One of my readers (a fellow writer) gave me a topic that could easily turn into a book rather than just a blog, but I’ll try to keep it concise. They asked if I could talk about techniques I use for implying/showing the development or existence of a romantic relationship between characters without simply having the characters state it outright (perhaps because the characters are still working their heads around it) and without using sexual intimacy/desire (whether because the relationship is non-sexual or simply because that isn’t how I choose to depict it).
Well. This is definitely a topic I can talk about. For one, I don’t currently have any interest in writing sex scenes (even when my characters are clearly having a sexual relationship). And for another, given the social context of my historic fiction, it’s often the case that a character may not think of her feelings and emotions in sexual terms until quite some way into the relationship. Because of these two factors, readers who expect to see overt sexual desire sometimes miss the signs that are there in the text. So what are some of those signs?
One experience I use to signal the existence of romantic attraction is a hyper-awareness of the other person’s physical presence. For example, in Daughter of Mystery, one of the first clear signals of Barbara’s attraction to Margerit is during the long carriage ride down to Mintun when Margerit falls asleep on her shoulder.
“With that thought lodged in her brain, Barbara became exquisitely aware of every inch of contact between Margerit’s body and hers. Of the alternating heat and cold where Margerit’s breath caressed her wrist between the glove and the sleeve. Of the way their breathing had fallen into synchrony.”
Or the first point in Mother of Souls when Luzie allows herself to make a connection between... “An unexpected wave of loneliness washed over her. A hungry memory of touch.” ...and her awareness of Serafina’s hesitant offer, “Sometimes…sometimes the heart wants something so deeply, so desperately, and yet the only thing you have to offer is your body.” And then... “Luzie’s heart beat faster. The waiting silence between them drew out painfully. She reached out and took Serafina’s hand. It was trembling even more than her own. Serafina brought their linked hands to her lips and left a kiss where their fingers entwined, dark and light together like the keys of the fortepiano, then lifted her eyes, with a frightened look.”
Ok, so that was a bit more overt than I was looking for. Hyper-awareness needn’t be physical. Jeanne is used to recognizing physical desire and comfortable with it. But it takes a while to realize that she’s falling in love with Antuniet precisely because it isn’t driven primarily by physical desire. When Antuniet has dropped out of sight in Rotenek after their first encounter at her return, Jeanne teases Barbara for a lead to her location and responds to Barbara’s skeptical question with, “’But she has so few friends now.... I seem to have risen to the top of the list.’ She met Barbara’s skeptical stare with her best imitation of a bland and innocent look, feeling oddly disinclined to admit to her interest.”
Hand-in-hand with hyper-awareness is the social awkwardness that comes when one begins to recognize the nature of the interest as romantic. Characters start misinterpreting or over-interpreting signals. They blurt out unintentionally hurtful things, meaning something else entirely. I could give another set of examples of this phenomenon but I’d rather use the space to focus on a context that is specific to my sort of fantasy-of-manners. In early 19th century society, dancing holds a special and symbolic place, both in courtship and communication. Dancing is both a meaningless social ritual and a symbolic stand-in for both courtship and for more intimate physical relations. When Margerit’s aunt voices her suspicions about Barbara’s possible sexuality, it sets Margerit to speculating on what it would mean for a woman to desire a woman, but she visualizes it in terms of dancing.
“How would a woman kiss when playing a man’s part? Differently? She looked over at Barbara obliquely and imagined what it might be like to kiss her, to be kissed by her. It had never occurred to her to imagine kissing any of her prospective suitors. She’d simply accepted that it would happen in its own time. Margerit had danced with girls—one did, after all, at family parties when no thought for careful balance had been taken. It was different dancing with men who saw you as a potential wife. There was a possessiveness in their hands, an assumption of control in the way they guided you through the figures. What might it be like to dance with a woman who danced as a man? Who treated it not as a pastime but as the allegory for a further act? And how…? What…? In her mind, she offered her hand to Barbara and led her out onto the floor as the music began.”
And after the end-of-summer ball, when the guests have gone and Margerit asks Barbara to dance with her as the musicians are noodling around before packing up, the experience that Margerit had imagined is realized--along with all the awkwardness on both sides of two people who don’t feel allowed to admit to romantic interest.
“Lessons under the eye of a dancemaster were different. Barbara had schooled herself to view them as training, as a supplement to sessions with Signore Donati. She had carefully avoided thinking of them as anything more. Now Barbara’s shoulder burned where Margerit laid her hand across it and her own hand burned across the curve of Margerit’s waist. But reflexes ruled her life and she guided the two of them in graceful arcs across the empty floor. Their heads lay closely enough that Margerit’s chestnut curls brushed against her cheek and she could easily trace the profile of her upturned nose and the curve of her lips, parted with the exertion. Their bodies moved as one while the music lasted. The fiddler stopped, abruptly, in the middle of a line and they were left suspended, standing closely face to face. Barbara felt the world pause and knew that in another moment she would drown in those shining eyes, those sweet lips. Maisetra Sovitre coughed loudly from the doorway. Barbara stepped away stiffly, aware of how guilty she was acting. But Margerit was the one who was blushing hotly and rushing to say, ‘We were only having some fun, Aunt Bertrut. Did you need something?’”
Dancing plays a key part in the admission of romantic interest between Antuniet and Jeanne in The Mystic Marriage. In this book, there are several instances where public dancing represents the anxieties around romantic relationships between women. As Margerit noted in an excerpt above, informal dancing between women in private spaces wasn’t considered meaningful. But towards the end of The Mystic Marriage when Jeanne dances with Antuniet at the New Years’ Ball at the palace, it’s a public declaration, though one that simultaneously has complete deniability.
The floodtide party that Jeanne arranges at Margerit’s mansion in Chalanz, falls between these two: a private space where Jeanne’s circle of “special friends” can participate in the performance of romantic dance without scandal but where the more straitlaced Akezze doesn’t feel uncomfortable in helping make up the sets (not in the way she feels uncomfortable about the sweetheart divination). Barbara and Margerit’s now easy and comfortable relationship is reflected in their dancing.
“Barbara was a very precise and proficient dancer, Margerit a hesitant and careful one, but when the figures brought the two of them together they were transformed into something wondrous. ... Barbara and Margerit were once again caught in their own private world, enjoying the freedom to join their bodies into one with no gossiping tongues to task them for their transgression. They continued swaying alone in the space after the song had finished.”
Antuniet’s emotions around dancing--and specifically around dancing with Jeanne--are just as much a part of her self-awareness as the sweetheart divination ritual is. There is the hyper-awareness: Antuniet, normally so careless of appearance, primps before the mirror before going down to the ball. The momentary panic when Jeanne asks to partner her for the opening dance, then the disappointment when the plan is interrupted. The envy and longing Antuniet feels watching Jeanne dance with others; the panic and frustration when she works up the courage to approach her and is pre-empted once again. And again the hyper-awareness and awkward panic when Jeanne finally claims her for a dance.
All the confidence of the last few dances drained away but she held out her hand for Jeanne to take and let herself be led out into the center of the floor. There was a brief confusion while their arms found their places and then the music changed. Almost, she caught that glamour that Jeanne cast over her partners. Almost, she forgot to think about where her feet should be and gave herself up to the music. But there was the close heat of Jeanne’s hand on her waist and a wistful longing in Jeanne’s eyes that seemed to demand… And then her heart raced and her balance faltered and she found herself shaking free and backing away repeating, ‘I’m sorry. Jeanne, I’m sorry. I can’t.’”
So to sum up some of my techniques for showing romantic interest or romantic relationships: hyper-awareness, both physical and mental; a disruption of ordinary behavior and responses, awkwardness or misinterpretations; and the use of metaphoric frameworks (especially ones that are recognized by the characters as metaphoric) to “show” rather than “tell” the emotions they’re feeling. There are many other possible ways to do so, but those are a few of the ones I use most often.