The illustration is a detail from Domenico di Michelino's painting of Dante and the Three Kingdoms, from Wikipedia. Like Dante observing the souls trudging round and round the terraces of Purgatory, Scott McCracken, author of Pulp: Reading Popular Fiction, finds some redeeming value in the various types of pulp fiction, even if, like the souls, the readers must endure repetition as "one [novel] is consumed after another" (98). When pulp is described in these terms, I can't help but wonder if the critics hope that one day the readers will finally ascend to a better class of literature or at very least, like Dante, only visit it occasionally. The idea that "popular fiction" is something to be read while one is in a state of transition (like the souls in Purgatory, but, given the admitted pleasures of reading popular fiction, in considerably less pain) is suggested in McCracken's introduction, in which he reveals that 
Some of my happiest experiences reading popular fiction have been on trains. There is something about the combination of being trapped yet going somewhere that is particularly conducive to the pleasures of pulp. While the popular narrative also traps in its predictability, despite, or maybe because of, that predictability, there is more scope for an escape into fantasy. (1)However, Bridget Fowler, author of The Alienated Reader: Women and Popular Romantic Literature in the Twentieth Century, were she not writing from a decidedly secular perspective, would almost certainly condemn romance readers to one of the lower circles of Hell. Here's her categorisation of the women readers she interviewed (the numbering is not in order of her personal preference, since she has high regard for the "radical canon of popular literature", yet it is clear that "formulaic romantic fiction" is bottom of her list literally and in terms of her judgement of its merits):
1.Legitimate taste.We learn from Fowler that "Pleasure in legitimate works is most often linked to disdain for romantic fiction and the expression of a sense of pollution by it" (123). There were exceptions, however, for
2.Middlebrow taste.
3.Radical canon of popular literature.
4.Non-formulaic, or less formulaic, uncanonised women’s fiction: the ‘Cookson’ group.
5.Formulaic romantic fiction (120)
legitimate culture does not automatically bestow a visceral intolerance towards contemporary romantic fiction. A minority who had acquired a disposition favourable to ‘serious fiction’ occasionally read a Mills and Boon novel. They confessed these private, behind-the-scenes departures from legitimate taste as I imagine Kinsey’s respondents must have yielded up their perversions for scientific scrutiny, fully aware of the pejorative connotations of such consumption in the perspective of the intelligentsia. (124)It seems that such lapses of taste can be forgiven, but only if the reader is penitent enough. And yet, neither McCracken nor Fowler have managed to explain to my satisfaction what it is that distinguishes the perversions of pulp, particularly romance, from the legitimate pleasures of "good" literature. Fowler's main objection to romance would appear to be ideological since she argues that "in the arena of romantic fiction, literature may anaesthetise its readers’ perceptions by dependence on stereotypes, dominant ideas and regressive myths" (158) and her "conclusion is that the formulaic fiction partly locks these women into collusion with dominant ideas – economic, patriarchal and racist – or, less strongly, it increases their lack of systematised resistance to them" (173). According to McCracken
all theorists of mass culture agree that popular culture cannot be understood in terms of individual texts. Instead those texts must be read and interpreted in relation to the totality of production, distribution and consumption that organises the conditions of their reception. (24-25)And yet if popular fiction must be read and interpreted in relation to the system of publishing which produces them since "Contemporary popular fiction is the product of a huge entertainment industry" (1), and if it is also the case that "the small-scale production of 'literary' novels is subsidised by popular fiction" (22), must not all novels be seen as products of the same "industry"? Is it really possible to read the "literary" novels without taking into account their place within "that totality of production, distribution and consumption that organises the conditions of their reception"?1
McCracken also suggests that popular fiction, and specifically the romance genre, is different because of the way it is read:
The serial reading of formula romances, where one is consumed after another, means that it is unrealistic to treat each as separate. Rather, they should be read as one long saga, where the happy ending is constantly rejected for a new, unhappy beginning. Each new beginning then reactivates the search for an explanation of the marginalised feminine position in contemporary society. (98)But why is romance being singled out as being particularly repetitive, as being a genre in which the works are pretty much identical? Could someone not attempt the "serial reading" of "literary" novels? We, as romance readers, know that all romances are not the same, and I'd argue that surveys such as AAR's latest "Top 100 Romances" poll prove it. Romance readers don't simply "consume" one novel after another as though they were all part of "one long saga". We can pick out favourites (and many of us keep and re-read them). Romance readers also go through reading slumps, times when we can't find enough romances which meet our current reading needs. Furthermore, all romance readers don't simply "consume" one romance after another, since many readers of romance also read widely in other genres.
- Fowler, Bridget. The Alienated Reader: Women and Popular Romantic Literature in the Twentieth Century. Hemel Hempstead, Hertfordshire: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1991.
- McCracken, Scott. Pulp: Reading Popular Fiction. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1998.
1 According to recent figures from "the Business of Consumer Publishing 2006, the net revenue from retail sources in the U.S. accounted for $6.31 billion in 2006. Romance sales accounted for $1.37 billion or 21% of the overall sales."
I don't dispute these writers' basic *literary* characterizations of romance as you present them. However, I disagree with the judgmental social conclusions they draw.
ReplyDeletewhy is romance being singled out as being particularly repetitive
I don't have a problem with McCracken pointing out the repetitions in romance, because they're real and quite evident. As are the conventions and formulas in other genres. Where I disagree is the idea that
popular fiction, and specifically the romance genre, is different because of the way it is read:
"The serial reading of formula romances, where one is consumed after another, means that it is unrealistic to treat each as separate. Rather, they should be read as one long saga, where the happy ending is constantly rejected for a new, unhappy beginning."
In that sense, ALL books are a continuous reading experience. I enjoy a variety of genres, and I do experience my reading as a continuous stream with occasional reversals in course. Within romance I read a variety of authors and subgenres, so the course changes are present there too, but the latitude isn't as wide as between genres. None of this is a new thought; it's strange to portray it as specific to romance.
Similarly, I don't object to the *literary* aspects of Fowler's characterization that
"in the arena of romantic fiction, literature may anaesthetise its readers’ perceptions by dependence on stereotypes, dominant ideas and regressive myths".
In the Access Romance post you linked, Robin's response to reading Steve Almond's essays is "strangely good, like I’m waking up after a restless night’s sleep, aggravated but grateful to be among the conscious." That parallels the idea of the anaesthetic, and it's why I keep recommending Almond's short stories. It's the power of reading something fresh, and I don't necessarily find it by reading romance after romance.
But that's about being anaesthetized to repetitive styles and ideas in *literature*. The problem is that Fowler takes the analogy into the social/behavioral sphere with the "regressive myths" and
her "conclusion... that the formulaic fiction partly locks these women into collusion with dominant ideas – economic, patriarchal and racist – or, less strongly, it increases their lack of systematised resistance to them".
It's often argued that readers know the difference between fiction and real life. I agree, but I also believe there is power in words. Being immersed in a particular culture can influence us. But that doesn't mean every reading experience must be planned as an opportunity for moral improvement and reinforcement of Fowler's approved ideals. (Talk about repetitious reading!)
One benefit of reading is the opportunity to explore ideas and lives apart from our own. And if some of what's explored is "guilty pleasures"--including ideas about society, gender, and sex--then both the subject matter AND why it's "guilty" are worth exploring.
The prescriptive approach comes dangerously close to an a priori determination that some thoughts and interests are beneath our notice. What would Fowler think of those who only read "Christian" literature (i.e. no literary fiction and no Harry Potter)? Isn't that a similar emphasis on the "improving" value of literature, and a similar fear of the corrupting power of fiction?
A lot of these criticisms seem to take the position that the ideal reader would be a perfectly consistent person whose beliefs and actions are congruent, and whose reading reflects those beliefs. It's just not realistic--particularly when so many women feel conflict over gender issues. And is it even desirable, even in some ideal world? Imagine a world in which one's lifestyle had to match one's reading interests! We would be overrun with serial killers... or literature would be too boring to read.
rfp's comments, perhaps in particular this part, "But that doesn't mean every reading experience must be planned as an opportunity for moral improvement and reinforcement of Fowler's approved ideals. (Talk about repetitious reading!)," reminds me of an error I see over and over again in art criticism, as well as in the public in general. People (I am not saying rfp does this) conflate the quality of the experience with the completeness of the experience. The best way to explain this is with an example, and since I came to aesthetics through music, I will start there.
ReplyDeleteLet's say that somehow miraculously we were actually able to judge the aesthetic worth of some piece of art. I have no idea what the criteria would be, but let's say we all agreed upon it. And it turns out that Beethoven's 9th symphony is in fact the greatest piece of music ever. It is THE BEST. It gets 162 aestheme points.
Remember that for the sake of the example we are all agreeing that this is the case.
This does not mean, however, that even the best piece of music ever gives listeners every single possible musical experience they could ever have. Beethoven's 9th does whatever it does better than anything else, but it doesn't do everything. Louie Louie by the Troggs which might only have 12 aestheme points generates a different experience than Beethoven. So no matter how objective aesthetic goodness is, and we are granting 100% objectiveness in this example, goodness is not completeness. If people wish a certain type of musical experience they may need to listen to the Troggs even if the Troggs is objectively, demonstrably worse than Beethoven.
So, even if one could determine that certain literary works are indeed better works in every way than other non-literary ones, it in no way follows that non-literary works lack value. Indeed, if you want a certain type of experience, the literary ones are unable to provide it.
Even if Mother Theresa was a better person than "the man on the Clapham omnibus" we don't toss the Clapham gentleman in the garbage heap.
As a brief addendum, literary fiction is as easy to lampoon as any genre. You take some sort of odd characters, abuse them or have them be dreadfully bored, and then write long, flowing sentences about them that go nowhere, but are dreadfully important. Oh, it's completely unfair, but literary works often have their own cliches that are easily parodied.
ReplyDeleteTo make the point, I am going to copy in an old blog post of mine which parodies various genres. My literary parody if fake plot number 2. The question is whether the literary plot is any less formulaic in it's way than the thriller or erotic romance ones. Here you go:
So another bit of blog participation over at Evil Editor's House is the Guess the Plot game. In this one, authors have submitted their query letters with a title. EE posts the titles only and the EE minions make up stupid plots to go with the title. Then, when EE is ready to critique the letter, he publishes 4 or 5 of the bogus plots along with the real one, and the readers are supposed to guess which is real. I don't usually participate in this activity, but I got on a tear today, so below we have 5 idiotic plots for some novel I know nothing about other than it is titled "FireHouse". So here you go:
FireHouse!!
Matthew's band FireHouse is going nowhere until J-Pop sensation Hiroko Girls hire them for a tour of East Asia. But does lead singer Yuko rock Singapore as much as she rocks Matthew's world?
It's been 9 years since one-armed albino meth-addict Josh saw his dad who with one hand ran a cactus nursery in the heart of New Orleans and with the other hand beat Josh and his mother every afternoon over tea. Now, Josh is bringing a gasoline can to the reunion. Firehouse: a heart warming Lit-fic Cozy.
14 year old Katie is the good natured joke of the DC fire department until she single-handedly carries the President out of a burning White House on her back.
Hunky firefighters seemed like a great idea for Jessica's new network reality show until the pent-up manheat becomes hotter than the blazes they fight. Will she lose her job to smarmy Randall or her innocence to studly Jared... and Stan... and Michael... and Stan and Michael. (I haven't ever read one of these, but I think this plot would fit right in at women's romantica publisher Ellora's Cave.)
When right-wing petroleum tycoons from the Amazon threaten to incinerate all of New Jersey with their "Firehouse" bio weapon, only fashion designer Alara Bouzenbottom stands in their way.
I have a problem with the assumption that seems to be made by critics such as McCracken that reading pulp/popular fiction produces a really different experience from the experience the same person would have if reading more "literary" fiction. I'd agree that some texts are written in very different ways, but I also think part of the difference can be due to expectations.
ReplyDeleteFor example, if someone approaches one text as "fun", and so reads quickly and doesn't mind skimming, or skipping and doesn't expect to find anything too profound and reads a second, different, text for its worthy, improving, mind-expanding qualities, then that will indeed create two different experiences. In other words, your experience of the texts may well be shaped by the prejudices/expectations with which you approach them.
Personally I don't think I read romance in a very different way from the way I've read many literary novels that I've found pleasurable. I know that I raced (but didn't skim) through a lot of Anthony Trollope, Jane Austen, Anne Bronte and Elizabeth Gaskell in the same way as I do many romances. They were fun, they made me think, and many of them are books I've re-read.
So, Pacatrue, even if one does accept that "Beethoven's 9th symphony is in fact the greatest piece of music ever. It is THE BEST. It gets 162 aestheme points", I'm not sure that it can be true that it does the same amount of "whatever it does better than anything else" to everyone. Not all listeners will have the same emotional experience.
The most anaesthetic book I've ever read was Proust's In Search of Lost Time. It had a strangely hypnotic effect, like walking through a warm greenhouse, with orchids dangling from the tree-trunks, the air moist and rich with perfume and mingling with the smell of the soil. I really can't remember much about the book itself, only about the reading experience. Very, very, weird, in a strangely pleasurable but slightly disturbing sort of way.
But that doesn't mean every reading experience must be planned as an opportunity for moral improvement and reinforcement of Fowler's approved ideals.
I have the strong impression that Fowler's writing from a Marxist perspective and she appears to favour the "radical canon of popular literature":
readers of the radical canon treasure the 'unconsecrated' radical pantheon of socialist or working-class writers. Emile Zola's Germinal, Lewis Jones's Cwmardy and We Live, Jack London's The Iron Heel, Lewis Grassic Gibbons's A Scots Quair are the texts of the labour movement, which have circulated by word of mouth recommendation for decades amongst groups of both women and men. Some of these novels are, or have been until the 1970s, totally excluded from academic culture, such as The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists - 'the painters' bible'. Yet others such as Zola or Grassic Gibbon have been belatedly recognised by legitimate culture. (127)
She certainly states quite clearly that:
I argue against the recent plea for an ‘end to ideology’ in social theory. My interviews provide grounds for the view that the type of literature women read is linked to their wider world-view, thus giving a new significance to struggles within the cultural sphere. I suggest that the traditional gentry-bourgeois romance embodies a highly regressive utopian consciousness, which legitimates the world of the dominant classes. Nevertheless, some popular writers are shown to be the bearers of working-class and plebeian experience, possessing a limited capacity to interrogate social contradictions, whilst also bestowing the imaginary solutions to women’s needs. (4)
That last sentence refers to novels like those of Catherine Cookson, of whom Fowler writes that
Her writing represents both working-class critique of a market-dominated society and an older element of paternalist thought, inherited from the contradictory consciousness of paternalism and exploitation which bound together eighteenth-century plebeians with the commercial landowning patricians. Thus in her novels can be found many of the values based on human need which H. F. Moorhouse has shown come from the radical repository of the working class itself and which may well have their origin in pre-capitalist foundations. [...] It is only by grasping the homology of the structure of Cookson's novels and the structure of a class-conciliatory, paternalist capitalism, that we can fully grasp the significance of her popularity. It was the belief that the employer would be able to solve the problems of the region which motivated many workers [...]. Cookson's fairy-tale endings represent both an undiminished hope that such class unity can be found as well as an expression of resistance to rationalisation. It is for this reason that the novels can be interpreted as combining realism and utopia, providing records of working-class experience and values, but simultaneously offering refuges for conservative myths. The 'politicial unconscious' of the Cookson family saga is paternalism, desired not as rhetoric but as reality. (96-97)
I agree with all that you wrote, Laura. I think that much of art is experience-creating, from which it derives its importance and value. An experience can only be created in a unique experiencer, and everything that the reader brings to the occasion is vital to the artwork.
ReplyDeleteThe main reservation I have with the line of thought represented in the quotations you presented from Fowler is that it appears to reduce people. It reduces them to genders and classes and ethnicities. The person disappears. All personal experience is valuable or invaluable for the social and political consequences it may have.
The Troggs sang Wild Thing, not Louie Louie. Doh.
ReplyDeletein the quotations you presented from Fowler is that it appears to reduce people. It reduces them to genders and classes and ethnicities. The person disappears. All personal experience is valuable or invaluable for the social and political consequences it may have.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure that she reduces people to those things all the time, but they're certainly categories that are important in her analysis of readers. RfP commented that
The prescriptive approach comes dangerously close to an a priori determination that some thoughts and interests are beneath our notice. What would Fowler think of those who only read "Christian" literature (i.e. no literary fiction and no Harry Potter)? Isn't that a similar emphasis on the "improving" value of literature, and a similar fear of the corrupting power of fiction?
In a way Fowler's views are the political, left-wing mirror-image of people's personal experience being considered valuable or invaluable for the consequences it may have for their soul. And Fowler does think that some of those currently inhabiting the lower reaches of the reading world may yet be saved:
Given the history of cheap popular literature, it seems that contemporary publishers have grasped the forces leading women to seek compensatory relief through fiction but they have underrated the untapped demand for popular novels which are realist and critical, thus bearing witness to the unilluminated lives of the majority. My research shows that a significant proportion of uneducated readers found pleasure in one such book, Agnes Smedley's Daughter of Earth. This suggests that, with different distribution, there is a wider potential readership for such writers. (30)
Laura: if someone approaches one text as "fun", and so reads quickly and doesn't mind skimming, or skipping and doesn't expect to find anything too profound and reads a second, different, text for its worthy, improving, mind-expanding qualities, then that will indeed create two different experiences. In other words, your experience of the texts may well be shaped by the prejudices/expectations with which you approach them.
ReplyDeleteLike you, I don't see much difference in the way I read different genres of fiction. However, discussing books of different genres is an interesting line to walk. That's the kind of "level playing field" problem I had in mind in commenting on your last post:
Eric: "To complain that a work doesn't do something the author (and audience) never wanted it to do seems pointless to me"
Me: "romance novels should be evaluated for what they are, but there's a tension in attempting that. It's equally possible to down-grade a book based on elements it's unreasonable to expect, or to lower one's expectations condescendingly to praise it 'for what it is'"
I think "Louie Louie" was written by Richard Berry and first recorded by the Pharoahs. And I like it as well as Beethoven's 9th.BUT I am almost reminded of some remarks by Iris Murdock whcih always resonated with me. Her view was that true art, as she called it, unclouds our mind and is a product of the imagination--as is, in her view, love, an exercise of true imagination. By contrast, she argues, fantasy is the enemy of art because it distorts by offering self-occupied fantasy--"the rat runs of selfish day-dream" Well, I think she might have something here.ANd part of waht she hs might be categorized as "literature" vs. "popular culture"--no? "
ReplyDeleteI do not wish to say that Fowler's line of literary analysis is inappropriate. I just think it is incomplete. Many theorists are interested in the heroine, let's call her Grace, of a romance novel falling in love with, say, Drake, because of what it says about women as a group and class. I myself am more interested in gender and class because of the effect they have on Grace and Drake themselves. I find politics important because of the effects it has on people falling in love.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the clarification, anonymous, on Louie Louie. I later came up with the Kings Men as a possibility. (Yes, I refuse to just look it up; it's sort of a memory game for me.)
It's interesting contrasting Murdoch's quotation with something from C.S. Lewis who, I believe, once remarked that he liked fantasy and myth because it was possible to gain clarity there, leaving behind much of the real world grayness for a more distilled essence. Of course, I don't think they mean the same thing by "fantasy" here. It's really hard for me to assess Murdoch's thought or completely get it in fact. If by her definition fantasy is a sort pf solipsist imagination, where nothing is gained from the experience, then I can understand. There is the problem that repetition and mimcry is fundamental to learning and social relationships, but that's another topic.
"romance novels should be evaluated for what they are, but there's a tension in attempting that. It's equally possible to down-grade a book based on elements it's unreasonable to expect, or to lower one's expectations condescendingly to praise it 'for what it is'"
ReplyDeleteI agree that it would, say, be unreasonable to criticise all romances for not offering a mystery (though some romances do). But the concept of "what they are" raises some questions for me. Other than the core definition that a romance novel should have a central love story and end optimistically, is there something that all romances have/should have in common that would help define "what they are"? What are the elements it's reasonable to expect in a romance (other than lovers who end up in a relationship with seems to be heading in an optimistic direction)? Seeing as we've been discussing the reader's experience, is there any one experience that all romance readers can expect to have when they read a romance?
My feeling is that romances (and their readers) are too diverse for it to be possible to judge any given romance against a pre-existing standard of "what a romance novel is" (beyond the very basic definition) or "what a romance novel should make the reader feel/think."
And this is why I have a problem with the distinction that Anonymous is trying to make between "true art" which "unclouds our mind and is a product of the imagination" (and which Anonymous seems to be equating with "literature") and "fantasy [which] is the enemy of art" and which Anonymous seems to be equating with "popular culture".
Do all works of literature really "uncloud our minds" and are all works of popular culture just "fantasies"? In part it depends on the content of the text, but in part it's also affected by the reader and how she/he chooses to approach the text. My mind might be "unclouded" or at least stimulated to think intellectually by a romance, whereas it might be fogged and anaesthetised by Proust. Pacatrue finds himself "more interested in gender and class because of the effect they have on Grace and Drake themselves. I find politics important because of the effects it has on people falling in love."
After an excruciating day reading "literary fiction" yesterday--Cynthia Ozick's odious "The Puttermesser Papers"--and several weeks reading nothing but poetry and poetry criticism, I am eager to return to romance. I'm not so keen on reading Fowler, however, although I have her book on my desk as I type this, along with Merja Makinen's "Feminist Popular Fiction."
ReplyDeleteYou're quite correct, Laura, to link Fowler's tone and project with those of religious critics and teachers: those who struggle, I think, to comprehend the aesthetic as such, and who therefore reduce literature again and again to a "message" or an "effect on the reader" (her politics or her soul, respectively).
(Brief aside: From a Marxist perspective, of course, there is no such thing as "the aesthetic as such"; or, rather, that category gets invented to legitimize and promote a particular bourgeois identity (cf. Eagleton's "The Ideology of the Aesthetic"). I'm not a Marxist, and frankly, I'd as soon be an astrological critic as a Marxist critic, or a Freudian one.)
What troubles me most about what you've quoted from Fowler can be found in this passage:
"My interviews provide grounds for the view that the type of literature women read is linked to their wider world-view, thus giving a new significance to struggles within the cultural sphere (4)."
Fowler approaches criticism (and pedagogy, and publishing) as a priest manque. She wants to tell other people how to think and how to live, and to do so by getting them to read different books. If you read the wrong books, you think one way; if you read the right ones, you'll think and act like me.
I have several questions to raise about this, some logical and some moral.
1) How much good evidence is there that reading different books changes people's "world-views" in this way? How much of that evidence falls into post hoc fallacies--that is, do the books change the world-views, or does the experience in which the books are embedded (reading them with a feminist or radical professor, say) actually make the change?
2) What on earth makes English professors (or academics more generally) think that they are in a position to tell other people how to live? Is there any evidence that we live better lives, more useful lives, more helpful lives, even happier lives, than other people? I think intellectuals have a pretty commonplace record, actually: support for vile regimes (Stalin, Mao) as much as vigorous critique; uncritical adulation of caudillos (Castro, now Chavez) that's as knee-jerk as any so-called conservative's defense of G. W. Bush; the same sniping and backbiting in our own departments; probably the same percentages of bad relationships, discarded parents, spoiled children, and the rest.
I have yet to be convinced that attending to the right books (or music, or movies) will make anyone a better person, or that liking the wrong books makes you a worse one.
Do all works of literature really "uncloud our minds" and are all works of popular culture just "fantasies"? In part it depends on the content of the text, but in part it's also affected by the reader and how she/he chooses to approach the text.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely. And that's the root of the difficulty in the common evaluation, "It's good... for what it is". That classification of what it IS--which varies from reader to reader--is at the heart of tension between the Murdoch and Fowler quotes, and the Updike. Do we assess "what it is" by the author's intentions (Updike and Eric), the reader's experience (Laura), the reader's experience as influenced by culture (Pacatrue), the culture as influenced by the reader's experience (Fowler), by whether the book is somehow similar to others (McCracken and RfP), by whether reading it's universally mind-altering (Anonymous) or individually mind-altering (Laura), or by whether it betters the reader (Fowler) or not (Eric)?
(Note: I'm not saying any of us holds particular beliefs in these areas; only referencing where these ideas have come up in the last two posts.)
What are the elements it's reasonable to expect in a romance (other than lovers who end up in a relationship with seems to be heading in an optimistic direction)? Seeing as we've been discussing the reader's experience, is there any one experience that all romance readers can expect to have when they read a romance?
As you know, I have a pretty broad definition of romance, so I'm not sure I would even require the optimism. For me, barring the historical type of "romances", I think the modern romance is usually character- and relationship-focused in its writing. As for identifying romance by its effect on the reader... I'm not sure how to do that. I more often identify a book as a romance by a sense that the author *intends* to affect the reader ;) (As judged by emotive language, plot devices that increase emotional tension, and often by including characters who are sympathetic--another way to make the reader wish for a happy ending).
I guess I don't see the difficulty, RfP, in saying "what it IS." As a practicing critic, I make assertions like that all the time. Each is a hypothesis, a best guess, based on my sense of the author's intentions (a fiction, but based on some sort of evidence) and on my experience as a reader (Laura), which is influenced by culture (Pacatrue) as well as by other similar books I have read (and also no doubt by my family, my place in birth order, and any number of other contingencies). I make a guess, I test it against the book, I adjust it; I try to think the best of the book, to find the potential pleasures in it; sometimes I can come up with a critical account of the text that lets me enjoy the book more; sometimes I come up with a hunch about what the book was trying to do, how it might have succeeded, against which I measure the actual text at hand.
ReplyDeleteWhere's the difficulty? I'm not being difficult here myself--I just don't see it!
I don't object to romance novels having a political or spiritual subtext (in fact, I suspect that it's not really possible to totally avoid them, if you define "political" and "spiritual" in the broadest senses) but I do object when the subtext is so obvious, and written in such an unsubtle way, that it's not really a "subtext" at all. It seems to me that if a novel reads like propaganda/an evangelical tract/a disguised allegory then the fiction and the characters within the novel become a mere vehicle for the message. One can have aesthetically pleasing allegories etc, but they're defined by their ideological content, whereas a romance novel, it seems to me, is defined primarily by the nature of the plot (i.e. about individuals falling in love).
ReplyDeleteThen again, one person's idea of what's a startling obvious piece of right-wing propaganda might be another person's idea of a perfectly normal story in which good people are rewarded with wealth etc. So again, pinning down what's "good" and what's "aesthetically pleasing" is more affected by an individual's personal perspective than might at first be thought. I do agree with Fowler that if a genre has a lot of millionaire, even billionaire, heroes who control extensive business empires, it does tend to give the impression that extreme wealth is being presented as something to aspire to/is a highly desirable quality in a mate.
Where's the difficulty? I'm not being difficult here myself--I just don't see it!
I find that the difficulty results from being aware of how much my experience as a reader affects my response to a novel. The other criteria, namely "my sense of the author's intentions," and assessing the book against "other similar books I have read" and how many layers it has or, as you put it, how many "potential pleasures" there are in it are so much more objective.
That's the calm way of phrasing it ;-) The non-calm, way of putting it is that I've noticed that other people have some very, very different preferences to mine. There are romances that utterly infuriated me, but which delight some of my colleagues. And when I'm infuriated and metaphorically throwing a book against the wall, it's difficult to sit down in a calm and dispassionate manner and analyse the author's intentions, the metaphors, the themes, where the author is pushing the boundaries of the genre or innovating or doing something really interesting with the characterisation.
I do think there are some books which have a certain spark which makes them better than others but sometimes it's hard to see a book's spark when you're in a blazing rage yourself. It's also difficult to see the spark if you're dozing off or in a number of other emotional states not conducive to careful, objective analysis.
Well, great conversation--but let me ask this: Why can't we agree that people (like professors) who have extensive "knowledge" and "experience" related to traditons of books, reading, and so on, are in the best position to "judge" what is good quality about this sort of stuff and what is not so good. Is everything so relative that we cannot admit that some people are better trained than others for certain judments? I realize that equality and democracy is a worthwhile perspective, but I also want to point out that part of the problem with democracy might be that all those people watching professional wrestling every day also get to vote (lol). Isn't that how we ended up with George Bush, for example? OR, to put it differently, I would prefer to have a physician who had extensive training and experience at the best hospitals operate on me rather than my good friend who I repsect a lot but knows little about surgery. Wouldn't you?
ReplyDeleteBut we're not in the business of deciding what's good or not. As a literary critic, I'm personally in the business of discussing the narrative construction of gender and power and evaluating how readers relate to those issues of gender and power in the novels they read.
ReplyDeleteWhy can't we agree that people (like professors) who have extensive "knowledge" and "experience" related to traditons of books, reading, and so on, are in the best position to "judge" what is good quality about this sort of stuff and what is not so good.
ReplyDeleteIt's not as though all professors agree, though, is it? Eric, for example, isn't agreeing with Professor Fowler. Sarah's tastes differ quite a bit from Eric's (Eric is, as he puts it, more "Crusie-centric") and so on. As Sarah says in that interview:
Jenny Crusie is a core example (mostly for Eric) because she's a brilliant writer who produces multi-layered novels that are almost tailor-made for academic criticism. She also thinks hard about her writing and shares those thoughts on her blogs and in her essays on her website. I think she's probably one of the best in our genre, but I can list many other writers (Kinsale, Brockmann, Roberts) and I know there are romance writers out there who I don't read that other people would list.
As I was suggesting earlier, even trained academics can be affected by their emotions and personal preferences when it comes to evaluating texts. This is particularly likely to be the case when tackling novels from outwith the literary canon, because there isn't already an existing academic consensus about which of them are "good."
I'd suggest that to discover that a novel is "good" you need first of all not to be so irritated or bored by it that you don't actually finish the book. And you've got to both finish it and be motived to study it further if you're going to carry out a detailed analysis of it. For many works that are in the established canon, students are obliged to work through their irritation/boredom whether they want to or not. But when one's exploring a genre like romance, that's not the case, and so I suspect that personal preferences then play a larger part in determining which romances we each choose to study. That's not to say that we can't find some merit in romances that don't personally appeal to us, but I do suspect that it's a bit more difficult to instantly recognise the "greatness" in a work you dislike. In that case you might need someone else to present some textual evidence that the greatness really existed before you'd believe it did. Or you'd have to trust your colleagues' tastes and talent-spotting instincts. Which brings us back full circle, because not all academics would have the same criteria for determining which works were "good."
Anonymous asks a great question. I too believe in expertise. It's why I stop by here. I know nothing about literary analysis and I'm immensely pleased that the experts here let me toss my ill informed thoughts out.
ReplyDeleteThat said, we have to ask what sort of expertise do professors have? (I should confess I'm a doctoral student in linguistics, so I'm on the academic path as well.) They are certainly often very well read and have a rich knowledge of literary possibilities to draw from. It might be worth noting that a criticism of some past academic scholarship of romance is that it has been by people who in fact don't really enjoy romance, don't read it except as obligatory research, and therefore don't actually bring this possible expertise to the fore. But that's just a limitation of certain earlier research and has nothing to do with the question of expertise.
I think a literary or reading expert might genuinely know better writing than your average person. That's certainly worthwhile. What they may or may not know is whether another individual would enjoy that sort of writing. I genuinely like Joyce's Finnegan's Wake, but I'm not going to recommend it for my 8th grade English class.
I'm not really making my point here. What I wanted to say is that there are certain skills that experience readers, professional academics or not, indeed might have that are valuable. That's why I support the existence of literature departments. These skills might include a broad and deep knowledge of writings, a love of literature that can bring the subject alive on others, a sense of literature's potential and therefore an ability to convey that to others. Probably more.
What I do not think a person gains simply from earning a doctorate is any greater knowledge of morality or social justice. If their literary recommendations are based entirely upon inculcating their own normative principles, then they aren't drawing on the true expertise they have gained through study. I see no reason a literature degree grants anyone greater moral wisdom than a psychology degree, a medical degree, or a job at Starbucks.
I think a literary or reading expert might genuinely know better writing than your average person.
ReplyDeleteWell, I certainly think that my training might allow me to illuminate the layers of meaning and allusion in Jenny Crusie's books or discuss the perfection of the plot structure of Suzanne Brockmann's The Unsung hero or discuss the construction of masculinity in Joey Hill's Natural Law, but as these books and authors are all best-sellers, I'm obviously not the only one who is able to recognize what is "good." Other readers might not be able to articulate why they like these authors to the extent that I can, and I might have a more layered understanding of my own reading experience, but that doesn't mean that the lay person without my training can't recognize "good" writing.
My husband says I have a much more democratic view of the definition of "good" literature than has been allowed for centuries, where the "elite" made decisions about good and bad and those decisions became moral decisions as well, but when we're discussing popular literature, surely democracy is a good thing?
I agree very much, Sarah. As a linguist I spend my entire life trying to figure out what the normal person knows about their language. Official grammars and ideas of how language should be get in our way. At the same time, the people here can leave my head spinning with their dizzying knowledge of various works. Surely if you read tons of stuff (that's a technical term) and experience what writing can do, then you are better able to assess whether or not the current writing is reaching its potential.
ReplyDeleteGoing back to music as I always do, it's like white America and UK discovering the blues in the 50s and 60s. They were listening to other music and enjoying it just fine, but then bam! wow, I didn't know music could be like that! A whole new idea of the possibiilties of music. If one is familiar with the blues and jazz and 50s pop and Schoenberg, you are likely to be a more perceptive person than someone who's experience is limited.
(By the way, I think it's fun that the people not trained in literary analysis are trying to convince the ones who are that they really do know stuff. :) )
as these books and authors are all best-sellers, I'm obviously not the only one who is able to recognize what is "good." Other readers might not be able to articulate why they like these authors to the extent that I can, and I might have a more layered understanding of my own reading experience, but that doesn't mean that the lay person without my training can't recognize "good" writing.
ReplyDeleteI'd entirely agree with you that many "lay people" can recognize "good" writing but some novels may be best-sellers for reasons other than the "good" writing e.g. the cover appealed to readers, the book had a subject matter which particularly appealed to the readers, the book was mentioned a lot in the media etc.
when we're discussing popular literature, surely democracy is a good thing?
I'm going to have to mention those sentimental novels again ;-)
I think it's fun that the people not trained in literary analysis are trying to convince the ones who are that they really do know stuff
I wonder if it's partly because the more you know, the more you know you don't know (and that sounds scarily like the sort of thing Donald Rumsfeld might say). Seriously, though, I do think my training helps me pick up on the merits of some books, but I wouldn't say that just because I like something that means it's "good". I might just like it because it appeals to me on a level which has not a lot to do with its literary merit. Conversely, a work might have a great deal of literary merit and not appeal to me at all.
Pacatrue, I know I know stuff (let me tell you about Jane Austen!), but I guess I don't think it's my place to dictate what's "good" or not. In fact, I've pretty much spent the last ten years of my life having that impulse beaten out of me in grad school. That's not what literary criticism is about...anymore.
ReplyDeleteLaura, I wrote a whole chapter on the second-bestselling book of 1809, Hannah More's Coelebs in Search of a Wife, a book so excruciatingly boring it's Wikipedia page is completely factually inaccurate (Coelebs Married was an unauthorized sequel that had nothing to do with More's original but was in fact an anti-Catholic polemic written by an anonymous author). So I know from sentimental novels. But surely these novels, the pulp fiction of their day, deserve analysis. We might deem them "bad," and in my expert opinion, I really can't call Coelebs anything other than truly god-awful, but enough people bought it that it went through 30 editions in swift order. Surely something about the book spoke to its readers and that something is worth delving for and figuring out?
The reasons you mention for a novel's potential best-selling-ness are perhaps true for individual, flash-in-the-pan novels. The authors I mentioned all have a long history and I still think it's because the lay reader recognizes them as "better" than other mid-list authors. Especially in this digital day and age, the cream rises to the top. So does some slag, admittedly, but that's true of everything.
I tell my students that a hundred years from now, critics will be writing books about Jaws, not about Schindler's List, even though SL is obviously the "better" film, when values of "better" carry moral and artistic valences. But Jaws was the ground-breaking, genre-creating summer suspense blockbuster. Which is more "important" in the history of film is a different question from which is the "better" movie.
surely these novels, the pulp fiction of their day, deserve analysis. We might deem them "bad," and in my expert opinion, I really can't call Coelebs anything other than truly god-awful, but enough people bought it that it went through 30 editions in swift order. Surely something about the book spoke to its readers and that something is worth delving for and figuring out?
ReplyDeleteOh, certainly it's worth delving for, but I suspect the answer might have less to do with the aesthetic qualities of the work and more to do with what Eric described above as "a 'message' or an 'effect on the reader' (her politics or her soul, respectively)." As I haven't read the novel in question I'm only speculating, but that's the impression I'm getting from the way you're describing it.
The reasons you mention for a novel's potential best-selling-ness are perhaps true for individual, flash-in-the-pan novels. The authors I mentioned all have a long history and I still think it's because the lay reader recognizes them as "better" than other mid-list authors.
I wasn't meaning to imply that the particular romance authors you'd listed were popular because of their covers etc. I was thinking about the question theoretically. But to give an example of a highly popular author who's sold millions of copies and has remained popular for decades, we've got Barbara Cartland. I think, as with the sentimental novels, that her oeuvre "spoke to [and still speaks to some of] its readers and that something is worth delving for and figuring out", however, I'm not going to try to defend her works on the grounds that they have immense literary merit or great aesthetic appeal. Maybe someone else, who likes them more than I do, will one day be able to analyse them in such a way that I have to recognise Cartland's literary genius, but in the meantime I'll stick to my original opinion of them.
As an academic, probably the hardest explanation to make is the 'I don't deal in good or bad books' one. And I don't think it's a problem of vocabulary. I think it's because even if you're not talking about good v. bad, at some level all judgments we make about books are value judgments, even if we don't intend for them to be some kind of moral imperative.
ReplyDeleteWhich is why, IMO, a Marxist critic can sound as morality-minded as a New Critic or a New historian, etc. We all know ideas are influential, and I sometimes think that the staunchest defenses of the 'it's only entertainment' are as affirming of that notion as those arguments that every text has 'message' for its readers (in the same way that atheism is itself a belief system). If reading did not have moral dimensions would we even be having these discussions?
I think there are substantive differences between the type of judgments we might be making, but essentially I think we're all still talking about values, and by implication value, which implicates both morality and ethics. Which is why, IMO, we need to be collectively interrogating those moral and ethical assumptions (especially when we inhabit communities that share foundational values).
Eric: "I guess I don't see the difficulty, RfP, in saying "what it IS." As a practicing critic, I make assertions like that all the time."
ReplyDeleteI think I muddied the waters earlier by combining Laura's question (what is a romance) with my own (when is "what it is" pejorative). I'll go back to what I said upstream:
"It's equally possible to down-grade a book based on elements it's unreasonable to expect, or to lower one's expectations condescendingly to praise it 'for what it is'".
I was focusing on the difference between reading with *reasonable* expectations versus *lowered* expectations, and the point at which critiquing a romance "for what it is" becomes critiquing to a different literary standard altogether. I see examples all the time on reader sites: those who don't "get" romance might deride a book for irrelevances like the lack of a mystery subplot (critiquing it for what it isn't), but those who know the genre might give a romance novel a free pass on shoddy characterization or poor use of language (critiquing it with low expectations). (Of course, the free pass isn't always due to low expectations; people fall in love with books for different reasons. I have a few favorite novels that aren't exactly groundbreaking fiction, but something in the story speaks to me.)
For the most part I'm not talking about the deliberate slur: "It's good... for a romance", i.e. "It's good... if you lower your expectations". But I think unintentional slurs of this sort are quite common. For instance, the "It's only entertainment" defense often sounds to me like "Don't expect so much".
Anonymous: I often have a similar concern over the way expertise gets devalued. However, as others have said, the question is--expertise in what? Expertise in discussing literature... or in prescribing lifestyles?
In addition, not all expertise is equal. In the interview linked above, Eric and Sarah mention the older academic criticisms of romance--written by people who apparently either didn't really know the genre, or couldn't bring themselves to give it the kind of critical read that might have led to the academic appreciation that Sarah describes. Even apart from those judgments, the quality of some of the earlier research was abysmal. That's not to say those who love the genre are infallible, but until recently the available "expertise" has been one-sided (negative) and not very credible.
I also like to point out to the Fowler types that Shakespeare, Austen, and Dickens were not considered "high-brow" in their own day, and that the high-brow sorts who so love Austen nowadays never seem to notice that she's writing romance. :)
ReplyDeleteDo you think that these essayists must pretend disdain because otherwise they think they'll be kicked out of the academy? I'm remembering AS Byatt referring to Dorothy Dunnett as a "guilty pleasure" (whence come all these "sin" words, huh? I mean, come on, people just READ these books; they don't ride them as sleds to hell). Dunnett could write rings around Byatt, truly, but quality of writing apparently isn't what get you into the "high-brow" set. Lots of readers loving you shouldn't bar you from that set, or Dickens et al would be in that 9th circle too.
These are silly people, really, and I don't know why we pay them any mind. I just know Dickens wouldn't be hanging out with them if he were alive today. He'd want to drink with Stephen King and Nora Roberts. :) Much more fun!
I am academically trained, but in the ORIGINAL "romance"--medieval romance and Renaissance epic. And when it comes to criticism, I'm a myth critic--Northrop Frye all the way. Incidentally, for those who haven't tackled his awesomely difficult book Anatomy of Criticism (which I can only claim to understand because I got the lecture version when he was a visiting lecturer at UC Berkeley and I was a Christian slave--er, graduate assistant--he puts romance (and its cousin comedy)in a different category from realistic fiction, and judges it by different canons).
ReplyDeleteI have three different criteria by which I judge books:
good <---> bad Self-evident: the quality of the writing. For example, I don't care for spy fiction, but I can tell that Len Deighton is a better writer than Ian Fleming.
like <---> dislike Sometimes I enjoy a book because it gives me something I am partial to, irrespective of its literary qualities. For example, I am a sucker for talking animals of all sorts, and I love a good dragon; so I enjoy both Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea series and Anne McCaffrey's Pern books, though the disparity in literary quality is considerable.
true <---> false This is whether the story rings true in a "true-to-life" sense. For example, I often feel that the heroine of a romance (especially a category, back when I read them regularly), instead of falling into the hero's arms at the end after he's brutalized and insulted her for the last twenty-seven chapters, should instead give him a good swift kick in his windswept desire. I'm all for forgiveness and repentance, but they have to be plausible. In fact, I think that a lot of the social problems we face today are due to so many Americans being descended from all those wicked Regency cousins who got exiled here instead of being made to face the consequences of their crimes.
And much more, I think, could be done with the Dantesque vision of readership that started this discussion: Are the illiterate the equivalent of the unbaptized babies condemned to Limbo through no fault of their own? Are people who only read nonfiction the virtuous pagans?
he puts romance (and its cousin comedy)in a different category from realistic fiction, and judges it by different canons).
ReplyDeleteYes, and I think it's fair to say that chivalric romances, featuring ogres, witches etc were not very realistic, though I have the impression that some of the later ones became a bit more realistic. My knowledge of them isn't as good as I'd like since they're really outwith the time period/geographical area I studied: in Spain the first remaining edition of the Amadís de Gaula dates from 1508.
much more, I think, could be done with the Dantesque vision of readership that started this discussion
Perhaps the exhortations of critics of popular fiction are inherently useful since that and their praise for divinely good literature are the equivalent of intercessionary prayers and will shorten the time that the souls spend in Purgatory.
Frye's definition of romance is a bit more complex, and it shares traits with comedy. It's set in a magical world, but the magic doesn't have to be literal dungeon-and-dragon stuff. It has to do more with the power relationship of the characters to their world.
ReplyDeletePerhaps the exhortations of critics of popular fiction are inherently useful since that and their praise for divinely good literature are the equivalent of intercessionary prayers and will shorten the time that the souls spend in Purgatory.
Just so long as they don't decide to hold an author-da-fé!
an author-da-fé!
ReplyDeleteMaybe they'd go for an option more like the test for witches: throw the book in the water and if it sinks it's proved to be pulp. If it floats it's magical realism.
Well, some reviewers are already at work with the rack and the thumbscrews....
ReplyDeleteAnd wouldn't the "swimming a witch" test really reveal more about the publisher/printer than the author?
I just noticed that you got the witch test backwards: You are innocent if you sink and drown; if you float, you are a witch (or, if in a Monty Python film, made of wood) and get burned.
ReplyDeleteRobert Neill's novel The Elegant Witch aka Mist Over Pendle is based on the Lancashire witch trials and has a lot of interesting stuff about witchcraft beliefs of the time (and a romance--can't omit that!).
I just noticed that you got the witch test backwards
ReplyDeleteYes, I know. I was being literal-minded, because it seems to me that if you throw a book into water it'll literally turn into pulp.
I'm trying to think of some advertising slogan along the lines of "Pulp fiction: Just add water!"
ReplyDeleteAh, just like smash, then. Which seems apt given the comparisons that are often made between romance novels and "comfort food", e.g. "For me, romance novels are like comfort food" (Gold) and another staff member at AAR said that "meatloaf and mashed potatoes are comfort food to me, and most of the authors on my own list are the equivalent of mashed potatoes."
ReplyDeleteMeatloaf and mashed potatoes are the archetypes of American comfort food. I hadn't noticed that you are British; we have a variety of brands of instant mashed potato here--Betty Crocker's are probably the best--and more flavors, but not as interesting ones. Excellent food when one has a tummy bug.
ReplyDeleteA friend of mine and I refer to romances--especially old ones we're rereading for comfort--as "mind candy." But of course many romances have some meat to them, and others are frothy confections that one orders at Schraff's rather than drugstore boxes of Black Magic or Whitman's Sampler.
I hadn't noticed that you are British
ReplyDeleteYes, I'm Scottish.
I don't recognise most of the brands you've mentioned, apart from the Black Magic chocolates. And re "candy", I think in terms of "chocolates" and "sweets, and "candy" makes me think of candyfloss.
And while we're on the topic of sweet things, I discovered recently, while at Sandra's blog that "molasses" doesn't mean the same thing in the UK as it does in the US.
The differences aren't usually ones which cause big problems with comprehension of the general gist of the story (though the different meanings of "pants" and "vests" can create some interesting images).
The friend who discovered this blog and directed me here is a Welsh-born archaeologist living in London. We've had the sweet vs. chocolate vs. pudding debate, the scones vs. biscuits vs. cookies debate, the muffins vs. crumpets vs. tea cakes debate....
ReplyDeleteAnd if you want a really interesting argument, let Americans talk to Brits about patting someone on the fanny or going out into the back yard to shag flies....
I forgot--we've also had the molasses vs. treacle vs. golden syrup vs. corn syrup debate.
ReplyDeleteIncidentally, L.C. Knights once gave me a tin of golden syrup. I'll wager I'm the only person contributing here who can make that statement.
ReplyDeleteThis is where the fact that I studied Spanish rather than English leaves me at a disadvantage. Although I'd heard of his essay "How many children had Lady Macbeth?" I'd not remembered his name and I've never (to my knowledge) read any of his work, never mind received some syrup from him.
ReplyDeleteHe's best known for Drama and Society in the Age of Jonson and for being one of the founders of Scrutiny. I think the gift was because when he arrived in Berkeley as a visiting lecturer (I was his grad assistant, too), his wife was ill and I lent her a lot of mysteries to read in the hospital.
ReplyDelete