Death to Genre!

What is your favorite novel? Quick, tell me the genre of fiction in which it belongs? Oh wait, I DON’T CARE. The reason I don’t care is because genre does not matter. It is irrelevant. It does not determine the value of the novel. It exists for two purposes:
1. To make it easier for consumers of fiction to find a book they might like.
2. To let esteemed book prize panels know which books they shouldn’t select for inclusion on the awards list, and literary critics know what not to review.

There has arisen over the last 50 years a category of novel called literary fiction. This subgenre is so important that I even put in italics! It is among this category that book prizes are usually awarded. You will find many holders of MFA’s in Creative Writing amongst the winners...and many residents of New York City and London. You will also find many overrated and mediocre novels...and many wonderful novels that will expand your world.

The Man Booker prize is supposed to be the most distinguished book award for writers from Great Britain or the British Commonwealth (it was expanded to all writers in English in 2013). It also contains two novels that I couldn’t finish. The Old Devils by Kingsley Amis seemed a good bet. Amis’ Lucky Jim is one of the great comic novels of the last half of the 20th century. I loved it! Alas, no luck with The Old Devils. Perhaps a novel about the aged battles against our hidden prejudices. People want to read about the young...or at least middle-aged. A little bit of vigor helps I suppose.

Oh Hilary Mantel! I greatly enjoy English history...why couldn’t I stay awake for Wolf Hall? I felt ashamed by my lack of enthusiasm for this novel. I do teach history after all. All the right people said it was wonderful. Snoresville City.

Don’t give up on the Booker Prize yet, because lo and behold, The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro (he’s English, so it counts) is a superb novel. Full of life, and fascinating characters, it won me over after only a few pages. What’s my point here? That literary fiction isn’t necessarily any better than any other kind of fiction. You can find wonderful novels and lackluster ones anywhere.

To breathe life into a character...to bring words to life...to entrance a reader with a story...skill with language...these things are not exclusive to any genre. For me, the Black Company series, the First Law series, and a couple of George Pelecanos’ mystery/thrillers (Drama City and Hell to Pay) can do all these things just as well as some of the great literary fiction novels I’ve read. Is it a matter of taste? Am I simply not sophisticated enough? Perhaps. But, I choose to believe that great writing knows no boundaries. It is great. Or it is not.