I Read Every Stacey Abrams Romance Novel. I’m Convinced She Should Be Our Governor.

Guest Author: Eric Khong

Let me start out by saying: I am not a romance novel enthusiast. In fact, just a few months ago, I hadn’t read any. Today, that number has shot up to eight — all of them sultry, steamy novels written by Selena Montgomery, the nom de plume of Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams.

Admittedly, I did have some familiarity with the genre, or at least the air of judgment surrounding it. Of all genre fiction, it’s safe to say that romance receives the brunt of condescension — framed as too trashy for proper literature and too feminine to be turned into the cape-wearing pop-culture blockbuster. When thinking of romance, I could only conjure up dated images of a rain-drenched Ryan Gosling in The Notebook or the impossibly pale vampire-aesthetic of Twilight.

So, I approached the readings with a sociological curiosity. After all, it’s not every day that I discover a major political candidate with such an unexpected career shift. With so many eyes on this election, I wanted to unravel the mystery of Abrams as a human outside of politics & sound bites.

The biggest conclusion from my experiment? Stacey Abrams should definitely be Georgia’s next governor.

Why? Because Abrams’ relationship with Georgia is much like the ones she writes about as Selena Montgomery. She truly and deeply loves this state. She believes in Georgia — and not just in the empty way that politicians sometimes promise they do. Her novels show me that she cherishes all of it, even parts that can be a little difficult to love.

I came to this project with a fair amount of knowledge of Stacey Abrams the Candidate. Some of that includes the not-infrequent criticism lobbed at Abrams throughout her political career — some of which has merit. But a particularly sticky (& problematic) narrative I’ve come across primarily from those on the ideological right is that Abrams, like other advocates fighting for change in the South, is fundamentally an outsider. That word holds significant weight here, y’all. It implies that she doesn’t really care about Georgia. It’s a pervasive narrative, and many have twisted her words to convince Georgia voters that she actually hates it here. There are Georgians who sincerely believe that she’s a politician only for the city of Atlanta, where almost 40% of residents are transplants from out of state, not for Georgia as a whole.

After reading her novels, I can say with certainty that those people are dead wrong.

There’s a special kind of connection you get with a person after experiencing their art — especially after reading their entire body of work. You learn a lot about their values, their innermost thoughts, their deeply held beliefs. I’m an English educator, which means I spend a lot of my time analyzing text, picking apart meaning and themes with skeptical students. However, you don’t have to dig that deep to feel the right-wing narrative crumbling. You simply have to open your eyes (& heart, mind you) to characters like Kell Jameson & Luke Caldwell.

Kell & Luke are the protagonists of Reckless, originally published in 2008, which follows the typical, Hallmark channel formula on the surface: big city Atlanta lawyer Kell Jameson has the freewheeling, fast-paced life she has always wanted away from her small-town Hallden County roots. However, after the head of her childhood orphanage is implicated in a crime, she’ll team up with local sheriff Luke Caldwell to uncover elements of her past she’s kept buried for so long. Oh, and she might find the earnest love she’d been missing along the way.

It’s not exactly a new plotline. “Busy city-slicker finds love & renewed purpose in small town simplicity” is the backbone of countless stories: Hannah Montana: The Movie, Pixar’s Cars, & Hot Fuzz, just to name a few. The worst examples of these trope-heavy stories might feel artificial or pandering. But Reckless is different; there is a palpable earnestness to fictional Hallden County. Reckless follows the tropes, yes, but it has a very real sense of place.

That place is Georgia, a blend of sharp urban sensibility and Southern kindness that makes the region feel like home to so many folks despite all of the vitriol & fatigue we often feel in our communities. The kind of feeling that makes us the first in line to critique the Southland and yet also its fiercest defenders (Californians, we’re full, thanks).

Yes, Luke is a Black Southern sheriff. Yes, that’s complicated. Yes, he and Kell don’t exactly see eye-to-eye at first, quickly grappling over how the law is enforced unjustly to those with the same skin tone as Abrams’ protagonists — as well as their own role in that system as lawyer and officer.

But if Kell Jameson is a version of the savvy author-insert, what strikes me is how Kell’s story isn’t a ploy for Abrams’ political ambition. Before Abrams’ gubernatorial aspirations, before her work with voting rights through Fair Fight Action, before her spotlight on the national stage, she wrote a small, beautiful story about how Hallden County, Georgia was more than meets the eye. While characters in her story scoff at Kell Jameson’s decision to split her time between Atlanta and Hallden, Abrams joyfully describes all the ways Kell finds herself figuratively & literally straddling both worlds.

You can also see Abrams’ love for the South on display in the evolution of her work over time. Her earlier novels contain fantastical storylines: spy thrillers spanning the globe, fictional & exotic South American monarchies, witty undercover protagonists falling for the mysterious treasure hunter. But as you go from undercover terrorist operatives in 2001’s Rules of Engagement to 2009’s murder mystery-thriller Deception, you begin to notice something — a distinct change in setting. A return to New Orleans in 2004’s Never Tell. Texas in 2006’s Hidden Sins. Georgia for her final two novels in 2008 and 2009.

You notice that each of her protagonists, along with finding love, come to wrestle with their histories, growing to appreciate the family roots that call them home. You notice the small town charm and feelings of safety and security taking center stage. You notice that, despite many in our state not truly welcoming Abrams, she views the South as not just a place to save, but a place to admire.

There’s that common thread: an unbridled optimism that we can put so much behind us if we sat down and got to know one another. That’s not to say that she isn’t willing to be a fighter, because time and time again, Abrams and her protagonists show that they can be. But her strategic ferocity is fueled by a deep faith in Georgia’s potential. It’s a quaint, almost vintage dance of hope, grit, and teeth.

Abrams isn’t shy about her author history. She’s talked about it frequently in interviews with Stephen Colbert, the Washington Post, the Atlantic, & the New York Times. While some might be embarrassed about the steamy content since a career shift into politics, she credits her novels as part of her success, claiming that she’s “a good politician in part because [she’s] a very effective storyteller.”

Abrams is also proud of her novels, writing: “The characters and their adventures are what I’d wished to read as a young Black woman — stories that showcase women of color as nuanced, determined, and exciting.” What would a Stacey Abrams romance novel look like in 2022 as she runs for governor a second time? If it goes her way, we may never find out. What I do know is that her writing reflects the truth: her devotion to Georgia runs far deeper than her campaign.

I can’t say that Stacey Abrams will always make the right calls. Blame that on a healthy skepticism of all politicians. However, I won’t be convinced that she doesn’t care. Ask Sheriff Luke Caldwell. Ask Fin Borders. Ask Mara Reed. Ask Kell Jameson. Ask the real residents of Georgia who are engaged voters now because of the invaluable work Abrams has done in the years since.

Abrams cares about all Georgians. That’s not true about every candidate on the ballot. And maybe, there’s something I am still learning from her — that, despite the fact that I sometimes don’t believe it myself, there’s something to admire about all of the different people that call this state home.