Either Or?: Bookdragons Weigh In

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Here’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately — we’re all told that compromise and being able to negotiate is good. Not willing to bend our possibly strict and unrealistic goals can make life hard. In many ways, I can understand (and even agree with) this. For example, when your 4-year-old is throwing a total tantrum over your insisting they take a bath complete with hair washing, nail clipping, and having the dog jump in for a quick grooming, in the interest of getting the most important stuff accomplished, you’ll probably have to re-think your plan. Start by identifying your major hopes: That the child no longer has spaghetti in his hair or up his nose. That he goes to bed clean-ish. Are any of his nails poking holes in other people? No? Then it can wait until he’s quiet and cooperative. And the dog can stay in his spot and chill.

Anyway, after this kind of long and not-at-all-related-to-the-post opening analogy, let’s approach what I’m really after here. When is it not okay to relax your plans and ultimate goals? I’m not even talking major philosophical or theological matters. I’m simply discussing the idea that authors compromise far too much when it comes to their writing.

(By the way, if you have a 4-year-old who doesn’t like to take baths, and a dog, follow the above advice. I am winning at bargaining with kids and pets.)

Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of selections — by several different authors, and in different genres — that have made me wonder if the publishing market is rife with recent releases (within the last couple of years) that were evidently passed over once by an editor and thrown into the consumer arena to serve their major purpose of making money. At the expense of the readers’ satisfaction.

And, here’s a hint, publishers, since we do pay your bills — our satisfaction should really be considered during the whole preparing-to-print process.

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This is where I get the thought of “either or.” It makes me wonder if the editors feel that they need to choose between plot progression and character development, and that somehow it’s become impossible to include both in the same novel. That an author can have a longer book with more minor, unnecessary characters and tons of irrelevant dialogue — but they can’t have a longer book with more backstory of the world and explanation of the main character’s past.

Apparently, either a YA novel can have dead parents or bad parents, but not living, good parents. (This is beginning to change, thank God.) An adult fantasy novel can have a female lead that’s a complete kick-butt sword-wielder who’s a horribly nasty person to everyone supporting her, or she’s a near half-wit who collapses with a (poorly-depicted) panic attack at the very mention of having to ride the second-best horse in the kingdom. No in-between. Dystopians always feature a revolution and a fight to the death where somebody’s a sacrificial lamb — or there are zombies. The list goes on and on; you get the idea.

As a reader, I’m really getting tired of it.

Recently, I started reading A Song of Fire and Ice by George R.R. Martin. Usually adult fantasy is near the bottom of my recommendations list. But I was driven by a strong curiosity to find out what the big deal was about this series. As someone who did not like the cable show, I thought I’d give the books — the source material, after all — a fair shot, since adaptations are just that, and not always faithful. Yes, Martin’s writing still includes violence and sex and profanity — but I’ve noticed it serves a purpose (which seems to be lacking from the show). Martin uses all these factors to establish his setting, the mindsets of his characters, and the world they live in. While he uses more of it than I personally would find necessary as a writer, I don’t hold it against him.

Especially since his story includes so much more than shock-and-gore tactics.

For one, there actually is a story. A rather complex one, with a huge, varied cast of characters; it’s all plotted out pretty well, and there are no obvious gaping holes that make me squint and yell at the pages. There is tons of worldbuilding — it’s clear from the start of this ambitious series that Martin knew his fictional world’s history and why it is where it is when he brings the reader to it. Most of the characters are two-to-three-dimensional and feel relatable, and therefore we want to know what’s going to happen to them. And we get more details about them in relevant, 3-to-4 page recollections or musings or discussions, not massive infodumps that have us struggling to stay standing after absorbing them.

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This is such a drastic change from 90% of the novels I’ve read in the past two years. And, sadly, no, that’s not an exaggeration.

Martin is an established author with a lot of writing credit and experience. This on its own doesn’t mean he’ll never produce mediocre work. But what encourages me that he won’t fail is the fact that his work ethic is clear. He strives to tick all the boxes: the characters and the plot and the pacing and the worldbuilding. It’s obvious he went for balance, and took care to make it happen.

While I’m not saying no other author does that (I know it just isn’t true), after getting a bunch of disappointing flop my way, this is a refreshing change.

Here’s the major crux of this whole rambling: When did it become acceptable for “either or” to take center stage for authors and editors?

How many authors have said they didn’t like people who claimed what they did “wasn’t real work,” because they indeed worked very hard? How many authors who received awards for their novels had every right to be proud of their efforts? How many kept writing out of the sheer joy of seeing their words come to life on paper? Of hearing readers say, “I loved your book!”

Rather than just to make money?

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This certainly isn’t true of every current New York Times bestseller. Seeing the reviews of many other unsatisfied customers, though, it seems that I’m far from the only one having these thoughts and feelings.

Books are special. We should use them to create characters who teach us something, ideas that help us grow, ponderings and musings that fuel the imagination.

And high numbers on a royalty check wouldn’t change my opinion on that.

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