Transcending Genre

Although it’s a phrase clearly designed to drive people both within and outside the mystery community up the wall, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately. In no small part this is due to the fact that the number of books arriving at my apartment, begging to be reviewed, has increased astronomically in the past few months. And since I can only review five books per months for the column (while talking about other ones I like or dislike here) it means I have to pay even more attention to finding books that have strengths and weaknesses that can be properly dissected.

Why does the term get so many folks riled up? Likely because there’s a whiff of condescension in the idea, that a book is greater than its original constraints. That genre is simply inferior, too limiting for the book in question. What’s wrong with genre fiction? Absolutely nothing at all, of course. If there was, I wouldn’t be here. And since mystery novels get enough of a bad rap, to see a book that would appeal to mystery fans targeted to those who have a snobbish viewpoint is rather disconcerting.

But that assumes that all books are created equal, and that just isn’t so. In other words, genre transcending isn’t just a marketing term or a straw man; it actually happens. But I’ve come to the conclusion that people are asking the wrong questions and arriving at the wrong answers. It’s not about genre vs. “something extra,” only about talent and scope. And some writers have the ability to reach for great heights, and some simply do not.

The last book I finished reading was Kate Atkinson’s CASE HISTORIES, which will be out in the US on November 9. Prior to this, she’d written three fairly acclaimed literary novels, with the first winning the 1995 Whitbread award. Her new book is, I suppose, a detective novel, but it really isn’t. Though there is a detective, Jackson Brodie, who is investigating three separate but possibly intertwined cases, it’s much more than that. There’s more time spent on backstories and emotions, on the ability (or lack) of family members to accept their losses, to move on, and to seek, if not closure, then some kind of resolution that might satisfy their longing for an answer. What Atkinson does is take the trappings of the PI novel structure to answer deeper questions, and succeeds incredibly well at doing so. The characters are not always likeable or appealing, but they are fully-rounded and very human. In short, CASE HISTORIES takes that very idea and reveals what really lies underneath.

I suppose, if Atkinson’s book is reviewed as a crime novel, it could be said to transcend genre. But that’s not what it does, because it’s simply an excellent book. Because of her talent, the way she constructs phrases that infuse warmth and humor in what are inexorably sad situations, she’s conquered her goal, which is to broaden the scope of a structure with inherent constraints. But that’s the bottom line: Atkinson had the talent, the reach and the ability to do that. Many writers do not and simply couldn’t comprehend writing the kind of book she did. Many others could comprehend how to do it but choose to tackle the subject in a completely different fashion. And many more would just give up and move on.

The book I’m reading now is Richard Stark’s NOBODY RUNS FOREVER, the latest adventure featuring Parker, the tough-as-nails noir thief. This has all the elements of a good genre novel: furious pace, prose that keeps the action moving while giving maximum characterization in minimum description, and the rise and fall that leads to the inevitable “gotcha” moment at the end. Stark (really Donald Westlake, for those not in the know) has been writing these kinds of books for more than 40 years. His craftsmanship is superb, the execution near-perfect. But most of all, I believe he’s learned exactly what his limitations are, where his natural voice lies, and what works and what does not. If he tried to write a book like CASE HISTORIES in the way that Atkinson did, it would fail miserably. Instead, if he did so under his real name, it would be some kind of comedy of errors a la Dortmunder. And if Stark handled the reins, Brodie would be a criminally minded type about to have some serious problems dog him throughout the entire book.

So Westlake doesn’t transcend genre. But does that make him any better or worse? Obviously not. And lord knows he’s had the talent and the craft to keep writing as well as long as he has. Many writers, both crime and literary novelists, have a whole lot to learn from him.

I’ve just described two writers doing very different things, and reasonably comfortable with their powers. But occasionally, the fit isn’t so snug, and the writer’s trying to rein in their voice in genre trappings when it’s just bursting to get out. Or the converse, where a writer goes for a bigger, broader novel and discovers that he or she simply doesn’t have the ability to handle bigger questions in the same way they did smaller ones. And then there are those that simply ask the wrong questions but don’t realize it until the book is finished, and then it’s too late to go back and change it.

Writing is all about wanting. Whether to tell a story, to seek answers to questions, to resolve subconscious situations, to explore emotions and feelings, or to get to know different characters and locales. But the thing about wanting is that you can’t always get it, and that many times, you end up getting what you need instead of what you want. So some writers may want to write a certain book, tell the story in a certain way. And discover they can’t do it. Or discover that they do it in a way that’s categorically different than what they intended. And sometimes, the end result is what should have been all along. Other times, it’s just an interesting failure.

And those interesting failures are exactly why I like to read books that exceed their grasp. Though I think I’m in the minority, I put T Jefferson Parker’s CALIFORNIA GIRL into the “exceeds grasp” category. I commend him for wanting to write the great Orange County crime novel. I think a lot of the book is quite excellent, and really does capture the late 60s flavor. But where it fell down, at least for me, was in how the book was structured. The prologue, set in the present, indicates that everything we’re about to read from here on in is essentially flawed. So because of this fact, it affected how I viewed the 1960s-set portion. Even though it was well-told and well-written, Parker didn’t succeed in convincing me to set aside that niggling feeling of deflation. And the epilogue, back in the present, felt rushed. I wanted more time spent on showing how the course of justice was changed, how the characters reacted to the change in events. Basically, Parker got close to writing what he meant to write, but for whatever reason, he didn’t quite get there. I think a lot has to do with his recent change in publishing houses, and working with a new editor. I think he’s a smart enough writer to attune his voice more closely to his material next time around. And so that’s one reason why I’m looking forward to his next book (the other reason is that he’s one of my favorite crime writers and I’ve enjoyed almost all of his backlist.)

As I’ve said in a number of places, there’s nothing more satisfying than seeing a writer who’d improved with each and every book write something that’s far exceeded the scope of previous works, and succeeded. That’s why S.J. Rozan’s ABSENT FRIENDS was one of my favorite books this year. That’s why I’ve gone on at length about Laura Lippman’s EVERY SECRET THING, or Dennis Lehane’s standalones, or the criminally neglected Martyn Waites in the UK, among others. They had the talent, the ability and the voice to carry off bigger projects and make it work. Such books took longer to write and probably needed an intense amount of struggle, but that’s why they prove successful. Because their natural voice has more breathing room and can emerge more fully than they could in more genre-constrained books. It’s also why there are certain writers who improve with each book but inevitably, I feel they can do more. That’s a reason why, for example, I’m looking forward to Karin Slaughter’s standalone, because the Grant County books, as they are set up, don’t do her writing justice.

But equally satisfying is reading any writer’s true voice. That’s why I love a good noir novel, whether from the past or the present. Get in, do the job quickly, get out. Or a good comic novel, where satire rules the day and gets major points across while making me laugh. Any book that’s done well, where the writer has command of the material and whatever “intangible” that elevates it just a little bit, scores with me. Any writer that knows enough about their voice not to go past a certain point is a writer that’s going to stick around. Not all improvements need to be major ones, after all.

Maybe the problem is that “transcending genre” implies going beyond a group form, when writing is so very individual and comprises a volatile mixture of craft, talent, technique and imagination. That last one, imagination, is the most important thing of all. Some people’s ideas are wide-ranging and barely tamed; others are smaller and require stretching. No person is created equal, and hence no book is created equal. Instead of saying one voice or style is inferior to another’s, why not celebrate those who make the most of what they do while encouraging others to challenge themselves further because they are able to?

In other words, maybe transcending the genre isn’t such a bad thing: so long as we’re clear on what it truly means.

Comments

[David Montgomery]

Interesting piece, Sarah. I find the whole obsession with genre (which I fall prey to as much as anyone else) to be a little silly. I think it's as much a marketing and retailing contruct as anything else. Which isn't to say it doesn't have its place. It does make conversation easier.

By the way, I'm glad to see you mention Laura Lippman's book. If I may be so cheeky as to quote myself, "Every Secret Thing is one of those books that publishers like to say 'transcends the genre,' but in this case it's true." :)

[Donna]

I hate that bloody phrase :o) For me it DOES have the connotations of surpassing something, going beyond something, being better than it is. The crime genre is bloody brilliant - there's no need for it to be transcended. I do find the term insulting to crime fiction authors - some of whom write the most wonderful fiction imaginable. To say something transcends the genre implies that crime fiction is second class and writers are doing their best to break out of it. Not so. There's nothing wrong with the genre, and everything right with it. There's no reason to transcend something which is already pretty damn brilliant. I prefer the term 'doing exciting things within the genre'; but, of course, that doesn't sound snappy and quotable :o)

Genre labels are amorphous anyway, there's a lot that can be fitted within the boundaries - why does anything need to transcend them? Most really good crime fiction books do a lot more than just tell a straightforward crime story. They talk about society, feelings, culture, psychology, characters. They have passion and heart and soul. A book works or it doesn't. For me, a really really good book doesn't transcend the genre, it's just a really, really good book.

Maybe it's a misapprehension on my part as to what the phrase means, but it's the condescending way it comes across that annoys me. If I ever read a review with the phrase in, I stop reading the review. It won't stop me reading the book, but I might call the reviewer a complete tosser :o)

Whoops - didn't mean you David :o) You're not a complete tosser. Or even remotely a tosser :o)

Donna

[David Montgomery]

Ouch!

[jeff]

It's a very judgmental & loaded term, & implies something non-genre that constitutes 'real' writing. So right away, someone is deciding what's legit & what's bunk.

Dumas & Dickens were long considered trash writers, just as the first novelists were scorned by poets. Gore Vidal likes to complain that his homosexuality is why he hasn't copped a Nobel, but it's really because he writes 'historical novels' which in certain circles still have a whiff of pulp about them.

Oates' best work in my opinion is her series of historical novels about America, about which she wrote, "Does a serious writer dare concern herself with genre? The formal discipline of genre - that it forces us to a radical re-visioning of the world & the craft of fiction - was the reason I found the project intriguing."

Interestingly, tho, the 3rd in this series, Mysteries of Winterthurn (1984) received middling reviews, & the followup, The Crosswicks Horror (a Lovecraftian tale) was shelved & has never been published. So perhaps that's an implicit answer to her question...

For myself, I much prefer fiction to literature.

[Dave White]

It's funny, I never think of transcending genre meaning it just transcends crime fiction. I think it means something special that rises above everything. Lehane, Connelly, Pelecanos, Lippman, and apparently Rozan have all written wonderful novels that are at the core mystery novels, but they rise above everything, they become bigger than that. I don't know how it works, but it's something... universal. Not everyone is going to read a really good noir novel, but most people will be pulled into an Every Secret Thing (which, halfway through, is brilliant) or a Mystic River. To me it has to address something more than just who killed who or how someone died. It has to be bigger. And that does not, in my mind knock the mystery genre, in fact, I think it would enhance it.

[Jeff Golick]

Does anyone apart from book publicists and the reviewers who love them even use the phrase "transcending genre?" I think it's often used to sell a book by an author who's been writing in one style and then tries something different, which can throw everyone from editors to shelf-stockers for a loop. I also agree that there is something pejorative in it, stepping on a whole category: "Hey, this one's not like all those others you've been enjoying! It's better. It TRANSCENDS."

Sarah's broader distinction, more or less between great books and merely good books, if I'm reading her right, is also spot-on. The "great" category could include wild new approaches to storytelling, or books that use genre conventions to build a tale that's nevertheless transcendent. Here's where I see a difference between a marketing label and a reader's subjective experience of a book. Is Tim O'Brien's THE THINGS THEY CARRIED a war novel? I guess so, but to me it goes so far beyond that that any labeling is pointless. And whether he was trying to reach beyond genre or not doesn't really enter into it.

[Laura]

I'm not crazy about the word "transcends" -- although I recognized it as a profound compliment when applied to EST -- because of the aspect of gravity. What goes up, etc. Plus, I don't think one transcends the genre, which is large and flexible and inclusive, but one's own work. Anyway, whenever I think about transcending, I see lonely little ghosts rising from the landscape of genre fiction and floating forlornly around. Little Caspars who have broken the faith with their brothers, but are still unwanted by the world at large.

Chandler wrote: "The average detective story is probably no worse than the average novel. But you never see the average novel. It doesn't get published. The average -- or only slight above average -- detective story does." Chandler was right about the first part, I think, but wrong about the second. Lots of average novels get published. But let's put that aside.

Here's the thing -- detective fiction is judged by its lowest common denominator, the competent whodunit, while literary fiction is judged by its highest-achieving books -- the Pulitzers, the NBAs, etc. When someone writes a thoroughly mediocre novel -- don't make me name names -- no one goes around saying, "Well, so-and-so's book shows the limitations of the literary form.' It's just a failed novel.

(And there's grain of sense here. The average detective novel still gets the job done. The failed literary novel accomplishes nothing.)

What if we thought of detective novels as blondes and literary novels as brunettes? (Remember, I have bi-citizenship in both camps, so I'm playing no favorites.) Not every brunette is Ava Gardner or Elizabeth Taylor, and if the brunettes were trying to claim that, we would laugh heartily and point to, say, Thelma Ritter. And if blondes were judged by the coarsest, most peroxided in the clan and we then produced Marilyn Monroe in our defense, would the brunettes then sneer: "Oh, but she transcends the genre." No, she's just flat-out beautiful. And maybe it's not your kind of beautiful, but that's a matter of personal taste, not a comment on the inherent limitations of blondes.

[David Montgomery]

Looks like I better not use that phrase again. Sorry, Laura. I take it back. Really! :)

[Laura]

David -- see "profound compliment" above. I was very flattered. It's lovely on an individual basis. But I'm a team player at heart.

[David Montgomery]

I know, Laura. I was mainly speaking tongue-in-cheek to some of the others comments.

My intention behind the use of the phrase with regards to EST (and searching through the archives it's the only time I've used it) was that the book transcends crime fiction, not so much in terms of its theme or its scope, but in terms of its potential to reach an audience.

This was a book that, I felt, reached out beyond the traditional readership of the mystery novel, using its subject matter in such a way that people who wouldn't ordinarily read a mystery could read it and find something that really spoke to them. Thus, it transcended the genre.

Of course, I was trying to say a lot in 200 words and had other things I needed to convey, so shorthand is necessary. And I think it made the point.

How that could be perjorative is beyond me.

[John]

Excellent essay, Sarah, and some excellent follow-up comments, too.

I have more thinking to do about this topic, and will likely come up with more to say, but for now, I looked for synonyms for the word "transcend." Some of them (rise above, go beyond, exceed) seem to apply to what we're saying here. Others (surpass, outdo) do not.

I think the recent standalones (MYSTIC RIVER, EVERY SECRET THING, ABSENT FRIENDS) are perfect examples of authors attempting to rise above, go beyond, exceed, or even enhance the genre -- and write a book that may appeal to readers of other genres.

I know people who've never read, and won't read, mysteries. But after reading MYSTIC RIVER, they started reading Dennis Lehane's other books. And liked them.

I consider myself an avid mystery reader, and I am sorry to say I have yet to read Laura Lippman's series. But after reading EST, I am definitely going to pick them up now that I know I like her writing. (By the way, Laura, I love your blond/brunette analogy).

I don't think Lehane and Lippman and Rozan were trying to surpass or outdo other mystery authors. Seems to me they were trying to expand and test the so-called bounds of traditional mystery fiction. And maybe bring in a few more fans from other genres who wouldn't have otherwise picked up their books based on this thing we call genre.

The word transcend is a marketing word, I think, and it does seem to imply a certain snootiness. I think we're all just talking about growing as writers and writing better books.

[Jeff Golick]

Yeah, re growing as writers, above. I realize I'm writing as a reader who gets tired of being fed a marketing line, an attempt to sell me something, possibly a bill of goods. From the point of view of a writer (I'll imagine I can adopt at least a facsimile view), it can be a completely different story, one of growing beyond (possibly) self-imposed limits, or of trying to reach new readers, or whatever, in which case the effort actually has the opposite effect on me. In parallel with a comment above, ABSENT FRIENDS was the first Rozan I've read, but I'll now happily check in on the Smith/Chin series.

Of course, I can also imagine a genre writer who feels, down deep, that the genre is beneath his talents -- a self-hater -- which is really about pretension and perception, and perhaps out of this thread's purview.

[John Schramm]

Good point, Jeff. As a writer myself, I don't feel a ~transcending~ book in me, but who knows. I haven't finished my first mystery yet.

I can imagine writers that look down at the genre because they want to be mainstream, just like we have country singers who become popstars. I didn't want to raise that analogy, but it does fit.

Laura Lippman, Dennis Lehane, and SJ Rozan, however, absolutely are not that type of writer.

[Sally Rale]

I recently read DARKNESS PEERING by Alice Blanchard. It was an excellent police procedural, sort of Thomas Harris meets Denis Johnson. But her 2nd book, THE BREATHTAKER which I read next, has a much bigger scope, a higher concept, is very cinematic and a big leap forward I feel. It's a very different book from her first and transcends the mystery thriller genre altogether with a wildly mythic and outrageous premise that is beautifully told. There's strong emotion intelligence in Blanchard's writing.