Lately Mulder’s catchphrase has kept echoing through my head as I pick up yet another piece of genre fiction that has garnered rave reviews and which ultimately disappointed me. I had a recent run of reading several highly praised books that I really did not enjoy. I want to believe that all those readers were correct and the book that has so disappointed me really did deserve all the praise heaped upon it. Here’s the thing though, I don’t think they really do deserve the praise and while the mood I am in will affect how I relate to the story I don’t think that it is just me in crankypants mode either.
Genre fiction has always necessitated a certain suspension of beliefs in order to be enjoyed. One cannot approach it the same way an engineering friend does by picking it apart using logic. Logic, at some point, needs to take a back seat to the story. We all know logically that little old lady knitters don’t stumble across dead bodies and solve the murder on a weekly basis while the cops can’t; that there really aren’t wizards casting spells to bring down the mighty dragon; and that the undead are not cannibalistically gobbling down the neighbors. Genre fiction readers are willing to buy into the story but the characters within the story still have to follow some conventions of normal human behavioral patterns. When they don’t follow the convention it makes it so much harder to maintain that suspension of belief. To give an example I recently read a mystery/thriller novel in which our heroine has barely ventured out of her apartment for many, many years. She has panic attacks, a fear of crowds, etc. The author makes a real point of how psychologically damaged our heroine is. Then the author does something that makes no sense. She has our heroine hop into a plane and fly across country. Our heroine isn’t overly disturbed by this even though she should be –the last time she flew was pre 9/11 and getting through security alone gives the average traveler kittens and airplanes are confined tin cans of crushed together humanity but the heroine brushes it off with a “I was a little distressed but I’m proud I was able to do it” type of moment. Puleeze – this girl should have been a shivering ball of neuroses by the time she touched down. The book goes downhill from there and while I was willing to buy into the story initially I just couldn’t. Genre fiction is plot driven and while character isn’t king it should still count. However, it seems over the past few years more and more readers are willing to suspend greater amount of common sense to get a thrill. Sadly I cannot throw common sense out of the window but I bet the next time I see a heavily hyped novel I’ll still probably read it because I still have faith that the next truly great genre novel is out there – but I’ll be borrowing from the library instead of throwing money down the drain of “you’ve gotta be kidding me” storyline that seems to pass for good genre lit these days.
