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In trying to explain why I have liked some books and not others, and knowing as I read that I will have to do that later, I am becoming somewhat more aware of my own reactions as I read. Some things tend to catch my interest--engaging characters, beautiful language, immersive world-building, and mysteries that promise to be resolved all pull me deeper into the novel and make me regret when my train pulls into my station. But I've also noticed that I tend to get ticked off at authors sometimes. I almost never leave a book unfinished, but when I've gotten irritated enough, I'll stop giving the author the benefit of the doubt and start increasing my reading speed. When sufficiently pissed, I'll end up almost skimming the last chapters of the book, looking for a reason to slow down. Once I'm annoyed, it becomes increasingly hard for the author to win me back, as I stop glossing over flaws and start hunting down new reasons to be angry. I've been thinking about what it is that ticks me off and why it feels so personal. It was the "benefit of the doubt" part that tipped me off.
I feel like the author has betrayed my trust.
When you decide to invest your time and emotions in a novel, you place a certain amount of trust in the author. There are certain conventions expected in all but the most experimental of fiction (which I typically don't have much patience for). There will be a certain amount of cause and effect. Everything included will be there for a reason, whether to further the plot or engage sympathy or set a mood or illustrate a theme. At the end, you will understand most of what happened, even if it was confusing at the time or remains confusing to the characters. There will be core characters who will accompany you on this journey and help indicate which pieces of information are more important than others. Chekov's guns highlighted over the course of the novel will become relevant, if only as a red herring. There will be at least some kind of narrative arc.
So when a scene seems inexplicable, you trust that the author included it for a reason and search the rest of the book for an explanation. When a mystery is presented, you trust that it will be addressed in some way, even if it is not entirely solved. When information is presented out of order or in a confusing manner, you have patience becase you trust the author will make things clear in the end.
I think this is one of the appeals of genre. Genres come with their own expectations, which further help you sit back and trust that the author will deliver you to where you want to be.
(This is much more true, of course, of the plot-genres. Mysteries and romances are plot-genres, where most of the conventions deal with the arc of the story. Science fiction, fantasy, and westerns are setting-genres, where you know what the trappings of the story are going in, but there are fewer conventions on how things must arc and end. Literary fiction is a style-genre, I think. It's relatively easy to mix different types of genres--a science fiction mystery or a western romance or a literary fantasy. It's harder to mix two of the same type--romance mystery or science fiction western. The themes of one usually get subordinated to the other. But I digress.)
Reading a romance, I do not feel particularly betrayed when the heroine loses her love because I know--I have been promised--that by the end, she will be happily in love again (whether with the old guy or a new, better guy). If something doesn't make sense in a mystery, I can trust that it will be explained in an entirely reasonable way by the end.
So when it becomes clear that an author is not going to make good on one of these implied promises, I get pissed. I placed my trust in the author and now I feel betrayed.
I'm about to get into specific examples. There will be spoilers.
So take viewpoint characters. If I spend a significant portion of time in someone else's head, I expect them to be crucial to the plot of the novel, preferrably all the way up to the end, and I expect some kind of resolution for them when I get there. This is one of the things I found incredibly irritating about both The Difference Engine and Great House. Both books featured whole sections by characters who completely dropped out of relevance well before the end of the story. Why, Great House, do you introduce a character halfway through the plot, spend an eigth of the book with her, and then never actually mention her again? For that matter, why bother at all, as her actions never change the trajectories of any of the other characters? You, too, Difference Engine.
I'm not objecting to discarding major characters, if there is a purpose. In A Game of Thrones, you spend a significant portion of the book in the head of someone who is suddenly killed two thirds in. The thing is, that character's death is the catalyst for everything in the series. You needed to know what he knew and to identify with him. His death is devastating, as it is for most of the characters. This shocking event is recalled again and again for the rest of the series. And in doing it the way the author did, he rips away your sense of safety just as it is ripped away for the rest of the characters. Stark's death is utterly critical, and having that viewpoint present and then torn away is equally critical to both plot and theme. It still feels like a betrayal, but that was the point. Martin wants the reader to feel betrayed. Gibson and Sterling and Krauss? Don't seem to have noticed, or at least, don't care.
Difference Engine's repeated fumblings of major plot developments is equally betraying. If you're going to make a deck of punch cards the MacGuffin that nearly starts a war, don't abandon the plot line with two offhanded lines in favor of following some dangerous politician's rise to power in the last quarter of the book. If you're going to make fighting the politician the ultimate plot arc, don't close the book before the opening punch is thrown. And if you're going to bring up the possibility of Cthuloid beasties and then never mention them again, it makes me lose all faith that you have a plan or care at all about the plot you've chosen.
Majician/51, which I hesitate to bring up because it feels like picking on a retarded puppy but is too good an example to ignore, betrays with nearly every chapter by repeatedly bringing in exciting new developments that are promptly dropped. Serial killers who dismember their victims need to be personally stopped. Conspiracy-minded investigative reporters should not refuse to report and then be turned into zombies a page later. If you go to Burning Man, let's see some crazy artists doing awesome crazy artist things instead of a meet up with a guy that could have happened anywhere. And if you arm an atomic bomb, you don't get to switch it off again as an afterthought.
So this is why I liked Poison Study, which was clunkily written and a bit hackneyed, much better than Great House with its gorgeous language or Difference Engine with its fantastic world building. Because Poison Study, for all its flaws, made good on its promises. I trusted the author and she delivered what I wanted.
I don't mind twists. I want to be surprised. But if you're going to break the rules, then you need to do it for a damn good reason, make me feel like you betrayed my trust in you for a reason, and then reaffirm that trust by building on that twist to justify it all in the end.
I feel like the author has betrayed my trust.
When you decide to invest your time and emotions in a novel, you place a certain amount of trust in the author. There are certain conventions expected in all but the most experimental of fiction (which I typically don't have much patience for). There will be a certain amount of cause and effect. Everything included will be there for a reason, whether to further the plot or engage sympathy or set a mood or illustrate a theme. At the end, you will understand most of what happened, even if it was confusing at the time or remains confusing to the characters. There will be core characters who will accompany you on this journey and help indicate which pieces of information are more important than others. Chekov's guns highlighted over the course of the novel will become relevant, if only as a red herring. There will be at least some kind of narrative arc.
So when a scene seems inexplicable, you trust that the author included it for a reason and search the rest of the book for an explanation. When a mystery is presented, you trust that it will be addressed in some way, even if it is not entirely solved. When information is presented out of order or in a confusing manner, you have patience becase you trust the author will make things clear in the end.
I think this is one of the appeals of genre. Genres come with their own expectations, which further help you sit back and trust that the author will deliver you to where you want to be.
(This is much more true, of course, of the plot-genres. Mysteries and romances are plot-genres, where most of the conventions deal with the arc of the story. Science fiction, fantasy, and westerns are setting-genres, where you know what the trappings of the story are going in, but there are fewer conventions on how things must arc and end. Literary fiction is a style-genre, I think. It's relatively easy to mix different types of genres--a science fiction mystery or a western romance or a literary fantasy. It's harder to mix two of the same type--romance mystery or science fiction western. The themes of one usually get subordinated to the other. But I digress.)
Reading a romance, I do not feel particularly betrayed when the heroine loses her love because I know--I have been promised--that by the end, she will be happily in love again (whether with the old guy or a new, better guy). If something doesn't make sense in a mystery, I can trust that it will be explained in an entirely reasonable way by the end.
So when it becomes clear that an author is not going to make good on one of these implied promises, I get pissed. I placed my trust in the author and now I feel betrayed.
I'm about to get into specific examples. There will be spoilers.
So take viewpoint characters. If I spend a significant portion of time in someone else's head, I expect them to be crucial to the plot of the novel, preferrably all the way up to the end, and I expect some kind of resolution for them when I get there. This is one of the things I found incredibly irritating about both The Difference Engine and Great House. Both books featured whole sections by characters who completely dropped out of relevance well before the end of the story. Why, Great House, do you introduce a character halfway through the plot, spend an eigth of the book with her, and then never actually mention her again? For that matter, why bother at all, as her actions never change the trajectories of any of the other characters? You, too, Difference Engine.
I'm not objecting to discarding major characters, if there is a purpose. In A Game of Thrones, you spend a significant portion of the book in the head of someone who is suddenly killed two thirds in. The thing is, that character's death is the catalyst for everything in the series. You needed to know what he knew and to identify with him. His death is devastating, as it is for most of the characters. This shocking event is recalled again and again for the rest of the series. And in doing it the way the author did, he rips away your sense of safety just as it is ripped away for the rest of the characters. Stark's death is utterly critical, and having that viewpoint present and then torn away is equally critical to both plot and theme. It still feels like a betrayal, but that was the point. Martin wants the reader to feel betrayed. Gibson and Sterling and Krauss? Don't seem to have noticed, or at least, don't care.
Difference Engine's repeated fumblings of major plot developments is equally betraying. If you're going to make a deck of punch cards the MacGuffin that nearly starts a war, don't abandon the plot line with two offhanded lines in favor of following some dangerous politician's rise to power in the last quarter of the book. If you're going to make fighting the politician the ultimate plot arc, don't close the book before the opening punch is thrown. And if you're going to bring up the possibility of Cthuloid beasties and then never mention them again, it makes me lose all faith that you have a plan or care at all about the plot you've chosen.
Majician/51, which I hesitate to bring up because it feels like picking on a retarded puppy but is too good an example to ignore, betrays with nearly every chapter by repeatedly bringing in exciting new developments that are promptly dropped. Serial killers who dismember their victims need to be personally stopped. Conspiracy-minded investigative reporters should not refuse to report and then be turned into zombies a page later. If you go to Burning Man, let's see some crazy artists doing awesome crazy artist things instead of a meet up with a guy that could have happened anywhere. And if you arm an atomic bomb, you don't get to switch it off again as an afterthought.
So this is why I liked Poison Study, which was clunkily written and a bit hackneyed, much better than Great House with its gorgeous language or Difference Engine with its fantastic world building. Because Poison Study, for all its flaws, made good on its promises. I trusted the author and she delivered what I wanted.
I don't mind twists. I want to be surprised. But if you're going to break the rules, then you need to do it for a damn good reason, make me feel like you betrayed my trust in you for a reason, and then reaffirm that trust by building on that twist to justify it all in the end.
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no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 08:30 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 08:37 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 08:49 pm (UTC)From:You're still choosing what you read which indicates that there's some kernel of appeal there. One of the other problems with being paid to review books is that most books are really meh. And you have to find 250 words to say about even the non-entities.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 09:42 pm (UTC)From:I certainly do not compare my pain yours. I'm just kind of fascinated by what I'm learning about my own taste.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 09:46 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 09:58 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 11:33 pm (UTC)From:There was a great conversation on Twitter's #litchat a few weeks ago about authorial trust - why do you trust an author, what do you require of them, how can an author build and maintain trust, can you win back readers if you break their trust, etc. A lot of this was said, but not as eloquently, and you summed up a lot of my own problems with certain books and certain authors.
I'm about to start skim-reading a book I'm in right now, for just the reasons you mentioned - threads are being dropped, and I'm just annoyed, because it's not making good on its promises in addition to being hackneyed and not overly well-written. Losing me fast...
no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 12:58 am (UTC)From: