by David Niall Wilson
I’m finding a lot of similarities between discussions we’ve had here at Storytellers Unplugged, and the novel I’ve been reading, so I thought I’d use this place, and this space, to try and sort them out a little. The novel in question is “The World According to Garp,” written by John Irving and narrated by Michael Prichard. I include the narrator here because I may comment on my interpretation of his reading of the book at some point, and since we have the inestimable Mr. Dick Hill among us, maybe he’ll have some insight that is germane.
My train of thought left the station about the time I’d heard the author’s preface in its entirety, and it has only made sporadic stops since. At some later point I may dwell on my dismay that, at the time of writing that introduction, Mr. Irving was waiting on his twelve year old son’s opinion of his manuscript. I don’t know Mr. Irving, or his son, so I can’t properly put into perspective what thought process made him believe that this book is appropriate for a twelve year old (no matter how mature). What I can try to put into perspective is the author’s contention that it is inappropriate for an adult to ask a question like — “is it autobiographical?” –about a novel. He further states that it is the reader’s responsibility to understand the book, and if he can’t, he shouldn’t read it.
Slipping back a few days here at Storytellers, I remember a very wise man named Richard Steinberg telling us that first and foremost, as writers, we must communicate. It doesn’t matter how smart or clever we are if no one can share in it, and if our chosen profession is to communicate our cleverness to the world, we’d better be damned sure we can do it. Anyway, to make a long rant much shorter, I went into this novel ready to dislike it based on the introduction.
Let me preface this by stating that I am probably one of the few people in America that have survived into their forties without reading this book, or seeing the movie starring Robin Williams. I’ve seen little bits and pieces, but when I picked up the book I very literally had no idea what it was about.
After the author’s preface, which he narrated himself, and very well, I nearly ran aground on the next stumbling block. Michael Prichard has a unique style of narration. Some narrators bring the characters to life by changes in vocal inflection, (thank you Dick). Mr. Prichard does not. He reads in a very precise voice, and it can become monotonous. Thankfully, I am tenacious. When I first started to listen, it grated on my nerves, but I found – after time – that it grew on me, and that it began to fit my perceptions of the book, and the intent behind it. I forged on, and I came upon the crux of the matter, as far as this essay is concerned.
Garp, our hero, is a “serious” writer. His mother, Jenny, is a popular writer of accessible material that does much better in the bookstores. It irritates Garp, and you can almost feel that irritation dripping from the pages. He rants about it. He and his pretentious over-achieving wife discuss it at length, this “serious” writing as opposed to, I suppose, all the rest. It is very difficult, after listening to the self-narrated preface, to disassociate Garp from the author, and so I have to think – either he believes the argument himself, or he is lampooning it. Garp trivializes the amazing and often startling life and accomplishments of his mother based on his perception of the inferiority of her writing and his contempt for the people who read and are captivated by it. I’ve told the story many times about the panel I attended years ago where an editor from a major genre publishing house made the mistake of jumping into this lake of fire. Almost the exact words, in the end, crossed her lips, and all heck broke loose. The words, directed at a mainstream author with serious sales who had been given his own “branded” look for his novels (popping out two or three a year), were these.
“Well, he’s a real writer. I mean, he’s a “serious” writer.”
The response was swift. It came from a genre author who was well-known at the time and on the rise. He said…
“I guess the rest of us are just jerking off.”
Now that I have that out of my system, I have to wonder at the apparent rift between “serious” and “important” writing and popular writing. I wonder equally at those who seem absolutely certain such lines exist, and yet, when asked to draw them fall north and south of one another, often with violently differing opinions. It reminds me a lot of organized religions facing off against one another trying to win debates on theology by stating over and over again that what they believe is right, and, therefore, everything else is wrong – and if this doesn’t seem to be so, it’s a matter of faith. George Michael also told us we “gotta have faith,” and you see where he ended up.
The mother in Dick Hill’s poem owned Joyce because he was “brilliant,” but it is not clear whether she owned the book because she BELIEVED he was brilliant, or because it was the consensus of learned opinions in “serious” literary circles. How many classics, I wonder, are owned and never read because the reader feels they should be experiencing something they don’t find when they try to read? Do those readers feel as if it’s some understanding, or intellect that they lack? Is it? Is there really an illuminati-like group of readers so superior that they can pick the “serious” work for the rest of us to be amazed by, or is it all a matter of who is in favor, and who isn’t? If a work is serious, and then the style in which it was written falls from grace, is it still serious?
Some wool-gathered notions about serious writing:
- If too many people like it, it can have brilliant points, but it is flawed.
- A fantasy that is published as mainstream can be literature, but a mainstream story with a bit of the surreal in it published as genre fiction is “pop” fiction, and not serious.
- The clarity of writing from the reader’s perspective is inversely proportionate to the seriousness of the work.
- If the work is incomprehensible, but has the appearance of philosophy, it can become a classic with the proper critical backing.
- If the work is incomprehensible, has the appearance of philosophy, but the author makes the error of suggesting it is serious prior to said critical backing, it will be dismissed as incomprehensible garbage.
- It is okay to have lots of graphic sexual content as long as it is accompanied with sufficient dissection of the human psyche, and as long as it is either described clinically, or in poetic, flowery prose. The word erotic in a review can boost sales by a serious percentage, while the word perverted has a more limited audience.
- The ratio of quotes must fall heavily toward classics and great thinkers. Too much pop culture reference will drop your “serious” rating, as it tends to cause academics to believe you have a social life and are actually FAMILIAR with the pop references, as opposed to lampooning them with your razor-sharp and far-superior wit.
- Apparently, it is difficult to write a serious work if the protagonist isn’t miserable.
- In serious writing, it is okay to take shots at critics and English professors because they derive satisfaction from the idea that you are paying attention to them. It may even cause them to criticize you further – any review in the right places grants you “serious” status because they only REVIEW serious works in serious places. Just ask them.
- If you have never been reviewed in a serious place, and you take shots at the critics anyway, you will be dismissed as a “pop” fiction whiner and actively ignored. In rare circumstances, this may actually boost sales and cause a real review to happen at some point in the future, but the rarity of this makes it a bad practice.
- Very little serious fiction is written about monkeys. There may be an avenue of hope here.
- You will rarely see the word erotic in a review of a book about a monkey.
And that is enough, I think, of that.
Some final thoughts on Garp, his world, his mother, and Mr. Irving’s book. I am enjoying the novel. It has engaged my imagination, and has made me think – even if those thoughts were not always positive in relation to the author, the book, or Garp. If this is all it takes to make the book serious, then I suppose that it is. The fact is, though, that it doesn’t incline me toward more of Mr. Irving’s books as strongly as I’m inclined to read the new book by Stephen King, or the next Harry Potter novel. What does that say about the book, literature, serious writing, and my own taste?
I’m told Mr. Irving is one of the great writers of our time, and that this book is a masterpiece. I’m likely the wrong one to judge that. I wonder, though, if the popularity of the work, in conjunction with the movie, has invalidated it in some way. It is pretty obvious in the preface, and in the character, Garp, that the author takes exception with popular writing, and those who read it. He seems to have little patience for readers who have questions about the writing of the book, but there is also a sense of detachment, much like Jenny’s detachment from the world within the pages of the book. In a way, all of the main characters of “The World According to Garp” seem to be impatient with life, and the world that surrounds them, so I leave you with a thought.
Perhaps the seriousness of a writer’s work is, as Einstein would nod, smile, and tell you – simply relative. The thoughts of each reader, the comparisons he or she will make to the world, to life, and to other literary works will be different every time the pages of a book are cracked open and turned.
Meanwhile, I believe I’ll keep plodding along. No…SERIOUSLY!
Onward!
20 Comments, Comment or Ping
Janet Berliner
Good essay as always, Dave, and a topic that may never be resolved.
Marion Zimmer Bradley once told me that she considered any book serious if, after a second read, she put it back on her shelf as part of her permanent library.
One of the dictionary definitions I found is, “Something that requires a considered response.” For me, that comes close. From my personal viewpoint, it’s also any book I remember; any book that sparks discussion; any book I carry through moves from house-to-house and country-to-country.
Something else, the serious books on my list must move me on both an intellectual and a visceral level.
Janet
Jan 31st, 2007
Anonymous
Interesting. Of course, that means that Joyce will never grace my shelves, because I can’t imagine reading Ulysses twice, and yet…Harry Potter will be there in force…as will Dickens, Thomas Wolfe, Ayn Rand and Stephen King (though not all by any of them — except the Harry Potter).
A considered response…
I like that, and yet, it sort of makes my hidden point because, while that’s something I like in a book…I don’t know that it’s the reaction to a book that I prefer…and shouldn’t we prefer the “serious” writing if it is actually more exceptional?
Thanks for making me think again. I must now put your response on my shelf, because I’ll be thinking about it for a while…
D
Jan 31st, 2007
John B. Rosenman
Dave, your comments about English professors cut rather close to the bone. Why do you think I raised no complaint when you Tuckered me in one of your stories?
A very important, insightful essay. My first reaction was to recall that Shakespeare didn’t write for the elite book critics of THE NEW YORKER and THE NEW YORK TIMES but for the masses. He tried to appeal to all elements of Elizabethan society, the high and the low.
I like Janet’s criterion for serious writing. If it stays with you and you take it seriously, well, then it may possess serious merit. Of your bullets, all of them are probably correct. I like the one about inferior works being too clear and easy to understand. Faulkner once said of Hemingway that he never used a word you didn’t have to look up. That may be another way of saying that Papa was just jerking off.
Feb 1st, 2007
Sully
Serious vs. popular. They aren’t mutually exclusive. I think I’d like to write a seriously popular book. Irving wrote three “serious” books before GARP. THE WATER METHOD MAN…SETTING FREE THE BEARS…THE 158 LB. MARRIAGE sold 4500 copies cumulatively and his publisher kicked him out, throwing the ms to GARP after him. The rest is histoire, as they say, because GARP became (arguably) the novel of the 70s. What was the difference between #4 and the first three? Simply that GARP had it all. Serious and popular, and therefore seriously popular. It ain’t apples and oranges after all. p.s. Davey. Most of the rest of Irving’s stuff is still about bears and dwarves and wrestlers, so move on to Nabokov or Helprin. He also is prone to tongue in cheek prologues a la Twain. Ditto in person. But don’t tell I told.
– Sully (Thomas Sullivan)
Feb 1st, 2007
Rick Steinberg
This essay is definitely serious literature, Buddy.
An outstanding start to the month.
Feb 1st, 2007
Anonymous
It’s such an artificial distinction anyway. Popular fiction appeals to the lowest common denominator, serious writing appeals to the intelligencia, and never the twain shall meet. Bah, humbug. Some writers, such as Fred Chappell, successfully tread this perceived line. Academics tend to be extraordinarily kind to his dark fantasy work (deservedly so), although I’d bet that if that very same work bore Dean Koontz’s byline, they’d have a different reaction.
Some amusing and thought-provoking observations here. I like.
–M
Feb 1st, 2007
Anonymous
Well….
Heck. I knew you’d notice the English Prof. line, Johnny…but seriously, there is a distinction here. The type of English Professor I refer to is the type who takes literature too seriously, feels that anything written outside the academic world, or the balloon of “serious writers and critics” that surround academia, is flawed. You are a passionate author, and you make no such distinctions, nor can I imagine you looking down on someone for their taste - though you do take a dim view of comma flaws …
Mark, I agree…and it’s funny, but you can brand works differently and get a different reaction completely…that alone is enough to tell me there’s something sour in th e applesauce.
Sully, I hope I didn’t come down too hard on Garp’s creator…as stated, I like the book just fine. I just wondered if he were bemused over having a book he considers to be “GARP” like and being forced to deal with “JENNY” like fandom. Has he experienced his own Grillpartser? (sp?)
DNW
Feb 1st, 2007
Sully
Could be there is more of Jenny in Irving than there is Garp. CIDER HOUSE RULES has a thinner veneer over this…
– Sully
Feb 1st, 2007
Mort
Sullivan has already said it for me.
The “war” of highbrow, middlebrow, lowbrow, and nobrow has been pretty well settled, except for the occasional skirmish.
That’s why you’ll see King in the NEW YORKER, Lehane in ATLANTIC, Ellroy in ESQUIRE … That’s why you’ll see a Steve Rasnic Tem in TIN HOUSE or Charles D’Amrosia in Zoetrope. You ain’t gonna see Mary Higgens Clark, Laurel K. Hamilton, or Catherine Coulter in those venues–nor do they strive to be.
Mort
Feb 1st, 2007
Anonymous
Great essay, David.
We’ve all heard stories about the highbrow literati looking down its nose at the trashy genre writers. But I think it’s important to keep in mind that it goes the other way, too.
How often have we seen chip-shouldered splatterpunk or erotica writers bemoaning how they aren’t taken seriously (or how their work is too “extreme” for the delicate sensibilities of the average reader), while at the same time slamming “boring” or “derivative” mainstream fiction as a whole?
There’s no question that some people, editors and readers alike, have preconceived feelings toward genre fiction. But to take the same stance against mainstream or so-called “literary” fiction is just another form of prejudice.
Frankly, I’m glad to hear that you even gave Garp a chance. A lot of genre authors wouldn’t even have bothered.
IanR
Feb 1st, 2007
Anonymous
Heh..Ian…
My reading over the past two years included: The Fountainhead, Atlas Shrugged, Harry Potter (one or two of them) Insomnia, Bleak House, Ulysses, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, some books by these folks surrounding me here…
In other words, I don’t look down my nose at any of them. It is the attitude of the character that set me off, not my own. I don’t like crappy writing in or out of genres - good point that it can cut both ways.
DNW
Feb 1st, 2007
Frank Wydra
Seems to me that there are three things in play, here. Serious writers, serious writing, and style. Serious writers are those who pursue the craft diligently, regardless of what they write. Serious writing is scribbling, which has at its core a message that–as so aptly stated by Janet–is both intellectual and visceral, it grabs the gray matter in both the brain and the gut. Lastly, there is style, which is the manner in which the work is presented.
I like Irving. I always have, though I like some of his work more than others. To me he is a serious writer because he has produced a body of work and through it his craftsmanship has developed. He writes about serious stuff, whether it be abortion, prostitution, or regeneration. And he does so from a point of view that reflects his philosophy. Agree or not, he evokes discussion. And we all have style–sometimes elegant, sometimes, trite, sometimes abstruse, sometimes plainspoken–but it is style, nonetheless. For me, sometimes Irving’s style is dense, too dense. Yet in other stories (Garp, Cider House Rules, Fourth Hand, Widow For One Year) it is both plainspoken and lyrical.
The reason I think you have to separate out the writer from the writ from the style is that these are the hallmarks by which readers make judgment. Those who write much are more likely to be noticed. Those who have a serious message are more likely to be taken seriously. Those who write with grace and elegance are likely to be reread. And, in the end, it is the reader—not the critic—who bestows the “classic” title on a work. Otherwise, as John has pointed out, Shakespeare would not have achieved the status he has. Nor would Twain, Conan-Doyle, Dickens, Rowling, or the Reverend Dodgson.
David, you have done us all a service by testing these waters. I think the ripple will be profound. You write often, you write with a message, and you write with the soigné of a master.
Frank
Feb 1st, 2007
Anonymous
Thanks Frank. I do try. Seriously…
Ianr - Any chance you’re Ian Rankin?
D
Feb 1st, 2007
jso
Any Graham Greene fans here?
Greene wrote ’serious’ novels and what he called ‘entertainments.’ A comic novel such as Our Man in Havanna, and darker, more serious work (Heart of the Matter, End of the Affair) might not seem to have much in common at first glance. But Greene’s voice and his sensibility are so vivid and consistent in both realms, that after awhile the difference between his serious and his comic work seems almost like the measure of the author’s mood: Today he’s making you laugh at the British Secret Service. Tonight he’ll be meditating on adultery and existence of God. To me, the great and amazing thing about Greene is that if you like him for the one, you stand a very good chance of at least trusting him for the other.
And for a truly sublime combination of the two, there’s always Brighton Rock, with its lovely opening line:
“Hale knew, before he had been in Brighton three hours, that they meant to murder him.”
jso
Feb 1st, 2007
jso
Excuse me. I meant HAVANA.
yeesh
Feb 1st, 2007
Frank Wydra
“To me, the great and amazing thing about Greene is that if you like him for the one, you stand a very good chance of at least trusting him for the other.”
I like that. Not a bad requiem, either.
Frank
Feb 1st, 2007
Janet Berliner
Ah yes, Graham Greene. And how about Kurt Vonnegut?
Vladimir Nabakov? The list of serious crowd-pleasers
is long enough to give me heart. Janet
Feb 1st, 2007
Anonymous
I love Vonnegut. I still vividly remember taking “The Sirens of Titan” to my teacher to be SURE it was okay to read it - and that she understood what it was about BEFORE I wrote the report (lol).
I recently read Tom Robbins’ “Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas” and was a little disappointed after loving “Another Roadside Attraction,” but the point is? He still writes about monkeys…and there WAS sex in the book, so he broke my rule….thus the critics like this book less.
Of course, there was a monkey in “Another Roadside Attraction” as well…
D
Feb 1st, 2007
Anonymous
Sorry, David. I’m not Ian Rankin. But I play him on TV… No, that’s not true, either. Suffice to say I’m no one of any consequence.
But I did like your reading list. I think the best writers are the ones whose reading tastes are broad and varied.
You’re clearly part of that crowd, which probably goes toward explaining why you’ve done so well for yourself as a writer.
Personally I’d be less inclined to read a mystery story by an author who says he only reads mysteries, or a horror author who only reads horror. I think that’s a recipe for producing derivative fiction, which you are most certainly no guilty of doing.
IanR
Feb 2nd, 2007
Anonymous
Some communities of writers do seem to become inbred — and they suffer deep bouts of entropy.
If I read only Horror, how could I find something new to bring TO horror?
Besides, since I read a lot of audio books these days, I have made a point of trying to read a lot of the literature I missed by not attending college at an early age…I have not getting the “in” jokes, like when someone says…
But, then, who IS John Galt?
DNW
Feb 2nd, 2007
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