Sometimes, it feels like genre and literary fiction are at war. Genre fiction is accused
of being shallow and mindless, while literary fiction is blasted for being pretentious and
boring. This debate has died and risen again more times than zombies in pop culture.
Shoving books into such an arbitrary binary may seem unnecessary, but it does matter in
terms of awards and public perception. If you’ve ever taken a college-level course
in creative writing, your professors might’ve said genre stories wouldn’t be accepted,
as was the case in my undergraduate years. Among literary circles, the genre label comes
with a stigma, which Neil Gaiman describes in an interview with Kazuo Ishiguro:
“By the time fantasy had its own area in the bookshop, it was deemed inferior to mimetic,
realistic fiction…I was fascinated by the way that Terry Pratchett would, on the one
hand, have people like A S Byatt going, ‘These are real books, they’re saying important
things and they are beautifully crafted,’ and on the other he would still not get any
real recognition. I remember Terry saying to me at some point, ‘You know, you can
do all you want, but you put in one fucking dragon and they call you a fantasy writer.’”
As much as I hate to say it, I’d rather be publicly caught reading certain books over
others—but reading genre novels shouldn’t be treated as a shameful guilty pleasure.
In the words of Lev Grossman, author of The Magicians:
“Novels aren’t status symbols, or they shouldn’t be. Maybe it’s the last vestiges
of our Puritan heritage: if it’s not hard work, it’s sinful. Maybe it’s just that
we’re self-loathing capitalists, and anything associated with commerce, as genre fiction
is, is automatically tainted and disqualified from having any aesthetic value.”
By now, my positive bias toward genre fiction is probably obvious. This video might as well
be entitled “In Defense of Genre Fiction.” But I do think that literary fiction gets
a bad rap too, from genre writers who bristle with defensiveness whenever the subject comes
up and scoff at any book that is hard to understand. It’s natural to feel bitter about being
left out of larger conversations about contemporary literature. Oftentimes, the harshest critics
of literary fiction are those who approach it with the same expectations as genre fiction.
Plotless books that feature lengthy descriptions are tossed aside for being pointless and slow.
With these types of works, though, the objective isn’t to keep the reader turning pages or
for the writing to stay invisible. Instead, these books ask you to slow down to appreciate
an image or a poetic insight. It’s an entirely different reading experience.
Beyond public perception, the literary vs. genre debate also holds importance in marketing.
Readers often look for certain characteristics in books, whether that be interesting worldbuilding
or thought-provoking writing or both. Umbrella labels can help you or your publisher reach
the best audience for your story. It’s like music genres: there’s a big difference between
opera and rap. You might be disappointed if you get one when you want the other because
their sounds contrast drastically. It doesn’t mean one is better than the other; they just
serve different tastes. Of course, genre and literary elements can coexist within a single
work, but we’ll discuss that toward the end.
First, let’s broadly define the two terms.
Some genre fiction includes fantastical elements: fantasy, sci-fi, horror. Other subgenres might
follow “paint-by-numbers” structures, like mysteries and romances. For example,
in a romance, the plot points are often familiar: the love interests meet, their attraction
grows over time, they encounter a major obstacle and overcome it, usually ending in a Happily
Ever After or tragic tears. That structural familiarity is part of the appeal—we like
variations on things we already love, whether it’s book genres, music, or desserts. Genre
fiction is also referred to as “popular” or “commercial” fiction, suggesting that
it’s more focused on widespread appeal. However, bestsellers are those that break
the mold with original world-building, plot twists, or memorable characters—readers
want to be surprised.
Literary fiction, also known as “serious” fiction, more often takes place in realistic
settings. Historical fiction and family sagas sometimes fit into this category. If there
are fantastical elements, they’re more of the magical realism variety, where unusual
happenings are left unexplained, rather than presented as a defined magic system. Stories
might be more experimental in form or style. “Contemporary fiction” is somewhat of
its own category—stories set during modern times and written for an adult audience but
with less focus on language.
Praise for literary novels focuses on the quality of the prose and what the work illuminates
about the human condition or society. They’re interested in exploring complicated thematic
questions like “Does everyone deserve forgiveness?” or “How does sexuality intersect with class?”
Discussions of psychology and philosophy are at the heart of these stories. Genre fiction
tackles these big questions, too, but literary fiction relies more heavily on symbolism,
metaphor, and nuance in its discussion of these topics.
Many people claim that genre fiction is plot-driven and literary fiction is character-driven.
These are sweeping generalizations. A number of genre novels would be considered “character-driven,”
and literary novels can have cinematic plots. But there is some truth in this distinction.
In fact, there seem to be three key differences between what classifies a novel as genre or
literary fiction: purpose, plot scale, and writing style.
Within the broad definitions, we can already see a clear difference in purpose between
the two classifications. Genre fiction is treated as entertainment and literary fiction
as art. Obviously, those aren’t separate attributes; entertainment and art go hand
in hand, and neither label says anything about the quality of the work.
Perhaps it would be better to say that genre is more commercially focused and literary
is less so. That is, the former is more often treated as a business and the latter as a
craft.
Critics of genre fiction might say its sole purpose is to sell books. It’s not about
quality, it’s about money, which is why so many books, YA especially, follow commercial
trends. Vampires are hot? Dystopias are selling well? Let’s flood the market with those.
If you read enough books in a certain genre, formulas emerge. In YA dystopian trilogies,
there might be large-scale conspiracies, love triangles, and a rebellion against the government.
Readers expect those elements, but they can quickly become predictable.
Literary fiction claims to be less about money and more about quality. Many authors who have
won the prestigious Man Booker Prize or Pulitzer have master’s degrees in creative writing.
However, those programs have been accused of churning out homogenous writers, resulting
in a segment of literary fiction whose aesthetic rules can feel binding, rather than freeing.
As a genre, it follows its own tropes: adultery, dysfunctional families, murder in a small
town. Then, the truly original, avant-garde styles feel inaccessible to the general public,
much in the way of modern art.
This disparity in purpose relates to the intended audience. Why do readers read the type of
fiction they do? It could be said that people read genre fiction for escapism, to explore
new worlds, vicariously fall in love, and see evildoers brought to justice. Readers
of genre fiction usually expect the problems introduced at the beginning of the story to
be resolved by the end. When we crave a “beach read,” we’re
looking for something easy that doesn’t require much thought. However, the darker
genre novels out there suggest readers aren’t just looking for winsome heroes and happy
endings. Morally complex characters and themes are common across genres. It’s inaccurate
to say that books in certain categories have no value beyond entertainment.
“Escapism” can be a negative label, but Lev Grossman suggests that it allows us to
better reflect on ourselves and the world around us:
“When you read genre fiction, you leave behind the problems of reality—but only
to re-encounter those problems in transfigured form, in an unfamiliar guise, one that helps
you understand them more completely, and feel them more deeply. Genre fiction isn’t just
generic pap. You don’t read it to escape your problems, you read it to find a new way
to come to terms with them.”
With literary fiction, real-life problems present themselves more directly. Writer Steven
Petite says,
“There is a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment from finishing a ‘serious’
book and the most important aspect in determining if the novel was indeed a remarkable escape
not from reality, but into reality, is if a reader reflects on the words after the last
page is turned.”
Literary stories may lack a definitive resolution of the conflict, thus echoing the discomfort
that comes with uncertainty in real life.
Neil Gaiman suggested the opposite of reading for pleasure is reading for improvement, and
Kazuo Ishiguro agreed, saying that he does turn to books for spiritual and intellectual
nourishment—"to learn something about the world, about people.” Some readers gravitate
toward challenging books that take high effort to consume and analyze, such as James Joyce’s
Ulysses and David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest. These novels are like puzzles, and it
can be rewarding to uncover nuggets of wisdom from the big picture they provide. Literary
fiction aims to make us question social norms and everyday feelings, to explore our own
minds.
Going back to the character-driven vs. plot-driven idea, it seems silly to claim that any novel
has absolutely no character development or plot. What these terms really mean is that
genre fiction focuses more on large-scale drama and external conflict, while literary
fiction is about small-scale drama and internal conflict. A large-scale drama in genre fiction
might entail a Big Bad—a villain the hero must defeat. Since the threat comes from outside
the hero, that’s external conflict. A genre hero will usually face an internal conflict
as well, such as a lack of confidence in their own strength, but that’s secondary to the
plot action. These stories whisk the audience into a sequence of exciting events.
In literary fiction, the small-scale drama usually involves relationships, whether with
family members or romantic partners. There might not be an obvious villain or even an
obvious plot. Instead, the conflict arises from the emotions within the main characters
and how those clash with the people around them. In novels, the story might span across
a long stretch of time, showcasing an entire life. Imagine someone diving into your head,
into the deepest parts hidden even to you, and bringing them to light. That’s the type
of in-depth character study literary authors want to achieve.
So, these two types require different ingredients to fulfill the reader’s expectations. Generally,
genre fiction is faster paced while literary fiction is slower. Genre prefers a page-turning
plot structure, and literary concentrates on emotional nuance and authenticity.
To that end, when editing a fantasy novel, I’m more likely to emphasize the importance
of the plot structure: an intriguing opening, an exciting climax, strong chapter endings—all
the delicious morsels that push the reader to stay up all night reading.
Literary novels have more freedom in how the plot is arranged; it’s less about big, showy
events and more about the quieter-but-still-significant moments in everyday life. Instead of explosions,
the climax might involve one character finally revealing the truth to another, or even having
the chance to do so and failing. The spotlight is on exploring something about the characters’
inner lives and evoking true emotions.
Beyond purpose and plot scale, to me the most distinctive marker between the two categories
is writing style. Genre fiction often uses more accessible prose that reaches a wider
audience and doesn’t distract from the story being told. Literary fiction values carefully
crafted sentences that can take more work to understand, but they attempt to capture
precise images and feelings; they are often lyrical and layered. As writer Kate Dylan
put it, “Simple, commercial prose isn't bad—it's just designed to draw no attention
to itself whatsoever. Literary prose is an exercise in language—you can't help but
notice it.” This descriptor even applies to literary authors with minimalist styles,
like Raymond Carver and Ernest Hemingway—they are conscious of how the precision of language
impacts their work.
There is a misconception, though, that a more accessible writing style is less worthy of
praise. As the saying goes, “Easy reading is hard writing.” In addition, plenty of
genre writers—past, present, and future—craft sentences with flair.
Let’s observe the stylistic differences between a genre and literary novel in action.
Brandon Sanderson’s high fantasy epic Mistborn involves a heist and a magic system based
on the consumption of metals. George Saunders’ Lincoln in the Bardo is an experimental novel
about Abraham Lincoln’s grief over the loss of his son and features 166 narrators.
Listen to this excerpt from the first chapter of the Mistborn audiobook:
“Kelsier had heard stories. He had heard whispers of times when once,
long ago, the sun had not been red. Times when the sky hadn’t been clogged by smoke
and ash, when plants hadn’t struggled to grow and when skaa hadn’t been slaves. Times
before the Lord Ruler. Those days, however, were nearly forgotten. Even the legends were
growing vague.”
The opening to Lincoln in the Bardo:
“On our wedding day I was forty-six, she was eighteen. Now, I know what you are thinking:
older man (not thin, somewhat bald, lame in one leg, teeth of wood) exercises the marital
prerogative, thereby mortifying the poor young— But that is false.
That is exactly what I refused to do, you see.
On our wedding night I clumped up the stairs, face red with drink and dance, found her arrayed
in some thinnish thing an aunt had forced her into, silk collar fluttering slightly
with her quaking—and could not do it.”
From those excerpts, we get the sense that Brandon Sanderson is more interested in the
world and George Saunders in the character details, although the third- and first-person
narrators contribute to that. But I find it interesting that the two authors receive similar
types of praise. Mistborn is said to turn the genre on its head, while Lincoln in the
Bardo is touted as a “thrilling new form.” In terms of theme, they’re described as
tales of love, loss, and hope. It’s easy to see the similarities in what makes both
good genre and good literary fiction: they surprise us in some way, and they explore
universal experiences.
Most writers would agree that genre and literary fiction are not mutually exclusive categories
but are better viewed as a spectrum. Countless authors toe the line between classifications,
among them being David Mitchell, Margaret Atwood, Ray Bradbury, Philip K. Dick, Susanna
Clarke, and Neal Stephenson. Neil Gaiman’s style has a more literary feel than most fantasy,
too. Aforementioned literary author George Saunders showcases sci-fi elements like love
experiments in his short stories. Mary Shelley’s classic Frankenstein is considered one of
the first sci-fi novels, and dystopias like Brave New World maintain critical acclaim.
Jane Austen’s novels adhere to many romance tropes, with themes of class woven throughout.
Some say that literary and genre fiction are blending together more and more, but my opinion
echoes Lev Grossman’s:
“They have their own generic identities, their own distinct sets of conventions, and
to smoosh them together would be to sacrifice some of our precious literary biodiversity.
But I’ve become very suspicious of their arrangement in a hierarchy, one above the
other.”
Still, we writers can borrow elements from both styles. Literary fiction could embrace
plot and fantastical elements more openly without it lessening the intellectual value.
Genre fiction could incorporate more character complexity and creative prose, without it
decreasing the entertainment value.
As readers, we don’t need to pick a side, and as writers, we shouldn’t feel boxed
into a category. There’s no point in shitting on other people’s tastes. Write what you
want to write, and strive to tell the best story you can. The books, regardless of genre,
that withstand the test of time are usually those that push boundaries.
And remember that some of the most influential stories out there are those one might call
genre fiction—because “fiction is never real, but feelings always are.”
What are your thoughts on the literary vs. genre debate? Share them with me in the comments.
Whatever you do, keep writing.