have a platform from which to air your grievances, you are in a position to right the wrongs you see. One wrong is how the term “chick lit” is used to diminish women on both sides of the book — you’re a hack if you write it and shallow if you read it. Imagine if the authors who stand in its spotlight actually stood up for it, spoke about the elevation of it; maybe then things would be different. Perhaps the definition of the term would have evolved, too. But, in six years, Moyes hasn’t really changed her tune.

For as long as Contemporary Women’s Fiction has been called “chick lit”, there has been a tug of war with it. It was easily employed to describe a certain type of novel that was lighthearted and commercial. Those books broke through in a big way; their authors landed movie deals and publishers wanted more of the same. And there was a lot of it. Then came the backlash that’s to be expected anytime something female succeeds. “Chick lit” was blamed for the perceived “dumbing down” of women’s literature. Authors denied writing it. Women eschewed reading it. “Chick lit” became a slur.

While all of that was going on, Romance came out of the cupboard and soared in popularity. Its industry is booming, no backlash in sight. In March, I joined a Romance book club to learn about the women who make those books (and those authors) so successful. To no surprise, those in my group are smart and sophisticated, quick to laugh and welcome strangers as kindreds. To my surprise — and hold on to your hats — their husbands and fiancés also read Romance. (So much for covers keeping men away, eh?) These women are on Goodreads and library waitlists while buying books at the store that hosts us and carrying a Kindle, ravenous for another page. I want them reading my novels with the same appetite and loyalty (but I’m undercover there, doing reconnaissance rather than promotion). What I want to know — and will one day ask — is what’s keeping them away from “chick lit”? When we go around the group to share what else we’re reading, other genres are on the list but not even Jojo Moyes is mentioned, despite Wikipedia listing her as a Romance novelist, and an award-winning one at that.

The secret of Romance’s success is likely the sisterhood of its authors (including men) who welcome new writers and champion each other. Their readers do the same. I’m not aware of Romance authors bellowing about being taken more seriously or whining over book covers. Their audience doesn’t snub another member for reading obscure sub-genres (and there are many, from hockey to honey badgers…who knew?). Noses did not aim skyward at the suggestion we consider a graphic novel for one of the upcoming club reads. Everyone is open and interested, ready to read and buy, and suggest a book you might like, too. There’s a refreshing lack of smug when it comes to Romance readers. I wish the same could be said for the rest of women’s fiction. And fiction in general.

Yes. I said it. There’s some attitude that needs dropping, both as authors and readers. (Especially authors, though.) These are just books. Made-up stories about pretend people. Perhaps we could get over our literary selves just a smidge.

The other jab Jojo took at her genre was the seemingly sad state of glittery pink covers. I’d love for her to point one out because I’ve never seen one in real life. Yes, there are certain authors who like to keep it candy-colored, but that was another insult emboldening the myth that “chick lit” is silly stuff. Moyes, once again separating herself from the tribe, has a different aesthetic:

“My favourite covers are just words on the front cover in very nice fonts, with just a tiny image, and it’s no coincidence that I have a lot more male readers who aren’t being put off.”

I must admit I was surprised to know she has a lot of readers with penises. Congratulations! That is wonderful. I applaud her font choice as well, enjoying the vibe of a 1970s movie-of-the-week, replete with busy-print blouses and high neck bows, the heroine donning one while enthusiastically waving, “Hello, ladies!”

But who doesn’t like a nice font? I’ve put some I appreciate on covers that happen to be pink (save one, sans glitter all). Red is my favorite color and pink is the polite version of it. Fortunately, I don’t have a publisher’s marketing team giving me a “direction” to take. One of the (few) great things about being an independent is having final say in the design. No one, including Amazon, can tell me I can’t have a cover the way I want it. That’s the way all authors should have it.

Most do. Yet, when it comes to “cheesy” covers that might detract from the books’ content, one hugely successful, literary author chose “chick lit”-style covers for her work. On purpose. That author is Elena Ferrante.

Let’s also note that when it comes to crappy covers, male authors are just as guilty. Behold, Exhibit A:

(I say that with mad respect, Tom. But, seriously, it’s not your best.)

Do covers even matter that much anymore? We are in the time of ebooks kept on phones and tablets where no one can see what we’re reading. Audio books play during long commutes, or when we don’t have the time or energy to focus on a page. Those e-covers never appear beyond the virtual shelf. Are men (cisgender hetero or otherwise) going to be scared off by a book cover they can keep on their phone, invisible to the world? Nah. People with penises have picked up my Sassy pink book (the not-so-easy-to-hide paperback, that is). Not even the title put them off. My novels have been read by dudes, too. The guys I know aren’t hindered by much and couldn’t give a rat’s about what anyone thinks. Men seem to like having insight into women’s worlds, sussing out our secrets, doing recon of their own (they’ve been reading our Cosmo since college). They may not always buy the books (instead borrow them from the women in their lives) or boast about it, but they are reading us.

To be honest, I never considered a male audience when I sat down to write. I wasn’t excluding men but I was writing for women. My pink-toned covers were also intentional, letting ladies know those pages are a haven where we will explore common issues and experiences, and hopefully have some fun. Men who stumble upon them will not feel dismissed; they’ll find people they recognize and relate to, scenarios that are familiar. The job of any writer is to make readers feel welcomed and wanted, gender be damned. Genre be damned, for that matter, because most folks read a little bit of everything. But when authors denigrate a genre, specifically one that they thrive in/are the experts of, they hurt everyone in it — readers, authors and market.

I used to say that I wrote “chick lit” with a shrug and an eye-roll, almost apologizing. I admit that I fell into the trap that it’s something less than. Well, fuck that. I write Chick Lit and I’m proud of it. The term is nothing more than two monosyllabic words cobbled together by critics to belittle women. And we let them. I won’t allow that any longer. Scads of words are used to demean, divide and diminish women; Chick Lit shouldn’t be two more.

Fiction written by women is wide ranging — wider, I’d say, than that of men. It should come as no shock that someone somewhere needed to figure it out, sift through it and shuffle it into categories. It isn’t right or fair, but it is a fact. Like it or not, the label of Chick Lit remains and if we don’t take the reigns of it, the likes of Jeff Bezos will.

We know that Chick Lit is much more than light, breezy beach reads. There is depth to these stories and a connection with readers that should be respected. We have spent the past twenty-plus years dissecting it, defending it or avoiding it. Why don’t we try embracing it? Empower it! Chick Lit has given us brilliant writing, moving stories, relatable characters and laugh-out-loud moments. From Gillian Flynn and Zoe Heller to Toni Morrison and Amy Tan, Terry McMillan and Helen Fielding to Liane Moriarty and Sophie Kinsella, Anne Lamott and Margaret Atwood to Anaïs Nin and Zane, Virginia Woolf and Judy Blume to Jane Austin and Nora Ephron, Siel Ju and Janelle Brown to Jojo Moyes and Jennifer Weiner, there is so much to appreciate and explore. Chick Lit is nothing to shy away from or be shamed by. But it is time to take it back, redefine it and love it, unapologetically, once more.