There was an interesting thread over on RomanceScholar regarding the origin of the term “bodice-ripper.” Eric Selinger was looking into it and found a reference from a New York Times article in 1979 stating that it was a term used in publishing circles. Laura Vivanco found a reference to it in Writers Forum 20 (1994) while doing background research on an article on underwear in Jenny Crusie’s novels. I couldn’t find the actual text of the Writers Forum article to know the context of the use of the term. Carolyn Jewel suggested that it could have originated around 1972 when The Flame and the Flower, by Kathleen Woodiwiss, was published since that book is considered to have started the modern romance genre which was supported by an unnamed author who was writing for Mills & Boon at the time, and who was and is very savvy about the publishing business. She thought 1974 sounded about right and she also referenced The Flame and the Flower saying that it wouldn’t have been much before then.
Eric Sellinger found two more references:
- NYT quote from 2 Sept., 1979. “Vanessa Royall is . . . enjoying a good reputation and lucrative income as the author of the sort of breathless historical romances (the latest is Come Faith, Come Fire) that are known in the publishing trade as bodice-rippers.”
- Sep 30, 1979 in the Chicago Tribune from Joseph Epstein: “Serious books cannot avail themselves of the flash or luridness of dust-jacket art of the kind used, say, by the sort of gothic novel that in the trade is known as ‘a bodice-ripper.’ “
It’s interesting that both attribute this term to “the trade,” but one focuses on the content of the book (“breathless historical romance”), and the other on the cover.
Jessica Matthews found a reference to “bodice busters” in a Wall Street Journal article from November 1980, but it seems that the term “bodice ripper” has won out.
Heather Schell gave a great opinion on her love/hate feelings about the term “bodice ripper.”
“I love it because it is outrageous and lusty (I’ve always pictured a buxom wench in one of those German barmaid get-ups, a bed of fresh hay, and an able highwayman); I hate it because many of the people who use it seem so blinded by its colorful imagery that they can’t think about popular romance in any other way. In that regard, it strikes me as a companion term to “bra burner,” another dated term that still sticks that simultaneously conveys titillation, disapprobation, and irritating ignorance.
She suggested that the same anxiety about women’s “uncorseted breasts” that feminists and their anti-bra advocacy generated may have been at work in the designation “bodice ripper” as well. After all, both could be seen as threatening representations of women’s bodies and women’s sexuality that women themselves were controlling.
The Laura Vivanco article, Jennifer Crusie’s Literary Lingerie, from the Journal of Popular Romance Studies (published online April 2012) that I referenced above furthers this by suggesting that wholly feminine garments have their own power over the psyche.
“Regardless of its reception, in Crusie’s fiction even the flimsiest piece of lingerie can be “heavy with meaning.” This meaning is only partially encoded in the fabrics, styles and colours chosen: it is also dependent on the context in which a particular item is worn or discarded. In one situation, therefore, lingerie can function as an instrument of patriarchal oppression while in another it may serve as a weapon in the feminist struggle; it can be used to signal sexual interest and boost a woman’s confidence but may also reinforce her feelings of inadequacy about her body; it can cause her physical discomfort or give sensual pleasure; although it can indicate a lack of openness and truth, female intimacy is promoted as women discuss their lingerie and via such discussions give each other emotional support that complements the physical uplift of underwiring and padding. Crusie’s literary lingerie reflects the complexity of women’s relationships with their bodies, their desires, their sexual partners and their friends.”
The original intention of the use of the term was almost assuredly pejorative, but as Heather pointed out, it is also evocative and in some ways almost defiant. I like the idea of “bodice ripper” as a feminist term, supporting a woman’s right to direct her own femininity and relationships. What do you think? Love it, hate it, or ambivalent?
Eight Ladies Writing 
For me, the term “bodice ripper” is a lot like the term “bra burner.” It starts as a pejorative, and then the folks (women) who are being mocked take the term back. I think it’s great that we want to own that which is meant to demean us and turn that around. But the problem is also that it’s like the secret handshake—if you’re not in the club, you don’t get the [new] meaning. I don’t put a lot of energy into it, but when I hear others use this term, I usually expend a few sentences saying why romance novels are as legitimate a form of literature as any other, because almost always the person who used that term doesn’t think so. And that’s why I don’t use the term myself: I don’t want anyone I don’t know to think that I don’t value this genre.
I like the secret handshake reference – that is very true. Several of the RomanceScholar listserve folks commented that most of the time they heard the books referred to as “bodice rippers,” it was by people who had never read one. Bias/prejudice often comes from that audience.
I thought in a certain subgenre of rape-y romances in the mid-20th century, the hero (or sometimes the villain) ripped her bodice open in the moment of passion, and exposed her heaving bosom. (See also: Beyond Heaving Bosoms: The Smart Bitches’ Guide to Romance Novels.) The idea was that they were both carried away by passion — he to perpetuate violence upon her wardrobe, and she is so excited by this display of alpha manhood that she begins the heavy breathing that heaves the bosoms.
I like the term in that it evokes that “carried away by passion” thing that I really like in romance. But . . . not sure I like the ripping part. Clothing was expensive in those days; maybe the hero could afford new clothing for the heroine, but what if she really liked that dress?
A twist on that is the Amelia Peabody books, where Radcliffe (her lover and eventual husband) is always ripping his own shirts — often in a passion to lay skin upon skin with the lovely Amelia. She often tsks about how he doesn’t have enough shirts . . . . I love that bit (-:. Rational and cool in daily life, animals in the bedroom.
I’d hate to see the term “bodice ripper” applied to any book where no actual clothing was torn . . . it just seems wrong to me. When it’s applied correctly, I think it’s a great code-word for a certain type of story. Probably historical, probably passion-swept. Would I pick up a book described that way? Depends on the other adjectives and verbs in the blurb. I’m not crazy about romance with overwhelmed heroines, unless they are ambushed by their own hormones.
Michaeline, if you’re not on the RomanceScholar listserve, you should join. There are a lot of interesting conversations (right now, they are discussing creation of a library of romance novels that are taught and the syllabi for the courses in which they are taught). Part of the conversation on the origin of the term centered on the novels at that time (1970’s) starting with The Flame and the Flower. I haven’t read that, but it is the first mainstream novel with detailed physical intimacy and, from reports, the first episode is forced intercourse on page 28 (fortunately, force has evolved out of the genre). The older romance novels may have included actual bodice ripping, but I tend to agree with the opinion that the mainstream use of the term has more to do with the old covers than the content (although the publishers who created the term may have been referring to content). Sometime I’ll report on the RomanceScholar discussion on the evolution as it relates to the sexual revolution and feminist movement that gained momentum in the last 60’s/early 70’s.
Looking forward to your reports from the RomanceScholar front! I’m sure they’ve got the cites and statistics to back up their findings — I was just speculating from the armchair, so to speak (-:.