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You were telling me you think love is inherently funny – why?
Because we’re so vulnerable, and humour comes from that vulnerability. In order to feel love, we have to expose ourselves completely, which is embarrassing. We’re combatting that feeling of being exposed, but also wanting to perform. There are so many avenues for humour in that: we’re hyperconscious of ourselves, we analyse what the other person is saying to a ridiculous degree.
And with the obsessive analysing, if you can laugh at yourself whilst you’re doing it, it makes it less painful!
Exactly, because it is painful. And so being able to find the humour within that makes it significantly less so.
The last story in Love in Colour is about how your parents’ relationship inspired you to spread a wider message of love. What did they teach you about it?
Friendship and humour. They are best friends, even when they are fighting, because obviously marriages do go through ups and downs. It’s definitely possible to be in love with somebody without having a friendship like that, but for a relationship to last, you need that foundation. You need to get on.
One of my favourite shows is Parks and Recreation. The thing that Ben and Leslie [two of the main characters] always say to each other, which was part of their wedding vows, is, “I like you and I love you.” I love that, because it’s simple. Some people love each other but they don’t like each other, and it’s horrible to witness, because then you’re trapped. It’s really nice to actually like the person you are in love with.
If that’s what you learnt from their relationship, what did they teach you about love as individuals?
Mum taught me to pick your battles, because if you’re with somebody forever, obviously there are going to be issues. Some are going to be bigger than others, and sometimes you realise the smaller, petty things aren’t worth mentioning in comparison. But she also taught me that if something is generally bothering you, if you think about it every day, then nip it in the bud. Because if you don’t, in time it will grow. Then from my dad I learnt about constant appreciation: it’s one thing to love somebody, it’s another to let them know the ways you appreciate them on a daily basis. My dad does that for my mum, and it’s important. Otherwise you’re being taken for granted, and your relationship can grow into a stagnant state.
It sounds like our parents have similar relationships, but in my teens and twenties that sometimes left me thinking, why haven’t I been able to find a love like theirs? In one way it was a hindrance, as well as a help, to grow up with that model of love. It sets the standard so high that sometimes you think, how am I going to find that? And what does it say about me if I don’t?
I completely agree. Because when I didn’t meet somebody in school I thought, ‘Well, I’m never going to meet anybody.’ And then when it didn’t happen at uni I thought, ‘What is wrong with me?’ But I also looked around at my friends — and this is no shame to them, I’m sure they all grew with me – and they weren’t in relationships that I actually coveted.
At first, I thought it was a blessing and a curse, but the older I get the more I realise it was a blessing, because now I know myself so well, and I grew up with that standard. So when someone didn’t meet it, I didn’t settle. And if I had, I think it would’ve made the person I am now – who is sensitive and emotional, and cares about relationships – really unhappy. The fact that I wanted a boyfriend at 14 blows my mind, though, because I was an idiot!
So I’m grateful in retrospect. Especially for having advice from my mother, as a woman, about knowing what you deserve and what you should stand for. It meant I didn’t fall for superficial things. When I saw the red flags, I ran. And when I did get into a relationship, we had a friendship too, and I was able to spot the green flags rather than the red ones. Those are important signs too.
And the green flags are harder to spot, I think.
They are, because we’re so used to negativity.
I feel the same about my parents’ relationship now. It seems ridiculous that I was worried about replicating a model of doing certain things by a certain age. But they would sometimes say, ‘Oh by your age we already had you guys!’
Yes, same. I barely dated in my early 20s. Well, I did, but it was the kind where you go on one or two dates and think, ‘No, I can’t be bothered.’ Because dating takes effort and energy. I’m glad I had the confidence to not force something, though. Being a romantic meant I had a reverence for relationships, which made me more reticent and more cautious about going into them. I didn’t want to be in a relationship just for the sake of being in one.
You were a lot wiser than I was, then! I know you also have sisters. What have those relationships taught you about love?
We always find joy with each other, even though we fight. And we really do fight! Some sisters say, “We’re best friends,” and everything’s lovey-dovey. Me and my sisters think that’s gross, because it’s not us, but we love each other so much. What they’ve taught me is to accept and respect each other’s differences. My middle sister is quirky, her favourite song is Gold by Spandau Ballet, she has all these amazing facts and is so open to different things, whereas I’m very fixed. I like R&B, nothing else, and I need to open my mind. Then my youngest sister is bold. She’ll say, “I want to get a tattoo today,” then she’ll go and get one. I’m very considered, and she’s taught me to embrace life and the moment more.
And is it easier to reconcile when you fight too?
It’s amazing, me and my sister will be fighting, and then she’ll have a look, and we’ll laugh at the same time. That’s something that can only happen with your sibling. You think, ‘I want to kill you,’ and then the next second you both find something funny, because you’ve been brought up in a certain way. At some point you think, ‘What’s the point of being angry? We’re stuck with each other, basically.’ And then you move on.
As an older sister I also have a responsibility. I’m aware that, unfortunately, our parents aren’t going to be alive forever. At some point we will be all each other has, and especially as the older sibling, I feel that responsibility even more. So whether we get on or not, whether we fight or not, ultimately, we are a team. And knowing that propels our relationships forwards.
Was there anything new you learnt about relationships from rewriting love stories from history and mythology and then thinking about how to update them?
What I did learn, which is not exactly a positive, is that patriarchy is everywhere. For instance, in the original story, Siya was a virgin maiden who was set to be sacrificed to a seven-headed snake god, and Maadi, her betrothed, would slay the monster and save her. I thought, ‘Okay, it’s nice, somebody wanting to save you, but what about them battling to save each other? Because that’s what love is.’ I was able to reimagine these characters in a world where men and women are actually equal.
Were you trying to say anything specific about love and how it works?
I did not plan for the stories to have a message or moral, but after I finished, I saw there was a theme: women not compromising on who they are, but also getting a happy ending. I wanted to say, you can have swooning romance where you’re swept off your feet, without losing who you are. Because all the women, besotted as they may be, make their own decisions and centre themselves in them. It’s about allowing yourself to be vulnerable, but also not letting somebody walk all over you. Also, with [one of the characters] Psy, her strength in her career bolstered her strength in her romantic life, because she thought, ‘You know what? I can do this.’ So it’s also about being bold in all areas of your life.
A lot of men in your stories fall at the women’s feet, and when I was reading it, I realised it’s rare to find that consistently in a book.
It’s true. The thing is, it’s because of the media we consume that it’s always thought to be the other way round. Men can be just as smitten — it’s a human trait, but it’s feminised because it’s soft and vulnerable. Actually, love is an equaliser. When I talk to guys, I’m like, ‘You guys are fools when you’re in love!’ And I wanted to explore that. A lot of traditional romance stories have the guys negging the women, but I wanted men to be openly besotted and in love.
Was it important to you to show relationships in which women could be bold and vulnerable at the same time?
I wanted strength and softness to sit alongside other. Especially because most of the women in the book are black, and in the media black women are rarely seen being vulnerable and in love. When they are shown, it’s in an aggressive or hypersexual way, and I wanted these women to know they have access to sweetness and vulnerability and emotional openness, whilst also retaining their strength and knowledge of self.
I read a piece in Red in which you wrote, “As I got older, I noticed that feminist critiques of fairy tales are easy to come by: why does the prince always have to save the princess? Why does it seem like her life has no purpose without the prince? But these criticisms are still extremely white in nature and fail to account for the lack of racially diverse romance presented within popular culture.” So as a teenager there was a dual lack of recognition in the stories you were reading: the lack of agency for women, and the fact that there were only white princesses or heroines.
Exactly. It’s frustrating for somebody who grew up adoring the genre. Obviously I love those films. It’s not even a critique against them, because if the protagonists are white, the protagonists are white. I’m not expecting much, but what I want is a diversity of story. To have access to stories with people from different backgrounds. They just don’t exist. That was part of the reason why I started writing. One of my favourite movies is When Harry Met Sally, so I wasn’t dismissing them. It was more, ‘Okay, but where am I?’ I sought out stories like Coming to America and Brown Sugar, and I think actively seeking that was the realisation: ‘Oh, I’m not represented. I want to see somebody like me.’ And even within that you have the complication of colourism, where light skin is seen as more desirable and more feminine than darker skin — that’s an offshoot of racism. That’s why, in my book, I always make sure that, if the skin is referenced, I mention it’s a dark-skinned black woman, because so often those images aren’t seen as beautiful or feminine, or worthy of love or affection.
What do you wish you’d known about love?
Not everything is linear. Because I’m a romcom writer, I thought that I could write my own romances. I looked at my love life in terms of A plots, B plots and C plots — and it doesn’t work like that. Love is messy. I’m not talking about messy in terms of, ‘Oh, he’ll cheat on you, but it’ll be fine, you’ll get back together,’ but messy because humans are messy, and our emotions are too. Sometimes just because you know yourself, that doesn’t mean the person you click with is in the same place. Sometimes they’ll need time to figure themselves out, and it’s not an affront to you. So for me it would be that: love, like life, is not linear, and just because it doesn’t work out how you expect it to, that doesn’t mean it won’t work out.
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