- Cliffordene Norton writes a regular column for LitNet.
It’s that time of year again. Shops turn purple and red. Chocolates are on special. Miniature teddy bears appear with alarming confidence. Bookshops stack their romance tables higher than usual. For a few weeks, the romance genre receives a public spotlight.
For romance readers and, of course, writers, the genre does not wait for February to justify itself. Still, the annual highlight made me curious. The most persistent critique of romance is that it is formulaic: read one, read them all. And yet, it is one of the most resilient genres globally. It outsells most others. It sustains fiercely loyal readers. It adapts.
So, what does the modern romance – in South Africa, in 2026 – actually look like?
I reached out to three writers who move across markets and sensibilities: Elsa Winckler (The Westons of Montana; Om Leah veilig te hou), who publishes both locally and internationally; Alta Cloete, who writes women’s fiction under her own name, and romance as Marilé Cloete (Volbloedliefde (what a title!); ’n Doodgewone meisie); and Nadia Cassim, whose title Not another samoosa run! grabs the attention, and whose answers are layered with thoughtfulness.
What emerged was not uniformity, but complexity.
Fantasy and something else
Alta describes romance simply: “Escape, a softening of harsh reality. A touch of fantasy.”
A touch.
Not denial. Not delusion. Not blind optimism. That distinction matters.
For Alta, the emotional core of romance lies in risk: “Every serious love relationship begins with a moment where each person must decide to take the leap. It’s always a risk to open yourself up to love, because it makes you vulnerable.” That moment, she says, is both essential and difficult to write, because it is so important.
Elsa Winckler speaks from conviction rather than theory. “I believe in love. I believe every woman deserves her happily-ever-after.” She grew up surrounded by stacks of romance novels, and jokes that she “drank romance with milk” as a child. For her, writing love stories is instinctive – an instinct that has built her an impressive body of work.
And yet, even in the fairytale framework, South African reality seeps in. “In South African stories, doors and cars are locked. The hero worries about the heroine’s safety,” Elsa notes. “You only realise this when you read stories set in other countries.” Safety choreography becomes invisible until you leave it behind.
Two kinds of love story
Nadia Cassim draws a sharper line. She sees two versions of romance: the conventional fairytale version she grew up with – Sweet Valley High and Disney – and what she calls “real romance”.
“Real romance contains snippets and fragments of the fantastical,” she explains, “but for the most part, it is far more complex to navigate. We carry layers of ourselves into relationships: socialisation, childhood baggage, past wounds, learned behaviours.”
The fairytale invites rose-tinted glasses. Real romance asks for honesty.
“One of the hardest truths for people to accept,” Nadia says, “is that romantic love is not perfect.” Once you remove the protective bubble, the effect can go either way: alienation or deeper investment. But the emotional truths that risk breaking the spell are often what give a story weight.
This is perhaps where the genre has quietly shifted. The modern romance does not pretend that love erases trauma. It negotiates it.
Authenticity over trend
Romance has always been accused of following tropes. Enemies to lovers. Forced proximity. Second chance. And yet, Nadia insists that she doesn’t deliberately follow them. “I simply write from the heart. I don’t deliberately follow tropes; I tend to stumble upon them rather than plan them.”
She is wary of writing to perceived relevance. “Placing pressure on yourself to produce what you think is ‘relevant’ can slowly erode creativity. I write what brings me joy: That’s where the truest work comes from.”
Authenticity surfaces again in how she approaches setting. “I prefer writing from a place of knowing,” she says. “I never want a reader to feel that what I’m writing is removed from lived truth.” Readers, she reminds us, recognise inauthenticity immediately.
Alta echoes this in a different register. “People think that if something reads easily, it must have been easy to write.” The opposite is usually true. Romance may read smoothly. It is not written lazily.
Literary hierarchy and the “hygroman”
Despite strong sales, romance continues to occupy an uneasy position in the literary hierarchy. Elsa points out that romances are often treated as disposable. “They are top sellers,” she says, “but in the words of a publisher, they are seen as a magazine with a short shelf life.” Reprints are rare. Longevity is not assumed.
And then, there is the term “hygroman”: dismissive, gendered, reductive. Something whispered with a mocking tone sometimes. “I honestly don’t let it bother me,” Elsa says. “I don’t write for critics. I write the kind of stories I love and that I know readers enjoy.”
In the English-speaking market, romance readers celebrate their genre loudly: TikTok bears witness – Elsa Winckler, Joss Wood, Kennedy Ryan. In Afrikaans, she notes, readers are sometimes still hesitant to admit their love for romance publicly. That says less about the genre than about the cultural permission to enjoy it.
Escape and responsibility
Romance is often dismissed as “just escape”, as though escape were frivolous. But escape can be restoration.
Elsa reminds us that readers picking up a romance novel do not want graphic violence. The genre has boundaries. “Readers don’t want to read about violence and murder when they pick up a love story,” she says. That does not mean reality is ignored. It is handled carefully.
Alta is clear that serious issues may be touched on – lightly, not frivolously – but never sensationalised. Trauma must not be romanticised. The hero must not “rescue” the heroine as though love is a magic wand.
And Nadia offers perhaps the most succinct summary of her own approach: humour. “It’s my secret weapon for ensuring that hope and joy aren’t drowned out by the realities my characters face.”
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