Ursula K. Le Guin is the writer who tends to express this in my favorite terms, but I'm still going to try from my perspective as a guy 60 years younger, yet to move beyond self-publishing. Her gripe is with the division between "literary fiction," which is okay to be taken seriously, and genre fiction, which is banned from the privilege of valued criticism.
The difference can be seen on several levels. First, there's the level everyone has seen: the issue of sales. In a bookstore, it's easy to see the separation between genre fiction and lit-fic. Frequently at the front of a typical bookstore stand a couple of tables full of the recent bestsellers (or just what they expect you to buy). Genre fiction is frequently here: just think of the popularity of Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, or Game of Thrones, and try to think of three works of realistic fiction, written in the last ten years, that have sold as well. These are the books that get the movies and television shows. But I know many people who consider genre to be contrived; perhaps this has a connection to popular, obviously-contrived reality television. People go to corny fantasy in order to escape, heedless of the fact that the true journey always involves a return trip.
This is closely related to the social problem of genre fiction. I'm talking about talking about books. How do you describe your reading habits to your friends? Many people don't, because they're somehow ashamed of what, how much, or how little they read. I have a friend who was genuinely surprised when I answered her request for a book recommendation, because most people hadn't given her a straight reply. It makes sense to use a person's literary preferences as a way to gain insight into his or her personality, but people want to look good, and genre can seem to indicate a loose grasp on reality. This is especially true because of trashy books like Game of Thrones, which are sold as a supplement to televised "reality" drama and then used as an indicator for all fantasy literature.
Here's an example from the history of this phenomenon. Peter Beagle, one of my favorite authors, describes a time when a publisher called him up to ask for a jacket quote for Terry Brooks' then-new novel, The Sword of Shannara. After reading the book, Beagle returned the publisher's call and told her that although he'd like to do her a favor, he had nothing good to say about the book and thought she'd lost her marbles before agreeing to publish it. "Trust me," said the publisher (and I'm paraphrasing from memory), "This will sell. There are people who read The Lord of the Rings forty-two times but can't get the energy to read it a forty-third... this will give them their fix." And she was absolutely right. This was the time when Tolkien-derived fantasy branched off into an offspring that was far more genre than story, which is how genre is most often considered today.
Here's a tangential disclaimer on which you can chew: I haven't yet read The Sword of Shannara, but it's not at the top of my list because I trust Beagle's opinion.
The academic side of this problem comes last because it takes the longest. The elevator on our ivory tower keeps jamming, and there are too many damned stairs. A large part of the problem has to do with funding. In recent decades, the legitimacy of the liberal arts has been called into question in entirely new ways, whereas it was untouchable for centuries. Like it or not, our new gods are science, statistics, and social justice, all pulled by the strings of who's got the dough. In order to justify its existence, college English departments have become, to paraphrase one of my professors, an amorphous monster that bites pieces off of other disciplines, or absorbs them entirely. Film studies? English! Drama? English! African-American voices? English! And since becoming a better person isn't as lucrative as any of these arts and crafts, the battle of wits and morals across literature tends to become marginalized. Now I can learn how to trace the plight of women writers since the 1960's feminist movements, but nobody's telling me what the hell I'm supposed to do about it.
The result of all this is that genre is pushed to the side because the widely-read books have no bearing on issues that are pushed as being contemporary, and the ones that actually deal with self-betterment (what could be more relevant to anybody?) are treating an outdated issue. If we fight for such truly fabricated ideals as the greater good and the future instead of learning to treat other people, things fall apart.
Here's some shameless advertisement: the fantasy trilogy I'm currently writing is all about what happens when one person has the responsibility to change the world, or when someone wants that chance but doesn't get it.
What fun! Here's what you can do about this: read everything. I believe that's the wisest thing I have ever had to say. Lots of responsibility comes along with it, such as the willingness to communicate what you've learned with other people, and encourage them to do the same. After all, most of the problems in the world, on whatever scale you decide to tackle them, have to do with a lack of communication, or with people who think they already know it all, or don't care. And unlike nihilist deconstructionist critics, I'm of the opinion that there is plenty to share with each other.
The difference can be seen on several levels. First, there's the level everyone has seen: the issue of sales. In a bookstore, it's easy to see the separation between genre fiction and lit-fic. Frequently at the front of a typical bookstore stand a couple of tables full of the recent bestsellers (or just what they expect you to buy). Genre fiction is frequently here: just think of the popularity of Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, or Game of Thrones, and try to think of three works of realistic fiction, written in the last ten years, that have sold as well. These are the books that get the movies and television shows. But I know many people who consider genre to be contrived; perhaps this has a connection to popular, obviously-contrived reality television. People go to corny fantasy in order to escape, heedless of the fact that the true journey always involves a return trip.
This is closely related to the social problem of genre fiction. I'm talking about talking about books. How do you describe your reading habits to your friends? Many people don't, because they're somehow ashamed of what, how much, or how little they read. I have a friend who was genuinely surprised when I answered her request for a book recommendation, because most people hadn't given her a straight reply. It makes sense to use a person's literary preferences as a way to gain insight into his or her personality, but people want to look good, and genre can seem to indicate a loose grasp on reality. This is especially true because of trashy books like Game of Thrones, which are sold as a supplement to televised "reality" drama and then used as an indicator for all fantasy literature.
Here's an example from the history of this phenomenon. Peter Beagle, one of my favorite authors, describes a time when a publisher called him up to ask for a jacket quote for Terry Brooks' then-new novel, The Sword of Shannara. After reading the book, Beagle returned the publisher's call and told her that although he'd like to do her a favor, he had nothing good to say about the book and thought she'd lost her marbles before agreeing to publish it. "Trust me," said the publisher (and I'm paraphrasing from memory), "This will sell. There are people who read The Lord of the Rings forty-two times but can't get the energy to read it a forty-third... this will give them their fix." And she was absolutely right. This was the time when Tolkien-derived fantasy branched off into an offspring that was far more genre than story, which is how genre is most often considered today.
Here's a tangential disclaimer on which you can chew: I haven't yet read The Sword of Shannara, but it's not at the top of my list because I trust Beagle's opinion.
The academic side of this problem comes last because it takes the longest. The elevator on our ivory tower keeps jamming, and there are too many damned stairs. A large part of the problem has to do with funding. In recent decades, the legitimacy of the liberal arts has been called into question in entirely new ways, whereas it was untouchable for centuries. Like it or not, our new gods are science, statistics, and social justice, all pulled by the strings of who's got the dough. In order to justify its existence, college English departments have become, to paraphrase one of my professors, an amorphous monster that bites pieces off of other disciplines, or absorbs them entirely. Film studies? English! Drama? English! African-American voices? English! And since becoming a better person isn't as lucrative as any of these arts and crafts, the battle of wits and morals across literature tends to become marginalized. Now I can learn how to trace the plight of women writers since the 1960's feminist movements, but nobody's telling me what the hell I'm supposed to do about it.
The result of all this is that genre is pushed to the side because the widely-read books have no bearing on issues that are pushed as being contemporary, and the ones that actually deal with self-betterment (what could be more relevant to anybody?) are treating an outdated issue. If we fight for such truly fabricated ideals as the greater good and the future instead of learning to treat other people, things fall apart.
Here's some shameless advertisement: the fantasy trilogy I'm currently writing is all about what happens when one person has the responsibility to change the world, or when someone wants that chance but doesn't get it.
What fun! Here's what you can do about this: read everything. I believe that's the wisest thing I have ever had to say. Lots of responsibility comes along with it, such as the willingness to communicate what you've learned with other people, and encourage them to do the same. After all, most of the problems in the world, on whatever scale you decide to tackle them, have to do with a lack of communication, or with people who think they already know it all, or don't care. And unlike nihilist deconstructionist critics, I'm of the opinion that there is plenty to share with each other.
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