Fable of My Deconstruction: A Response (of a sort) to Sonya Chung at The Millions

Warning: This is Really Long. If you read the whole thing and actually leave a comment, I may have to send you some flowers.

This post at The Millions by Sonya Chung inspired a flurry of comments online and in the Twitterverse. There are few readers, it seems, who do not have an opinion of some sort about what can and can’t be called genre fiction and what can and can’t be called literary fiction.

Chung approaches the “controversy,” if it can be dignified with the name (that’s not a diss on Chung, but on the state of reading), from the high-brow side of the fence. Chung, a freelance writer and fiction teacher whose debut novel will be published next year, writes: “In my fiction classes, I always ask students to fill out a brief survey on the first day of class so I can get a feel for their reading interests; invariably, a number of students list Dean Koontz or Dan Brown or Nora Roberts (most recently and markedly) Stephenie Meyer as their touchstones. When I see these writers' names or hear them mentioned in class, something goes thud in my stomach and a low-grade dread begins to buzz in my head.”

Chung goes on to say that if on reading that you think she’s a snob, “…we may be at an impasse.” Her entry (which goes on much longer, and contains many smart, thoughtful arguments about the need for smart, thoughtful fiction writing) focuses on the fact that much genre lit (and she does point out that she knows not all genre lit falls into this rut) merely entertains and does not enlighten.

But you’ll have to forgive me for not responding to the entire post, for Chung had me at “students,” and it’s about those students I’d like to hold forth for a few hundred words. (I’ll let the blog and Twitter commenters continue the rest of the debate for now, which is a very interesting one; I’ll take it up later this week).

Please bear with me; this story may be a tad discursive, but I promise I have a point. For nearly four years in my growing-ever-more-distant past, I taught nighttime community-college English composition and literature. My students , many of whom were soldiers, worked all day and then came to up to four hours of class each sweltering Texas evening. Some were working on associate degrees, others fulfilling credits towards bachelor’s degrees, but let’s put it this way: Not one of them was there based on love of literature.

(NB: Chung’s students presumably are taking writing classes because they do love literature and/or they want to “be writers.” Chung and I and most of the rest of you know that the two things are not congruent, nor is the urge to Have Been Published the same as living a writing life, but those are problems to be taken up at another time.)

Like Chung’s students today, when asked to list their favorite authors on the first-day-of-class index cards I handed out, nearly all of my students named genre writers: James Patterson. Dean Koontz. Tom Clancy. Robert Ludlum. Nora Roberts. Danielle Steele. The occasional Jeffrey Deaver or Thomas Hamilton or Jan Karon. Those, of course, came from the students who actually had a favorite author, or even a favorite book (if there was no “Favorite Author” on the index card, usually “Favorite Book” would be “The Bible”).

When I began teaching these classes, I was just months finished with living inside The Academy as we refer to that place of heuristic action for intellectuals. (Side note: If “The Academy” were a video game, black-leather-jacketed theoryhead thugs would roam tree-lined paths at will, seeking muddleheaded students like me to beat up with stinging phrases like “Derridean dogma” and “You probably like reader-response criticism,” but I digress.) This will tell you all you need to know in case you’ve never considered pursuing a PhD in literature: During my years in graduate school, I never once picked up a book for sheer pleasure. I can remember the day I finally did to the very hour. I saved “Possession” by A.S. Byatt to read after I’d passed my master’s orals. I passed, left the building, walked across Grounds and bought a pair of earrings I’d been coveting, and then went straight home and began reading.

That was pretty much the hour I knew I’d never go on to earn a doctorate. I know that others are able to do what I could not: Continue to love reading while plowing through volumes and manuscripts of academic writing. I needed to return to enjoying books and not deconstructing them. (Of course, maybe I was just tired. But sometimes battle fatigue determines a life’s course.)

However, despite my experience with “Possession,” I was still so much a product of the ivory tower that I didn’t at that time connect my devouring of Byatt’s big fat piece of high-brow genre lit with anyone else’s genre lit. When I’d get those index cards back from my students, my snobby little heart would sink.

I’d spent years deconstructing poems, novels, and plays, but (sob) I’d never been to me.  Go ahead, laugh. I certainly did when I realized how single- and simple-minded I was being in judging these reading choices.

For here, at last, is my point (I told you I had one!). When I finally clued in to just how different my own recent experience was from that of my students (I was married, but child-free during grad school, with no financial worries and no job save schoolwork), I realized that they could not possibly find the same way in to literature that I had. Books, stories, and movies are full of tales in which a struggling blue-collar person’s life is Changed Forever by reading Kerouac or Balzac – but in real life, my hard-working students were more apt to find their lives changed by Norman Schwarzkopf’s autobiography than Shakespeare.

But I was not only charged with teaching them Shakespeare; I wanted them to learn to read and appreciate Shakespeare. What I had to do – and what I did do, with mixed success – was to figure out what it was that drew them to genre fiction in the first place. I was probably the best lab rat ever for this experience, since I’d never read any of it. My mother was hugely controlling in (mostly) the best way, reading real literature to me from her own college textbooks when I was very, very young: My favorite bedtime story during elementary school (I kid you not) was “The Masque of the Red Death” by Edgar Allen Poe. My sixth-grade teacher gave me “If Beale Street Could Talk” by James Baldwin. I flirted with Victoria Holt during junior high, but returned to Henry James during high school.  But anyway…many of you reading this could recount similar histories. I was as dissimilar from my students as possible.

So I started reading some genre fiction. In those pre-Internet days, I had to either drive nearly two hours to Austin and BookPeople if I wanted to find something good to read, or or pick up whatever I could find at the local mall’s WaldenBooks. Since I had a toddler at home, WaldenBooks usually won out – and its selection of genre fiction was just dandy. I bought mysteries. I bought thrillers. I bought spy stories and detective novels and romances and fantasy. After I’d finished grading (mostly miserable) papers and placing Post-It Notes on new spots in my increasingly ragged Norton Anthologies, I read the books that my students read – on weekends, on vacations, on work breaks.

Any time they wanted to escape.

Sonya Chung, again:

“But enjoy your genre books, I say. Life is tough, we all seek ways to effectively distract and soothe ourselves. Consume your genre series with gusto and pleasure, like a drippy, juicy bacon burger; kick back and let them carry you away weightlessly, like an after-midnight Wii session. But do not imagine or attempt to argue that they play a vital role in augmenting the human experience. They allow for, are designed for, reader passivity and thus do not do what Joe Meno described eloquently in Edan Lepucki’s profile this week:

‘Books have a different place in our society than other media. Books are different from television or film because they ask you to finish the project. You have to be actively engaged to read a book. It's more like a blueprint. What it really is, is an opportunity... A book is a place where you're forced to use your imagination.’”

Here is where I differ from Chung, although I do not entirely disagree: The books my students read, while not as nutritious as more serious fiction, were just as vital in their human experience. When you don’t know that blueberries are full of antioxidants or hell, you just loathe their taste because you didn’t eat them while you were growing up, you may turn to junk food for your fruit. If you grow up in a home where there are no books, where no one reads anything deeper than the phone book, well, then, your “way in” to literature may be James Patterson. Or Jeffrey Deaver. Or Nora Roberts. And so on.

 This is an extremely long response to Chung’s post. Let me summarize my rambling thesis: In my first post-graduate-work job teaching, I learned that not every student came to literature with the same reading experience, and I came to understand and even at times enjoy some of the genre fiction that my students did.  

Next: What I Learned from Canned Lit

 

 

 

Comments

[Chris@bookarama]

Growing up, my book choices were about economics. I didn't have a lot of money to spend on books. I fell in love with the classics because I could get a big honking book for $3. That's a bargain! At the same time, I read all my mom's Harlequins (also a cheap read). They both had their merits but the classics won out.

Why? The writing was just better. I have no problem with either genre fiction or lit-tra-chore as long as it's well written. At least, with a classic it's been time tested. Now that I think of it "well written" might be a matter of taste. I like long descriptive passages. Someone else would fall asleep reading.

Of course, I already loved reading (I was the kid in class who read ahead of the assigned reading). If a young person only ever reads Dean Koontz from now until the end of time, at least they are reading. The ones who have no favorite book make me sad.

[Lenore]

I think there is a place for both. I'm a fan of literary fiction, sure, but it doesn't have to be the highly intellectual, snobby kind. I am more looking for creative inspiration, and these days, you can find that as easily in genre fiction as the "greats".

[expatina]

I, too, am late to the game but I feel it cannot be said enough that the term "genre" doesn't necessarily mean Dan Brown or Danielle Steele or anyone else who's a dreadful writer--or those quickie novels written committee with a name (by Paige Turner) stuck on.

I say this as someone who tried writing romance because my agent suggested it was a good way to write fiction. I had about 10 romance novels pubished under various names(seriously, I don't even remember how many without looking it up) after reading the first, and only, three Harlequins I ever read. Then I realized I wasn't getting any closer to writing quality fiction and went back to non-fiction books and journalism.

Most romance writers aren't writing good fiction, whether they're good writers or not--otherwise, their books would be midlist. Many mystery and science fiction writers are talented writers turning out excellent books (I'm a mystery fan, and I would argue that people like Elmore Leonard, Christopher Brookmyre, Ruth Rendell, et al might transcend genre but genre writers they are when you're looking in a bookstore).

And, as someone once said, any good book is a mystery because it gets you hooked on finding out what happened.

I would worry less about the type of books students choose than the writers they like. To my mind, Dan Brown isn't a writer. He's just a man who puts words together. I remember the heyday of Robert Ludlum, a bad writer buy good yarn-spinner. And, of course, some highbrow authors are unreadable. So I think the real lesson is to beware of labels. And thanks to Permanent Paper for Tweeting the link so I could become a follower!

[Margie]

Why is it snobbery to say literature is better for you? It's like the difference between junk food and nutrition. Reading books like Twilight might satisfy your sweet tooth, but they can't sustain your soul. I guess it depends why you're reading. Do you read to escape, or do you read to understand and accept the human condition? Escape is okay, but isn't understanding better?

[CJ West]

Bethanne, Fabulous post and thank you for finding your way to genre fiction! As a thriller writer, I've seen my share of lit-snobbery. I love what I do and I am so glad that you made the point that genre fiction can enlighten. I strive to make my work fast-moving and meaningful, but one of the most satisfying aspects of my work is when I receive a note that goes something like this...

"I have been very ill and your work has helped me forget my condition and drift away with your characters for a few days."

If this is the highest level of achievement for my work, I am delighted. It seems that the academic community fails to realize that there are millions of people out there with lives focused on other pursuits.

Just because someone likes a good story doesn't mean they should have to labor over every sentence, just like someone who enjoys going for a walk shouldn't be pushed to train for a marathon.

[Joe Wallace]

Here's an example I love: In my opinion, Lawrence Block's best Matthew Scudder novels capture essence of New York City at the brink in the late 1970s and early '80s better than all the BONFIRES, BRIGHT LIGHTS, and AM. PSYCHOS put together. A century from now, I believe 8 MILLION WAYS TO DIE, A TICKET TO THE BONEYARD, and WHEN THE SACRED GINMILL CLOSES will still provide a vivid map of that time. (I was there.)

So why aren't they ever discussed when people talk about great NYC novels? Because they're "just" mysteries and thrillers.

[David J. Montgomery]

People should read whatever they want. I'm just happy if they READ.

[David J. Montgomery]

p.s. I taught community college for 5.5 years and I don't think most of my students even knew what a book was.

It wasn't that they were dumb -- although some of them certainly were. But a lot of them were from immigrant families, or lower-income families, or families that didn't have books in the house for whatever reason. Even if those factors weren't present, there just wasn't a culture of reading among kids their age.

I'd have been ECSTATIC if one of them said s/he liked to read Dean Koontz. This type of snobbery is just so boring.

[GWENDA BOND]

I often wonder if people indulge in blanket dismissals of genre literature because they haven't tried it or because they don't possess the imagination necessary to engage with the best of it as readers. The argument that only Blessed Academia or Lit Cabal-approved books can "augment" the human experience is COMPLETE nonsense and totally insupportable. I could go on, but I'll stop.

Thanks for the post and looking forward to pt. 2. I'd somehow completely missed the one at the Millions.

[Virginia Guilford]

Maybe we should consider that it is not only 'what you read' but also 'what you think' that counts. My academic training was as an anthropologist and the habits of field work and observation of everyday life have stayed with me. Currently, my favorite reading is popular British women's and children's fiction written from the 1920s through the 1950's. Just for fun, I am trying to create a mental picture of life at that time based on the clues provided in contemporary novels. Current favorite authors include Angela Thirkell, Barbara Pym, Enid Blyton, Elinor Brent-Dyer, Patricia Wentworth, Noel Streatfeild, EM Delafield. Most of their novels would be dismissed as mere genre fiction - and I do love the jolly stories. But the social history they reveal is fascinating to me, and every read and reread provides me with more to think about.

[Suzanne Arruda]

At a faculty author's reception, I once had a faculty member look at my historical mystery, turn up his nose and say "Oh. So you're a market writer" in a voice that suggested that I ate children for snacks. I informed him politely that Shakespeare was a market writer, too. I'm in good company.

[Keir Graff]

Great post--reminds me of an essay I liked last year, "Leaving Literature Behind," by Bruce Fleming http://chronicle.com/free/v55/i17/17b01401.htm. I review both "literary fiction" and crime fiction and can't imagine living without either. (And sometimes I can't even tell the difference between them.)

[JOANN]

What is Sonya Chung's claim-to-fame anyway? I bet she is a lot of fun (NOT).

Margie, it IS snobbery when someone like this tootsie suggests that literature is the only way. To me, she throws the word literary around too much, as if it is a crutch she needs to help her. She even has called her own, upcoming novel, "literary fiction".

I can hardly wait to see the reviews.

Right now I am going to her website to read some of her stories.

[Terry Weyna]

I read everything: literary fiction, science fiction, mysteries, fantasies, horror, slipstream, nonfiction in every subject. If it holds still long enough, I read it. Hell, I've been known to read the backs of cereal boxes if nothing else is to hand.

Without question, what most stretches my head is science fiction, fantasy and horror -- and the slipstreamy stuff that combines all of it and/or crosses over into literary fiction. If you want to really exercise your imagination, read about another world entirely, with alien creatures. That's not sitting back and being entertained; that's using your head. Try reading some serious hard SF, like Robert Forward's Dragon's Egg, and wrap your head around the science that's integral to the plot. Pick up China Mieville's Perdido Street Station and try to picture the various characters and the city he has created, Bas-Lag. This is the work that makes your imagination go Zing! -- not work set in this world, this time, this place.

Two of my most recent reads were P.F. Kluge's Gone Tomorrow, an academic novel (and a really, really wonderful one, at that; finally, an academic novel that isn't a satire, at least not wholly) and Richard Morgan's The Steel Remains. Morgan was the tougher read, the one that took more out of me, that required more of my attention. Kluge's was the escape, though it is clearly a more "literary" novel. Morgan's will be hard to review on my blog; the review of Kluge's novel practically wrote itself.

Snobs should do as you did, Bethanne, and read what they're missing. Bet they'd change their minds.