Is Genre a Four-Letter Word?

Here are the plots to three novels: can you tell which are fantasy novels?

* The son of a twisted duke is killed in a bizarre accident, and his innocent fiancée finds herself a prisoner of a haunted castle, pursued by the duke himself. Only the strange, twisting corridors of Otranto can save her now, where statues cry bloody tears and giant helmets exact their unholy revenge.

* A sailor is shipwrecked on an island and wakes up to find that ant-sized people have captured him. They dub him the “Man Mountain” and force him to do various menial tasks (like saving the entire kingdom with his own urine), until, terrified by his potential power, decide to kill him and parcel off his body to various parts of the kingdom. But the “Man Mountain” has other ideas...

* Two knights are captured in battle and thrown into a dungeon for life. Through the bars, they glimpse a garden outside tended by a beautiful woman: both of them fall madly in love with her, and vow eternal hatred on the other, since only one can lay claim to her heart. Eventually, one night is pardoned while the other manages through subterfuge to escape. Once free, the second knight prays to Mars to assure him victory, while the other prays to Venus; both god and goddess grant each one success in love and battle. This causes quite a debate in Olympus, and Jupiter has to stand in judgment as to which lover will live with the maiden—and which will die in defeat.

So which are the fantasy novels? The answer is simple: none of them. Each one is a work of “classic literature” published by academic presses and used in tens of thousands of high school and college classrooms each year. The first one, and the trickiest, comes from Walpole’s early gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto (1764). The second, a little more familiar to most, is from Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels (1726). And the final one, a plot which the author borrowed, and which Shakespeare also stole for a very late play, is from “The Knight’s Tale,” the very first installment of The Canterbury Tales (1476). So search as you will through the fantasy and science fiction section of the bookstore (or clicking through the same section in Amazon), you won’t find a single copy of these books. They’re all great literature, classics, poetry, or the more popular term, literary fiction.

And yet, if someone borrowed one of those plots today to weave together a novel where an astronaut lands on a strange planet of tiny aliens who abduct him, would that also be literary fiction? Or even just “fiction”? No, it would be science fiction, genre fiction, and to some people, merely “pulp fiction.” The same is true for any number of books with knights, haunted castles, shipwrecked sailors, or indeed, most works set in the ancient past. Fantasy. Juvenile literature. Maybe Young Adult at best. The implication is that these plots aren’t sufficiently literary to engage our minds or to make us think, feel, and examine the “human drama” that continues to be enacted.

Unless, of course, a book sells particularly well...then people start hedging their bets. The Harry Potter books, for example, have always held a respected place in the fantasy section...though you can also find them in Young Adult and mainstream fiction (depending on the bookstore). Or what about The Martian? Basically Robinson Crusoe (which reads like fantasy) set on Mars...yet you will rarely find it in the science fiction section. No, it’s “fiction” through and through. Why? Simply because it sells well and people like it—and that goes for people who have never watched an episode of Star Trek or read ten pages of Dune. So if a plot doesn’t doom a novel to a specific genre, why is that so often the case in traditional publishing? Why isn’t Frank Herbert (who wrote the Dune books) also found in fiction, when his books are quite more complex and interesting than The Martian, and why does J.K. Rowling get the literary mantle when it is forever denied to someone like Clifford Simak or Robert E. Howard (both of whom have sold countless books themselves)?

In the end, the problem lies with the bugbear of “realism,” which is hilarious given that we’re talking about fiction. If a book isn’t sufficiently realistic then it is seen as less important, or less serious, than the more “sensible” books in the market. Even among the science fiction community, there is often great snobbery about books that don’t pay tribute to hard science and instead fall back on the softer science of Star Wars (I’ve heard day-long debates on whether or not ‘parsecs’ is a measurement of speed or distance—as in Han’s comment, “it made the Kessel Run in less than 5 parsecs”). The Martian is given a pass since it’s composed of wall-to-wall hard science—and very impressively, too. Yet Dune, which is far less technical when it comes to “folding space” is seen as a talky space opera which is more suitable for nerdy preteens than your local biology professor.

Of course, fantasy is also expected to worship at the altar of realism—we need psychologically believable characters who are always consistent and plausible (and preferably, anti-heroes). With realism goes an expectation of defying the conventional tropes, even if doing so becomes a convention in itself: every heroine is a badass, basically usurping the ‘male’ role and saving the day. Wonderful on the face of it, but what about a novel that goes back to older traditions and stories? The beauty of folklore and fairy tales is their defiant refusal to make sense: characters act strangely, as in a dream; events appear and disappear following their own logic, and it’s the work of the reader to stitch them together. God help the modern novelist who attempts such innovation! Surely there are some women who long to be princesses, or who would rather be magic users, or bards, or scholars? Does ever hero or heroine have to wield a sword to be “heroic”? Is kicking ass the only way to “kick ass”?

Worse still, if you use magic, it had better work like science! The idea that magic should follow strict rules and laws probably comes from role playing games, where it does by necessity...but this is storytelling! In the Arthurian Legends, does Merlin explain the logistics of his spellcraft? What about Circe? Do we see the actual recipe that goes into her spells transforming men into beasts? Of course not. It’s fiction, fantasy, make-believe. The sense of wonder and mystery that surrounds it is half the fun, and all the author’s intention (whoever they were). If magic existed, I imagine it would work differently for each person, much the way writing does. No one writes the same way, or understands exactly how it works. It just does. That’s why there are so many self-help books for authors, most of them contradicting each other. Would it be any different for magic and magicians?

While we all like to read a story and believe in it—Coleridge called it the “willing suspension of disbelief”—we can also take it too far. An agent once told me that Young Adult readers will only read a heroine that is the same age as they are, more or less. They want to see themselves in the novel, like wearing a costume and playing make-believe. I couldn’t disagree more. I never read to wear borrowed clothes. I read to be a spy—I want to peek on a world of wonders that I don’t personally take part in, and that looks nothing like myself. I don’t need to see myself writ large (or small) in a novel; I just want to experience something mysterious and divine, or else see the mysterious and divine in the world around me. Either one will do, but I’m not a literary narcissist; I want to read beyond and outside myself. And I don’t demand that the books make sense or follow the rules of my own world. I only ask for one thing and even that is negotiable: make me never want to close the book. Keep me turning the pages in wonder, delight, confusion, anger, and frustration. Any story that does that, in any genre, has done its work.

In conclusion, I will admit that works of fantasy and science fiction (even if they’re not classified as such) tend to keep me turning the pages more than others. I read widely and in every possible style and genre, but nothing excites me more than a story set in the distant past or the far-flung future. These are stories that simply delight me. Even when they’re old, they seem brand new. Even the cover of a castle enveloped by mist with twin moons on the horizon makes me eager to crack open the book and get lost in the pages. I wager that a lot of people would feel the same if we removed the stigma of genre of “fantasy” (or whatever other genre). Look at the run-away popularity of the Lord of the Rings movies; everyone seemed to love them, even people who would have gagged at the very sight of a hard bound copy of The Simarillion. Why? Because films are almost genre neutral, as we also see with superhero films (how many fans of Wolverine actually own any X-Men comics?); the point being, that when we look at books as books, and fiction as fiction, we expand our horizons. We look at stories, and not types or genres or categories.

Reading is fun. It makes life worth living. So why reduce it to a dry set of analytics or algorithms? Only a complete idiot thinks that numbers can encompass the diverse reasons that we read and value art. Or not “idiots”—that’s too strong a term. Let’s call them “people who don’t read books.”