Harry Potter and the Loss of Literary Biodiversity
Ron Charles over at the Washington Post is the latest schlub to bemoan Pottermania and the lot of the lonely book critic.
“Perhaps submerging the world in an orgy of marketing hysteria doesn't encourage the kind of contemplation, independence and solitude that real engagement with books demands -- and rewards. Consider that, with the release of each new volume, Rowling's readers have been driven not only into greater fits of enthusiasm but into more precise synchronization with one another. Through a marvel of modern publishing, advertising and distribution, millions of people will receive or buy "The Deathly Hallows" on a single day. There's something thrilling about that sort of unity, except that it has almost nothing to do with the unique pleasures of reading a novel: that increasingly rare opportunity to step out of sync with the world, to experience something intimate and private, the sense that you and an author are conspiring for a few hours to experience a place by yourselves -- without a movie version or a set of action figures. Through no fault of Rowling's, Potter mania nonetheless trains children and adults to expect the roar of the coliseum, a mass-media experience that no other novel can possibly provide.”
Yes, yes, popular culture equates into the hive-mind, insert obligatory Wii slams here.
Question: If less people are reading than ever before, why are book megastores as easily spread as Starbucks (the fact that a Barnes & Nobles usually has Starbucks inside them doesn’t count)? And if people are only reading the same five books each year, why are said bookstores multiple floors with thousands of choices-with the option to special order if what you want isn’t in stock?
Never mind the facts, though. Charles explains how the purported lack of reader choice is akin to biodiversity (begging the question: do the books breed at night?) and thus “literature” [here defined like “medicine”-it’s good for you but you won’t like it going down] is being outbred by popularity, and soon all we’ll have to read is one-eyed six-fingered books. Well, something like that anyway.
Now I think this argument can be applied to literary marketing-witness the Da Vinci’s Magdalen’s Templar Virgin glut for a couple years back there-but not to literary production. Likewise, if sales of midlist fiction were truly as sad as the critic claims, the stores would fold. Publishers and retailers are not saints-not even (especially) ones in the book industry. If it doesn’t sell, they’re not going to keep shilling it. End of story.
“Perhaps submerging the world in an orgy of marketing hysteria doesn't encourage the kind of contemplation, independence and solitude that real engagement with books demands -- and rewards. Consider that, with the release of each new volume, Rowling's readers have been driven not only into greater fits of enthusiasm but into more precise synchronization with one another. Through a marvel of modern publishing, advertising and distribution, millions of people will receive or buy "The Deathly Hallows" on a single day. There's something thrilling about that sort of unity, except that it has almost nothing to do with the unique pleasures of reading a novel: that increasingly rare opportunity to step out of sync with the world, to experience something intimate and private, the sense that you and an author are conspiring for a few hours to experience a place by yourselves -- without a movie version or a set of action figures. Through no fault of Rowling's, Potter mania nonetheless trains children and adults to expect the roar of the coliseum, a mass-media experience that no other novel can possibly provide.”
Yes, yes, popular culture equates into the hive-mind, insert obligatory Wii slams here.
Question: If less people are reading than ever before, why are book megastores as easily spread as Starbucks (the fact that a Barnes & Nobles usually has Starbucks inside them doesn’t count)? And if people are only reading the same five books each year, why are said bookstores multiple floors with thousands of choices-with the option to special order if what you want isn’t in stock?
Never mind the facts, though. Charles explains how the purported lack of reader choice is akin to biodiversity (begging the question: do the books breed at night?) and thus “literature” [here defined like “medicine”-it’s good for you but you won’t like it going down] is being outbred by popularity, and soon all we’ll have to read is one-eyed six-fingered books. Well, something like that anyway.
Now I think this argument can be applied to literary marketing-witness the Da Vinci’s Magdalen’s Templar Virgin glut for a couple years back there-but not to literary production. Likewise, if sales of midlist fiction were truly as sad as the critic claims, the stores would fold. Publishers and retailers are not saints-not even (especially) ones in the book industry. If it doesn’t sell, they’re not going to keep shilling it. End of story.