What Makes a Bad Book Good?
I saw a discussion posted on this topic, but by the time I'd discovered it, it had already been taken over by some folks who wanted to brangle about whether or not Harry Potter was "bad" or "good"--each implying their own taste was the standard all should use.
That kind of discussion doesn't seem likely to go anywhere. (Others might disagree.) I've been thinking about old favorites, and favorites that have become difficult to read, as well as about books that were popular in the past but which now seem to be hailed generally as bad. (And ones now both popular and hailed as bad.)
Here are some random thoughts. For a whole lot of readers out there, felicity of style and originality of setting or even plot are secondary to a brisk pace, but even more important, reinforcement of certain rules--usually at the cost of perceived truth. I say "certain" rules, because those rules can vary so widely, as widely as perceived truth. Many readers found the third of Pullman's His Dark Materials to be a bad book because the author seemed to sacrifice character, plot, setting, emotional subtlety in order to hammer home his anti-Narnia (anti-Christian) hessage. Many readers who loathe C.S. Lewis, Narnia, and organized religion--especially Christianity--thought the triumph of message over matter a feature, not a flaw. I've also seen a wave of wholesale condemnation of urban fantasy, specifically the vampire books descended from Anne Rice and Joss Whedon in which the vamps are superhumanly attractive as well as mad, bad, and dangerous to know. But the sales numbers for these books is testament that a thumping percentage of the book buying population emphatically disagrees.
Bad books of the past are easier to spot, especially when the rules and assumptions in the book have changed. Like, I remember reading a shabby used copy of one of McCutcheon's Graustark novels, some years back. These were best sellers at the time, though they are all but unknown now, and not in print. The plot required the outcast manly hero to be part of a band of rough thieves and brigands. At one point the heroine is taken by the brigands, and spends the night in a cave with them. A lone female, a lady, in a cave with rough brigands! McCutcheon took immense pains to assure the reader that her very (and he strengthened his adjectives with "very" a lot) her very innocence and purity abashed those desperate men so much that not only did no one offer her the least insult, they rediscovered a semblance of manners.
Here's my thought, and I'd love to know if readers who've made it this far think I'm onto something, or need to rethink: the main lure of "bad" books is the easy fix.
We identify the rules, and the characters operate according to the rules, despite internal threats to life, the universe, and everything. Because the villains are at heart cowards, the hero prevails. Because virgins are pure and innocent, good guys treat them with respect. Our sleuth will always out-think the murderer. The Wise Woman (or wise E.T. or wise telepathic horse) has only to look to the very bottom of your soul, utter a New Age saying, and your life is immediately fixed. (Or the hero or heroine looks to the very bottom of your soul, and your true love, or soul mate, or soul twin, is there at your side for eternity.*)
There are two things that I find interesting. One is how much emotional investment readers will bring to easy fix books, it's like they can relax their emotions. The other thing is how willfully we'll set aside hard-won experiential rules for the sake of a good story--one that ends with justice, competence paying off, wish-fulfillment.
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*this also goes for the instant recognition and acceptance of the loyal, absolutely dedicated community of outcasts. I'm wondering if some scholar in the future is going to do a thesis on all the Thieves Guilds of genre fiction in the eighties and nineties, in which determinedly middle class values ruled--while the characters robbed the middle class and above. Makes one wonder how many authors of Thieves Guild stories actually experienced their house being stripped of valuables and keepsakes?
That kind of discussion doesn't seem likely to go anywhere. (Others might disagree.) I've been thinking about old favorites, and favorites that have become difficult to read, as well as about books that were popular in the past but which now seem to be hailed generally as bad. (And ones now both popular and hailed as bad.)
Here are some random thoughts. For a whole lot of readers out there, felicity of style and originality of setting or even plot are secondary to a brisk pace, but even more important, reinforcement of certain rules--usually at the cost of perceived truth. I say "certain" rules, because those rules can vary so widely, as widely as perceived truth. Many readers found the third of Pullman's His Dark Materials to be a bad book because the author seemed to sacrifice character, plot, setting, emotional subtlety in order to hammer home his anti-Narnia (anti-Christian) hessage. Many readers who loathe C.S. Lewis, Narnia, and organized religion--especially Christianity--thought the triumph of message over matter a feature, not a flaw. I've also seen a wave of wholesale condemnation of urban fantasy, specifically the vampire books descended from Anne Rice and Joss Whedon in which the vamps are superhumanly attractive as well as mad, bad, and dangerous to know. But the sales numbers for these books is testament that a thumping percentage of the book buying population emphatically disagrees.
Bad books of the past are easier to spot, especially when the rules and assumptions in the book have changed. Like, I remember reading a shabby used copy of one of McCutcheon's Graustark novels, some years back. These were best sellers at the time, though they are all but unknown now, and not in print. The plot required the outcast manly hero to be part of a band of rough thieves and brigands. At one point the heroine is taken by the brigands, and spends the night in a cave with them. A lone female, a lady, in a cave with rough brigands! McCutcheon took immense pains to assure the reader that her very (and he strengthened his adjectives with "very" a lot) her very innocence and purity abashed those desperate men so much that not only did no one offer her the least insult, they rediscovered a semblance of manners.
Here's my thought, and I'd love to know if readers who've made it this far think I'm onto something, or need to rethink: the main lure of "bad" books is the easy fix.
We identify the rules, and the characters operate according to the rules, despite internal threats to life, the universe, and everything. Because the villains are at heart cowards, the hero prevails. Because virgins are pure and innocent, good guys treat them with respect. Our sleuth will always out-think the murderer. The Wise Woman (or wise E.T. or wise telepathic horse) has only to look to the very bottom of your soul, utter a New Age saying, and your life is immediately fixed. (Or the hero or heroine looks to the very bottom of your soul, and your true love, or soul mate, or soul twin, is there at your side for eternity.*)
There are two things that I find interesting. One is how much emotional investment readers will bring to easy fix books, it's like they can relax their emotions. The other thing is how willfully we'll set aside hard-won experiential rules for the sake of a good story--one that ends with justice, competence paying off, wish-fulfillment.
_____________
*this also goes for the instant recognition and acceptance of the loyal, absolutely dedicated community of outcasts. I'm wondering if some scholar in the future is going to do a thesis on all the Thieves Guilds of genre fiction in the eighties and nineties, in which determinedly middle class values ruled--while the characters robbed the middle class and above. Makes one wonder how many authors of Thieves Guild stories actually experienced their house being stripped of valuables and keepsakes?