In an attempt to enrich my fiction-writin’ skills, I’ve been expanding my novel-readin’ horizons. It’s not that historically I’ve stuck to any preferred subject matter, but I have tended to eschew genre fiction. I think the last mass-market paperback I read was probably The Vampire Lestat in 1987.¹

But since my writing renaissance two years ago, I’ve been reading more widely.  “Write the book you’d want to read” has inspired me to explore more specifically what that is. And besides, I can never have too many reasons to buy more books.

So I’ve been reading with abandon, pretty much any book that’s grabbed me after a two-minute perusal in the bookstore.  A fun premise. Interesting-sounding characters. The occasional irresistible book cover. I haven’t given up mainstream, just branched out as far into the genre forest as I can go. At this point, about the only one not represented on the shelf is hard-boiled mystery because none of them have appealed to me yet (give it time).

And what I’ve learned so far is that – surprise – I don’t care for most genre fiction. In fact, most of the novels I’ve read in the past year have been just fair-to-middlin’, which for some reason has surprised me. Here’s what’s made the shortlist:  The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Lonely Werewolf Girl by Martin Millar, The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman, The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters I and II by Gordon Dahlquist, and most recently The Gargoyle, by Andrew Davidson.

All these books kept me up past my bedtime, but identifying the source of their magic has not been so straightforward. They couldn’t be more different in style and structure; about the only thing they have in common is their fantasy element.

After much rendering of garments and gnashing of teeth, I’ve come to the conclusion that what does it for me in a book is not what it’s “about” but how it’s written.

Hopeful Writer says: Duh. But Humble Reader is all: OK fine, but what does that mean exactly? I must analyze this further.

Here is her preliminary report, transcribed from the original neat block script in her trusty moleskin notebook:

1. The Internal Adventure. It’s not that I don’t like action; I do, but I don’t want to follow a cardboard protagonist around while she’s doing it. A lot of books are as short on complex characters as they are long on convoluted plots or intellectually interesting ideas. This is ok once and a while; I’ve read a few hardcore sci-fi and Stephanie Plum books and enjoyed them. But in general I want to live vicariously through a character that changes more than just her underwear in the course of the story. The author has to get me into her heart and mind.
2. Mindful writing. Clichés are the primary ingredient in that famous snake oil, Doctor Author’s Instant Story Flattener, which is apparently irresistible to a lot of writers. If I read one more time about someone’s heart pounding against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cage, or someone laughing mirthlessly, or eyes darkening with rage, I may scream like a banshee.
3. Funny. Now, let me ‘esplain. There’s lots of types of funny – witty, wry, ironic, total goof-ball, etc. For me, the more serious the book’s subject matter, the more I require at least some sort of comic relief. I have a very hard time connecting to totally humorless writing, especially that which takes itself Very Seriously (which is, alas, common in gothic fantasy).  And don’t get me started on the current affliction many authors seem to have of mistaking snark for wit. Ugh.
4. Hopeful endings. Hopeful, not necessarily happy.  I have nothing against either happy or unhappy endings. What I care about is whether the protagonist learned anything. Because to me, learning something new is always hopeful, even if she didn’t get the guy or the Earth blew up or the vampire got away.  Life is too short to waste reading about how rotten things were-are-and-ever-shall-be-the-end.
5. Lurv.  I say it loud, say it proud: I am a romantic. True, I don’t read genre romances, but mainly because I like my lovin’ woven into a broader experience. Love is an essential ingredient for me in my fiction as it is in my life. In other words, for me, a story with no love in it is no story at all.

A brief list but probably not for long; Humble Reader has found she rather enjoys finding things for that attention-hogging Hopeful Writer to do.

1. Which I loved and re-read at least twice. I still have it. It’s falling apart. [↩]