In my last post…

I offered some thoughts on the currently heated discussion of genre versus literary fiction and said I’d look at the experience of constructing my own novels.

So I did not begin with any such intentions, but it turns out that my novel The Obsession is a kind of hybrid, a cross between a psychological and a literary thriller, with elements of crime, mystery and suspense.  I simply set out to tell the story in my head, and this is the way it came out. To my mind there is nothing particularly innovative, groundbreaking or original about its methods, shape or purpose. Again, it was just the story I wanted to tell.

The three main characters all interested me enough that I gave each of them a point of view, in more or less alternating chapters and using what’s called the close third person. I wanted to dig deep into each, to present something of where they come from, how they think and see the world, and of course at least a little of what causes them to do what they do.

Sometimes accomplishing this, presenting information about each of these three people, may slow the action down and force the reader to wait a bit longer to learn about what happens next. But many writers, setting out on the more or less crazy endeavor of penning a novel, struggle with and worry over the tension between depth of character and narrative pace. Finally, you make your choices and live with the result.

And by the way, I also had no intention of writing a trilogy. One of the first people to read The Obsession, an old lit prof of mine, said he wanted to know what happened to certain characters after the story ended. So I started thinking about that and soon came up with outlines for two more novels, one of which, The Dissappearance, I’ve written and published. The third, The Tryst, I’m about to start.

Beyond the classic novelists we all read in school…

Dostoyevsky was the one who grabbed me most often. But it’s been a long time since I’ve read anything by the old Russian giant. In the decades since school, I have returned most often to Vonnegut, Bellow, Malamud, Roth, Le Carre, Simenon, Highsmith, Oates, Leonard, Furst, Rendell, Grisham, McEwan, and Amis.

An eclectic bunch, each read for his/her particular passions, pleasures and perspectives, astonishing skills, charm and wisdom, but it would be presumptuous to claim even that I’ve learned from any of them.

All I can say is that I have flat out loved books by each of them, and that what I do when I’m writing is to keep working and re-working, polishing and polishing again, until I at least like, and on rare occasions, love what I have written.

Readers have a basic hunger for knowing how the world works…

And I suspect that’s true even for those who say they read mostly to escape their troubled or hackneyed corner of the universe. We’re all looking for insight and meaning in all of life’s infinite variety. Sooner or later we decide if a writer has a clear and penetrating gaze, with a view as narrow as a laser or as broad as a flood light, and finally whether reading this book provides a special kind of pleasure.

Does the novelist give us that wonderful sense that she will miss nothing, that he possesses a mind so knowing that it comprehends in a flash and cuts to the essence in an instant? How about an ear so acute that it will capture, recall and make good use of the subtle, revealing nuances of everyday speech?

Does the author have a keen, knowing wit?

A deft way with language that will often please and surprise us with just the right word or phrase, a combination that provides not only delight but helps us see something common in our everyday life in a new way, thus giving it a new meaning?

In short, we ultimately ask ourselves, is she or he a writer who can help us discover a little bit more about what’s important in life and give us a resonating joy in the process?

The question of what genre we might be reading at that moment may well seem beside the point.

The post FLIRTING WITH GENRE (Part 2) appeared first on TVLOCICERO.COM.

In two recent posts titled Why Crime?…

I’ve talked about why we’re so taken with crime books and why crimes usually happen in my own books. One more (rather stray) thought occurred, and I decided to drop it in here:

It may be a good thing at times to remind ourselves that the most efficient, ruthless and, to my mind, disgusting criminals in our midst usually dress well. Those who deliver the most damage to the greatest number of lives around them often favor a well-tailored suit (occasionally one that includes a skirt) or an impressive military uniform, or, with some in the Middle-East, the kind of sparkling white robe we often like to picture Jesus wearing. They come with names like Madoff, Stanford, Mugabe, Gaddafi and Assad. Bin Laden, of course, favored the spotless robe but sometimes accessorized with a camo jacket over it.

Now some of those responsible for the most generous, good-doing activities on the planet also wear similar garb, so let’s not rush to judge a book by its cover, as they used to say back when books really did have covers and not some little jpeg image stuck to a web page.

And speaking of books…

I think it may also be risky to judge a book by its genre.

Not to waste your time, I don’t write fantasy, sci-fi, romance or horror. You could put a gun to my head, and I doubt I would write about zombies, werewolves, vampires or any variety of the undead. I have nothing against those creature or the genres they live in, and maybe if I had actually met one of those folks with the oversized incisors, I might have written in a different direction. But for the most part I don’t read in those genres either.

The comparative value of genre fiction versus literary fiction?

The topic has been hot lately, with interesting pieces by Gary Gutting in the NY Times, Arthur Krystal in The New Yorker, and Dwight Allen in the Los Angeles Review of Books. The term “guilty pleasure” is much bandied about in the discussion of genre novels, but I don’t set much store on it. I rarely feel guilty when I’m reading. It doesn’t matter what subject, style or genre, if I’m not getting some kind of value or pleasure from the collection of words in front of me—and that payoff can come in a multitude of ways—I usually stop reading and try something else.

Is Crime and Punishment genre?

A crime novel? The word is, of course, right there in the title, and can you imagine that powerfully compelling story without the murder at it’s core? But is it a genre construction? Well, no, few would say that, since it’s a world classic, unquestionably one of our great literary masterpieces.

Actually, the most helpful piece I’ve read on genre vs. literary is a recent blog/manifesto from the great Ursala K. Le Guin:

Literature is the extant body of written art. All novels belong to it.

The value judgment concealed in distinguishing one novel as literature and another as genre vanishes with the distinction.

Every readable novel can give true pleasure. Every novel read by choice is read because it gives true pleasure.

Literature consists of many genres, including mystery, science fiction, fantasy, naturalism, realism, magical realism, graphic, erotic, experimental, psychological, social, political, historical, bildungsroman, romance, western, army life, young adult, thriller, etc., etc…. and the proliferating cross-species and subgenres such as erotic Regency, noir police procedural, or historical thriller with zombies.

Some of these categories are descriptive, some are maintained largely as marketing devices. Some are old, some new, some ephemeral.

Genres exist, forms and types and kinds of fiction exist and need to be understood: but no genre is inherently, categorically superior or inferior.

For the whole piece, go to Book View Cafe. 

Let’s face it…

What we’re really talking about here is that unfathomable dance each novelist performs with each reader. Every one of us brings a unique consciousness to each novel we read. But that doesn’t mean we cannot share the experience with others in a deep and detailed way, while exchanging our personal preferences and judgments.

Sheer numbers, the test of time, the estimate of those who’ve made the study of literature their life’s work, the power of their arguments, the tenor of the times and the predilections and tastes of the moment—all these and more will play into a novel’s public valuation. But I find it hard to argue with Ms. Le Guin’s point that a novel’s genre should not be a determining factor. To me, her perspective seems not just democratic but practical and wise. How about you?

Next time I’ll go at this genre business with my own fiction in mind.

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