We might also consider that “reading for plot” is not “reading to be *surprised* by the plot” but rather reading with attention to the ingenuity or subtlety or skill with which the craft is plotted. (This is why his point about genre/junk fiction as intertextual in its pleasures appeals to me: readers of genre fiction/art are experts in form, and gain pleasure both from the skillful evocation of formulaic structures and innovation within the constraints of those formalae. Many other cultural moments don’t consider novelty as the hallmark of creative achievement, but rather intertextual skill or deftness with convention.)

Yes! Great point. And when you think about how one of the foundations for Romance is Classical Comedy, it becomes even more important, IMO.

I realize it’s time for me to re-read Auberbach’s Mimesis, because, as you point out, there’s so much to be mined from myriad dramatic and literary traditions (mimetic and diegetic), from myth, from orally related epic poetry, to the innumerable adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays, to the jeremiad, etc. etc. etc. And that’s only within the Western traditions.

In general I think there’s been an institutional reluctance to engage with Romance, especially, using all the intellectual tools our various disciplines have produced and applied to other cultural and artistic forms/expressions/works/traditions. But, thankfully, this is definitely changing.

This makes me think (because I have been teaching it, of course) of the different demands the 5th C Athenians made on their drama, for instance. For Aristotle (a century later), playwrights were “makers of plots,” craftsmen of narrative structure, and the primary way a tragedy functions was through its plot (rather than character, diction, thought, etc.). Nonetheless, the Greek tragedians Aristotle was smitten with were not creators of new plots, any more than Shakespeare was, in general.

The audience *knew* the stories of the tragedies already: satisfaction wasn’t the result of finding out what happened, but rather in the skill with which the playwright shows us how it happens, and the layers of dramatic irony created by our knowledge, the characters’ ignorance, and the playwright’s skill in arranging events and their revelation. In other words, the ancient tragedies (like modern romance and modern horror) are drenched in suspense, but it is the suspense of knowing whence we head.

I think also of theatre because it is an art form of inherent repetition. I see productions over and over again both because the reinterpretation of the piece by the performers (as the reinterpretation of virtually archetypal plot lines by different authors) fills me with intertextual glee and the joy of new resonances, but also because I have changed with every viewing, to venture into the territory of reader response theory and Heraclitus. In the Noh theatre, the performances are “scripted” down to the minutest gesture, but still performances manage to be meaningfully different, and devotees cite a sort of palimpsestic effect of seeing the ghosts of old performances and readings of the play through the current one as one of the great joys of an art form that is so rigidly controlled and form-oriented. The tumult of innovation and the shock of the unexpected are not necessarily the markers of a well made plot or a satisfying work of art.

By the by, *wonderful* (and extremely impressive) news about your husband, and I am glad to here that the horizon is a bit rosier for you as well, although I still feel empathetically grim inside when I contemplate the seismic departmental shifts going on everywhere.

And a last post-script: I too read a batch of fall evaluations today, so I was struck by your comparison of the author’s right (or not) to respond to reviewers to a teacher’s (non?)right to response to student evaluations. While talking to a colleague about my gratitude for the constructive suggestions my recent evaluations offered, we wandered onto the topic of how frustrating it is when students enshrine factual inaccuracies in your permanent record (a part of your file for tenure and promotion, intimately tied to your livelihood). At the last school I taught, I told her, instructors could respond to student evaluations they felt were unfair or inaccurate. It wouldn’t remove them from the permanent record, but it would contextualize them, making them into a dialogue rather than an authoritative record. I concluded that this was because the course evaluations at my last school are not only a part of your employment file, they are also available online to future students considering taking your course. Because they are in the “public forum,” it somehow seemed more vital to give teachers a chance to respond, just as students can respond to the evaluation you give of their assignment.

My attitude tends to be that it is interesting when authors engage in discussions of their own work, because it enriches our sense of the process of composition and the relation between the author’s works (or between their works and their biography and philosophy). But it can be a bit chilling, because we as a society cleave to the widespread (and frequently-debunked-in-freshman-lit-classes) idea that the author is the source of all meaning in the text – that whatever s/he says is inarguably true. Rather, the author’s interpretation of his or her own text just enriches the palimpsest of possible readings, all of which work off of each other.

Yikes. Mammoth comment. But only because your blog is, as always, so fascinating, and the comment discussion so thought-provoking!

Jessica, I reread what you initially wrote and realized that I had interpreted your comment, “I find these sorts of comment potentially chilling of the kind of discussion readers must have if fiction is to flourish in a society”, to mean that you found authors’ comments chilling, whereas you meant something more specific by it. I’m still not quite sure what you meant by “these sorts of comment”. I could guess that you might mean authoritative, blunt, snippy, but since I have already read it wrong once I am hesitant to do so. By the way, I thought Kinsale’s arguments were meant to be sort of funny, but I can see how other people would have seen them as authoritative, etc. I thought they were written in a purposefully over the top way.

When you say, “the kind of discussion readers must have if fiction is to flourish in a society”, my first thought is that fiction can flourish in a society without any kind of internet discussion happening at all, let alone a particular kind of discussion occuring. While I enjoy reading discussions about fiction I am surprised at the importance being accorded to these discussions.

I want to add that while the discussions won’t be the same if authors join in, I am not sure they won’t, generally speaking, be as good and in some cases better.

FIrst, I just want to say that I really enjoy Ron Hogan; IMO he’s got this literate down to earth quality that reflects a really broad spectrum of interests, from Romance to lit fic and beyond. IIRC he’s host at Lady Jane’s Salon (his own website is http://www.Beatrice.com, but he’s also written many articles for GalleyCat).

As for the Carroll article, thanks, Jessica, for posting this, because I don’t know if I would have found it otherwise. And I wanted to read it myself before I commented here. I totally agree with Jessica about the problems with his foundational assumption that “junk fiction” (and oh, how that term is problematic) is read for story. Although I see Romance readers make this same assertion quite readily (i.e. genre fiction is all about story, while lit fic is all about characters and prose). I disagree at a very visceral level but haven’t yet been able to marshal a coherent argument explaining why. I also think it’s problematic to rely on what King says about how own work as “proof” of the position, even if King is completely earnest in the statement.

Had Carroll let go of this premise, I think the argument might have proceeded differently, even though I don’t disagree with the idea that readers enjoy exercising a certain inferential control over the text.

Also, Roberts’s point about intertextuality is quite similar to my own understanding of “genre coding” to which I have referred and on which I promised Laura V. a longer piece. I hadn’t read Carroll (and still haven’t read Roberts), so that discussion was a nice find for me.

As for the overall significance of Carroll’s argument, I found a lot in it to admire and agree with, but don’t think it accounts for the *pleasure* readers get from genre fiction. And I’m not so sure that pleasure is so substantially different for genre fiction reading than, say, lit fic. Or rather that pleasure cannot be divided along those lines, but will differ from genre to genre. Carroll’s construction seems to privilege the intellectual in the reading process, and while I definitely think that’s a factor, I don’t think it’s a comprehensive explanation to the question of why we read and enjoy books that share a similar generic structure.

Part of the problem may be that he needs a much more complex discussion of the relationship between form and content and a more nuanced approach to his whole concept of “the same story” — is it really the same story or is it that there are only a limited number of story types, regardless of genre? Is it the structure of the story that’s duplicative and how does that structure relate to the story elements, per se? What are the differences between “types” and “forms,” how are they executed by the author, and how does the reader figure these relationships as s/he reads?

Of course, all that may be the difference between an article and a book, so I just ordered a (used — OMG 55 bucks for new!) copy of Carroll’s “A Philosophy of Mass Art,” which was written a few years after this article.

I also think it helps to look at the romance blogosphere as a whole, A slew of positive reviews for LIF came out at the same time as the (also positive) DA review. To me, it looks like there’s some disagreement overall about the tone. I realize DA reviews are widely read, but I hardly think Robin and Sarah can sway the opinions of the thousands of readers LIK is likely to have. So, if it were me, I would have gritted my teeth and held back.

You mention the other comment on the DA thread about author responsibilities. I can’t speak for others, but I viewed that post as an open invitation to authors and readers alike to share their views. I can’t imagine why anyone would think authors shouldn’t or couldn’t participate in online discussions about writing, reading, etc. Not being a writer myself, I know I learn a tremendous amount when they do.

I think there’s a big difference between critiquing reader reviewers about one’s own work and engaging in general discussion about writing.

I think we are all subject to in different ways to what we consider unfair criticism. In my fall teaching evaluations, a student wrote I was “late to class every day” and SIGNED it, meaning it goes into my file. In fact, the clock was fast in the classroom. I saw that student in the Union yesterday, and had a momentary urge to walk up to him and say “the clocks were fast, you fuckwit.” I resisted, barely.

Again, I appreciate your feedback.

There IS an atmosphere of fear among authors online about what we are “allowed” to say.

I agree that such an atmosphere exists; however, I don’t think it’s because readers are censoring authors. It is merely because authors are public figures, and as such their actions and words can affect readers’ purchasing decisions. Therefore they have a public image to think about. It isn’t really all that different from the way athletes with corporate sponsorships or politicians come under greater scrutiny than people who aren’t public figures.

But this atmosphere existed long before the blogosphere. I remember those days, and it was even more rare then to see an author in this genre negatively review a fellow author’s book (no matter how respectfully), for example, than it is today. So there has always been some form or another of this type of scrutiny and a resultant culture of silence among authors, IMO.

Which, in point of fact, they might do. But other lurkers won’t, and many, like me, would have been so repulsed by what you said, that directly contacting you to argue would have felt a waste of time. After all, you obviously aren’t open to other points of view, and are prepared to keep restating the same thing without even admitting the possibility of changing your mind or being erroneous. Why would someone like me write to you to say that?

“I also have a pretty tough hide after all these years. ”

I don’t think you have a tough hide at all. Someone with a tough hide wouldn’t be doing any of this. I think you’re mad as hell, and are trying to pretend you’re not. Then again you’re hardly the first author to talk tough and act fragile, so I’m not exactly surprised at your response.

I find it bemusing how many of these authors bleating about not having any responsibility towards readers, are so touchy about criticism.

If you won’t take any responsibility for reader’s reactions, stop trying to control them, or the discussion about them. You really can’t have it both ways, Laura.