So here we are in this regency historical. The heroine is one of those “spirited” types who’s going to assert herself come hell or high water. She has a ring belonging to her dead sister that identifies the sister’s lover, the man responsible for her death. Our heroine is determined to unmask said cad by finding the owner of the ring. And what will she do then, a friend inquires. Why she’ll tell him she knows who he is and how he’s responsible for her sister’s death and that she intends to reveal his identity to polite society so that they can shun him.

This being a romance novel, her friends do not respond “Are you out of your freakin’ mind?”

This particular plot development is an example of what I think of as the hopelessly dumb heroine. Granted that regency romances are not always well known for their adherence to realism. And granted that in this particular historical the heroine doesn’t make good on her plans. Still, even in a slightly fantastic romance, the heroine can’t really ignore human nature like this unless she’s a dingbat.

Heroines who do things that we know full well will lead to disaster (without, apparently, being aware that disaster looms) don’t sit very well with me. It’s one thing for a heroine to undertake desperate measures because she has no choice, to do so, in other words, with the full knowledge that she may end up in terrible trouble. It’s another for a heroine to undertake some foolhardy activity because she’s too dim to understand the possible consequences.

In many cases, I think the author intends that we’ll see this as the heroine’s adorable naïveté. But there’s a very thin line between naïve and stupid. When the heroine ventures forth to do something harebrained without any idea of the danger she’s getting into, she loses a lot of my sympathy. Now granted, I’ve done this myself—sort of. Deirdre in Brand New Me walks into a trap because she doesn’t take the time to either think about what she’s doing or let anybody else know what’s going on. But in her (and my) defense, she doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it under the circumstances, and she regrets taking that step almost as soon as she does it.

Of course, a really skillful writer can take this trope and play with it. My favorite example of this is Linda Howard’s Open Season. The heroine is a librarian who stumbles into a hazardous situation without realizing just how hazardous it really is. In the end, the hero sets a trap for the villain. And you, the reader, keep expecting (with a sinking heart) that the heroine will stumble into the middle of it because, well, that’s what usually happens. But she doesn’t. And when the hero commends her on it, she’s somewhat annoyed. After all, she’s not that dumb.

Amen, sister, amen.