All That Glitters Is Not Gold

First I read this, and knew I had to write about it. Ouch. But Myers has a point worth making: prize-winning contemporary literary fiction can be pretentious, dull, and hard to read. Somehow, readers begin to feel that if we don’t like reading the book, the fault must be in ourselves. The “evocative” language, full of tortured metaphors; the obsessive repetition of phrases; the deliberate obscurity—all are echoes of James Joyce, Vladimir Nabokov, or T.S. Eliot. But of course they were geniuses, and a genius can get away with things that lesser mortals cannot. Many “serious” contemporary authors rush in where angels fear to tread, because the more obscure and “literary” your sentences are, the more likely you are to be praised by the literary establishment.

What Is a “Literary” Novel Anyway?
I once heard the talented mystery writer Walter Mosley say in an interview that he thought literary fiction was any book that didn’t fit into any other recognizable category. He was a little irritated, I thought, that his well-written books are still trapped in their genre—the implication is that they are “just” mysteries, and therefore not worthy of serious consideration. Mosley addresses issues of race, class, and gender from an African-American man’s point of view—surely under-explored territory. Why penalize him because his books have an actual plot and we can understand what’s going on?

Some of the best writing I’ve encountered has been in mysteries or science fiction or children’s literature. Any author who focuses on telling a story the best way he or she knows how, rather than on writing poetic sentences that will impress the Pulitzer committee, is an author I want to read more. Remember that once upon a time, Jane Austen wasn’t revered—she wrote the nineteenth-century equivalent of chick lit. But by applying her powers of observation to the world around her, even though it “only” dealt with the trials of finding a husband, she achieved immortality.

The Value of Entertainment
I think Myers is right: it’s bad writing if you stop and notice the writing at the expense of the book. A good book pulls you along in its flow, makes you care about the characters, makes you never want to stop reading. Reading shouldn’t feel like drudgery.

But what about Shakespeare and Joyce, you say? What makes them more worth our time than DeLillo and Proulx (to use Myers’s examples)? Well, for me, it’s because the work that one puts in to read the greats is more than repaid by the pleasure one receives in return. For example, Shakespeare understood very well that he had to please his audiences in order to make a living. That’s why his works continue to entertain even as they enlighten: Shakespeare wanted people to enjoy his plays. The element of joy is largely missing from contemporary works, which usually offer a completely bleak vision of the world. It seems that if a book is funny, it’s not taken seriously. If we had a friend who was as depressing as some literary characters, we’d avoid that person as much as possible.

So What’s a Reader to Do?
I say read what you like, not what Oprah or the Pulitzer committee tell you to read. That doesn’t mean you have to read only bestselling “mainstream” fiction. If you want to stretch yourself beyond thrillers, for example, try some classics in that genre, like the novels of John le Carre´. And try reading some of the books that have stood the test of time. I for one will probably not stop dipping into the well of contemporary literary fiction—I have gotten some good reads there—but it won’t be the only well I draw from, and when I don’t like a book after 50 pages, I abandon it. There are too many good books out there to torture myself reading one trying to convince me that there’s something wrong with my intellect if I don’t understand or enjoy it.