When Genre Fiction Goes Literary

[pameladlloyd]

I knew there was a reason, beyond simple pique, that I disliked seeing genre fiction being marketed as mainstream or literary fiction. Now Kit Whitfield, discussing Saki and Angela Carter's writings about werewolves, in her article "The Story of the Werewolf" in the farewell issue of The Journal of Mythic Arts explains why this is a bad thing for genre fiction.

Saki and Carter are too good to fiddle around with — they stand alone, and elaborating on them seems rather pointless. Besides this, they have both managed the trick we sometimes witness in non–mainstream writing: an author writes a story, in a certain genre, and produces something so well–crafted and intelligent that people end up not thinking of it as a member of that genre at all, but rather as a literary work, which happens to include elements of a particular genre but, as it were, rises above them. Write a good enough genre story, and it doesn't get considered genre. It's a self–perpetuating trend, because if all the best works get officially sublimated out of, say, the horror category, then what's left are the less advanced works, and any author who writes another good horror story will be likewise sublimated out of a kind of critical courtesy, so as not to confound him with the works that have officially failed to transcend their genre and remain just plain horror, romance, or whatever. With all the best examples labelled [sic] as something else, a genre's reputation sinks, ambitious and innovative writers start to avoid it, and it remains publicly perceived as trashy, even when there's no artistic reason why it should be.

What do you think? Is it bad for genre fiction when all the best works are labeled something else? Or does it help the status of the genre to have works that might otherwise be categorized as genre fiction be labeled as literary fiction?

Comments

[chupacabrito.livejournal.com]

I learned that my children's stories would "not be acceptable" about the first week I began school.Our school has one of the best writing departments in the country and, naturellement, the literature snobs it attracts are of the most severe nature.

For me, I was lucky to discover this before I submitted my first story. Phew.

As a self-protection device, I became exceedingly good at writing what both my peers and teachers wanted to read. I escaped the scathing peer critiques and managed to bumble through fours years of a writing degree as one of the few condoned and approved by the tight knit "elite" clique. As long as I kept writing what they considered, ahem, "lit-trit-chure."

Of course, the toll this took on me I still can't measure the impact of. I lost the ability and I can not write anymore. I'll let that underscore itself.

The thing was, they ate up the exact same devices over and over again. Obviously I got good at it because it was a clear pattern which I could then repeat over and over. The types of writing they tended to like could have well been called a genre. Gasp.

I'm a huge literature snob. I enjoy and frequently read post-modernist authors, dense Russian novels, or whatever smattering of classical writing might be on offer. I was never been much for "genre" fiction and looked down my nose at it for years. But mindset of these people wasn't aimed at the writing, it was largely about peer groupage and self-presentation. Ah, both lovely reasons to write! It pushed me far into the favor of the genre fiction's court and brought about an overall readdressing of my literary values.

So, when I next sit down to pen a story about... drawing maple syrup in the forest with...my estranged father... in the falling winter snow... while coming to terms with my male sexuality... (how easy it is!) I'll market it under genre: This Looks Good Sitting on Your Coffee Table.

So, long live writing for fun and passion! I'm afraid others will have to carry on the torch in my place.

[pdlloyd.livejournal.com]

Elly, I hope there will come a time when you and your creative spirit can be comfortable with each other again. I remember how beautiful the little creation myth was, that you wrote for our skit at TusCon. There I was, the adult, someone who'd been working on her writing for years, yet it was you who was able to sit down and write exactly what we needed and it was wonderful.

I never knew that you didn't care for genre, or if I did, I'd managed to forget. I remember how supportive you were of my writing and of the story I sent you--do you remember? It became my first published fiction, in Realms of Fantasy magazine.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

It's very sad that those years killed your joy in writing... I hope it comes back eventually.

And you're so funny about what they'll eat up: the estranged father, the gender issues... *sigh*