Last Thursday, I had the opportunity to hear Yann Martel, author of “Life of Pi,” speak at the Kansas City Public Library. The book was one of the reasons that I have been so grateful for my book club, because once a month, I break free from my genre comfort zone and find joy in literary, non-fiction, or other works that I would not have chosen on my own. No, I don’t love everything I read, but books like “Life of Pi” make it all worth the effort.
I come from a speculative fiction tradition. The authors from whom I have learned my craft were almost entirely science fiction and fantasy authors. Since this is what I write, it makes sense, but listening to Yann Martel helped me to solidify something that I’ve been toying with for some time — the idea that we need to learn from one another.
But let me rewind just a bit. Lately, I have been reading a lot of books outside of science fiction and fantasy. In fact, in the past six months, I have read only about half a dozen speculative fiction novels. (For the record, I read several books a week.) I have been filling my time with mystery, suspense, mainstream, and romance, plus the odd non-fiction or literary piece that has so far been entirely at the prompting of my book club.
I learned the rules of science fiction and fantasy by heart, but it quickly became clear to me that other genres don’t necesssarily follow our rules. The romance genre, for example, love to withhold tidbits of personal information that the point of view characters know, bringing it out only when the author feels it is the most poingnant. At first, I thought my displeasure with this tactic was due to the fact that I’d learned differently, but even after reading dozens of books and coming to accept it (not the same thing as liking it), I still feel that the stories would improve without this tactic.
Not that the science fiction and fantasy genre is pristene. Afte r reading in these other genres, I feel that we could learn a great deal about how to fashion a satisfying suspense or mystery from those writers, or about how to make love interests meaningful rather than token by considering romance authors.
Fast forward to Yann Martel’s talk last week: For those of you who are unaware, there is something of a rift between literary and genre writers. Please, don’t ask me to take sides, because for pure group survival if nothing else, I’d have to take up arms with my fellow genre writers, but I don’t want there to be a fight. The basic thrust of the conflict is that literary writers sometimes accuse genre writers of being frivolous and genre writers sometimes accuse literary writers of being unjustified snobs. As with almost any conflict, there are truths behind both points of view.
Listening to Yann Martel speak reminded me that there is something of a paradigm shift between the literary world and the genre world. It’s hard to describe, but I think it has a lot to do with the purpose behind the written word. In the literary camp, books are inherently meaningful, serve a purpose, and add something to the growing body of literature that shapes and defines our world. In the genre camp, books serve no greater purpose than to tell a good story.
Yes, I’m sure you see what I’ve seen for a long time — they can do both. But there’s still the question of which comes first: the story or the meaning? This is the paradigm gulf that separates thetwo worlds. And it’s ok. There is a need for all kinds of written works to suit the needs of a diverse populace.
For the record, Yann Martel did not strike me as being a snob of any kind, justified or not. He expertly fielded a question about about reading for enjoyment vs. reading for meaning in a way that made it clear he understood that it didn’t have to be one way or the other, though at some point you can’t escape the tragedy of certain topics.
No, what all this is really coming down to is me — There was a question asked about the meaning of the island in “Life of Pi” that made me realize how deeply engrained my personal biases are. “What’s up with the living island?” Probably, if I were more literary-minded, I would have asked the question myself, but to be perfectly honest with you, it didn’t even phase me. The whole story was fantastic, just like so many stories I’ve loved since I was a child, and the island was just one more fantastic element. Even reaching the blatantly allegorical conclusion didn’t make me stop to reconsider my first impression. But what he was trying to accomplish with that island (which doesn’t mean that I have to agree since I am allowed to take whatever meaning I will from a book), was a leap of faith. He was stretching our credulity with each successive event in his parallel of religion. (By the way, I also had a subtly different take on this aspect — I saw the ending not as religion vs. no religion, but rather as the idea that it’s possible to believe more than one thing at the exact same time, just as the main character had followed Christianity, Islam, and Buddism…in other words, I didn’t choose my favorite of the two stories; I believed both.). Yet as a long-time readre and lover of fantasy, I have been trained to accept just about anything in a book. This doesn’t mean I would do so in the real world, but in books, I’m pretty gullible. I don’t accept the real world as my starting point.
It’s always interesting to have our assumptions thrown in our faces. The older I get, the more I realize that there are a lot of things I don’t question, I just take them for granted.
For example, I’ve always taken for granted that my primary purpose in telling a story is to entertain and hopefully my books do that, but each one has subtle meaning that, coming from a speculative fiction background, I have religated to the background.
Perhaps it is normal for an author, but I’ve always wanted my books to push the envelope in some way. I don’t want them to just be enjoyed, I want them to be remembered. This can be done in any style or genre, as I have loved and remembered a great many books, but somehow I want to find that thing that sets what I do apart.
On the way home, my friend asked how I wanted my own writing to be different, for I had just complained that so many stories are echoes of what has come before. Thinking about what I had just heard, my best answer was that I wanted my stories to represent a true blending of genres — the best of each — to tell a more complete and less linear story.
Laster, I came up with a more complete answer. Yes, I want to learn from other genres and incorporate all of that learning into a truly cross-genre effort that captivates the minds and imaginations of various readers. (Though I know I will anger just as mny readres of each genr, so don’t think I’m after universal popularity.) There’s something more that I want to do, though, and it’s going to take me quite a bit of time to explore the idea — I want to break free of unconscious bias; to take nothing for granted. When someone gives me a rule, I want to ask why and if they can’t give me a good enough reason, I want to feel free to break it.