Why We Would Read Something
I’ve had this theory for a while about why we would choose to read a particular work of fiction. I was discussing it last night with someone I work with, and he seemed to not disagree, so I shall expand on that theory here: I believe that there’s two reasons we read what we read: either it’s i) a well-written work or ii) it has an interesting story. Obviously these aren’t mutually exclusive criteria and a work can be both or neither, but I think that, to an extent, one can compensate for the other, although there’s a minimum level of each anyone would be willing to accept.
Here’s a bar chart I made illustrating the point, although the y-scale is comprised of competely meaningless arbitrary numbers:
‘Book 1′ represents a very well-written book with a not very interesting story. I’d say this description applies to a great deal of Modernist literature, and is the type of book I most commonly read. Prime examples would be Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, in which a woman is planning a party for the evening, James Joyce’s Ulysses, in which a man wanders aimlessly around Dublin for a day, and Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past / In Search of Lost Time / A la recherche du temps perdu, which spends the first thirty pages discussing how he often has difficulty sleeping, and the next hundred on what eating a type of French cake reminds him of. All of these, in isolation, are really quite boring stories of the mundane, and it is only the way they are written that brings them alive.
On the other end of the spectrum we have the type of work represented by ‘Book 2′: the interesting story that is not particularly well written. I’d say this is the most popular form of novel and includes the work of J. K. Rowling and Dan Brown. No one would argue that either Harry Potter or The Da Vinci Code are well written or have any deep subtexts; they sell themselves entirely on their stories. Who cares that Harry Potter doesn’t deal with existential themes? We just want to see what happens to the boy wizard. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with this type of writing; it fills the same needs as mindless trashy television which, despite its lack of cultural value is often cathartic to just zone out in front of. To speak metaphorically, I would liken this type of writing to a sugar-rush, a sweet, high-calorie low carbohydrate snack. You read The Da Vinci Code and it’s exciting (well, annoyingly over-excited): “first there was this man and then he got killed! and then some people found him covered in blood! and then he’d spelled out this riddle! and they were about to crack it! but they got chased by the police!” There’s no fat to chew, and sometimes you just want that. Mostly though, as I’ve said, I prefer something meatier, and I’d say Modernist literature is a like a well-cooked rump steak with a fine wine, full of rich and subtle flavours that are satisfying, but not to everybody’s taste.
‘Book 3′ which strikes a mid-range balance between well-written and interesting story, is the kind of average good book. Something like E. Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News, Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights or, my favourite of all books, Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Stuff happens, it’s well-described.
‘Book 4′ is the ideal book, with an amazing story and superlative writing. Almost no book has ever or will acheive this, and the only one I can think of that comes close is Homer’s The Odyssey, which was written well over two-thousand years ago. The story is as classic a monomyth as they come, full of exciting and memorable episodes that have weathered those two millenia to remain in the modern conciousness. The descriptions in it are also very well done, with Homer drawing simple paralells that demonstrate perfectly what he is talking about. I’d copy out some examples here if I hadn’t left my copy in another city or could be bothered to trawl through an internet copy.
Actually, I’d say that one other book which potentially comes close is Migeul de Cervantes’ Don Quixote, of which I’ve only so far read the first two hundred pages. This story is classic enough that the adjective ‘Quixotic’ and the idiom ’tilting at windmills’ have entered our language, meaning, respectively, someone like Don Quixote in that they are excessively chivalric and/or with a unique, perhaps misguided, wordlview, and, someone attacking invisible or misperceived enemies or otherwise engaging in a futile fight. The writing is well-accomplished in that it parodies chivalric romance tales while remaining original, witty and funny, and is often interspresed with original poems by Cervantes.
And that’s essentially my theory on what any piece of writing needs to have for someone to read it: a good story or a good writer. Whether you agree or disagree, please feel welcome to leave a comment below.
Tags: arbitrary, bar chart, Dan Brown, Don Quixote, E. Annie Proulx, Emily Bronte, Food Similes, Harper Lee, Harry Potter, Homer, J. K. Rowling, James Joyce, Marcel Proust, Modernism, Mrs. Dalloway, The Da Vinci Code, The Odyssey, The Shipping News, theory, To Kill a Mockingbird, Ulysses, Virginia Woolf, Wuthering Heights
September 26th, 2009 at 3:34 pm
Interesting stuff, Henry.
It reminded me about The Count of Monte Cristo, which Alexandre Dumas wrote following plotlines laid out by Auguste Maquet. Here we have a writer with a great story to tell but perhaps not the writing ability to tell it*, whose own work may have fit into your 2nd category, collaborating with a writer who would perhaps have fit into the 1st category and producing a book that would sit well in the 3rd category, if not the 4th (I’ll wait til I’ve finished the book before I start saying that, but I’m loving it so far).
Obviously I don’t know for sure what kind of work they’d have produced on their own because Dumas always used a ghostwriter for his books, and I haven’t been able to find any work by Maquet that hasn’t either disappeared into obscurity, never been translated into english, or both. Still, the fact that they were most successful while working together says quite a bit.
October 3rd, 2009 at 2:02 am
This is meaty, for book 4 I would say, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It fulfills both.
October 3rd, 2009 at 3:11 am
Where would you put Stephen King in this? Probably the third, although some his work [The Stand] is quite remarkable and intricate. Then there are the many genres in which one does write. Writing for a child or a young adult is different than writing for an older person. Would this eliminate the 4th category or would it just be considered a lesser standard due to the audience?
One day I hope to write in a manner that is befitting of the 3rd category. And if given the choice of the 1st or 2nd categories, then I would definitely choose interesting over well-written.
October 6th, 2009 at 2:45 am
[...] Benjamin Petrie – “Why We Would Read Something” – There’s two reasons we would read something: i) it’s well-written ii) it has [...]
October 7th, 2009 at 10:53 pm
Jena Isle: One Hundred Years of Solitude is a brilliant book, but I’d say it doesn’t quite make ‘book 4′ elite status. I’d say it’s maybe an 8 on both writing and story. Also, too many characters with the same name.
Anne: To be honest, I’ve never read any Stephen King, and wouldn’t really know where to begin were I inclined to. I have, however, seen both The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile. I figure that the truly great books of this world come from authors who have written few others and have really poured their heart and soul into a few great works, but I suppose some people have more and better books in them than others. At a guess, I’d say King probably does fit in with the third, but then I also suspect his works vary quite considerably in quality.
As for your question about writing for different age groups eliminating the fourth category, I don’t think it would at all. There’s an art to writing for younger people that many don’t appreciate. It’s not about ‘dumbing down’ but about capturing the imagination. In this respect something like Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar is, well, maybe not a ‘masterpiece’, but a very strong work. Similarly, Tove Janson’s Moomintroll books are both well-written and tell interesting stories, but they use a different register and tone for the younger audience. Also, as I’ve said before, something like The Odyssey is accessible to the point that a twelve-year-old could read and understand it. Now that’s considered one of the greatest works of Western literature, so I think that writing for a younger audience should neither imply nor excuse a lesser standard.