Bridgerton Revisited

 

You may remember that the very first Pure Honey book review was about Bridgerton.

I have a lot of empathy for the version of me reading these books that was enraged by the casual sexism present in them. What is portrayed as witty banter between the two love interests is often barbs about dominance, men being in charge, and a woman’s or a wife’s place. And in the sex scenes, or as booktok would have it, “spicy scenes,” there can be mixed messaging about consent. 

These are, in general, the earlier books. The romance genre seems to have changed a lot in the time that Julie Quinn has been writing. Her first Bridgerton book was published in 2000, the most recent in 2022. In those two decades, the commonly held ideas about sex and gender have changed, and that is notable in the books. 

I am currently almost done with The Sum of the Kisses, a Bridgerton spin-off. The combination of Quinn’s sharp and comedic prose, the comfort of the regency era, and the sweetness of the romance is very familiar to anyone who’s read the Bridgerton series. I am also appreciative of the cleverness of the spin-offs: there is a running bit about the Smyth-Smith musical, four girls whose mothers force them to share their non-existent talent with the ton. Quinn dipped back into the Bridgerton world to write their stories. The Sum of the Kisses is the third book in the series, and it is lovely. The fact that I took it out from the library with no thought to writing a post about it shows that the books deserved the revisit. 

There are a lot of things that make the Bridgerton books entertaining: the prose, the comfort of the descriptions of clothing, and drawing rooms, and balls. But there is also a comfort in the book's worldbuilding about how romance works. 

You have the rakes: they are kind, yet uninterested in you. But you must get married. You live in a patriarchal system where you are ruined if you don’t get married, but of course often in danger if you do. There are bad men who lurk around corners, eager to take advantage. But you don’t have to question these systems of oppression, because you are able to thrive within them, by being good enough, kind enough, and pretty enough that no harm falls your way. You are able to live a happy life with a man who loves you without burning the system down or questioning the sexist ideals of purity, or the need for women to get married, or your lack of autonomy. 

And wouldn’t that be nice? If these systems that oppress women didn’t hold you down? If you were able to be happy and free, and have an equal partnership within them? 

The book regularly refers to the bad sort of man, and he differs from the heroes not in his actions but in his character. It is his character that causes him to take advantage of women, and since the male love interest has a good character, there is no worry that he may pose a threat. This is apparent in a scene in The Sum of the Kisses where Hugh Prentice sees Sara Plainsworth wandering outside at three in the morning. He rushes to her, and explains that anyone could see her and there are men that might force themselves on her. And then he kisses her without asking for consent. The ramifications of this are more than the loss of her autonomy; if anyone sees them, they have to marry. With one action of his own he decides her entire future. And he does it all in opposition of men who take things from women without asking.

This may seem like semantics. And maybe it is. I’m not saying you shouldn’t read the book. I read the book and enjoyed it. It is well written, and I liked the character dynamic a lot. Quinn’s characters vary widely, so the dynamics in her different love stories are unique. The witty banter between Hugh and Sara made this my favorite book of hers so far. There was also a scene that went outside of Quinn’s typically shown sex, where Sara reaches climax and Hugh does not. There is also a scene where Hugh cries, and I appreciated both of these. It is very rare to get non-alpha male representation in regency-era romance. 

My conclusion is not that there is nothing problematic in the books. There definitely is; in the portrayal of consent among the couples and also in their lack of representation. One thing that surprises many readers who came from the show is that the books have no characters of color. There is portrayal of gay men in at least two of the Bridgerton books, but queer stories are never centered. (To center queer love in the regency era is decidedly not fluff fiction.) 

But the books do not, to my estimation, teach a negative sexual script. They offer a meaningful escape in increasingly turbulent times, and with that in mind, I would recommend them. (Just not The Viscount Who Loved Me.)

Charmed I’m Sure,

Pure