Look back at classic romantic fiction, though, and you’ll see plenty of examples of the male perspective. Wuthering Heights, for example, actually gives more weight to Heathcliff’s story than Cathy’s – to powerful effect.

Incorporating the male point of view is a trend that is gaining popularity. Romantic fiction publisher Choc Lit will only publish novels that incorporate the hero’s point of view. Bestselling authors Stephenie Meyer and EL James rewrote their romance novels from the male perspective. Some authors now publish additional free content, like extra chapters or novellas to accompany publications, telling the hero’s side of the tale. And some – like me – weave a little of the male perspective into their largely female-point-of-view love story.

For me, the male-perspective scenes are among the most rewarding to write in the book. Stepping into the hero’s shoes allows me as author to show the reader so much more of his life – crucially, how life is for him when he is not with the heroine.

For example, in Concerto I open Umberto’s first scene as follows:

Umberto reached for his glass of water and, forgetting where he’d put it, knocked it over. Grasping for it angrily again, he hurled it across the room, hearing it smash against the opposite wall. His head fell back against the armchair and he let out a growl of frustration. Already he had polished off a few glasses of grappa that afternoon and was now sick of his head pounding.

It had been nearly two days since he’d left these four walls. He knew that it made no difference that the curtains had been drawn all day, cutting out the sunlight, but it gave him a grim satisfaction that the whole room must be plunged into a sombre gloom – almost the same darkness as he had experienced every day for the past four years. A cage of perpetual midnight.

The male perspective allows the author to explore the hero’s experience in a way that the reader can trust. The reader can understand the hero better, and often more deeply than the heroine can, because the reader is afforded more access to the hero’s inner world. This is especially important in Concerto, because the reader needs to understand what life is like for Umberto now that he is blind.

If he hadn’t been holding a cane no one would ever have guessed he was blind. He had counted the steps from the house to the beautiful stone balustrade skirting the lakeside where the property ended and where he liked to walk. There were steps down to a jetty, where two yachts that belonged to the family were moored and there was a small private beach with a pergola covered in sweet-smelling roses that overlooked the magnificent vista of Lake Como and the towns bordering its shores, where Umberto liked to sit. Now, he stopped at the balustrade and felt for its rough surface, leaning one elbow on it.

He liked being outside. Nature in all its grandeur was not wholly inaccessible to him and it spelt freedom – tethered freedom perhaps – but somehow, he found the open spaces comforting in his world of shadows. If he could live wholly in the open air, he would.

The male perspective helps the reader to understand the hero’s emotional landscape. Catriona can imagine and guess and infer how Umberto feels, but is she right? For example, when Catriona plays ‘Songe d’une Nuit d’Amour’ for Umberto on the piano, it moves him to tears. If I had written this scene from Catriona’s perspective, all the reader would know is that as she plays tears course down his cheeks. But writing from Umberto’s point of view allows the reader to understand:

Umberto leaned his head against the back of the chair. His eyelids closed over his emerald irises and he listened. The intensity of her empassioned execution made everything in him still, except his heart, which stirred alarmingly. This was indeed a dangerous game they were playing. Forcing Katérina to remember meant opening up a wound he never knew had existed, bleeding inside him all this time. This confusing thought sent anger surging through him. Anger over lost opportunities and wasted lives, thoughts of what might have been. He had no control over this terrible longing.

He tried to stem the unwanted tide of memories… Each note was a new torment, a sweet thirst that craved quenching with Katérina’s kiss, spicy as orange tea, hot as the flames licking his tortured frame. And as the emotion built up inside him, his pulse quickened. His sightless eyes burned with tears that welled up behind them, tears he was no longer able to hold back, now rolling down his cheeks in an uncontrollable stream.

Love is a tale with two sides, and I feel it is important to reflect both of these sides. To enjoy a romance novel, one must feel a connection with the heroine and the hero – and this connected is rooted in knowing them, in seeing the story through their eyes.

What do you think? Do you enjoy reading the male point of view in romantic fiction? How does your experience of romance differ based on the author’s approach to point of view? I would love to hear your thoughts.