In the Subbasement of the Sub-genre
The number of sub-genres has exploded in recent years. You can chalk this up to the globalization of Western culture, or the ubiquity of entertainment, or the dwindling of physical communities, or (the catch-all of catch-alls) the Internet. Whatever the cause, we live in the age of the sub-genre.
The fragmentation of genre helps readers to identify themselves to other readers and to feel cultivated rather than casual, but I wonder if it is as productive for writers seeking an audience. Do sub-genres discourage readers who might otherwise be interested in a book?
I originally marketed Senlin Ascends as "Steampunk," which wasn't exactly accurate (as readers of Steampunk fiction were quick to inform me), and so I changed it to "Literary Urban Fantasy," and then "Victorian Adventure," and then several other ridiculous iterations.
Whenever someone asked me about my book and I spouted off the sub-genre du jour, I was greeted with blank looks. The same label that identified me to fans of a type, put off the uninitiated. Because sub-genres, to people on the outside, seem pretty weird.
So, I started telling people it was an Adventure novel because "Adventure" was reasonably accurate and appealed to the broadest readership. Folks who would not have read an "Urban Fantasy" novel in a million years were willing to give an Adventure novel a shot.
But, of course, there are advantages to associating with a sub-genre. In a glutted market, interested readers are becoming increasingly harder to identify and connect with. Then there is the sense, too, that writers who market their work under a big tent genre (Sci-Fi, Suspense, Romance, etc.) are somehow unfamiliar with their craft and lack a certain expertise. It's no wonder that many writers go to great pains to exactly describe the genre of their work, even if that requires hyphenation and invention. "I write Spicy-Fabulist Kid-punk." This infers a certain mastery, I suppose, like knowing the details of the car you drive.
1. You know the color of your car = You can identify it in a parking lot.
2. You know the make and model of your car = You can recognize it when it's described over a grocery store loudspeaker as being currently on fire in the parking lot.
3. You know the type of your car = You can pass the mechanic's quiz before dropping off your car, which makes you want to call your father to tell him what a competent adult you are.
Could the same be said for the rabbit hole of the sub-genres?
1. "It's a fantasy novel" = I like movie hobbits.
2. "It's mythic fiction" = I like book hobbits.
3. "It's magical-real-mythic-fiction" = I am a hobbit.
I suspect that sub-genres do not describe the type of story so much as they describe the type of formula that is used. Sub-genres can become prescriptive and, eventually, repetitive because the readership has rigid expectations of how the story should proceed and the writer wants to please the faithful. At some point, I wonder if the obsession with genre does not begin to pinch the imagination.
The fragmentation of genre helps readers to identify themselves to other readers and to feel cultivated rather than casual, but I wonder if it is as productive for writers seeking an audience. Do sub-genres discourage readers who might otherwise be interested in a book?
I originally marketed Senlin Ascends as "Steampunk," which wasn't exactly accurate (as readers of Steampunk fiction were quick to inform me), and so I changed it to "Literary Urban Fantasy," and then "Victorian Adventure," and then several other ridiculous iterations.
Whenever someone asked me about my book and I spouted off the sub-genre du jour, I was greeted with blank looks. The same label that identified me to fans of a type, put off the uninitiated. Because sub-genres, to people on the outside, seem pretty weird.
So, I started telling people it was an Adventure novel because "Adventure" was reasonably accurate and appealed to the broadest readership. Folks who would not have read an "Urban Fantasy" novel in a million years were willing to give an Adventure novel a shot.
But, of course, there are advantages to associating with a sub-genre. In a glutted market, interested readers are becoming increasingly harder to identify and connect with. Then there is the sense, too, that writers who market their work under a big tent genre (Sci-Fi, Suspense, Romance, etc.) are somehow unfamiliar with their craft and lack a certain expertise. It's no wonder that many writers go to great pains to exactly describe the genre of their work, even if that requires hyphenation and invention. "I write Spicy-Fabulist Kid-punk." This infers a certain mastery, I suppose, like knowing the details of the car you drive.
1. You know the color of your car = You can identify it in a parking lot.
2. You know the make and model of your car = You can recognize it when it's described over a grocery store loudspeaker as being currently on fire in the parking lot.
3. You know the type of your car = You can pass the mechanic's quiz before dropping off your car, which makes you want to call your father to tell him what a competent adult you are.
Could the same be said for the rabbit hole of the sub-genres?
1. "It's a fantasy novel" = I like movie hobbits.
2. "It's mythic fiction" = I like book hobbits.
3. "It's magical-real-mythic-fiction" = I am a hobbit.
I suspect that sub-genres do not describe the type of story so much as they describe the type of formula that is used. Sub-genres can become prescriptive and, eventually, repetitive because the readership has rigid expectations of how the story should proceed and the writer wants to please the faithful. At some point, I wonder if the obsession with genre does not begin to pinch the imagination.
Published on September 13, 2013 11:03
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