Having previous put
Harry Potter under the literary microscope,
John Granger has set out to discover academic substance in
Twilight. And while I get the feeling he is uncovering subtlety where none was intended, and giving Meyer the benefit of doubts never demanded, and getting Mormon popular culture
plain wrong, I heartily applaud the effort.
On that last point, non-Mormon critics who take on low-brow Mormon fiction really need to think much lower brow when it comes to the theology as well, especially when the subject of "predestined" marriage comes up. Quite coincidentally, while working on the sequel to
The Path of Dreams, I recently wrote the following exchange:
Elly said, "Can I ask you a dumb question?"
"How dumb?"
"Do you think people are made for each other?"
"Like in Saturday's Warrior, you mean?"
She grimaced at the comparison. "I suppose, minus the tacky and saccharine stuff."
That's the first reference any born and bred Mormon will seize upon. Incidentally, the most direct--and entertaining--access to popular Mormon culture can be had via Robert Kirby and Calvin Grondahl. Card's
Saintspeak is worth a mention too. The
online version of the middle-brow
Angel Falling Softly is annotated (click on the chapter headings).
But such obvious misses aside, popular fiction deserves defending, and Granger rises admirably to the task. Taking on a
Washington Post story about educated women embarrassed to admit they like
Twilight, he
observes how stunned such readers are when,
having suspended disbelief and entered a "cheesy vampire romance" novel that by their arbitrary checklist of literary do's and don'ts is "trash," they have the mythic, borderline religious experience the best stories deliver. What is so stunning--and embarrassing?--is less the "out of nowhere" surprise of this experience (think Susan Boyle) than that their usual fare of reading, the right sort of books, is nowhere near as engaging, even transformative as Mrs. Meyer's "junk."
I think this gets to the heart of the "otaku" experience, devotees who muster far more passion for a particular "art form" than the urbane consumers of less "plebeian" fare. The problem, explains Granger, is that "
the very well educated have a basic misunderstanding of what good writing is and isn't" [italics added].
Great story telling isn't elevated language or literary style. It isn't conformity to category standards or to genre formulae. And it isn't about "speaking truth to power" postmodern nihilism. Certainly great stories can have those qualities (except perhaps the last) and most do. But what a great story has to do, as C.S. Lewis noted in conversation with George Sayer, is make you answer "yes" to the questions: "Does it make you better, wiser, and happier? And do you like it?"
Stanley Fish makes a similar point in his
review of Sarah Palin's autobiography (and the same thing could be said of Meyer):
Do I believe any of this? [Is this "great literature"?] It doesn't matter. What matters is that she does, and that her readers feel they are hearing an authentic voice. I find the voice undeniably authentic.
Granger also dings Stephen King (deservedly) for criticizing Meyer in "pot meets kettle" fashion, pointing out that it's usually King at the receiving end of such comments. And after dumping (deservedly) on Harold Bloom, he comes up with a great term to describe literary critics who can't see the forest for the trees: "Genre revulsion."
And he digs up a great
King quote to boot:
If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn't bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.
That's the standard I'm literally living by these days.
Just as the transformational
effects of a religion on a culture and society make the religion worthy of study regardless of whether one believes its transcendental claims, at the bare minimum, the
effects of popular entertainment make it worthy of serious study, apart from the question of whether it's "good" or not.
Labels: book reviews, lds, pop culture, religion, twilight