Love has been a core element of fiction since…well, since forever, I guess. It drives and unites characters, it pushes plot forward, it distinguishes good from evil, and it’s an integral part of what makes a story real to us.

Romantic love certainly isn’t the only manifestation of this force, but it is a prevalent one. It’s a trend I don’t foresee readers ever getting tired of because it resonates so much with the human heart.

But genuine love is all but gone from today’s fiction menu.

A culture that soaks up visual stimulation like a sponge has replaced selfless, sacrificial, protective love with superficial mind-candy.

Pick up any given book with a romantic element to it (doesn’t even have to be romance genre), and you’re just about guaranteed to find perfect bodies (featured on the cover to make sure the book sells), high-school level personalities (the angsty-yet-so-muscly dude who…