[And now for the second part. You can read Part One here if you haven’t already.]2. Does the line do more harm than good? Delmater thinks so. She suggests that genre fiction has been ghettoized by being shoved into the backs of book stores, relegated to tiny little sections, or mislabeled to sell more copies a la Michael Crichton (her example). The problem? As far as I can tell, Crichton was already labeled as a genre writer, just as a writer of thrillers, rather than science fiction. Genre fiction includes a lot of genres outside of fantasy and science fiction, such as romance, mysteries, westerns, thrillers (of all varieties) and other categories that I can’t think of at the moment. Should Crichton have been categorized as science fiction? Yes, in most cases. The fact that he wasn’t doesn’t mean that he doesn’t write genre fiction, just that he wasn’t categorized as the most appropriate genre. At worst, Crichton has had his work shoved into the general fiction section, which is not actually a section that should be misconstrued as meaning “literary.” The kinds of stuff that appears in general fiction are just the things that publishers label as general fiction. Literary fiction sits in that section, but so does a lot of other stuff that is less-than-literary. But what about the whole shelving issue? Well, every chain bookstore I have been to has genre fiction rightsmack in the middle of the store (next to general fiction) and YA fiction to its own section (sometimes in the back, and other times not; the YA/children’s section is usually quite large, though). Small bookstores will sometimes have tiny sections buried in the back, but that’s largely because what sells for them isn’t genre fiction–otherwise they’d carry it. Most independent bookstores that I have been to, however, usually have a good supply of genre fiction on hand, and usually in a visible space. Maybe for Dalmater this is an issue of where she lives. If so, then I can’t blame her for thinking that genre fiction has gotten a bad rap when all you see is the evidence of such things. Such things aren’t “standard,” though. But Delmater also thinks that genre writers breaking into the “mainstream” are rare, citing J.K. Rowling as an example. I’m not sure that term means what she thinks it means, since “mainstream” readers do read a hell of a lot of genre fiction. In fact, if you look at the history of “mainstream,” it is typically used as a pejorative term to refer to what is considered to be the “popular” strain. Literary fiction is not “mainstream.” Not by a mile. In fact, there is so much talk about the general death of “literary fiction” these days and enough stories of literary authors selling only a few hundred copies of their recent literary venture that it’s almost impossible to suggest that literary fiction is “mainstream.” YA, fantasy, and romance, however, are mainstream. They are three of the dominant genres in terms of the reading public (though not necessarily in that order). One could argue that science fiction literature is no longer mainstream, certainly, but there is absolutely no doubt that the most read works these days are genre fiction, and that film is largely dominated by science fiction (thus, SF is mainstream in the film sense). Look at the hardcover bestsellers list. Right now, as of Oct. 9th, 2010, there are seven genre fiction titles in the top 15, with two or three others that could be argued as genre depending on whether you include historical fiction in that category (I do, but others don’t). On the trade paperback list, there are seven genre fiction titles in the top 20 and several that could be argued as genre. The list for mass market paperbacks, which sell better than the other two formats, shows fourteen genre titles in the top 20, and the number goes even higher if you decide to include historical fiction (once again). What does that tell you? People are reading genre fiction like crazy. There are all kinds of thrillers, mysteries, fantasies, and so forth in the top tier in terms of sales, and as soon as a Star Wars novel comes out, there’ll be more (incidentally, Amazon.com’s top 100 has eight genre titles in the top 20; this is in contrast to the NYT lists used earlier because the Amazon list includes non-fiction titles, which accounts for eight of the remaining twelve books). The argument that these things are not “mainstream” in the literary world is, as a result, total bunk. But–and here’s the clincher–Delmater is correct that many titles do get shelved in non-genre sections, and that this produces a problem. It has little to do with the literary mindset that “genre is not literature,” though. Margaret Atwood, for all her stupidity on the subject of science fiction, doesn’t run away from the genre fiction title as Delmater suggests; she simply runs away from the science fiction title (speculative fiction, after all, is still a type of genre fiction). Atwood, however, isn’t “mainstream” because she’s a literary writer; she’s “mainstream” because she sells a lot of books. But she doesn’t sell as many books as Stephen King, Danielle Steele, Dean Koontz, and many others. They represent the “mainstream” too, and more effectively than does Atwood or the folks that Delmater suggests are behind the sublit-erizing of genre fiction. They are also all genre writers. When it comes down to it, the argument about the “line” hurting genre writers only applies if one is concerned with “literary prestige.” If we’re basing the value of genre fiction on whether genre writers receive top literary prizes such as the Pulitzer or the Nobel, then obviously the line is killing genre fiction (even if a handful of genre writers have slipped through the literary cracks for those particular awards). But I don’t think that’s useful. We need to stop trying to hold ourselves up to the

Abyss & Apex’s most recent editorial features a series of interesting questions asked by a seventeen-year-old student about the difference between literary and genre fiction. These are questions we’ve heard before that are worth answering, but what I find most curious are the responses by Wendy S. Dalmater (editor of Abyss & Apex). Her responses routinely drag up false stereotypes that we’ve seen perpetuated for decades, not because there is any truth to them, but because they’re convenient for creating that “us vs. them” situation. After all, the divide between literary and genre fiction has been a ridiculous battlefield since the non-genre world realized that genre fiction, in all its stripes, wasn’t going away. I’d like to dispel some of these stereotypes, and, by way of critiquing Dalmater’s responses, answer the questions myself (in five parts). Part One: Why do you think there is a line between literary and genre fiction? It’s all in your head! The first question is a big one. Dalmater argues that the line “exists only in the minds of academic” and in “literary circles.” If only that were true. In fact, the line has existed culturally since its inception. It’s not just academics who say “that’s genre fiction, and I don’t read it.” Millions of readers, some of which might be academics, hold this viewpoint. It’s about time we get past this “academics are evil” phase of discussion, because the reality is that academia has shifted remarkably since the 1950s. How do I know? Because I’m an academic. The two people who are on my M.A. committee study science fiction, at least five others in the department do so as well, and my M.A. thesis director was mentored by Fredric Jameson, one of the most important theoreticians alive today who has actually written a book on science fiction (Archaeologies of the Future, in case you’re wondering). Throw in the fact that dozens of universities all over the world are open to discussions of science fiction and you’re really going to have a hard time making the case that only select types of individuals think the line exists. But Dalmater then offers two very curious things: J.R.R. Tolkien is apparently a “literary masterpiece” in the minds of those who created the line, and her attempt to describe the line. The the latter: I don’t know if she is an academic herself (a teacher, yes, but an academic, not necessarily, since the student is likely a senior in high school), but it seems somewhat silly to say “only academics and literary circle people think like this” in a negative sense, and then to say “but here’s what the line is.” The implication of the argument that the line exists “only in their minds” is that it’s fictive. If it’s fictive, then it doesn’t exist. Strange. Said the kid to the writer! To the former: I don’t know many academics or literary circle types who would see J.R.R. Tolkien’s work as a “literary masterpiece.” Bradbury (who she also cites)? Yes, absolutely. But this isn’t hypocritical. The problem with the line between literary and genre fiction is that the two categories overlap. There is such a thing as literary genre fiction. Fahrenheit 451, for example, is generally considered to be both. There’s nothing wrong with that. But Tolkien’s work has had a hard time finding purchase within the academic community. There are academics who study it, and a few folks who have written papers and lectures on the man’s material, but because Tolkien is a fantasy writer, his work is often relegated to a lower status. Science fiction has had an easier time of getting past the stigma. Thus came the novel… Dalmater’s explanation of the difference between literary and genre fiction, however, seems to suggest that she agrees with the notion that the two categories can overlap. She sees “literary” as an inherently aesthetic mode of textual creativity, and “genre” as an extension of the science fictional mode of “the literature of ideas.” I don’t quite agree, but I think the point is clear: the two genres do overlap, since one (literary) places focus on the style of writing, the emotional register, and the creativity of form, while the other (genre) looks at plot, ideas, and so forth. Those are basic distinctions, and it’s not unheard of for something from one side to have an affair with something from the other. In the last few years: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, The City and the City by China Mieville, The Wind-up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami, Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie, The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon, and many more. The point is that the line between “literary” and “genre” is fuzzy, and, to be fair, always has been. It’s not distinct and never will be. So long as folks from both sides of the aisle keep flirting with one another, we’re going to keep ending up with unexpected generic mutations (two-headed literary scifi babies, if you will). But things are different now. Genre is widely accepted both among readers and academics. There are still folks holding back, but these are the folks in academia who are becoming, in my opinion, increasingly irrelevant. For now, though, we have to accept that it’s not an “us vs. them” thing anymore. It’s about finding out what we’re doing wrong and how we can make genre better. Science fiction isn’t hurting right now because academics hate it; it’s hurting because because the genre, as a whole, hasn’t figured out what it’s doing wrong. I have a few ideas, but that’s for another post. (Part Two and Part Three) P.S.: Special gold stars to whoever can find the hidden haiku. It’s not very good, but whatever.