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Name: Georganna Hancock
Location: San Diego, California, United States

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Thursday, January 25, 2007

Literary and Commercial

More than a year ago I was ranting about the differences in attitudes towards "literary" writing and "commercial" novels. In Fiction Death I wrote:

Is it a range of quality? Some think so. This conflict isn't new, and it isn't limited to the field of creative writing.
I thought I had posted recently on this schism, based on a contribution I made to a Writer's Digest forum thread, but possibly I pulled the post when I got to read Jodi Picoult's This Writer's Life: Jodi Picoult: Going Global. It made me so mad. Why do some people value a book only if it taxes their reasoning capacity and dribbles off into meaningless existentialism? Why is there no value in escape literature, happy endings (or at least a recognizable ending), and fast reads? I think Stephen King knows what I mean, based on his speech at The National Book Foundation:

I salute the National Book Foundation Board, who took a huge risk in giving this award to a man many people see as a rich hack. For far too long the so-called popular writers of this country and the so-called literary writers have stared at each other with animosity and a willful lack of understanding. This is the way it has always been. Witness my childish resentment of anyone who ever got a Guggenheim.
Despite in my own silly pop quiz, wherein I declared myself to only talk like a snob, a later quiz asking "What Kind of Reader are You? at gotoquiz.com actually declared that I am a Book Snob. This is as puzzling as King listing Piccoult as a writer like himself. Yes, I slogged through all of Gilead recently, and I'm glad I read it, but I would never have chosen it or looked for a copy of the book (it fell into my hands). Yes it did give me lots to think about. And it had no ending. I found that dissatisfying, too much like real life. My real life has always given me way too much to think about. That's why I like sci fi, to take me away, and horror, in which I know the terror isn't real.

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3 Comments:

Blogger Ballpoint Wren said...

My sister and I were just talking about this. Some friends of hers had given her a few titles to read, all somewhat successful "literary" novels, and she found them all so depressing that she wanted to throw them in the trash.

There was no hope in any of them, she said, unless it was cruelly and frequently dashed.

She said they're all about victims, and she wants to read a book about someone in a bad situation who pulls herself out of it, not about someone who suffers endlessly for no apparent reason.

She put into words for me what I've been feeling about "literary" novels. The fluffier ones typically do just as you say: have a happy ending, or at least just HAVE an ending that makes sense, happy or sad.

Lately I've had no patience at all for "literary" novels. I guess I'm all fluff.

5:03 PM  
Blogger Georganna Hancock said...

Oh, Bonnie, there's a word for about someone who suffers endlessly for no apparent reason: LIFE. I've had way too much life in my life -- I just want to escape it, most of the time. Fluff, take me away! (That's why I like your blog so much. It takes me away with laughter.)

7:08 PM  

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