Freshness as a Liability
I cannot speak authoritatively about other genres, but in western fiction, freshness is a serious liability. If a novel is not derivative of hundreds that came earlier, it is not welcome. It will be automatically rejected by mass-market editors and avoided or assailed by western readers alike. In fact, some western publishers go to great lengths to package their stories in ways that evoke the past, sometimes even employing 1950s titles to authenticate the true-blue nature of the new story.
Originality is the enemy. I often want to ask a publisher, or blurber, or endorser, what's new or unique about the story; what separates it from the thousands of other western titles. The proper answer, which they avoid, is nothing at all. Their marketing depends on presenting each story as being in the same groove as the previous ones; on stories that reiterate the ritual mythology of the western genre. The hero is going to shoot his way to success, and the characters will be barely sketched.
I keep hunting for freshness in the genre, because I love stories of the West, but it is a futile cause now. The genre is a brittle as anything I've ever seen. I remember writing a good noir western called Cutthroat Gulch. It was about an old, wise sheriff, Blue Smith, who faces the task of bringing to justice a young killer he knows well, who is deliberately tormenting him. In a trial of arms, Blue Smith is no match for the young killer, but in the end, he employs his wisdom garnered over a long life and understanding of human nature to bring the story to a valid conclusion. The story is a fishing metaphor. Blue Smith fishes for the killer and catches him. But that upset some readers, who said the ending was disappointing. They had expected old Blue to blow away the young killer in a hail of bullets, but Blue didn't do that. In short, the readers wanted the traditional story, and I disappointed them.
That is a good example of the ossified nature of the genre. Freshness, originality, uniqueness, these are enemies of the traditional western. Editors know it, know that readers want the same old stuff, and avoid change at all cost. But old stories are, for me, dead stories. I want to be treated to something that awakens new interests in me. I sometimes wonder if I'm the only reader of western fiction who feels that way.
Originality is the enemy. I often want to ask a publisher, or blurber, or endorser, what's new or unique about the story; what separates it from the thousands of other western titles. The proper answer, which they avoid, is nothing at all. Their marketing depends on presenting each story as being in the same groove as the previous ones; on stories that reiterate the ritual mythology of the western genre. The hero is going to shoot his way to success, and the characters will be barely sketched.
I keep hunting for freshness in the genre, because I love stories of the West, but it is a futile cause now. The genre is a brittle as anything I've ever seen. I remember writing a good noir western called Cutthroat Gulch. It was about an old, wise sheriff, Blue Smith, who faces the task of bringing to justice a young killer he knows well, who is deliberately tormenting him. In a trial of arms, Blue Smith is no match for the young killer, but in the end, he employs his wisdom garnered over a long life and understanding of human nature to bring the story to a valid conclusion. The story is a fishing metaphor. Blue Smith fishes for the killer and catches him. But that upset some readers, who said the ending was disappointing. They had expected old Blue to blow away the young killer in a hail of bullets, but Blue didn't do that. In short, the readers wanted the traditional story, and I disappointed them.
That is a good example of the ossified nature of the genre. Freshness, originality, uniqueness, these are enemies of the traditional western. Editors know it, know that readers want the same old stuff, and avoid change at all cost. But old stories are, for me, dead stories. I want to be treated to something that awakens new interests in me. I sometimes wonder if I'm the only reader of western fiction who feels that way.
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