ON THE SUBJECT OF GENRE...AGAIN

Perhaps all you do is read one type of mystery. Well, these books of mine possibly aren’t going to be your cuppa tea. Or chai.

But, on the off chance that you do read other things once in a while (there are other things, you know) you might not mind the fact that something other than the ordinary formula you expect from X-genre or X-sub-genre is taking place.

You might not like mine still. That’s okay, too. Not your flask of latte. Do they serve latte in flasks? Put your name on it and everything? Now, there’s a new form! Or is that foam? No, that’s cappuccino, isn’t it?

Where was I? On the subject of genre...

Arguably, since my books deal so much with the question of coincidence, and coincidence in itself deals so much with the matter of fantasy, sort of, on one level at least—particularly the way I use it, the funny, non-fantasy kind of way—you could say the only genre I haven’t used so far (but I probably will cross over into inevitably, writing about theoretical particle physics or something) are science fiction and the western (who knows?).

Do I cross over into multiple genres in order to capture a wider audience? No. I do it because I cannot control my ideas and probably wouldn’t even if I could. Indeed, all this crossover probably costs me audience. Most readers, like most people, are fairly traditional and conservative in their tastes. They like things pat and dry (no offense if your name is Pat and you happen to like it wet…). They like the idioms and clichés that are specific to particular genres and sub-genres.

Many readers give up on writers who stray from well-trod patterns rather than being excited by experimentation and exploration, experiencing the thrill of new territories. They find excitement dull. Not challenging, but boring. The effort is tedious. Were it a train off the rails they would not find it so.

But they are not the engineers, are they? They are passengers and this “off the rails” is a kind of death. Not THAT kind but another kind. One does not read for strain, but for comfort.

I’m not here to criticize. I understand. Reading can be a mind-numbing pleasure. There’s no reason to scold people for this. Blessings upon them for this, indeed. But reading may also do more for some. There are those of us who can turn to reading for more.

Now, as I have often said, I am not writing Moby Dick. There is a middle ground, however. I am simply playing a different sort of game, experimenting with words and ideas within a genre. Serious literature, no. Well, not THAT serious. Serious experiment within a genre, yes. There rests the difference. I hope people can understand and respect this. And I hope people will take the time to see that it isn’t too much of a strain.

So far there has been no negative criticism of my book I cannot tolerate, and I am curious as to why. If I were more persnickety, which, honestly, I am, I would be negative about some things. It isn’t as if I were going to come over to your house and punch you in the face. I don’t even know who you are. Well, actually, I do know where one of you lives but you’re a sweetie.

One thing people tend not to like is the mixing of genres. In the fantasy/scifi genre they call it “genre bending.” Some people like it, but most don’t. My books certainly do mix genres a lot. If I didn’t like this, I’d certainly complain about it.

People who read mysteries not only have this genre they love, and read faithfully and voraciously, they also have very well-loved sub- genres. I am for the most part subverting them as an experiment. Outrageously and intentionally. Not as a joke. For a purpose. To an extent, at least, when I say intentionally, doing so at least somewhat without fault.

For example, when you design a cover there is only so much you can do. It is the number one advertising point. But it can be very misleading. My poor friend Blake designed the first one as best he could, not having read the book or understanding the complexity of this genre mix. He did a wonderful job considering all these handicaps. But the victim was the reader.

Perhaps. So if some reader is somewhat misled by the cover they might be angry, spending X dollars assuming it was a dark mystery/thriller that turned out to contain all this comedy and romance, philosophy, pet advice and whatnot. It certainly was not the fault of this commercial artist.

It wasn’t my fault either. I think. But I can imagine that complaint.

Then some said they couldn’t figure anything out and gave up reading after a few pages, which is fine. After all, as wise a reader as Doris Lessing said that’s exactly what you should do with any book and mine are no exception. She said hers were no exception and she won the Nobel Prize. But many such readers said they went back to it, took the time and voila discovered that doing so paid off. Others said it was still like being on an acid trip or something and they didn’t enjoy the effect. Well, acid trips in books have their own sort of genre, don’t they?

There are certain lines, let’s call it line A between what you write for children and what you write for adults, then line B between what you write for certain adults and certain other adults. Then there’s line C between what you write for those adults and certain others, let’s call them hardcore adults who just want, ahem, certain things.

My writing would be classified in B. That’s it. B for buzz buzz buzz as in birds and bees. That level of dealing with reality, or what I consider reality. Nothing too hardcore. Quite a bit of salty language in there because that’s the way people speak but nothing too hardcore in terms of actual sex on the page. Maybe as far as some people think the writing might be somewhat on the BARF side in terms of B. But for birds barf is very much what life is about, isn’t it, so a little bit of barf now and then ain’t such a bad idea, either.

You do barf sometimes on an acid trip you know.

But, really, it isn’t like that at all...