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| Pigeonholing. 3-4-2006. |
| Today I finished reading James M. Cain's novel Mildred Pierce. Some of you will know Mr. Cain as the author of such books as The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity. It raised my eyebrows to see Mildred Pierce classified as a crime novel (it's published by Vintage's crime imprint), largely because there is no crime to speak of; the book is essentially a character study. It's inescapable: we like to classify. We like to make lists and comparisons, and when we receive information that clashes with our preconceptions, we experience tremendous stress. We say, "Mr. Cain has written books that are generally regarded as crime novels; he is therefore a crime novelist. Anything he writes must be a crime novel." My favorite authors tend to be those who write unclassifiable books: Graham Green, for instance, or John Fowles. Is The Collector a crime novel? Is The Power and the Glory? Or take Nabokov. Lolita, Pale Fire, and Laughter in the Dark--just to name three--all have sections that deal with a crime: somebody gets shot; somebody gets conned. So why aren't those books crime novels? Or are they? And does it matter? My publisher calls Sunstroke a crime novel, because that's what publishers do; they package a book for public consumption. But I've never been totally comfortable with the term. When I sat down to write the book I made an effort to write something neither here nor there, and I credit my editor with having the insight to understand the book on its own terms. The reaction from readers has been polarized, to say the least. I've gotten many wonderful e-mails telling me they enjoyed the fact that I spent a lot of time writing about Gloria, her thoughts, and her history. A few readers have been angry, accusing me of writing about nothing, or letting the plot slacken. Reviewers have also identified the same ambiguity, although their comments have been more measured. Some critics have "gotten it," and others have said "good writer, not enough action." (Only one really seemed to want to castrate me.) My idea of what constitutes action has been formed by writing for the stage, where a playable action can be "he buys a pack of gum." I think that there's something about watching a set of events--as opposed to reading it--that causes us pay better attention. Things that don't read particularly well can be weirdly fascinating to watch. But that's another essay. The point is: my intention in writing Sunstroke was to create Gloria--an intention similar, I imagine, to what Mr. Cain had in mind when he sat down to type out Mildred Pierce. Are they crime novels or not? I don't know. But it occurs to me that our desire to box in everything we read--to know in advance "I'm reading a crime novel, a historical novel, a comedy, etc"--slays one of reading's chief pleasures: the delight of encountering the unexpected. |
