Sometimes, my memory is okay. For example, I am essentially correct in my memory of a Calvin Trillin piece for the New Yorker, describing a blind wine-tasting in which experts could not tell red from white when it was served in black glasses. But I was also right to do a little checking on the Internet before I wrote about it; it turns out that the so-called Davis test was conducted on aroma alone. However, I found a blog by a wine lover who tried his own version of the test, and his results were interesting. (http://community.winepressnw.com/node/247) In short: some well-educated palates got it wrong and while the blogger himself scores a small triumph when someone tries to fool him by blending the red and the white, he calls himself “lucky.”
Today, in The Baltimore Sun, there is an article about Stephen Hunter, my former colleague, and it quotes our former boss. (To clarify — Hunter, a widely admired thriller writer, is now the Washington Post’s film critic; our former boss, Steve Proctor, has ended up at the San Francisco Chronicle.) Hunter, who won a Pulitzer Prize for his film criticism a few years back, is generally regarded as a very gifted stylist and epic storyteller; IIRC, Marilyn Stasio once compared him to Homer. And his own literary idol is Hemingway. So why, the reporter asks, is his work regarded as genre fiction?
Here’s Proctor: “The ability to empathize and understand all kinds of characters is the difference between popular writing and serious fiction.” (He was building on the writer’s opinion that female characters have not been Hunter’s strong suit.)
With all due respect to my former boss — that would be none, by the way — genre is a label, placed on books for the consumer’s (and book reviewer’s) convenience. It is an external value, a marketing decision, not an inherent measure of worth. If we weren’t told what books were, we would have to sift through all the titles on our own. It would be the equivalent of drinking wine from black cups, and even some educated palates might be misled.
Just this morning, I tried on some outfits in anticipation of an engagement later this week. The outfit I ended up choosing is, according to the one outside opinion I sought, “classy and becoming.” It also is a) twelve years old and b) from Banana Republic. But no one will know that unless I wear it inside out. My hunch is that the context of the engagement — not to mention the killer shoes — will lead people to think the outfit is nicer than it is. Unless you read this blog, in which case, if you catch this particular gig, you’ll probably be thinking: “I can’t believe that Laura is such a dork that she’s wearing a 12-year-old Banana Republic outfit.”
I’ve never understood the class distinction suggested between genre fiction and contemporary fiction. If there’s any difference at all in my mind, it’s that genre fiction more often has a sense of movement and pacing that I don’t always find in contemporary fiction.
I’m knee deep in TC Boyle’s TALK TALK this week. I dare Mr. Proctor to define it as one or the other.
First the clothes, your outfit is not to be snuffed at, it’s pure genius to rake up some older items and give them new life where they actually come off as new. So whatever you rummage from your closet to put together to wear is probably going to be smashing if that’s what you want it to be.
Next to the old argument about what is or isn’t literary. Jeeeeez, if that isn’t the height of snobbery I don’t know what is. Most here have said it very well so I won’t reiterate. I will say that I agree with you Laura that it serves only to steer people who already have little time towards finding what sort of reading material they’re looking for in the right direction wuthin a store. It seems to me that people who go into book stores basically already know what they want so they just need to head to that section, find it, pay and get out. Browsing is a whole other animal with a bunch of other needs but it is still served best by sectioning the stores. Imagine ladies lengerie scattered all over a department store and you can’t match up your nylons with your camisole without spending days looking in every nook and cranny of the store, yikes!
Hope to see you at B’con no matter what you’re wearing.
Sylvia aka Sly in Anchorage
Sarah Weinman, one of the intrepid guides who helps us to cut through broad labels and discover books we might not otherwise find, links to critic John Leonard’s acceptance speech over at http://www.sarahweinman.com, and I thought this excerpt was pretty nice:
“The books we love, love us back. In gratitude, we should promise not to cheat on them — not to pretend we’re better than they are; not to use them as target practice, agit-prop, trampolines, photo ops or stalking horses; not to sell out scruple to that scratch-and-sniff info-tainment racket in which we posture in front of experience instead of engaging it, and fidget in our cynical opportunism for an angle, a spin, or a take, instead of consulting compass points of principle, and strike attitudes like matches, to admire our wiseguy profiles in the mirrors of the slicks. We are reading for our lives, not performing like seals for some fresh fish.”
Thank you, Laura, on behalf of all of us who wear old but classy clothing and have done for years….and for defending Hunter, a favorite of mine.
My closet is full of clothes I have dubbed “oldies, but goodies” I don’t work full time anymore, and for my one part time job with a specific set of dress requirements, there’s a shirt with a company logo on it, so that takes care of THAT decision. Hence I very rarely buy clothes except for essentials like underwear and socks.
If you’ve got a 12 year old outfit from any kind of store anywhere which still fits and is appropriate for where you’re going, you’re not a dork, you’re sensible.
Proctor is clearly a fool, but he’s also playing safe because he’s spouting aspects of the received wisdom. It’s laughable partly in that it implies bad writers make a conscious decision – “oh, I’m not actually a particularly good writer, so I better write crime/historicals/chick-lit”. As Salman Rushdie and many others have proved, just as many bad writers choose and succeed in “serious” fiction.
But more importantly, it’s hugely insulting to the readers, implying as it does that they require less depth in their reading matter, less believable characters, less emotion.
It leaves me wondering if Proctor is even a reader himself.
I went and read the article online. The rest of Proctor’s quote is striking: “Maybe this will be a growth area for Steve.”
Jeez, dude, think you could be a little more condescending?
My former boss is pretty well-read and was very, very proud of his ability to recite reams of poetry. And I will give him this — he was an excellent line editor.
But I think he’s representative of the kind of middlebrow reader who gets tripped up by labels, who can never completely trust his own judgment.
“Hugely insulting to readers” — yes! The thing I’m conscious of, as a mystery writer, is that my readers are extremely well-read in the genre and I can’t try to get anything past them. They’ve seen almost every iteration of story/plot. So I get particularly upset when I see a review say: “For so-and-so fans only.” Talk about insulting the readers.
If death is the ultimate mystery and murder the ultimate transgression, then crime novels should be the highest form of art�and often they are.
Genre wars have been waged in academia since the 60s and before�it used to be that no fiction was deemed suitable study for college curricula. When I include crime fiction in one of my classes, I position it as a work of literature, rather than a mystery with literary pretensions.
Students, conservative souls that they are, are often surprised by the artistry of genre fiction because they are used to hearing people apologize for it: “it’s just a mystery.” It’s just a stunning work of literary imagination made up of a devilishly clever plot, set in a fully imagined world, peopled by intricate and complex characters in search of an answer to an existential question.
Laura, darlin’, you’d look classy wearing a burlap sack.
As for: “”The ability to empathize and understand all kinds of characters is the difference between popular writing and serious fiction.”: Well, I’d say he’s right in one sense.
Think about some enormously popular books containing characters that were hackneyed, cliched, totally unbelievable as people, yet the books were enormous best sellers. Da Vinci Code comes immediately to mind.
Now if your former boss is saying that mysteries or thrillers NEVER exhibit “The ability to empathize and understand all kinds of characters,” or that NOTHING in the genre can be considered “serious fiction”, then he is indeed full of it.
Dusty, don’t spoil the surprise; my outfit IS a burlap sack.
I don’t have a problem with labels as long as we recognize them for the convenience that they are. People have heard me harp on this before, the human brain’s need to create patterns, hierarchies, etc. And, in fact, the Malcolm book that I referenced earlier this month (The Silent Woman) touches on that problem in its final chapter. Bookstores need to be organized according to a system that helps readers find the books they want to find. Imagine what it would be like if there were NO classifications, if fiction and non-fiction were mingled. I’d go insane.
I’m not claiming that all genre fiction is good (it isn’t) or that all literary fiction is over-praised, just that the labels are a convenience and to work backward from the label to discuss (perceived) limitations is fallacious. There are some very “serious” novels with severe limitations in terms of empathy for all characters. There are some popular novels that are immensely good at empathy — and they still might not be literary.
Also, the quote is set up so that popular writing and serious fiction are mutually exclusive. But some serious fiction is read by a mass audience. (TEN DAYS IN THE HILLS is on the New York Times list and whatever you think of Smiley — I like her — she’s a serious writer with wide-ranging ambitions.) So what are we talking about if we talk about popular versus serious? The writer’s intent?
Great questions and discussions…
All of these labels can really screw with a person’s (my) idea of ever getting published. I’ve always said I want to write a literary book that everyone wants to read.
I think there will always be snobs (like this Proctor guy) who think they have to like books that are respected by the elitists while they miss out on some great books. (He sounds like a jerk to me.)
And about your classy outfit, I agree with Woodstock “still fits and is appropriate for where you’re going, you’re not a dork, you’re sensible.” But that burlap does sound itchy to me.
Clair — 12 years ago is easy. Eight years ago is the tough nut to crack. Then again, I was miserable eight years ago, so it’s a fair trade-off.
David, I don’t blame publishers and I think that labeling may be a chicken-or-the egg problem. I’m okay with labels — when it comes to publishers’ catalogues and bookstore shelving. I just don’t like to see the label wielded as a meaningful definition.
Some grocery stores have two cheese sections — the mainstream stuff is with the dairy, but then there’s a discrete section with high-end cheeses. In my cooking and eating life, I sometimes need to visit both cheese sections. I don’t find this an imposition. I know what I like, I know what works best for eating and cooking.
But if I wanted to compare the cheddars in the two sections, I wouldn’t base it on where they were shelved, or how much they cost per pound, or if one was produced by a large multionational corporation. I’d taste them. And if I decided one was subpar, I wouldn’t say: “Well, it was shelved with the Kraft cheese, so it must have a flaw and I think the flaw is that it lacks empathy for its female characters, so I believe that all the cheese in the dairy section lacks empathy for its female characters.”
Here’s the mindset I objected to:
Hunter’s books are classified as genre.
Hunter, in Proctor’s opinion, has not developed full empathy for his female characters.
Therefore, Genre = an inability to develop empathy for all characters, while presence of empathy for all characters = literary fiction.
You know what? I wish Max Shulman’s “Love is a Fallacy” were online because I’m sure sure Dobie Gillis could help us sort through this. (“Love is a Fallacy” is the first story in THE MANY LOVES OF DOBIE GILLIS, a book I dearly wished I owned.)
It is online! http://www1.asknlearn.com/ri_Ilearning/English/631/elang-ilearning/page3a.htm
This kind of condescending attitude towards genre fiction is not as common as it used to be, I don’t think, but it’s still prevalent in certain circles.
What needs to be understood is that the whole concept of genre and its accompanying terminology (mystery, fantasy, suspense, etc.) is simply an attempt at forming a common language that allow us as readers, critics, booksellers, etc. to talk easily about books in a way that we can all understand.
Words like “literary fiction” or “thriller novel” are labels. They help us understand what each other is saying when we talk about or write about books. They help us know where to go in the bookstore when we’re looking for a certain type of story. They are differences of TYPE not differences of KIND. (And they say nothing about the inherent merits or lack thereof of the book in question.)
Ultimately, there are only two types of books (Montgomery’s Second Law): good ones and bad ones, and knowing the “genre” the book falls into will not tell you which type of book you’re holding.
A book about a father searching for a missing daughter might be a crime novel or it might be a literary novel (to use those common terms). Those labels might tell us something about the way in which the story is told, or they may just tell us something about the way in which the book is being positioned. What they don’t tell us is whether or not the book is any good, whether or not it is quality fiction, or if the author has any talent. Only reading the book and deciding for yourself can do that.
Love the cheese analogy, Laura. On (one of) my website(s), I have a G.K. Chesterton quote, “Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity.”
But how to tell the two apart? Taste them, like you say. And, to use two more quotes from my website, “Literature is the art of writing something that will be read twice.” – Cyril Connolly and “The test of literature is, I suppose, whether we ourselves live more intensely for the reading of it.” – Elizabeth Drew.
If those two “tests” are any indication of literature, I’ve got a whole lot of literature on my shelves that were originally pulled from bookstore shelves headed, “Mysteries.”
When I hear things like this, I always think “Genre fiction as opposed to what?”
Isn’t all fiction, even the so-called literary stuff, genre fiction?
There’s good writing and there’s bad writing and a lot of stuff in between, and figuring out which is which is a completely subjective process.
Genre-bashing is silly and pointless and the last refuge for someone searching desperately for something “meaningful” to say…
I went through an MFA program with a crime novel as my primary creative endevour – talk about receiving snobbish feedback! Most of the serious genre writers I know are well-read in all genres (including literary fiction), but a lot of the litfic writers I’ve met have had very little exposure to genres outside of their own. And most of those people are predominately insufferable and pretentious pricks (not that I hold a grudge or anything).
This has been a really wonderful discussion and it’s great to see so many people come out to play. Thanks to all who have contributed to this age old and probably never ending quest for clarification of the obvious.
Special thanks to the following for the chuckles and the insights:
I love the cheese analogy Laura, I was right there in the store with you!
David for the pedantic comments on selling and genre.
Steve for showing the MFA program for being the snob fest it can be. I have the privilege to know some one who has been through and got an MFA but who realizes the realties of writing and life aside that.
BTW Laura I tried that url and got a page not found message. I wrote it down twice to make sure I got it right.
Sly in Anchorage where the sun is shining and probably trying to melt all of the snow from winters attendance
though it’s less than usual. I guess proving somewhat Global Warming.
Sly,
Let’s try it again:
http://www1.asknlearn.com/ri_Ilearning/English/631/elang-ilearning/page3a.htm
(I am cutting and pasting this straight from the address bar, and suggest you do the same. Or, Google “Love is a Fallacy” and “Max Shulman.”)
It is nice to see some new names around here. At the risk of slighting anyone, I’ll point out that Robert Gregory Browne is part of Killer Year, with a new book, Kiss Her Goodbye, just out. And “Regina Harvey” is part of the Good Girls Kill for Money blog, a writer with a novel currently out on submission.
My father had (has?) a Max Shulman book, Barefoot boy with cheek, and we used to watch Dobie Gillis, but I never realized they were created by the same person. I didn’t look at credits til well into my 30s though, so who knows what other connections I have missed.
I’ve always felt that the putting down of genres is a form of psuedo intellectualism.
Having said that, I’ve often felt the same way about Stephen Hunter’s movie critiques, even when I agreed with him re a film. Or maybe he needs to write a certain amount of words to fill the space.
The Dobie Gillis books — The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, which is a set of short stories in which Dobie’s backstory and major shifts many times, and I Was a Teenage Dwarf, a novel — were both delightful. I also really liked Barefoot Boy With Cheek, especially Asa’s encounter with the campus lefties who rewrite his play.
Never saw the television show, however.
This is such a great conversation, Laura, thank you for starting it. As someone who for better or worse has spent a lot of time with “literary” fiction writers who never seem to miss a chance to remind me that I write “genre” fiction – I love it everytime someone (Laura) reminds us that the labels are marketing devices.
I’m with David M. here. Good books, bad books. Smart books. Dumb books.
Seeing as I seem to be writing them, I’ve been reading (as time allows) short stories lately.
The 2005 Best American Short Stories (edited by Michael Chabon) is a great example of the crossroads between popular and literary.
The 2006 Best American Short Stories (edited by Ann Patchett) meanders somewhat down the literary road.
The 2006 Best American Mystery Stories (edited by Scott Turow) meanders somewhat down the mystery road.
The roads aren’t parallel. That is, they do meet, and there’s cool stuff there, and you can see some distance down each while walking some distance down the other. But the fact of a crossroads isn’t quite enough for me to accept that there’s only one street.
Plenty of mysteries are badly written, but still successful as mysteries. Crime writers who are routinely lionized can hold my attention until the end of a book on the strength of how they construct a plot, but I have no interest in reading those books again. The point is the puzzle, and there’s nothing else there. The same goes for science fiction: If the idea is great and the execution of it is okay, and the characterization is one-dimensional, it’s successful science fiction. I haven’t read much romance, but I assume the same is true there: It can be lousy writing, but as long as the core definition of the genre is met, it’s a decent genre piece. But not great writing.
The converse is true too: We’ve all read literary fiction with stupid plots.
I think those writers who work at the crossroads tend to bristle when genre fiction is discussed as though it’s separate from literary fiction–because you’re actually doing both. But there <i>is</i> a “both” to be referred to. Two different things, not mutually exclusive, but not occupying exactly the same territory, either, except at that crossroads.
Laura, Your take on the Hunter profile and the question of genre fiction mirrors my belief that publishers do not understand their audience and so take solace in marketing labels. It’s one of the few industries where the acquisition of a new product, a manuscript, sets off an internal search for definition.
Louise, interesting that you cite TALK TALK, because that’s a thriller written by a man who says he doesn’t read “genre fiction” and — while I admire him as a writer and find him amusing to listen to — has been insufferable on the divide between Literature and Genre Fiction.
“The Great Gatsby” is a crime novel. “Jane Eyre” is a gothic thriller. “Great Expectations” is a mystery. Mr. Proctor, in his piece, only exposes what a narrow world he lives in.
And I’m with Woodstock, Laura — if you can still wear something that fit you 12 years ago, I salute you.
“I think there has been a clear trend in your books in recent years to move… Well, not exactly AWAY from Mysteryville, but you’ve set up residence on the outskirts of town.”
I very much agree with this poster’s statement. Say Baltimore is Bookworld, the Mysteryville neighborhood would have to be centered in what used to be called “downtown” when I lived there (I don’t know what it is called now!)-the areas around Edgar Allan Poe House and Poe’s gravesite. Literary Hill is surely over in Roland Park, Anne Tyler’s neighborhood say. I think you’ve moved from Federal Hill (which is definitely part of Mysteryville but not its most noir center) to, oh, Lauraville. (Non-Baltimore folks: this is a real neighborhood. I’m home from work on post-surgery painkillers and the brain is foggy; I didn’t even catch the “pun” until I was about to post but obviously it must be the right neighborhood!) Lauraville is has a little bit of everything, including many a “respectable old house” with the porch painted an odd color and a whimsical detail or two (or hundred) in the decor. Mystery and literary fiction are both quite at home there and could be quite chummy; certainly neither would be offended at the other moving into the neighborhood! (And journalism too. If I’m not mistaken, Stephen Hunter lived there pre-Washington Post.)
I’m a librarian and “mapping” is very big among librarians these days. In my drug induced semi-coherent state, I couldn’t resist thinking and posting about Baltimore’s literary mapscape. However, my apologies if it doesn’t make any sense.
Diane
(Also, I believe that one of the recent slew of great reviews WTDK of was in the “fiction” rather than “mystery” section of the reviewing journal. Of course, I can’t remember which one, just that it was one of the standard ones that we librarians read and rely on for book selection.)
Keith,
Some people use that trick; I don’t. Certainly, in private conversations with you, I’ve named named and talked about literary books that I felt were flawed. And I’ve had fun, making sweeping generalizations about literary writers and their problems with plot.
But I don’t define literary fiction as a genre in which the writers can’t or won’t plot.
Laura, thanks for tackling this issue. First, I adhere to Montgomery’s Second Law: good books and bad books. As for labels, I understand the value of having a genre-specific taxonomy like mystery, thriller or science fiction, but the one label that seems useless to me as a reader is “literary”. It seems to telegraph a certain pretense in the reviewer, or maybe “literary” tells me this is a book that someone thinks I SHOULD be reading, as opposed to a book I WANT to be reading. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want anyone telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.
If Mysteryville in indeed a small town community with stable houses and respectable streets, then I’m like Randy Quaid in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. I rumble into town with my battered-ass RV and retarded, diseassed dogs and hook up to the sewer pipes of all the good little residents.
“But I don’t define literary fiction as a genre in which the writers can’t or won’t plot.”
Case in point, John Irving. His novel, A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANY, is not only full of rich characters, but intricately and beautifully plotted.
I hate this genre vs. literary argument. Anyone with half a brain knows it’s bogus.
> But I don’t define literary fiction as a genre in which the writers can’t or won’t plot.
Neither do I. And I agree that there are good books and bad books. But I don’t think the conversation can end there, since there are also mysteries and non-mysteries. That road cuts 90 degrees from Quality Street.
Forget, for a moment, “What is a mystery?”
What is a <i>non</i>-mystery? If there’s such thing (and I don’t think we can avoid it), then we have to accept that there is such a thing as genre.
I’m posting in 30-second flashes between day job duties, so please cut me a little slack if I’m less than precise.
I agree that there’s such a thing as genre, whether it’s the mystery, the historical epic, or the coming of age novel. What I resist is the implication that, because a book belongs to one of those genres, it is necessarily inferior to books that do not.
I like the crossroads analogy. Keith — consciously, I think, because Keith is nothing if not hyper-conscious of his words and thoughts — is reworking Chandler’s famous argument. Chandler wrote — paraphrasing, it’s early and I’m lazy — that the average literary novel is no better than the average mystery, except for one fact: The average literary novel doesn’t get published.
It’s true, our genre is no Lake Woebegone. Many of the crime novels published are happily average, aiming for nothing more than the basic plot machinations that will be sufficient to please a lot of readers. But why is our genre judged by the lowest common denominator, while literary fiction is defined by its most accomplished work?
On television, for example, THE WIRE is not held accountable for [name redacted for discretion]. The two programs are very different, with different ambitions, although both are police procedurals in the broadest sense. Yet television critics do not come to THE WIRE with the belief that the genre of police procedural is, by nature, limited and debased.
Of course, a key difference between television and book critics is that television critics work from a much deeper context: Given the number of television shows produced every year (as opposed to the number of books published), they can watch almost everything. The same is true of film critics. So they have the freedom to think about what they see on its own merits. True, they’re probably affected by some prior knowledge; one goes into a Scorsese film with a different mindset than, say, a Brett Ratner film. Still, they don’t make the mistake of using the label as a working definition. I know some writers despair at being reviewed in mystery columns, but I think one of the great advantages of being a crime writer is that we have reviewers such as David Montgomery, Sarah Weinman, Oline Cogdill, etc., who read widely in the field. (I’m not sucking up, if only because these three happen to be unsuckupable.)
I often think in terms of borderlands, and the writers I would place in these outlaw territories include: Kate Atkinson, Daniel Woodrell, George Pelecanos, James Crumley. And, on a different part of the map, Margaret Maron and, with her recent work, Nancy Pickard, hanging out with Jodi Picoult, who’s wandered over from so-called women’s fiction.
I do think there are some crime novels that we might not think bear re-reading because the plots have been so rich, so stuffed, so compelling. Jan Burke’s BONES functioned that way for me. But I did re-read it and found it extremely rewarding. The story known to me, I could see some things I had missed on the first reading. I’ve re-read RIGHT AS RAIN many times because I used to teach it; this year, I re-read PISTOL POETS. Perhaps I’m a poor first reader, or perhaps I have very good taste in what I re-read, but those all stood up to the re-reading test.
Lately, because it’s near to hand, I’ve been re-reading SWEET DREAM BABY, by Sterling Watson. (It’s on the coffee table, so if I’m watching television*, I’ll mute the sound during the commercials and begin re-reading, often forgetting to turn the sound back on until many commercial cycles later.) I don’t know how SWEET DREAM BABY was marketed. It has blurbs from Dennis Lehane and Elmore Leonard, and their praise centers on its successful cross-pollination of the noir novel with literary fiction of the very highest order. Would a reader who likes whodunits like this book? Maybe not. But I think the broader class of mystery reader would be enthralled and moved by this book. The final chapter . . . it’s surprising and melancholy and heart-breaking.
On my literary map, I see Watson setting up camp in what appears to be a vast, unchartered territory. Yet, just over the hill, are writers such as Lehane and Richard Price. Daniel Woodrell is nearby, and even Mary Gaitskill. Carolyn Chute’s cold, snow-crusty Maine is strangely close to his hot, humid Florida. And Denise Mina’s Glasgow, which should be an ocean away, is not even a half day’s journey by foot. I could list many, many, many more writers; please don’t take offense if I’ve forgotten a particular name or two.
By the way, I don’t place my own work out in the literary hinterlands. I think one of the reasons I can make this argument is because I’m making it on the behalf of other writers who are far more idiosyncratic and interesting than I am. I’ve set up very close to the thriving center of Mysteryville, and its residents are my friends, colleagues, peers. I’m not in the center of town, but I’m on a pleasant side street, in a respectable old house, although the porch may be painted an odd color and there may be a whimsical detail or two in the decor. But if a literary traveler were to pass by, and stop for a visit, I think he would find the experience pleasant and satisfying.
After all, as those who know me best know — I make a mean roast chicken.
*Yes, I watch television! Schlocky, horrible, embarrassing television. But also some good stuff.
Okay, this is cheeky, but I’m going to say it anyway: Laura, I think you’re wrong about your own work.
I think there has been a clear trend in your books in recent years to move… Well, not exactly AWAY from Mysteryville, but you’ve set up residence on the outskirts of town.
(I’m not going to say it’s a more literary neighborhood, as I’m not even sure what “literary” means these days, but I wouldn’t complain if someone else said it.)
I think that what authors like Pelecanos, Lippman, Lehane, etc. are doing is expanding our notions of what genre fiction can be. I think they’re making very clear that the types of stories one can tell in a crime novel are as varied as in any other type of book.
I didn’t read all the comments, so if I’m repeating someone else’s thought, forgive me. I thought the line, “Daddy’s home,” when the Russian asassin was killed in one of Hunter’s Swagger (the third?) books represented a pretty well realized female character. Also, I completely get Earl’s wife.
Michael, you’re not repeating at all, and I’m glad someone has taken on the criticism itself (as opposed to the logic of the criticism.) Thanks!
I think I lost my grip on the original context and mused myself in another direction. We’re agreeing all over the place.
> why is our genre judged by the lowest common denominator,
> while literary fiction is defined by its most accomplished work?
But that’s the same rhetorical trick we use, when dissing literary fiction. We point out the stupidest plots, the lamest stories, in literary fiction, and hold up the best writing and solidest storywork in mystery.
I’m always amazed at the energy thrown into these type of discussions. Reminds me of the “mystery or thriller” debate a year or so ago. That was a hot one, generating post after post and comment after comment all over the Sphere. There were even essays written about it.
I see this type of thing and always think, who cares? Or rather why care? The people who understand that, when you make statements like Proctor’s (or other people in this community), all you’re doing is sending up a flag saying you’re insecure. The people that don’t understand that – well, you’re not going to be able to get through to them by ranting and posting.
Yes, it would be a great world without labels, but that isn’t going to happen. They’re here. As are people like Proctor (and many would say, people like Guyot).
The truth is every single one of us can come up with many examples of books and labels and authors and careers that make no sense, or “transend the genre” or “crossover” and or anything else we want. Many are already pointed out in these comments.
It’s busy talk.
Now, please don’t think I’m putting this thread down, or whining, or doing anything other than simply adding my opinion to the fray. My opinion being the same as Bill Murray’s in MEATBALLS…
It just doesn’t matter.
RGB and DJM made the definitive comments here. I’m just lapping at their water dish.
It’s all the same, all subject to POV, and in the end there are only good books and bad books.
I’ll confess, I do get caught up in debates like this one (and the mystery vs. thriller one that Guyot mentions). And even while I’m participating in them, I realize that they’re ultimately not particularly significant or meaningful. And that they don’t matter to the vast majority of readers (nor should they).
What can I say, though…I used to be an academic. And, other than petty feuds, pointless debating was what we did.
There are several “its” here and I think some of them matter.
The first “it,” the primary “it,” was extremely fuzzy thinking, along the lines of: Why is a kybbibblestan not a frockenfret? Well, because we have as a given that the kybb is lesser than the frockenfret. Why is that? Gee, I don’t know, let me pull something out of some organ and/or orifice and make up an arbitrary definition, which may or may not apply to kybbibblestan, but which will prove my very circular point.
Does it matter when my hometown newspaper provides a forum for this kind of thinking? It does to me. (It also matters to me when they write of some non-existent place called “Lincoln Park.” It’s LEAKIN, folks.)
Do things matter only if one has a chance to change someone else’s mind on the topic? In that case, NOTHING in my household matters.
Does it matter if someone degrades something/something you love? Hey, say something rude about my mother to test that theory.
I think it also matters that we try to figure stuff out and see things clearly, even if it usually doesn’t work and there’s no obvious benefit.
Oops, that was a value judgment.
“George Pelecanos is a better writer than I am, even if my wife might disagree.”
You say that as a writer and a critic, but there are those who would disagree (besides your wife). It’s all a matter of taste and taste is subjective.
I could tell you that Roy Yamaguchi (an amazing chef) cooks better food than Ronald MacDonald, but I KNOW people who disagree.
By saying we think Pelecanos is better than another writer is simply expressing an opinion that not everyone would share.
That said, I DO understand your point. There are benchmarks that most sane human beings adhere to. But for the most part (to beat a dying horse), it’s all subjective.
I was wondering where author names fit onto the label in the Genre Wars – likely a sub-set? If we did a blind reading test (ooh, not so easy to do, eh?) of authors from different genres, would we get the same outcome as the red/white wine tests? Or would the aroma be the writer?
(On your attire: I thought at first glance, you meant the clothing was from the “Junior Miss” section – plenty of petites do that without a second thought. But oh, it’s just old? Goodness – do men of taste throw out aged suits if they still fit? No. Er, don’t think so. Hm. Might need to flesh out my characterization of men who wear tailored suits. And perhaps women who shop in the petite section.)
The thought of me in the petite section is hilarious.
“There’s talk of good books and bad books here, but again, this determination is completely subjective.”
Completely subjective? There is NO objective standard of quality? I don’t think that’s true.
George Pelecanos is a better writer than I am, even if my wife might disagree.
Okay, I know we’re verging on dead horse territory (as you say)… But not everything is a matter of taste.
An 8-year old might string together some pages of sentences, with nouns and verbs and everything, but it’s not the equivalent of Shakespeare. One is not as good as the other. There is more at work here than simple opinion.
LOL. Well, yeah, I suppose when you put it that way, you’re absolutely right.
But take a moment to go over to the Internet Movie Database, choose a movie at random — or better yet, choose a critically acclaimed movie — and look at the range of viewer opinions there. I am constantly amazed when I see people trashing movies that I know in my gut are wonderful.
So who’s wrong? Me or them? Is it a good movie or a bad one?
Again, I completely understand your point, but I’m not sure WHO we can rely on to tell us what “good” means.
“literary fiction” is a term coined by a guy who had nothing better to do one day, taking a break from tamping his pipe tobacco, grading freshman comp papers, and who was asked what he was reading…he made it up..and as with all pseudointellects, the folks around him, because he had patches on the elbows of his shirt, and frowned a lot, and said things like, “popular fiction is a wasteland”, believed him,and agreed with him, mainly because he held their futures in the palm of his red pencil holding hand.
(Yea, I used to know one of these…and I still bear the scars…creative writing teacher….nothing like John D., or Lynn, or Jim H, or Les….he didn’t teach creative writing..he produced clones of himself. Except for me, who refused…and quit the class….and is still writing whatever the **** I want…