Wednesday, August 10, 2022 — 3
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
One of the best things about reading
romance novels or watching romance
movies is that you can almost always
count on the presence of a trope.
Whether it’s enemies to lovers
(think Darcy and Lizzy in “Pride and
Prejudice” or, more recently, Season 2
of “Bridgerton”), fake relationships (a
#BookTok favorite), good girl/bad boy
(which always reminds me of that 5
Seconds of Summer song) or any other
slightly cliché yet thoroughly enjoyable
trope, you can usually find one — or a
combination of a few — in the romance-
genre art you consume.
Sarah Echavarre Smith’s upcoming
novel, “The Boy with the Bookstore,”
is unique in that it combines tropes in
unusual, new ways and, by extension,
tells a story that differs from the typical
romantic formula. Using the dual
perspectives of the female protagonist,
Joelle, and the male love interest, Max,
Smith artfully tells the romantic story of
a baker and a bookstore owner falling in
love.
Joelle, the baker, is the epitome of
the sunshiney good girl; she gave up her
dream of opening a bakery in France
to help out her family when they were
struggling financially. She has a huge
crush on the bookstore owner next
door — Max, a tattooed, secretive and
thoughtful guy.
“The Boy with the Bookstore” is an
undoubtedly fun and easy read — the
story unfolds very naturally, and as Smith
peels back the layers of both characters,
the audience is bound to become more
and more interested in Joelle and Max.
The side characters, like Joelle’s family
members and her best friend, Whitney,
round out the story. Minor characters
may have small roles in the actual story,
but their presence always adds a new
dimension to the main protagonists.
In this case, Joelle’s family serves as a
primary motivational factor in her career
and as a foil to Max’s lack of familial
affection, and Whitney is the best friend
you always want by your side, offering
advice, jokes and loyalty when Joelle
needs it most. Needless to say, all these
characters elevate the story from just
another fun romance novel to one that is
both entertaining and meaningful.
The most interesting thing about this
story is that Joelle and Max are mutually
pining for one another, but because of
a renovation at their workplaces, they
are forced to work in close proximity to
one another, which brings out the worst
in both of them. So this is a rare case of
two people who like each other and
then begin to cross the line into ‘enemy’
territory. Max uses Joelle’s oven to dry
his clothes (gross), Joelle messes with
Max’s book club and so on. Despite their
initial attraction, they start to seriously
irritate one another. Only after they’ve
seen each other at their worst are they
able to start a healthy relationship.
There’s something really relatable
about the realism of their situation;
romance in books and movies today is
idealized in a lot of ways. Things are
predictable and expected and, because
of that, somehow glamorized and made
seemingly perfect to the audience. I
mean, there’s basically an unofficial
romance formula that authors and
creators use: Meet Cute, Montage, 80%-
mark Conflict, Grand Romantic Gesture,
Happily Ever After. In other words, the
love interests meet, usually in a cute way,
like in a coffee shop where their orders
are switched or at some work event or on
a blind date gone wrong. Then, you have
the Montage, where you see them fall
for each other — you know those scenes
in the movies where some song plays in
the background while the characters
walk around together or sightsee or go
on some trip where they try on floppy
hats together? That’s the Montage. The
saddest part is the 80%-mark Conflict
where, approximately 80% of the way
into the story, the characters see each
others’ flaws and push each other
away, but then you have the Grand
Romantic Gesture where someone
holds a boombox outside a window or
buys a guitar or sings a meaningful song.
All of which culminate in the Happily
Ever After. In other words, the love
interests meet, usually in a cute way, like
in a coffee shop where their orders are
switched or at some work event or on a
blind date gone wrong. Then, you have
the Montage, where you see them fall
for each other — you know those scenes
in the movies where some song plays in
the background while the characters
walk around together or sightsee or go
on some trip where they try on floppy
hats together? That’s the Montage. The
saddest part is the 80%-mark Conflict
where, approximately 80% of the way
into the story, the characters see each
others’ flaws and push each other away,
but then you have the Grand Romantic
Gesture where someone holds a
boombox outside a window or buys a
guitar or sings a meaningful song. All of
which culminate in the Happily Ever
After.
Some tropes alter the formula, of
course; for instance, in the enemies
to lovers trope, the Meet Cute usually
isn’t so cute, and the Montage is filled
with more tension and less fluff. But in
general, there’s a formula that writers
follow because it’s what the audience
expects and what they want to see. But
that doesn’t mean it’s realistic, by any
means. Let’s just say it’s not exactly
practical to expect someone to break out
a Grand Romantic Gesture in the real
world. “The Boy with the Bookstore”
follows the general formula, but by
making Joelle and Max see each other’s
flaws and imperfections early on in the
story, it makes for a more realistic view
of love.
Read more at michigandaily.com
For many a band, the self-titled
album is a rite of passage. Fleetwood
Mac did it twice, Led Zeppelin four and
Weezer more times than I can count.
With the exception of a debut, a self-
title often marks a comeback, like how
The Beatles signified their resurgence
into the public sphere, a return to
their roots. The decision to name an
album after oneself feels intentional,
evoking an aura of self-assurance and
certainty in one’s artistic vision, like
that sparkly bowling ball you get after
achieving Pro-Level in Wii Sports.
The pure simplicity of such a title
suggests a level of notoriety, or rather,
a path being paved to future infamy.
And with their self-titled third album,
MUNA has proved that they certainly
have the chops to reach sparkly
bowling ball status.
In the time since MUNA’s last
album, Saves the World, they’ve
weathered quite a bit of change:
getting dropped by RCA, picked up
by indie record label Saddest Factory,
releasing a viral TikTok hit. With
their first two albums, MUNA firmly
cemented itself in the realm of Queer
pop with bangers like “I Know A
Place” and “Number One Fan.” They
established a sound of their own
featuring emotive, well-crafted lyrics
and synth-pop beats: a pairing that
you could just as easily dance in your
bedroom to or cry in the middle of the
club to. Essentially, sad and gay.
Keeping that in mind, MUNA’s lead
single “Silk Chiffon” was a definite
change of pace for them. It ushered
in a new era, one that wasn’t afraid to
explore beyond the standard sound
we’d grown accustomed to hearing
from them. It was light and shimmery
and far poppier than anything they’d
ever released. Not even Phoebe
Bridgers herself could bring down
the infectiously catchy chorus of
“Like life’s so fun, life’s so fun / Got
my miniskirt and my rollerblades on.”
The Sapphic energy harnessed by
“Silk Chiffon” was hardly new ground
for them (its music video even pays
homage to Queer cult classic “But
I’m a Cheerleader”), but the bright,
celebratory manner in which they
did it certainly is, breezily saturated
into three minutes of bubbly pop
perfection.
While the vast remainder of
the album isn’t as cheery as “Silk
Chiffon,” a notable divergence from
their previous works persists in its
willingness to experiment without
losing sight of itself. Because as out-
of-left-field as some of the songs may
appear, they’re still MUNA, through
and through.
Classic MUNA bangers are easy
to spot from the get-go: electro-pop
numbers like “Home By Now,” which
contemplates a failed relationship and
asks the important questions like,
“What is love supposed to feel like,
anyway?” (sad) and “Why is it so hot
in L.A.?” (gay). “Anything But Me” is
full of similarly fun quips like, “You’re
gonna say that I’m on a high horse
/ I think that my horse is regular
sized / Did you ever think maybe /
You’re on a pony / Going in circles
on a carousel ride?” Killer roasts
aside, lead singer Katie Gavin’s steady
control over the flow of her writing is
as compelling as ever. Across albums
and eras, genres and record labels,
her words pour out seamlessly, each
line spilling over into the next in an
effortless stream of intensely acute
thoughts and feelings. Although
the band has preserved the heart of
MUNA in its songwriting, their foray
into new sounds has brought forth a
scrupulous attention to detail in their
song production. On “Runner’s High,”
they play with the idea of sustaining
oneself on the adrenaline of “running
out” on a relationship by mimicking
the pulsing tempo of such a rush as the
percussion simulates the pitter-patter
of a heartbeat. In the case of “Solid,”
its precise, clean production is used to
clash against the sharpness of its edgy
guitar riffs, reminiscent of ’80s glam
rock.
There’s a special kind of MUNA
magic infused into the very fabric of
country-pop song “Kind of Girl.” It’s a
touching, heartfelt ballad about being
kinder to yourself and reflecting on
the person you used to be. Its twangy
strings mesh well with Gavin’s vocals
gently coaxing you in, tugging on your
heartstrings. Learning to accept your
faults and laugh at ‘em all like you’re
not a problem to solve? Just go ahead
and stab me in the heart while you’re
at it. For anyone who’s ever had a
complex relationship with girlhood or
their identity, “Kind of Girl” gives you
the space to figure it all out.
With MUNA, MUNA tries on a lot
of hats.
SERENA IRANI
Daily Arts Writer
This image is from the official album cover of “MUNA,” owned by Saddest Factory / Dead Oceans.
Changing the romance formula with ‘The Boy with
the Bookstore’
‘MUNA’ is here for a hot, mildly anxious Queer girl summer
Read more at michigandaily.com
SABRIYA IMAMI
Daily Arts Writer