Thursday, May 9, 2013

Linnaeus and the Literary Affliction of Genre-Confusion


I am afflicted with a persistent case of genre-confusion, the primary symptom of which is the inability (or reluctance) to appropriately classify a completed literary work within the accepted gamut of genre allocations. The heart of the matter is perhaps not the specificity of the genres themselves but the fact that they appear to be largely mutually exclusive. 'Literary' forms a distinct publishing category from 'historical' and in good Kipling tradition "never the twain shall meet."

This literary segregation is initially encountered when seeking an agent for a work freshly-completed; or perhaps prior for those writers comfortably established within the known confines of a particular genre. I cannot claim such literary snugness. My novels seem more an amalgamation of disparate things: while indubitably set in the past they incorporate strains of the suspenseful, the literary, the political and the romantic. They are, perhaps, representative of the literary mongrel as opposed to the purity of a genre-thoroughbred; incorporating all the diverse elements that together infuse the narrative with a particular personality that somehow eludes ready classification.

Certainly there are a profusion of reference books to assist in this process, that define and classify works in very specific ways; many of which are then themselves imbued with specific genre-expectations in regard to length, character formation, and nature of prose contained therein.  Unfortunately for the literary mongrels among us (and I do not mean this in a derogatory sense - rather works encapsulating a multitude of literary expression that defy tidy categories) the placement of ones work is a prerequisite to agent-acquisition. My recent novel The Goodwin Agenda is set in 1803 which seems to immediately presuppose its inclusion in 'historical' (although that also begs the question, when does historical end and modernity kick in?) These distinctions seem more useful in marketing applications; a preliminary expediency insofar as agents and publishing houses are concerned, engaged as they are in the selling and branding of a particular kind of novel. For the intended readership there is an 'expected' element analogous to the offerings of franchise restaurants: the product tends to be unvarying and satisfaction, for those who prefer literary consistency, more assured. Certainly there are a profusion of well-written novels that fall neatly and conveniently within one genre-category or another, but what of those that do not? And indeed is this genre-classification broadly useful or even broadly accurate?

This general application of literary codification seems somewhat reminiscent of Carl Linnaeus' system of classification as applied to biological organisms. He established a binomal nomenclature that specifically defines a plant or an insect within a readily identifiable taxonomy based on physical attributes (Mammalia, for example, was subsequently defined with ever greater specificity according to the number, structure and arrangement of teeth). The literary process of genre-appraisal examines a narrative with the expectation of squeezing it into some specific category or other. The scientific endeavor serves to define, compartmentalize, and order according to genus or species - which not only enables scientific inquiry in regard to specificity of ecosystem in a rapidly-changing world, but offers insight into the dizzying array of diversity to which the earth is home. Of course they are not the same: literary genre-application comprise a broader brush with vastly different intent, but perhaps the thought-association is an intriguing one.

So having reluctantly designated a particular genre (as ill-fitting as the garment appears to be), how is the literary fate of that piece then narrowed and preconceived through the filtered perspective of that particular genre-judge? Romance novels are notoriously specific in regards to inclusion criteria - characters and plot-lines adhere to a predominately predefined formula which are then packaged up (all of suitable length) and inevitably covered with a sensuously posed woman in scanty-attire with a broadly muscled chest in attentive proximity. For the avid reader of such works (and there are indeed many) there is a warm satisfaction in the duplication of what has become a most successful narrative formula; the literary equivalent, for many, of comfort food.

I wonder, however, whether for some writers a specific genre-formula is more honored in the breech than the observance, and that the very best of novels elude such prescribed, predefined allotments. For there are indubitably fine works of science fiction that examine the human predicament, that might in fact be characterized as literary if the protagonist physiognomy was a little less elven; works set in the past, that might more readily be classified political thriller if they had taken place fifty years later. Is there not also a timeliness to genre classification? When does a classic become a classic? Does it require a certain amount of intervening time, removed from our familiar age and issues? A degree of chronological resiliency? A wide readership ubiquitously assenting to a level of achieved excellence? The bestowal of literary awards? There is a prevailing genre-ambiguity which narrows the reading demographic, and condenses the glorious variety of literary threads to simply one - irrespective of fit.

I continue to write in utter oblivion to genre-classifications (which may very well be to my detriment in procuring a literary agent) but the work within me, like the complexity of life I seek to convey, is a rather motley assemblage of diverse elements that seem to ignore, span, encompass and bridge conventional categories. My next novel will similarly, inevitably, tinker with genre-expectations; endeavoring to create a historical fiction work of literary bent, with suspenseful interludes, political reference and romantic escapades - thusly encompassing elements of numerous genres within the confines of one: historical fiction, literary, thriller, romance. So is there a trump card? Do all these contributory threads defer to one? Does historical fiction then emerge as the dominant genre in this regard? Can the novel then be submitted to agents interested in all these above genres? Does that not then defeat the process of classification, and the initial attempt to constrain and define? And indeed should such works should be subject to such narrow rigidity?

For art, unlike Linnaeus' particular subjects, often elude classification - they are of the more incorporeal kind, comprised of dark whispers and faint suggestions of a subliminal world, of profoundest impact in the provoked effect rather than the ink-printed solidity of the novel itself; literary works find their most powerful definition in the neural cascade of an emotional receptivity, the intangible impressions of the imaginative minds' eye, in the ability, like magic, to conjure up, with all vibrant veracity, that which does not intrinsically exist outside of our own mind.

To quote the great Swedish taxonomist himself: "Of what use are the great number of petrifactions, of different species, shape and form which are dug up by naturalists? Perhaps the collection of such specimens is sheer vanity and inquisitiveness. I do not presume to say; but we find in our mountains the rarest animals, shells, mussels, and corals embalmed in stone, as it were, living specimens of which are now being sought in vain throughout Europe. These stones alone whisper in the midst of general silence." Perhaps the key for literary genre-allocation lies within Linnaeus' eloquent words - that like the ever-expanding multitude of species that are defined as they come to biological light, literary works (due to their innate complexity) also need a similarly limitless genre-array in which to place themselves; a classification defined by membranes of a more permeable kind. But of course this impractical entreaty results in a genre-blend, a literary soup in which one type can hardly be differentiated from another. The solution? Perhaps simply an increased flexibility with the Linnaeun option of establishing a hierarchical arrangement: with a major in historical and a minor in thriller, literary and romance. I have also become aware that greater genre-flexibility is accorded to writers of proven publishing performance - the implication being that genre-mixology remains the provenience of the literary adept, at least insofar as traditional agencies and houses are concerned.

So I remain singularly unable to postulate a practical solution, but obdurately committed to my particular kind of writing that eschews ready genre classification: resigned to the allocation ambiguity of my own literary mongrels. Like the author that penned them, they are a product of a diverse number of influences and accumulations of thought; they are indubitably their own complicated literary endeavors, and any placement-complex or misfit-anxieties that they might experience once fully-fleshed is met by a twinkle in the authorial eye. There is a certain pride in the authenticity of a work (whether it can be readily classified or not) that perhaps, at the end of the day, is indeed all.

14 comments:

  1. Dear PJ, as always, it's been a pleasure to read your exquisitely written article. That said, I wouldn't lose any sleep on classifying my fiction. I'm preaching what I practice; there are plenty of others who label my work in accordance with different "templates". The pride you mention at the end of your musing is indeed what matters. We are writers, not critics... or botanists, entomologists, what you will. Our calling lies in telling our stories honestly and aesthetically. Then they will be labeled with names with which we may disagree, yet when this happens, the stories do not belong to us anymore.

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    1. I concur, Marta. Although I tend to say that stories will always belong to us - even if the packaging does not.

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    2. Dear Marta - thank you for your most welcome visit and your thoughtful commentary. I agree with your assessment and proceed to focus on what really matters - the craft itself and producing the best possible of manuscripts utterly regardless of genre-classifications that I feel are more appropriate to scientific endeavors than artistic ones. I so appreciate your thoughts in this regard!

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    3. Yes I agree Pim - that literary baby never really leaves the nest entirely does it? :)

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  2. Dear most Honorable Literary Agent,

    It is but with a degree of misgiving and reluctancy that I second publicly what I applaud privately, for I deem my fellow mongrel-in-letters quite capable of pleading her case on her own strength. Moreover, I am confident that Your discerning Eye, feasting upon her prose, as fluent as it is incisive, will not be insensitive to its many virtues - even if You are bound to encounter difficulty at attemps to categorize it.
    But, parallel to the Master of Taxonomy who didn't deign it beneath dignity to hear stones whisper amidst Nature's silence, it is my hope that You, oh Master of Literature, will not spurn the whispering of those precious voices lost in all the nooks, crannies and left-over holes that prevailing genre-lore, in spite of its apparent solidity, fails to fill. And if You in Your wisdom classify me priest of some raving sect, or a lunatic run rampant, I humbly concur - with the proviso that I speak on behalf & behest of lost voices: they are many indeed, and their whisperings of a most alluring kind, whilst one seldom hears building blocks hewn for mass consumption whisper at all - after the initial year or so.

    It does make me wonder - is something amiss with genre-lore itself?

    For all the brilliance with which PJ Royal succeeded in whipping back Linnaeus' system into imaginative life, she may well have sung its swan's song - for I fear the analogy itself is at fault! And if it were not: wouldn't it be more proficient -- even for You, oh worthy Literary Agent -- to regard genres as a sort of mega-motifs on a cosmic scale as it were?

    Surely not even You would liken said literary motifs to those numbered squares to be wriggled into their proper position, as if an intricate work of literature were but a lingual Rubik Cubus? Instead, wouldn't You rather assert that motifs are like interwoven threads, and - like one single thread - next to meaningless when scrutinized in isolation?
    And would these threading and interconnecting motifs in a given fictional world not mirror - as their miniature versions - the true genres?
    Lightyear-long spider-threads, weaving together our literary universe, comprising all works ever written or (hopefully still) to be written - and their quivering creates a music of spheres to this day, only to be heard in the distinctive if lost voice.of a writer.

    But if You, Master of Literature, are weary of all this irksome & unmanly brocading, interweaving, threading and gossamer-like stitching - being about as helpful to business as Persian carpets would be to the Marks & Spencers - then my counsel is to regard literary genres simply as colors, none of which are pure.
    Even Nature is, however classified, not composed of red, yellow and blue. Most hues in this (or any) world are merely mixtures and admixtures. It was not all that long ago that my debut was praised for being a realistic yarn, thriller and fairy-tale rolled into one...

    Awaiting Your esteemed reply,
    I would gladly have You join me with
    THREE CHEERS TO VOICES LOST AND FOUND!

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    1. Most Honorable Literary Agent indeed! I will wait with bated breath, dear Pim, to see if they respond with the same brave call to action as your wonderful letter expresses! Thank you my dear literary friend for your visit and your most blissful letter of endorsement!

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  3. To be able to name something is to have power over it. That's true from myth-time to Foucoult's critique of the categorization systems that arose out of the time of Linnaeus. Invent your own genre names!

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    1. Yes, I utterly agree - thank you! It becomes a caged thing, a blanket categorization that reduces the glorious literary multicolor to monochrome. Thank you for your visit and your most welcome comment

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  4. PJ, I enjoyed reading this, as I've spent some time considering the definition and classification of genre. While I do not claim a particularly scholarly approach to it, I think I have a practical solution to the problem of genre classification. Do you have anything specific about how you go about classifying your work or others that you might share?
    -- Fritz.

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    1. Thank you Fritz for visiting my humble musings, as well as the most interesting question left behind. The only solution that I can recommend (that I myself have adopted) is to write the book within (genre be damned) and send queries off to all possible literary agents who profess an interest in any particular element enclosed therein. Historical and Scifi seem to be particular trump genres (indubitably one or the other if takes place before 1900 or has another species as main character)...but other than that I would mail out to all and sundry and let the agents worry about categorization - you, meanwhile just write the best book you can and let the rest fall where it may! Best of luck in your literary endeavors Fritz!
      Warm regards, PJ

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    2. PJ, Hmmm. Well, for better or worse, I've gone on to self-publish my works. My concerns about genre classification only come to the fore when I add metadata to my books, and then it's mostly about choosing the subgenre of SF that I think best fits the work. This is rarely an issue for me. On the other hand, I think about genre a lot when I read other peoples works and am always trying to classify them. I freely admit that (trying to) classifying things is a bad habit of mine, but I find it entertaining and it usually doesn't interfere with my enjoying a work.
      -- Thanks for your reply, Fritz.

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  5. It would appear that this stratified blog needs meticulous excavation with a sable brush and will reward same with echoes of expectation. As a one time biologist who cut her own teeth on Linneaus, and the need to examine ossified skulls to determine what might be what, the literary analogy fits perfectly, particularly one that quotes a literary scientist of the most scientific kind who writes as did few others. Ah when science was not frightened of poetry! Regarding fictional genres I would add one ugly truth to the statement "I have also become aware that greater genre-flexibility is accorded to writers of proven publishing performance -" that proven performance means the marketing department get a day off instead of sucking a pencil over descriptions. I have written genreless fiction, fictional biography, epic poems, and now the mother of them all...science as poetry! Which explains where we meet in the marketplace. But PJ your liquid prose speaks for itself, and I merely have to ask how do you keep so cool in Florida?

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    1. Thank you dear Philippa, I am delighted beyond words that you enjoyed my humble musing...yes Linnaeus was indubitably a poet as well as a scientist, and what a sublime combination that is! And as for genres - I am predisposed to discard them altogether and write what flies (or drags as the case may be!) from my fingers! And as far as Florida is concerned I find the regularity of hurricanes quite beneficial to the lively quickness of literary works....thank you again for visiting and for leaving your lovely comment!

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