Thursday News: On Sherlock Holmes, subtlety, happiness, and wisdom teeth
Publishing Newsdetective fiction / Elizabeth Gilbert / genre fiction / happiness / Literary Criticism / marriage proposals / reading / Sherlock Holmes10 Comments
Sherlock Holmes, Pro and Con – An interesting essay by Terry Teachout that actually reads more like a paen to deep thoughts in literature than a meditation on the positives and negatives of Sherlock Holmes. Teachout discusses the persistent popularity of the Holmes character, including the longevity of the original stories, despite the myriad adaptations and variations by other writers. One of the insights that may be particularly relevant to the ongoing discussions about the ‘literary value’ of genre fiction, though, is the question of character growth that Teachout raises, and it struck me, reading this section of his essay, that there is nothing in genre that prohibits the dynamic growth of characters; in fact, I think many of us would argue that in successful Romance narratives, particularly, substantive growth is highly desirable if not essential.
This points to another source of Holmes’s perennial appeal, which is that he is, in common with most other fictional detectives of the 19th and early-20th centuries, a fundamentally reassuring presence, one whose phenomenal crime-solving abilities remind us that the encroaching disorder of the world around us need not be irresistible. Small wonder, then, that the Holmes stories were so successfully filmed in Hollywood during World War II, with Basil Rathbone’s Holmes transformed into a hunter of Nazi spies. . . .
Anyone who returns to the Holmes stories in adulthood after having put them aside for half a lifetime, as I recently did in writing this essay, will be forcibly struck by this weakness [the superficiality of Holmes’s character]. For the Holmes and Watson of A Study in Scarlet, it turns out, are already fully developed as personalities. While we learn a certain number of new things about them in the tales that follow, they do not grow, nor does their relationship alter in any significant way. Similarly, they remain fixed in time and thus never grapple with the complicating problems of modernity (except in “His Last Bow,” a 1917 story that shows us Holmes and Watson on the eve of World War I). – Commentary Magazine
Against Subtlety – Like many offerings from Slate, this essay by Forrest Wickman is kind of a mixed bag. But it’s also a relevant companion piece to the article on Holmes, in part because Wickman’s contemplation of “subtlety” is a rehearsal of many of the arguments for and against commercial and/or genre fiction. I don’t agree with a number of his points (I think his celebration of art that persuades people through obvious pleasures needs a lot more nuance, for example), and I think he has a tendency to ignore both the value and the inevitability of interpretation (which is not the same thing as ‘working to find meaning’) on the part of readers/viewers. But his points about the way we just assume that subtlety ‘makes you smarter,’ as he puts it, are also worth thinking more about. Going back to the differences between Type 1 and Type 2 thinking, for example, perhaps it’s not so much about doing ‘intellectual work’ while reading, but about the kind of thought processes we employ, which may or may not be better exercised with more “complex” entertainment.
The idea that to be on the nose is undesirable seems to have its origins in comedy (you can see it jump from the writers’ room to the screen in meta moments of Desperate Housewives and Family Guy), which brings us to one of subtlety’s more defensible defenses: Being unsubtle can be a little like explaining the joke. According to this line of thought, to be unsubtle is bad because you deny the joy of realization. It’s true that there’s pleasure in discovering something for yourself, but we should ask ourselves whether that’s more important than communicating clearly, or delivering that joy to larger audiences. Too often this defense is a form of self-flattery: This is made plain when we complain that something “talks down to us” or “insults our intelligence,” as if the point of a book or TV show is to stroke your ego.
Others argue that doing interpretive work, having to search for meaning, is good not because it’s pleasurable, but because it exercises your brain, like a muscle, making it strong. This is the “no pain, no gain” theory of forcing audiences to dig deeper for hidden meaning. But here’s the thing: It’s still just a theory. Studies have tried again and again to prove it—both for literary fiction and, more recently, for prestige television—but when it comes down to it, there’s no real evidence that more subtle entertainment makes you smarter. – Slate
Elizabeth Gilbert’s Unexpected Secret to Finding Happiness – Okay, I admit it: I’m one of those people who thinks that Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love reads like a rich, white woman’s extended spa vacation. Yes, I know that even well-known writers who get big advances can have truly sucky life circumstances and be deeply, legitimately miserable. So why am I linking to this interview on happiness? Because Romance is supposed to be all about happiness (the HEA!), but I’m not sure how much we really talk about women’s happiness in the Romance genre outside a relationship (most often with a man). And there’s still reticence around women cultivating happiness in ways that are self-serving (e.g. that don’t involve, say, raising children). Which is kind of interesting, given the fact that the genre is so strongly attached to the idea of a ‘happily ever after.’ Sure, it’s a shared happiness, but women can be fulfilled by more than one thing at a time, just like men. Yet we still so often think about women’s happiness as “selfish.”
Is happiness narcissistic?
“The greatest community service you can offer the world is to become one less miserable person, whatever that takes. I’d rather be around a happy narcissist than a miserable one. I know this, having been depressed. When you’re depressed, you spend 100 percent of your time thinking about yourself. A happy person, by comparison, thinks about herself only 97 percent of the time. They actually have something left over to give.” – Allure Magazine
Canada Man Proposes to Girlfriend With Engagement Ring Made From His Wisdom Tooth – Speaking of shared happiness, here’s a story I meant to post yesterday and then forgot (it’s possible I subconsciously blocked it from my mind). Carlee Leifkes and Lucas Unger decided that they wanted to celebrate their engagement in a way that reflected their belief in marriage as a “two-way street.” It’s unclear whether Unger had the tooth voluntarily removed specifically for the ring, which seems almost Victorian in its sentimental use of human material. Kind of surprising, then, that they’re doing the cliché Vegas wedding with an Elvis impersonator officiating.
“Diamonds are overrated,” Leifkes told ABC News today. “We’re a very non-traditional couple, and we like to have fun. The tooth symbolizes the weird, quirky, odd couple we are. Every tooth is different, and the tooth also shows what my husband’s willing to go through for me. Lucas literally grew this and went through pain when he got it removed, and all that went into my wedding ring.” – ABC News
That Slate article is a flat-out ripoff of the idea behind (and discussion in) a paper by the sociologist Kieran Healy, called “Fuck Nuance.” He gave it at this year’s meeting of the Annual Sociological Association and posted it on his website, where it’s been downloaded thousands of times. There was plenty of online coverage, including at the Chronicle of Higher Education. It’s extremely unlikely that the Slate author didn’t see it.
Many writing experts (I can’t think of names right now) state that one of the main differences between genre fiction and literary fiction IS that genre fiction shows character growth and literary fiction doesn’t. In literary fiction, the character often ends up in the exact place they started. In genre fiction, the character is changed and his/her surroundings often also change. The character learns about him/herself while solving the mystery. The character faces his/her greatest fears while finding love. Etc.
(There are exceptions to this ‘rule’ but then, there are exceptions to every rule.)
Even in my 40 page short stories, I show character growth. If I don’t, readers WILL push back. It is an expectation in romance.
On the wisdom tooth ring: Yuck.
@Cynthia Sax: In the spirit of “Fuck Nuance,” this sounds like one of the BS stereotypes about literary fiction that is just as annoying as the ones literary fiction people have about genre. It’s nonsense. There are so many exceptions, in both genre and literary books, that it’s not a rule.
I WOULD say that ideas about growth and change differ in different kinds of books (both within and across genres)–you’re more likely to see a character whose change is only in their perspective on things in literary fiction than in romance, for instance. But I wouldn’t call that lack of change/growth just because it’s, um, nuanced/subtle. That’s applying a particular model of character growth to every book and saying “there is none” if it doesn’t fit the model you’re using.
@Liz Mc2:
Well, we ARE talking about stereotypes. I’m no expert on literary. I keep to my happy (ending) world of romance. As I mentioned, I relied on the outside sources. It was shocking to me to hear that the stereotype seems to be flipped in this article.
Which proves your point exactly. There are no rules. People see what they want to see.
@Sunita: The irony here is that I got the link from A&L Daily! But you’re right that the piece does heavily reverberate with Healy’s paper, right down to the “it sucks” subtitle, as compared with Healy’s “seriously, f*** it.” Why not just name Healy and apply the model, especially since there are some clear differences in how Wickman is applying the concept.
@Cynthia Sax: I think it’s difficult (read: impossible) to argue for no character growth in literary fiction when lit fic, as it’s labeled, tends to be more directly focused on character. Although I’ve always struggled with talking about “literary fiction” as a distinct category, since it’s not particularly descriptive in “type.” I agree with @Liz Mc2 that the analysis has to be more specifically focused.
@Cynthia Sax: Whereas I’m kind of surprised to see that advice asserted as the norm, since my own literary training emphasized pretty much the opposite.
@Janet: I will be honest. Reading between the lines, during my [censored] decades of reading genre criticism, pretty much every definition I have ever read of “literary fiction” boils down to:
a) the Good Stuff that *I* read because my tastes are more subtle and my intellect more refined than Certain Other Peoples’
or
b) that Boring Crap that Certain Other People read because they’re too snobby to enjoy a good story like *me*
Nuance might not make you smarter, but it sure makes stories more interesting. I find if my brain is working harder, I enjoy the story more. I like reading Harlequins in foreign translation better than in English, because uncovering the plot seems like a prize.
Darn that Canada Man, always stirring up trouble! Honestly though, I have mild odontophobia (enough so that clashing teeth in a kiss makes me squirm, even descriptions of it in books) so if someone offered me that I’d scream and run away, nevermind be able to wear it on a daily basis. NOT so romantic. I have no problems with animal teeth, it’s just human (and primate) teeth that send my anxiety levels skyrocketing. That movie ExistenZ where they make the tooth gun? Continues to feature prominently in my nightmares. Ahhhh!
All that said, I am A++ in favour of nontraditional wedding rings because of all the gross stuff involved with diamonds. Teeth are just personally hnnnng for me.
I like nuance and subtlety in books, especially if it’s something I catch on a re-read or listen to vs read, but I always thought that some of my English teachers were just making stuff up. Some of the symbolism I was taught about in Tess of the d’Ubervilles or Duddy Kravitz I have NEVER seen anywhere else since. I’ve always figured symbolism tended to be a reflection from the reader vs necessarily intent from the author.