I recently read Ben Marcus' excellent folio in this month's Harper's magazine, entitled "Why experimental fiction threatens to destroy publishing. Jonathan Franzen, and life as we know it." I was so taken with this article that I am considering sending it to everyone I know and irritating them with persistent emails and an excess of lengthy voicemail messages until it has been read by all. In fact, reader, the only way to stave off this threat may be go find Harper's now. But first, a laudatory comment or two.
This outstanding discourse reflects on the damage perpetuated by outspoken advocates of popularized, popcorn-worthy fiction (namely, Jonathan Franzen, but he is far from alone in this enterprise). Should you be unfamiliar with this debate, I will attempt to summarize nearly two decades' worth of interviews, articles, blogs and commentary in two sentences. The argument essentially states that the role of fiction is to entertain as many people as possible by utilizing straightforward narratives, character complexities easily derived from their childhoods, and predictable plot twists and resolutions all neatly packaged in a setting as familiar as my mother's favorite stoneware. Fiction which strays from this well-worn path is dangerous, generally worthless and needlessly difficult (in Marcus' words, "disturbingly masturbatory").
Marcus' 2002-ish novel Notable American Women is an example of the difficult fiction decried by Franzen. This is a book so delectable that I am, even now, pleasurably lolling in memories of favorite phrases and passages. This is also a book that I have never recommended to anyone. It is a celebration of, and trial in, uses of language. The characters are at (most) times inscrutable; the plot is meant to be inferred by the reader; the narrator, unreliable... in short, this is not a book destined to be read by, say, my mother.
This should not detract from this book's value, both as art and as entertainment. By discouraging readership of esoteric, experimental, or otherwise narrow-audience fiction, Franzen threatens to deprive the literature world of significant works. Homogeneity is comforting but makes for a life of poor reading, in my estimation. Admittedly, I am a difficult and often contrary person (as confirmed by my poor husband), and often inclined to embrace ill-advised enterprises (cf my present thesis work). But does this make my tastes less valid than those of anyone else?
Consider dining with my mother. Mom is a bona fide culinary genius- she can make anything tasty. Our tastes in pasta diverge significantly, however. What is an al dente masterpiece to me is merely chewy to her. My mother also enjoys romance novels, so much so that she hasn't read anything else for most of my life. Indeed, I have been known to partake in the Harlequin goodness. Some days, I just need reassurance that although fate separated them at the alter, Drew finds Spencer as damnably desirable as ever, and will make her his on their quest for rare antiquities.... But I also need the toothsome enjoyment of (allegedly) difficult fiction. And spaghetti alla pepperocino. Often at the same time.
I propose an exchange. I will eat Mom's pasta (and like it), and continue to read nearly everything that crosses my path; I will also endorse "difficult" works, even to lovers of straightforward fiction. In return, readers, please support rare fiction enterprises by reading them, recommending them, and not listening to the grinding uniformity endorsed by some in the literary enterprise. Preserve the beauty of literature by reading something different!
Sláinte- to your reading health.
