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C. S. Lewis discussed part of this, in a couple of essays, but I’m going to extend what he said, a little.
Lewis said bad books succeeded, when they did, because they had some literary virtues. No book devoid of all literary virtues, he argued, would be read–it would be too painful. (Unless it’s assigned by one’s teacher, I mutter…) “Bad” writers have to be doing something right–and usually, it’s telling a story.
In general, people judge a book to be good or bad on other things than purely literary qualities…and buy and read books they think are good, rather than books they think are bad.
Here are my reasons why bad books succeed, based on my own tolerance for less-than-great books.
1) The subject is fascinating to that reader. I will read poorly written books on a topic that interests me over well-written books on a topic that bores or disgusts me. I would prefer a well-written book…but if the choice is between a book on horses and a book on housekeeping, I am so there with the horse book. “Subject” can include setting (there are settings that fascinate me–I will read books set in certain locations just because I like, or want to visit, that locale.)
2) The attitude/slant suits the reader. This is closely related to the “subject”–but it’s not the same. People who already have an opinion they’re wedded to will think a book supporting that opinion is a good book (even if it’s badly written) and a book opposing that opinion is a bad book (no matter how well it’s written.) When the reader’s attitude/opinions match those of the book, the reader will put up with a lot of infodump (in fiction or nonfiction) and be tolerant of sloppy writing.
3) The storytelling aspect–the flow of story–is outstanding. For most people, the traditional story form grabs and holds attention despite flaws in the writing. And storytelling is something you can do without developing great skill in language–at least not in written language. More people have a grasp of what makes a satisfying story than have the skill to tell stories elegantly.
4) On the other side–some readers are extremely sensitive to the elegance of the writing and will tolerate a badly constructed story, a setting riddled with errors of fact, and lacklustre characterization if their desire for word-dazzle is satisfied. These readers are fewer than you might expect, but they include people who have influence…and are constantly annoyed that their kind of book isn’t a bestseller.
I was looking at one of the books I’d been sent recently (I’m sent lots of books by lots of sources) and wondering how this catastrophic disaster of an excuse for a book ever made it through a publisher…but on second, third, and fourth thought, it’s obvious.
The book appeals to people who like that kind of book.
The topic, the slant, the characters…some readers would be hooked by one or all three. That it’s slowed down with a boatload of infodump that doesn’t contribute plot-worthy information *or* mood/tone/feel (of setting, of characters)–that it’s clearly a case of the writer expecting reader to slog through all the writer’s research and invention–is beside the point. That the writing itself (choice of words, rhythm, tone, ability to present action in a clear sequence) is three steps down from clunky is beside the point. That its political position is in free-fall off one end of the spectrum is beside the point. What matters is that it has readers for whom it’s a good book– its publisher knows that there are enough readers who want that topic, slant, type of character, and degree of infodump to make publishing that book profitable for them.
I can’t read it–for me, it’s a bad book–but someone else will tell me it’s a good one and I should write more like Nameless Author. Readers are diverse (what a surprise!) and some like what I consider infodump, while others won’t tolerate as much information as I enjoy. Readers have various religious and political opinions; they see the world in different ways; they are more or less sensitive to just about anything any writer puts into a book.
So can we even say that a given book is “bad” or “good?”
I think we can say that it meets–or does not meet–certain criteria in every way that a book can be judged. Whether this results in a “final grade” is a matter for debate. Lewis, for instance, praised H. Rider Haggard’s ability to create dramatic situations and characters, but said that his clumsy, imprecise use of language made them less effective than they could otherwise have been. We–readers of the world this is, which includes everyone from the college professor of literature to the youngster who has just been hooked by the first book he or she ever read for fun–can’t even agree on what books are for. (I vote for “all of the above” on every list I’ve seen. Entertainment and information and deeper understanding of human nature and social commentary and so on. Since I can’t find everything I want in just one book, I read a lot of books by a lot of different people.)
Comment by Kip Colegrove — June 20, 2009 @ 9:03 am
I find I can put up with a lot of clunkiness in a book if it tells a good story, has interesting characters, builds a reasonably good world (if it is imaginativer fiction), shows a reasonabley good grasp of reality (whether it is imaginative fiction or not), and has a strong (or at least a clear) moral center.
The last is very important, as I lose interest in (or begin to feel aversion toward) stories that are too cynical or nihilistic–however well the do the other stuff. And I’ve read (or tried to read) a few recently that put me off in that fashion. The volumes of fiction on my shelf that show the heavy wear of appreciation have that center, as well as more obviously literary virtues.
Comment by elizabeth — June 20, 2009 @ 9:11 am
A good book for me is much the same. I can enjoy a character I might not enjoy in real life, but the writer’s worldview has to be within a standard deviation of mine, or I’m going to be unable to sink into the book’s reality. That worldview includes moral/ethical center: if the writer thinks torturing babies is OK to make them into super-soldiers (or something) I am out of there in a hurry.
Comment by Martin LaBar — June 21, 2009 @ 2:54 am
Thanks. As I recall, C. S. Lewis said something like that George MacDonald was not a great writer, but he told great stories.
Comment by elizabeth — June 21, 2009 @ 7:28 am
MacDonald had flashes of brilliance as a writer, IMO–not only in ideas but in expression of them–but the moral lecturing over-weighted the story (rather than being worked out in it, without commentary.)
Lewis mentioned several writers whose stories he thought better than their mastery of the craft of writing…I couldn’t follow him at all in _Voyage to Arcturus_ (a book I read because Lewis had praised its invention, but which I found repellent and completely unsatisfactory.) I also read some Haggard because of Lewis, and there I agreed with him–great gusto, great storytelling energy, but slapdash handling of the language and details. Yet I would rather re-read a Haggard than any of a score of “literary” writers I’ve attempted whose books just plain bore me.
Comment by Barb — June 21, 2009 @ 9:40 am
I really enjoyed your essay and thought it right on the money.
I can recall trying to read a number of the earlier fantasy writers who were re-published in the mid-1960’s after Lord of the Rings became so popular. I failed in the attempt. I just could not get into any of them. That was about the same time I read Lewis and Charles Williams (because of their association with Tolkien). And, I actually enjoyed Williams more than Lewis. I inhaled Lord of the Rings and re-read it almost annually.
I am a firm follower of the ‘too many books, too little time’ credo. If the book doesn’t grab me somehow, be it characters, subject matter, style, storyline or whatever, then I don’t read it. There’s ALWAYS another book waiting in the stack.
Comment by Shawn — June 21, 2009 @ 9:53 am
What writers do you think, from a purely craft perspective, are excellent?
Comment by elizabeth — June 21, 2009 @ 10:33 am
I’ll only mention a few that I’m reasonably sure are dead, because if I get into living writers I’ll leave someone out by mistake and then…well, it’s awkward.
And I’m not sure I can separate what I think you mean by “purely craft perspective” from any other–the point about the excellent craftsperson, in any craft, is that they have mastered all aspects of that craft…the pitcher a master potter creates isn’t just beautiful, with an interesting glaze and a graceful shape–it holds water, is easy to hold and pour from, etc.
Nevil Shute, Daphne du Maurier, Dorothy L. Sayers, Jane Austen, Robert L. Surtees, Rudyard Kipling, Elizabeth Goudge. In nonfiction, John McPhee (still alive–broke my own rule!) Winston Churchill (yes, THAT Churchill, not the other one), William Manchester, Barbara Tuchman.
Vivid prose that was disciplined to the need of the story: crisp, precise, elegant to the degree of their time (Austen and Surtees, for instance, wrote in an era when author-to-reader comments were acceptable.) Interesting characters clearly depicted–considerably psychological complexity, but not to the point of miring the story in angst (though du Maurier came close at times!), page-turning ability in terms of pacing, suspense, “interest.”
There are lots more I consider excellent, but this gives a range of writers and times and styles.
Comment by elizabeth — June 21, 2009 @ 10:53 am
Barb, I do occasionally drag myself through a book I don’t expect to like as an educational thing–and sometimes discover a writer I think is really good.
For instance: I glanced at Jane Smiley’s _Horse Heaven_ because of the title and was hooked within two pages. Smiley’s a good writer, with an underlying dry sense of humor, and it was a subject I like anyway (horses–racehorses–people around racehorses–the barn side of the track so to speak. Mostly.) On the basis of that, I picked up a couple of her other books. Still a good, vivid writer, but I’m totally not interested in suburban angst. So Smiley, to me, is still a one book writer, but a damn good one book writer.
Joyce Carol Oates I cannot abide and haven’t liked since I read an early story of hers in _Redbook_. I will agree that she is skillful, in the sense that she can make me as miserable as she intends, with all the depressing stuff, but it’s not worth it; I don’t even try anymore. (And she put the last nail in the coffin of my interest when I saw her on TV.)
I did have my every-few-years bout of Bronte this past month, reading three of them in a row (two by Charlotte, one by Anne) and for all that they’re Great Feminist-Victorian icons…I really don’t like living in their world. Jane’s much saner.
Periodically someone tries to get me to read one of the Current American Literary icons (other than J.C.O.) and that doesn’t work either. First, the subjects they write about bore me (unhappy middle-class white guys–or gals–who aren’t feeling fulfilled by their famous-city-urban or suburban life. Big screaming deal. Get a life, on your own time, and then come tell me about your passion for Brazilian butterflies, helping people who really need it, training pigeons to do tricks, whatever.) And second, the writer’s attitude is usually so far from mine that I want a brain-scrub after a chapter or two. I’ve mentioned before that cynicism doesn’t work with me–I “hear” the curled lip and want to plant a fist on it. Nihilism doesn’t work for me. Self-pity doesn’t work for me. Lofty pontificating about one’s own cultural superiority doesn’t work for me.
(When I pontificate about why I don’t like their pontification, that is NOT the same thing. Why? Because my friends gave me a certificate that says I’m Empress of the Universe, and even though it’s unsigned, I take that as an indication that I’m not too pontificaty or–knowing my friends as I do–they’d have sent me a completely different message instead. A certificate of Special Snowflakeness or Goddess of Overblown Entitlement or something. My friends are intolerant of any claim to Specialness even as they bring me chocolate.) *And yes, I see you in the back snickering away in the corner…fine, OK, I’m an idiot and admit it. Satisfied? Or do I have to threaten to reveal to the world that bit about…I thought not.*
Comment by Shawn — June 21, 2009 @ 11:10 am
I think you gave me exactly what I was looking for! Writers hose deftness with the pen wasn’t clunky, hard to read and clearly and cleverly supported the story.
Thank you.
Comment by Layla — June 21, 2009 @ 11:34 am
this is so true it isnt funny
Comment by Barb — June 21, 2009 @ 2:09 pm
Oh dear. Another reason why one should proof-read before posting. That should be “if the book doesn’t grab me in the >first 30 pages<”, then I quit and go on to something else. I try not to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes it is hard.
Comment by elizabeth — June 21, 2009 @ 9:08 pm
I had to edit one of my comments in this group (I think it was in this group) because I had “abut” instead of “about.”
Comment by Kip Colegrove — June 22, 2009 @ 9:27 am
The only book of George MacDonald’s that I’ve read with satisfaction from one end to the other is The Light Princess (the delicious pun in the title doesn’t hurt).
I think a lot of us have been swept off our feet by the Inklings (or at least some of them, particularly Tolkien) at a certain time in our lives. In my case I’m convinced it did me vastly more good than harm.