On October 30, novelist and The New York Times romance columnist Olivia Waite logged into BlueSky, came across a post from independent journalist Marisa Kabas, read it, reposted a comment, and moved on with her day.
Hours later, Waite received an email with a blank subject line. Her editor at the Times, Tina Jordan, informed her that the newspaper would not renew her freelance arrangement as the New York Times Book Review’s romance columnist.
The post Waite shared featured an email thread with The New York Times editor Patrick Healy, where Kabas pressed the paper’s October 26 coverage of a Democrat-commissioned report from the House Judiciary Committee. The report urged appointing an independent special counsel to investigate President Donald Trump’s ties to convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, and it added new details of rape allegations against Trump by Beatrice Keul.
Kabas noted that the Times article did not reference these new particulars and entirely left out the word “rape.” Waite’s repost included a comment that described Healy’s response as “unacceptable.”
“On Friday the Times declined to renew my contract as a fiction columnist, delivered in a one-paragraph email that praised the quality of my work while implying my supposed negative feelings about the NYT as inferred from my Bluesky activity, which they admitted they’ve been watching,” Waite told Smart Bitches Trashy Books, which first reported Waite’s columnist status on Nov. 3.
“I’m not looking to be a central figure or to go viral. I simply wanted the romance community to know that this had happened,” Waite said during a video call this week.
Waite noted that her agreement with the Times references the paper’s ethical-journalism guidelines for “outside experts,” and in six years of writing the column she asserts there have never been any disclosures or conflicts of interest concerns.
“I have never, to my knowledge, voiced my critique of the Times on social media. That felt like crossing a line for me,” she said. “Yet highlighting that others had valid critiques seemed like a necessary way to get those voices heard.”
Waite shared her views on the freelance nature of her contract, the romance genre’s handling of consent and rape, and the current state of romance-book coverage. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
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Zachary Fletcher: You mentioned working on your “Best Romance of 2026” column for The New York Times. Tell me about your column and that piece in particular. Are there still plans for it to run?
Olivia Waite: I feel the authors deserve recognition. It’s not about me. This column has always been a relief because, as a writer, you spend so much time with your own work and then you have to go out and talk it up yourself. That starts to feel exhausting. I can love my books as much as I want, but there comes a point when I want to discuss something else. The column focused on other people’s work. It offered a chance to show what authors are trying to do and present it to an audience that might not have the reach to discover where some debuts or marginalized voices are coming from.
I genuinely enjoy highlighting the breadth of what romance can achieve rather than spotlighting the five books you already know. The “Best Of” list was a crucial element of that. And there’s something satisfying about ending with a best-of list—a move I pushed for and implemented myself. It wasn’t part of the original brief, yet it became an institution, and I see that as a small but meaningful legacy.
When I see someone in power who has been accused of sexual assault—especially when a government investigation is recommending a special prosecutor—I believe that’s relevant to what I tend to discuss and write about.
ZF: We’re a few days out from your repost and from learning you wouldn’t continue the contract. This also happened just before the 2026 elections. How do you view the timing of these Trump rape allegations in light of the current moment for romance readers and critics?
OW: Sexual violence—both in society and in history—belongs to the romance discourse. Romance’s history is tightly interwoven with questions about sexual violence. If you go back to early bodice-ripper tales, the one often cited as the first modern romance novel is The Flame and the Flower by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, which famously opens with the hero raping the heroine. It was once described as forced seduction or dubious consent, among other terms used in a romance context.
Today, with trends like romantasy, dark romance, serial-killer romance, and stalker romance, plus a MeToo-era backlash, there’s a genre-spanning conversation about negotiating consent when power dynamics are unequal. How does desire influence that dynamic? Can desire excuse harm? This has been a central theme in the genre far longer than I’ve been alive as a commentator. So when I see a powerful figure accused of sexual assault—especially one arising from a government inquiry recommending a special prosecutor—I believed it connected directly to my areas of focus, and I did not foresee it becoming problematic.
ZF: In your statement, you distinguish between emotion and critique when discussing rape. How do you differentiate between what happens in fiction and what happens in reality?
OW: Rape in romance is a labyrinth of debates. Some literary theories treat rape differently in romance than in real life. Readers often say: I enjoy rape fantasies in fiction but don’t want them in real life; those are separate for me. Many survivors cope with the emotional fallout by engaging with very intense scenes of sexual violence in fiction, and you’ll see this in fanfiction too. It’s a delicate topic—how to craft a romance around someone who has endured a violent violation. It’s nuanced, and many people, including myself, seek stories that emphasize consent and care as more comforting and escapist. So you must allow space for viewpoints that differ widely yet remain passionately held.
And all that nuance vanishes when you’re addressing an actual crime.
We should not entertain the idea, “perhaps there was a reason this person raped.” That mindset fuels rape culture—the belief that pursuing sex is healthy and normal for a man, even when violence or coercion is involved. Therefore you can’t maintain the same level of detachment you can with fiction about non-consensual fantasies that some readers find empowering. Romance may address rape more than nearly any other genre, particularly from the victim’s perspective.
ZF: The number of full-time book critics is dwindling, and freelancers make up the majority of the field. Could you expand on what it would mean for the Times to lose this column?
OW: It’s disheartening to lose any books coverage. We already have so little. The prospect of there being no place to discuss romance on this level is hard to swallow. The column was incredibly valuable, which is why I took it seriously. Jamie Green did a wonderful job for many years, though her column was more sporadic—two to three times annually. When I joined, it moved to every other month, then monthly. Monthly cadence is much more enjoyable, especially given how many books there are. It’s a glut, really.
It’s painful to lose any space for romance, especially one that was so brief. Romance authors aren’t used to chasing prestige because such prestige isn’t readily offered. The LA Times Book Prize features thirteen categories, none of which are romance. The genre still feels like the literary world’s redheaded stepchild.
ZF: You’ve written dozens of Times columns. Are there particular books that stand out from your years of covering romance?
OW: I’d nominate Cat Sebastian’s After Hours at Dooryard Books as a book that captures both the Times era and the moment we’re living in. It’s easily one of my all-time favorite romances now. What struck me is how it feels as if someone from a previous era reaches out to acknowledge the rough patches you’re facing today. It threads in political protests, lewd suppression of queer civil liberties, feminism, immigration issues, racism, economic strain, government shenanigans, and more—and it does so with a warm, thoughtful voice that says, I know how you feel. It’s also unusually good at addressing grief in romance, offering space for sorrow and solace in equal measure. And its historical lens gives it a perspective that can lift you above contemporary despair.
ZF: Besides shrinking critics, outlets that cover romance (and other genres) are thinning out. Where should readers turn for romance criticism these days?
OW: There are lots of podcasts and author newsletters. Until I land somewhere new for book-writing, I’ll start publishing about them in my own newsletter. Smart Bitches Trashy Books does things, but readers should also join a romance-reading club online or at a local bookstore. Find fellow romance readers, ask for suggestions. BlueSky is a great resource for this kind of thing: there are entire starter packs of romance writers, queer romance writers, and writers of color on BlueSky. Find an author you like, follow them online, observe who they talk to, see who they recommend, and branch out. It’s tough; you have to build it from the ground up right now.
ZF: Returning to the start, how did you first come to write for the Times?
OW: It started in much the same way it ended. I was writing for the Seattle Review of Books in March 2020, under Paul Constant, and that stage was fantastic but the pandemic pressed on everyone. When I announced my last column, Tina emailed me one day later to say Jamie Green was leaving and asked if I’d like to come review for the Times. And I nearly fell over.
ZF: They sought you out! They headhunted you!
OW: The reason the Times knew who I was is that their first attempt to cover romance sent the work to Robert Gottlieb. He produced something so remarkable that people teased it for weeks. I later wrote a piece published in the Seattle Review of Books in 2017 arguing that Gottlieb didn’t realize he was already displaying the early romance-fandom impulse. That piece was retweeted by, I think, Ron Charles or someone at the Washington Post. So I’m fairly sure that’s how East Coast editors learned about me initially. There’s a sense in which my column arrived and departed in a similar fashion—triggered by a random email from Tina after I critiqued The Times coverage. It’s a neatly symmetrical narrative, which I appreciate as someone who loves structure in literature. It’s a lovely coincidence, this kind of arc.
