Popular Literature: Will it die?
It’s interesting what you find on the Interwebs these days. Not too long ago Stephen King went on record saying some rather entertaining things about Stephanie Meyers and J. K. Rowling: King compared the Mormon author to JK Rowling, saying that both authors were “speaking directly to young people”. “The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good,” he told an interviewer from USA Weekend. This is being likened to a virtual bitchslap and it created quite a response both in the news and in the blogosphere, including some interesting points about who has authority in determining what is good literature. Julia Weston says that all of us have authority in that (readers, writers, academics, etc.). But what’s more interesting about Weston’s blog post is this: I agree that as a population we’re too heavy on the “pop culture” right now, but I believe that – just like the economy – this type of thing runs in cycles. Eventually the majority of us will get tired of easy-reading pop fiction and long again for literary substance. The reality is that this will never happen. I know, I’m saying “never,” and you should never say never, right? But that’s just it, popular literature isn’t a form that arose because it was a get-rich-quick scheme. Popular literature arose because it had something to offer to a public that wasn’t necessarily educated, or perhaps didn’t enjoy reading because much of the “good” literature was too complicated or dull. These were folks that, while not simple, were looking for more simplistic prose styles to make the process of reading faster, smoother, and simply more entertaining. It’s not that folks who read popular literature don’t know what a good book is, it’s that they see literature for what it really is (entertainment) and have very specific opinions on what constitutes entertainment. There will always be a massive readership for popular literature (whether it be romance or mystery or science fiction or fantasy–in their “popular” formats, I mean). It’s not going to go away as Weston suggests. I think she places too much importance on “literary substance,” something nebulous and rather pointless as a descriptive term, and not enough importance on the power of a good read. Literary folks don’t have to like popular literary forms, but they do have to acknowledge that more people read it because it is less convoluted and more direct. It gets the job done without dragging the reader around on a leash. Because of that, it’s a form that will be with us for a while. There will always be people who read popular literary forms (and it will always be a large group). If it were just a fad, you would think that it would have died out a long time ago, but it has been going strong for almost a hundred years now and has only grown. It will continue to grow, too. Some readers may find their tastes changing, becoming more in tune with this “literary substance” thing; but they’ll be replaced by floods of other readers who are only interested in a fast, enjoyable read. We may not find the works they read of quality, but that’s based on our individual perspectives. Individuals only decide quality for themselves (and, in all honesty, there is no real way of determining quality beyond that). At most, we can expect certain factions of it to shrink. The Twilight and Harry Potter fans may find themselves unable to fill the void properly, resulting in some dropping off or being consumed by other popular novels. The only things that truly die in literature are isolated fads: urban fantasy will hit a ceiling and taper off (it will never go away); YA fantasy will likely remain a large entity, but will probably splinter into subgroups, some larger than others, some shifting in and out of the popular sphere; science fiction will shrink and expand as old genres are revitalized or lost. But popular literature isn’t going anywhere. We’re stuck with it, for better or for worse. If you enjoyed this post, please stumble it, digg it, tweet it, and leave a comment. Thanks for reading!
The Kindle Two: Audio Controversy or Industry Stupidity?
No release of a new and improved version of an already powerful piece of technology would be as interesting without a little controversy. Apparently the Authors Guild is upset about the new Kindle’s text-to-speech feature, claiming that it could “undermine the market for audio books” (Associated Press). The Wall Street Journal has a bit more to say on that: Some publishers and agents expressed concern over a new, experimental feature that reads text aloud with a computer-generated voice. “They don’t have the right to read a book out loud,” said Paul Aiken, executive director of the Authors Guild. “That’s an audio right, which is derivative under copyright law.” Now, quite a few folks with far more authority than myself have already spoken up on the issue, including Robert J. Sawyer and Neil Gaiman. They’ve made some fairly good arguments about the whole thing and I’d like to toss my two cents into the game. The problem with all this is that it is flirting dangerously close to the same line the music industry so idiotically crossed. And the music industry hasn’t contracted so much as literature has. True, as I’ve mentioned before, readership hasn’t actually drastically changed. Book sales are still high, with exception to everything following this massive recession we’re so firmly stuck in, and the same amount of people, if not a little more, are reading books now as much as they were about ten years ago–not to mention that most teenagers read a lot more these days than their parents did simply because access to the written word, particularly on subjects kids are interested in, is far better thanks to the Interwebs. What does this mean for the book industry if it crosses the line? It could spell disaster for it. The music industry was enormous when piracy first came into the public sphere. When they tried to stomp down on it by imposing harsh punishments and DRMing everything imaginable, they found that folks were far more willing to flip the bird to the big record labels and switch to the indie scene. But, the music industry didn’t die. It was big enough to survive its mistakes and it has done a decent job doing so. iTunes, as much as I despise it, has helped curb the piracy empire, though it hasn’t stopped. The music industry was at least smart enough to realize that it needed to begin changing its ways if it wanted to continue being profitable. The book industry, however, could find themselves in a horrible position by trying to impose the same rules. With all these electronic reading devices out there, if the book industry isn’t careful it could find that people will stop buying books entirely and use the electronic formats to get books for free. Add on to the fact that there is a thriving indie book community (podcasting, blog novels, etc.) and you can see where being music-industry-anal could spell certain doom. Audio rights are important; I’m not going to deny that. All rights are important, but when we start talking about suing Amazon for having text-to-speech technology installed on the Kindle Two, it’s like saying we’re going to sue mothers for reading to their children. Why should Amazon have to pay what would likely be an absurd amount of money for a feature that isn’t all that great anyway? Yeah, okay, I get the argument that some day technology will progress enough to make text-to-speech sound like something other than a craptastic, semi-realistic, mostly-robotic, humanoid demon. But that’s not happening tomorrow and it’s probably not happening for years. When that happens, then start bitching. Until it does, why can’t we stick with this feature? It won’t influence audiobook sales because people who like audiobooks are still going to buy them. A robotic voice cannot meet the production quality of a good audiobook. Period. And the people who are likely to use this feature regularly are probably not going to be people who would have paid the somewhat high price for an audiobook in the first place. Before we toss the almighty book of lawsuits at Amazon for adding a useful feature to their new techno-gizmo, we should consider the ramifications of that and the reality of the situation as a whole. We’re treading on dangerous ground in considering using the law to thwart technological progress; we’d be one step away from suing parents for reading to their kids, or blind people using a computer to read a book to themselves (a book they already paid $14.99 for)–or people reading to blind people, perhaps. When Amazon’s technology is able to actually replace audiobooks, then you can start demanding compensation. And maybe that will never happen. Maybe the next step for the Kindle (the Kindle Three, perhaps) is to make it capable of having both eBooks and audiobooks. That would make everyone happy, right? Imagine if Amazon’s enormous selling engine made it easier to buy and sell audiobooks through a wireless device? Consider that before we start making rash decisions and crossing the line.
Aliens and Spaceships Do Not a Science Fiction Make
Recently in my South African Literature course my professor, in talking about Nadine Gordimer’s July’s People, mentioned that the story, while not based on any sort of reality that we understand to exist, is also not a science fiction story because it doesn’t contain aliens or spaceships or anything like that. I, obviously, disagreed, but didn’t say so in class primarily because I didn’t want to have an argument over something that largely wasn’t relevant to our discussion at the time. This sort of misconception of science fiction seems to be rampant in the “literary” world and I’m not quite clear as to why. While it is certainly true that much of what makes up science fiction literature, film, art, etc. revolve around the tropes (spaceships, aliens, etc.), there is also an enormous body of science fiction that is completely devoid of these elements. But they aren’t seen as science fiction. Why? Is it because the “literary” world refuses to acknowledge that science fiction is about far more than just aliens and spaceships, that it’s a genre of speculations about what may be under the umbrella question “what if?” Authors such as Margaret Atwood have made it clear they dislike being labeled as science fiction, and, of course, you have to wonder why. After all, quite a lot of people read science fiction, and if you could act as a gateway into other literary forms that those SF readers might not have encountered before, isn’t that a good thing? And it works the other way too. What’s wrong with reading science fiction? Should we enjoy the reading process and isn’t the fact that people actually read at all a good thing? When starting this post I immediately thought of such works as Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union and McCarthy’s The Road, among others. Both are science fiction stories, but written for a “literary” audience. Perhaps this is a trend now; we put the works that lack the most flamboyant of SF tropes in the “literary” category as a way of marketing them to an audience that may not have been receptive with the SF name flashing on a metaphorical billboard. I simply would like to see the “literary” world acknowledge that science fiction isn’t limited to aliens and spaceships, but is a genre that encompasses politics, sociology, biology, and much more. Being marked as a “science fiction tale” is not a debasement, but, perhaps, an honor. If you liked this post, please stumble it, digg it, or buzz it.
Readers, Authors, and GRRM: Angry Over Waiting (for the next book)?
Apparently the blogosphere is alive with discussion of fan reactions to George R. R. Martin’s rather long writing periods between installments of the A Song of Fire and Ice series. Some folks agree and are either dropping GRRM from their libraries or simply bitching about it; others are defending GRRM and bitching about everyone else. My opinion on this matter probably won’t make anyone happy. In fact, it might just tick off some folks who read this blog or know me. Now, I haven’t read GRRM, obviously, but I’ve read plenty of other series, some of which have had relatively long wait times. The Harry Potter series took forever to finally be finished, but fortunately for that series, I didn’t start reading all the books until the sixth one was about to be released; my wait was short. But there are other series that weren’t so fortunate to have snatched me up late in the game. What happens to the authors of these series? I drop them. Now hold on, hear me out. I don’t drop them because they are bad authors/writers, nor because I’m pissed off that I have to wait. I drop them because I just don’t care anymore. I’ve lost interest. I’ve moved on to other things. The thing is, waiting two or three or five years for the next book in a series is too much for me. I’ve stopped reading the Eragon books for this very reason; by the time Brisingr came out, I had lost interest. I like being able to stay connected to a series as it is being written, but those two plus year lulls contribute to my forgetfulness, and unfortunately there are few, if any, series I’m willing to read over and over to gain back the details I’ll need to fully understand what is happening in the new installment. And I read too much as it is (for school, mostly) to dedicate an entire section of my brain to every minute detail of one series. This, however, does not mean I think we should boycott authors or throw a fit when one takes too long. GRRM likely has damn good reasons for taking a hell of a long time to produce a book. I don’t know. But if you’re so upset with the author that it makes you red in the face, then maybe you should find someone else to read. GRRM doesn’t need the stress from you haggling him ever ten seconds to hurry up with the next book and it’s probably not healthy for someone to get ticked off every minute just because a book hasn’t come out that you want. Give him some slack or drop him and find someone. Don’t email him about it either. That’s just rude. And that is all. Any thoughts?
Science Fiction/Fantasy Awards: The Hugos and Other Things
Recently the blogosphere has been somewhat up in arms about the whole SF/F awards thing, particularly the Hugos. After reading some of what Adam Roberts had to say and what some others said in response, I decided that I should give my two cents on the issue. Apparently there are two primary items that folks are discussing: the Hugo Awards aren’t getting enough votes (apparently a horrendously dismal amount); and whether or not awards like the Hugo, Nebula, etc. are worthless. My personal opinion on the voting problem for the Hugo Awards is that the folks that run it are simply outdated. Back in the day (assuming that they’ve run the Hugos relatively the same since when it first started out) there weren’t a lot of ways for folks to communicate about their favorite books. There was no Internet, telephoning people you didn’t know was pretty much impossible (or creepy), and basically the only way to really connect was either to go to one of those new-fangled conventions or hang around with a local SF/F group. In those days it made a lot of sense to have an award that was voted on by attendees of a convention. There weren’t a lot of books to read back then (so the big ones tended to shine through) and the folks who were likely to vote were already going to be at Worldcon. But with the invention of the Internet, the Hugo Awards are a bit outdated these days. The problem is that folks who can’t attend the convention aren’t likely to spend $50 to be able to vote on a favorite book, and those at the convention either aren’t voting because they don’t care, or aren’t voting for the same books (or something of that nature). The thing is, the Hugo Awards are a fan-based award (primarily speaking). Why is it that most fans can’t vote? Now, granted, $50 isn’t a lot, but if you can’t go to Worldcon, it’s kind of a lot of money just to be able to cast a vote. And with the economy in crummy condition, do you honestly expect anyone to fork out $50 to get to vote for an award that largely means nothing to them? My suggestion on how to fix the Hugo Awards to make them more appealing is to change the entire structure to allow for folks who haven’t paid to vote. Sure, that might tick people off, but at the very least you could make it so the votes of Worldcon members are worth more than non-Worldcon members (like Locus). This would get more people involved who don’t have the money to become a member. We have to remember that one of the largest audiences of SF/F is not a bunch of old guys with steady jobs; it’s teenagers and college kids. We’re the ones consuming these books in large quantities (especially fantasy). How many teenagers do you know that are willing to fork out $50 to vote? I don’t know any. I wouldn’t have. I’d rather have spent that $50 on movies and crap that I didn’t need. The Hugo Awards, in my opinion, forget about these folks precisely because they are outdated. This needs to change so that the Hugos do more than be remembered as “some award,” but become something more fans actually care about. And that’s where my thoughts on the whole “awards are rubbish” thing come in: To me, none of the awards really matter at all. While I think they are wonderful for the authors and probably have a good impact on sales, I don’t necessarily care. A book with “Hugo Award Winner” on the cover is not likely to make me jump with joy to read it. I simply don’t buy or read books that way. I think of these awards along the same lines as the Oscars. They’re more symbolic than anything else. But that’s me and I am in no way the only opinion. There are those who think the awards are garbage and worth nothing. I disagree. I think many do pay attention to the awards when buying books (or at least notice them in a good way). I think the awards need to exist to congratulate good authors for good genre writing. But I get the point. For folks who really don’t care, who hate the politics behind it, etc. awards really are valueless. That’s just the way it is. I also understand Adam Roberts’ point about SF/F awards having too much focus on the fanbase. I think there need to be more significant awards that don’t take fan-voting into account, but judging. This might sound screwed up, ignoring the opinions of fans, but fans tend to latch onto the same kinds of books and don’t always move outside of that comfort zone. The awards aren’t really about that; they’re about the best works in the genre. That has to be emphasized more. The Hugo is great for being a fan-voted award, but we need more judge-voted awards out there to make sure that none of the greats that folks might not have read or ignored for some reason slip through the cracks. What do you think about all this? If you liked this post, please stumble it, digg it, etc.
Literary Snobbery (Part Two): To Participate or To Consume
To hinge off yesterday’s post, I’d like to talk about a few more of the arguments presented here. Last time I talked about this idea of “artistic expression” and how, generally speaking, it’s a load of crap to assume that one form of literature is artistic and the other isn’t. This time it has more to do with the issue of the supposed differences between “literature” and “pulps,” a distinction that Roby made. Roby begins this topic with this bit of nonsense: …there is a very large difference between participating in a dialogue through the written word and consuming a product designed to make you feel good. They are, really, fundamentally, completely different things that share superficial similarities. It’s all just reading, right? Wrong. When you read literature, you are a participant; when you read pulps, you are a consumer. An example is probably in order. No, not really. There used to be this difference before the invention of the printing press, but the way literature is consumed and produced these days has little to do with the delusional fantasy of being in “dialogue” with the written word. All literature, with the exception of that which is not put into book format and shipped out for us to buy in the store, is a consumable commodity. Literary fiction doesn’t get an out simply because it has flowery prose. We consume literary fiction in much the same way as pulp fiction: by reading it. There is no difference except in how we read it. This nonsense about being a participant in reading literature and a consumer in reading pulps is absurd. Since publishers produce based on profit, there is a necessity for all published work, including literary fiction, to be a commodity and, thus, consumable. A publisher doesn’t intentionally put out drivel; the publisher, producing any form of literature, is in this to make a profit; that’s their purpose. You may be a participant and a consumer, but you don’t get to pick and choose unless you get all your books for free and the person that gave it to you didn’t pay for it, and so on and so on. Since we pay in some fashion for books, we are consumers of them. And basing this critique on how one feels after having read a work of fiction is somewhat contradictory. The work he considers to be pulp do not always produce this “feel good” emotion. Literature produces all sorts of emotional connections. Plus, if you consider that human beings are not all the same, our emotional reactions are poor indicators of literary quality precisely because there would be little to no consensus on the matter. Someone might feel quite good reading a literary novel about apartheid, or someone might feel like crap–and, likewise, someone may take joy in reading something literary, or may find it dull and meaningless. What is shared, however, is the joy in the reading experience, which isn’t the exclusive domain of pulp fiction, but the domain of all literature. But the absurdity doesn’t stop there. Roby has to give a good example of where fantasy has failed, pulling out George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones from its dusty perch: When you read George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones, you have a very different reading experience. Within the first page or so, you are assaulted with strange words and concepts, none of which are really explained…This is thrust at you without context, but if you are the sort of reader Martin expects you to be — adolescent, introspective, considering yourself to be a little smarter than most of your peers, and versed in medieval and fantasy tropes — you will figure out “for yourself” that the culture the character comes from marks time by the melting down of candles. And you can give yourself a little pat on the back for proving to yourself that you really are a smart fellow. So, essentially Roby doesn’t like GRRM primarily because the work, being a fantasy work and thus the domain of an imagined, non-existent world that you shouldn’t know much of anything about in the first place, attempts to make itself authentic in its presentation by having the characters count time by candlewidths and the like; and Roby perceives this as a deliberate attempt on Martin’s part to make the reader feel proud of him or herself at having figured it out (but Roby is offended because, I guess, he sees this as patronizing). Well hold on a second. What did Roby expect? Did he think he would dig into this book about a place that doesn’t exist and find familiar references? This is equivalent of someone from the U.S. reading a book from a country he just found out existed and then expecting it to reference American pop culture (and then being disappointed when it, in fact, stays true to its cultural roots). When you read work set in a place you’ve never been and know very little about, there is always a lack of context, even if it is literary fiction. I certainly know little about Nigeria, and if I were to read a fiction novel written by someone from there who remained culturally true, I certainly wouldn’t be upset that I had to figure out some of the references on my own. And I wouldn’t see it as a patronizing moment on the part of the author that I had figured it out. To add, I suspect that Roby is not that well read in the fantasy genre, which explains his dislike for GRRM. One should really attempt to understand the roots of the genre if one is going to take it so seriously. And to top it all off, there is this from Roby (speaking about fiction like GRRM’s A Game of Thrones): If that wasn’t enough of an insult on its own, this sort of bad pulp works by coopting the tropes of actual literature that preceded