(Another rebuttal to James Kelman via Cheryl Morgan and Ellen Datlow)
So literary fiction isn’t generic?
Typical modern literary fiction is set in a realistic world, usually within the last 50 (stretching, perhaps, to 100) years. It often depicts characters who go on an ‘emotional journey’, who begin disturbed, or bereaved, and overcome or come to terms with this emotion; or else who begin naïve and, through some traumatic (usually) experience, mature. Often uses a poetic, or at least self-consciously aesthetic, narrative voice. Frequently attempts to tackle serious political or social issues of the present day: racism, 9/11, drugs, mental illness….
So I’m making absurd generalisations? So you can think of 1000 exceptions? So can I. But these are exactly the kind of assumptions advocators of ‘literary’ fiction make about ‘genre’ fiction.
The Princess Bride: Fantasy cliche meets farce.
Yes, there are fantasy books with dragon slayers who possess ornate swords and unpronounceable names, and who go forth to vanquish evil, winning fair maiden in the meantime (although you may have trouble finding them; they’re not that common). Yes, detectives usually solve the crimes set before them, yes there are a fair few spaceships and alien species floating around science fiction, and yes romances tend to end up happily ever after.
But it is extraordinarily narrow-minded to think that superficial details like these determine the quality of an entire book.
The realistic novel is a 19th century invention. We’ve been obsessed with it ever since, to the extent that we’ve forgotten that anything else (apart from, maybe, poetry, which no one reads anyway*) can be literature. But of course it can. I’m going to have to pluck a few examples off the (endless) shelf, here….
Science-fiction: this whole genre is hugely literary. Pioneered by writers like Mary Shelley, taking off in the late Victorian era with H.G. Wells, and carrying on up to Orwell, sci-fi has always been about pushing the boundaries of what is possible, of questioning what makes humans human, of exploring alternative solutions to social problems. Most of the sci-fi we call literature does not go to the extent of spaceships, but asks what would be the consequences if human ingenuity or tendencies went one step too far. Which is not to say that spaceships can’t be literary too.
The Picture of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde) – if this isn’t (proto-)magic-realism I don’t know what it is. The guy makes a wish and it comes true; he gives his soul to a portrait, and consequently never ages. That’s magic. It’s also literature.
18th Century Romance Novels – such as those by Defoe. These weren’t called novels. They were called ‘histories’. The pretence was that Robinson Crusoe, Moll Flanders, Roxana, and the rest, were real people, who really had lived for decades on desert islands/accidentally married their brothers/become mistresses of the king. These tales were in the same vein as ‘real life stories’ in magazines. They were popular because of their sensationalism and scandal. Roxana rockets to a racy page-turning finish. It’s breathtaking. It is also far from realistic. Whether Moll Flanders ever repents of her criminality is a matter of hot debate, and her character development is hardly secure. These ‘histories’ are formulaic, insofar as they are all presented as autobiographies of the sensational lives of individuals from humble backgrounds, often involving illicit affairs and general criminality. Buyers of such histories knew what sort of story they were in for. But they are still literature.
Dracula (Bram Stoker) – blood-sucking, animorphing, coffin-dwelling vampires, with stake and crucifix-wielding, sexy, ass-kicking slayers. Literature.
Titania: Fairy. With wings. And a silly dress.
Shakespeare – I’m sorry. Midsummer Night’s Dream: Fairies and men with donkey’s heads. The Tempest: Sprites, cannibals, and tropical sorceresses. Macbeth: Witches and prophecies. And no these were not considered realistic at the time.
In fact, the Shakespeare point deserves elaboration. Shakespeare plays divide into three main catergories. Or – wait for it – genres**. True, one or two of them are problematic. But at the time, at the time Shakespeare was criticised for not sticking to generic convention.
(Side note: Shakespeare was always the Big Man. Even when he was writing, all his contemporaries knew he was a Big Man. Some tried to compete. While he was still alive this seemed possible, but in fact none compare. Shakespeare really is that great. No. Really.)
This whole anti-formulaic business is a modern taste, not an artistic rule. Plenty of modern critics like to think its Shakespeare’s deviation that makes him so great, but that’s more narrow-mindedness. Too much deviation, and no one would have paid to see a Shakespeare play. In which case Shakespeare wouldn’t have written plays. What he does is use formulae ingenuously. If Shakespeare had written purely for the market, his plays wouldn’t have worked; they would have no soul and no appeal. But Shakespeare knew about money and he knew how to make the stuff. He writes good plays and he wants a tidy income (which he gets). Does this compromise his artistic integrity? I say no. I say all writers are bloody human.
Anyway. In the Renaissance ‘literature’ was, by definition, formulaic, and artistic originality was supposedly without value (this bias is as narrow-minded as our own, natch). Shakespeare may deviate, but tropes and conventions are still recognisable in all his plays. Every Comedy has a happy ending with either a wedding or the prospect of one, often of multiple couples, usually in a massive final scene in which all the characters come crowding onto the stage. Every Tragedy has a single tragic protagonist, usually with a fatal flaw (pride, envy, ambition, desire for revenge; the classics) who ultimately dies. The histories all have kings. And battles. And characters called ‘Gloucester’.
And if Shakespeare ever dares do something different, some whiner like Ben Jonson comes along and goes ‘OMG, Will, you got your Aristotle wrong again, you can’t call this literature, your Greek is like so shit.’
Back to the modern stuff.
I don’t know about you, but I have read some crap ‘literary’ books, which essentially use the fact that they deal with some serious contemporary issue to get themselves taken seriously as literature. Even if the narrative voice is stilted and awkward, the plotting nonexistent, the characters unconvincing. Never mind. It’s about 9/11. It must be nominated for a prize!!1
Is there such thing as modern literary ‘genre’ fiction?
Oh yes.
I’ll briefly mention magic-realism. It’s a controversial subject. The main objection to it, as far as I can tell, is that ‘magic isn’t real’. Well, no. But since when (and I hope I have demonstrated this) did literature have to only deal with what is real? It is how the non-real is dealt with that determines whether a book is literature, just as it should be how the ‘real’ (incidentally, ‘realistic’ fiction is still fiction. It isn’t really real. Ok?) is dealt with that makes realistic fiction literary.
But anyway.
Margo Lanagan’s Tender Morsels. This is a weird amalgam of fairytales set in an alternate world with added witchcraft. It’s fantasy. It’s also very literary. It’s about, among other things, the psychological consequences of incestuous sex and gang rape on a naïve girl and how this impacts on her daughters and their place in the community and self-identity. Yeah?
Sarah Hall’s The Carhullan Army. Britain after the oil runs out. Censorship, rationing, compulsory contraception. And a rebel female community out in the hills fosters those on the run from the corruption, and sets out to achieve change. A novel in the mould of classic literary science fiction, where present tensions get pushed a little too far and dystopia ensues. What values should we uphold whatever the situation? How do we deal with the break-down of ‘civilisation’?
And of course Margaret Atwood, and Angela Carter, and Haruki Murakami, and Meg Rosoff, and MAlorie Blackman, and Diana Wynne Jones….
…and more. Lots more. But not enough. And the ones that there are don’t get the attention they deserve, because modern society has, weirdly, conflated realism with literature. ‘Crossover’ (not that genre and literature should be mutually exclusive, but there you are) fiction is much more common in the children’s and young adult market***. Children have fewer biases, and, as their section of the bookshop is not divided into sections by genre, they don’t expect their fiction to be divided so neatly either. And they are happy to read for the story and not worry about whether what their reading is ‘literature’.
So what is ‘literature’?
Fuck knows. Ask Terry Eagleton.
*yes, I know some people do read poetry. By this comment I mean that the sales of poetry versus the sales of novels do not compare.
**the ‘romance’ and ‘problem play’ labels are modern inventions, which act in conjunction with the contemporary comedy/tragedy/history division.
***another weird idea of modern society: that ‘children’s fiction’ is an altogether separate ‘genre’, and as formulaic and unworthy of attention as adult ‘genre fiction’. More bullshit. But I’ll save it.
