Soooo... he doesn't really count as a reactive protagonist? Ok, strike him from the thread. So far the situations I've got are A story set in a strange world populated by powerful characters (a dreamlike world, Oz or Wonderland) needs a saner, less active protagonist, leaning toward simply reactive (in degree, it's all in degree). A Holy Fool can serve as a reactive protag to show how unholy and actually foolish 'normal' people are. I suppose the horror movies are examples where a protag is reactive for a certain period of time (K M Weiland method). Probably they take decisive action toward the end to effect their escape (unless it's not a movie where they escape). And Forrest Gump is... well, I really have no idea what he is. I guess it's complicated. I suspect that's about all we're gonna come up with, unless somebody can think of another situation where a reactive protag works in genre fiction. EDIT—Maybe what @evild4ve was saying is Forrest is a reactive protagonist, but that it doesn't really work? Normally of course the advice is a protagonist can't be reactive, they must take decisive action in genre fiction, at least by the end. In fact maybe there's a sense in which none of the above really work, at least in the standard genre sense? This bears some pondering.
New thought— Oz and Wonderland are set up so that the insane, nonsensical characters are caricatures of the insanity that is society. They're both showing us that 'normal' society is filled with insane, domineering, sadistic freaks, most of them having struggled to reach positions of power and authority. Since they're both dream worlds, the protag is powerless to do anything but be dragged around and witness the insanity. And maybe they can't really be callled standard genre stories? Actually that fits wonderland better than Oz. In Oz, yes, the protagonist has been split up (I think Toto counts as well) but essentially they all discover that they've had what they need all along, they just needed to trust in themselves more. The witch is a sadistic power-mad freak, and Toto reveals the wizard to be a poor broken-down old man who wants to project his power fantasy, but once you break through the illusion he's kindly and helpful. Not sure any of that really fits the parameters of the thread though.
Could it be said that genre fiction always requires an active protagonist, at least at the climax, in order to work as genre fiction? In some ways it seems each instance mentioned above fails to really meet all the tests. Either the protags aren't completely reactive, or the stories aren't really genre fiction (technically Oz and Wonderland are children's stories, and very strange examples since they're each built on a dream), or the story doesn't really work or isn't really genre fiction.
It's possible for characters to develop without doing anything. And it's possible for stories not to have a protagonist. But these are probably - like you've sometimes said - situations where the writer has learned the rule before breaking it. And the rule they've learned would be that genre fiction always requires an active protagonist. "Our nature consists in motion; complete rest is death" - Blaise Pascal
Much to ponder here, and I thank @evild4ve for the shout-out simply because it called my attention to the thread. But before I read it all and start asking questions, I just want to comment that the discussion of Forrest Gump calls to mind the 1991 film Rambling Rose, now available on DVD and streaming, which I recall as feeling remarkably real for a film with such mainstream Hollywood casting, and adapted by the author Calder Willingham from his novel I think I'll get this afternoon to read some of and see how it lives up. Willingham is probably better known for his work on the screenplay of The Graduate. Now that one I did read as a novel, but I have no clear recollection of it, so I guess I should put it on the list as well. And by further association from Robert Duvall (in Rambling Rose), there's his masterful The Apostle, which one wishes had existed first as a novel. It's so symptomatic that he couldn't find a studio willing to make it, so that he had to direct and finance it himself.
I think I've got more to absorb from this discussion than to contribute to it. I'm unambiguously less learnèd than the major voices in it, and furthermore many of my thoughts are disqualified simply by the stipulation of genre fiction. I may not be all that well-read in literary fiction, but I'm almost entirely unread in genre fiction, apart from every Daniel Silva, all too many (*hidingmyface*) Robert Ludlums (from my late 20s, in my defense), a number of Patricia Cornwalls, most Sjöwall & Wahlöös, a bunch of Leena Lehtolainens, maybe half of Frederick Forsyth, a number of the non-purportedly-literary Ken Folletts, a couple of Alan Fursts, and three or four Nora Robertses. Those are the ones I remember, for my memory seldom extends reliably more than two weeks or two months back. It's an overlong paragraph but not a long list for a lifetime. (And every John LeCarré, Henning Mankell, and Graham Greene, but they inhabit the boundarylands between genre and literary.) (And I have what I consider an unpretentious definition of contemporary literary fiction: if it writes outside the restrictions, conventions, values, reference points, and templates of genre fiction, or if it's "about" something other or much more than simply what happens, it's literary. It may be good or it may be poor literary fiction, but it need not do more to qualify. That's not an exclusive definition, of course. An exceptionally well-written genre piece may become literary simply by soaring so far above the common level. But then it's tempting to say that plot is pretext, and the book is "about" style, tone, or whatever distinguishes it.) One of several local critique groups in which I used to participate has a tongue-in-cheek literary name and is organized by a guy who says he's writing literary fiction, though nearly every comment he makes is steeped in genre orthodoxy. And he seemed repeatedly perplexed by the notion of "vicarious protagonist." For the two major parallel-and-eventually-intertwining story lines in my WIP show two quite different sides of protagonist "Dave" (not the real name of the non-real character). In one of them he's pursuing, after a fashion, career and achievement, although he's almost entirely indifferent to external measures of even academic success (not to mention traditional success), instead following the thrill of ideas, discovery, and creation. At most, he seeks validation from his mentor and, to a minor extent, approval from his father. In the other storyline, he's the witness and reporter of the drama — larger than his own — of vicarious protagonist "Andrea"s coming of age, "liberation" in the 1970s women's-lib sense, and above all assertion of independence from her extremely overbearing family and church world. He doesn't pursue her, he has a lot of ambivalence to overcome in the beginning (and again toward the end), and if he wants anything in that relationship, it's only for Andrea to stop being so conflict-avoidant and passive toward her churchworld and especially her father. He has no idea that the father is a malignant narcissist, indeed isn't even familiar with the concept, and thus has no true appreciation of the challenge Andrea faces, the hidden home-reality in which she must survive. On the occasions when Dave and Andrea argue, it's about her asserting independence—which, perhaps ironically, she does from him before she does from her family. But mostly Dave is there for us as readers to engage in Andrea's drama, not his own. Every time that tiresome discussion about stakes and "but what does he do, what does he want" comes up, regarding one 2000-word(!) glimpse at a time, I bring up the likes of Nick Carraway and especially Charles Ryder. I think there's a fair comparison to the way Ryder is witness to the dramas of both Sebastian and Julia Flyte in Brideshead, and a not unreasonable comparison to Nick's chronicling of Jay Gatsby's drama. Nearly every active measure on Nick's or Charles's part is mere pretext to establish situations in which the narrator observes and reports on the drama of the vicarious protagonists Jay or Sebastian or Julia — or occasionally a sideshow-character like Anthony Blanche, although he is not only the star of his own sideshow but also sheds further light on Sebastian, and IIRC maybe Julia once or twice. I went back and re-read Brideshead just to verify that my narrator is in fact more active as a character, even when considering only the Dave-and-Andrea storyline, than Charles Ryder ever is. And then I decided I was giving too much credence to bad advice. To involve Dave more deeply in Andrea's drama before nearing the climax would merely darken the glass through which we see her. In terms of craft, or at least Received Wisdom, it would probably be correct; in terms of art, it would be wrong. (And BTW if anyone who likes period drama has not seen the 1981 Granada/ITV series of Brideshead Revisited, a newly remastered 4K version is available on Britbox. From Wikipedia: In 2015, The Telegraph listed it at number 1 in its list of the greatest television adaptations, stating that "Brideshead Revisited is television's greatest literary adaptation, bar none. It's utterly faithful to Evelyn Waugh's novel yet it's somehow more than that, too." Pretty strong words for a series in 4:3 and not shot HDTV. Qualify that as British television's greatest literary adaptation, and I wholeheartedly agree. In fact, I would say that the adaptation far surpasses the novel.) Bringing this back around to the original topic, is it really unthinkable to devise a viable genre treatment similar in perspective to The Great Gatsby or Brideshead Revisited? I can't imagine those working with the vicarious protagonist himself as narrator. Would a genre readership have so little patience, so little tolerance for bending convention, that they would find such an approach off-putting or uninteresting?
Now for a question: What's a good explicit source of plot types besides: o Someone goes on a journey o A stranger comes to town o The fool on the hill is vindicated o Someone comes of age o Someone learns that truth is not as they believed o Sally becomes a sadder but wiser girl o Bud becomes a nicer guy
And am I wrong in thinking Gatsby is also literary? Or at least leaning pretty hard in that direction? It almost seems by your definition that by default any story with a less-than-active protag would become literary. A question: What then is it that you've read? Non-fiction? Poetry? Am I missing some categories of fiction that are neither genre nor literary? I'm honestly curious—I tend to think it's one or the other. Which now that I mention it sounds strange for me. I usually (try to) think not in simple dichotomies but in sliding-scale terms.* Maybe you're talking about hybrids between the two? * Obviously I was having trouble doing that for protagonists at the beginning of this thread. But now I see the sliding scale between active and reactive/passive.
Sgt. Murtaugh learns that shooting to kill is sometimes necessary? And Riggs that there are reasons to contine living? Luke does get to leave the farm and fight in the rebellion Nina is able to unleash the Black Swan, though it nearly kills her The Bride (Clint/Bronson/the nerds... ) gets sweet revenge DiCaprio gets his revenge but is left empty and purposeless (The Revenant) Jules is able to leave Marcellus Wallace's employ and wander the earth like Kwai Chang Caine, after doing one more (very messy) job Sly proves he really is somebody, though he doesn't win the fight Tony atones for all the warmongering evil he's done by becoming a living Stark weapon against the terrorists Little Mattie hires Rooster Cogburn to track the coward Tom Chaney and they both prove to have True Grit
I suppose that's a bit of a Catch-22, yes, my defining away any story whose protagonist acts outside convention. And oh, yes, Gatsby is definitely literary. As to what I've read, I was clearly unclear. When I read, it's literary or hybrid, with the exceptions named — not on principle, but just because that's what turns out to interest me, case-by-case. Not necessarily highbrow, but mostly outside genre. I found The Goldfinch (hybrid) interesting but not deeply engaging. In its time, I got more out of Snow Falling On Cedars, another hybrid. Digging a bit deeper, I see that Wikipedia classifies The Goldfinch as literary, and they would doubtless know better than I do. To me it had a lot of conventionality, though it was possibly too digressive to qualify as genre. Looking back at an excerpt just this moment, I see the language was complex and somewhat elevated, and not only digressive but discursive, traits I often value. The impression I recall, which may differ from my actual impression at the time, was that Tartt took a literary premise and then deliberately appealed to a semi-mass-market sensibility, but I could be mistaken. And it's over my horizon of sharp recollection. It's not that I disliked the book for that approach, or looked down my nose at it; it simply had a tepid appeal to me because it stayed near the surface of things. Clearly, many readers felt otherwise. Not too many years ago, I donated most of my paper books, and I continue struggling to part with the ones that remain. So now it becomes difficult to recall what all I've read. Usually if I go over a survey of authors, the names will prompt me to remember which of their books I've read. Maybe that would make a sidebar to a blog post someday. Mostly I need it for myself. I'm drawn to unconventionality, though I think it's becoming more and more difficult for unconventional novels to get published. And I'm drawn to books that focus on characters' inner lives. I also like a strong sense of timeless place. And I crave limpid narration, though the definition would obviously vary widely between readers. I'm allergic to genre-style artificial saturation, the deliberate use of language more vivid than real life, and I love a narrator who feels like looking through clear glass. They can (and should) look inside characters, not only at events, but in a language that feels inherent to the things described. Beyond that, it's difficult to generalize offhand. Somehow I always expect to like Scott Fitzgerald more than I quite end up doing, though there are certainly poignant lines and paragraphs that appeal to me. There was a time years ago when I was really keen on André Brink. It really is frustrating to draw a blank when asking or answering "Who have I liked?" Maybe I should put some serious effort into compiling a list (for myself) of what I've enjoyed reading in the past, and perhaps why. In a way I never really appreciated until it was too late, my bookshelves were a core part of my identity. Then again, letting go of the past and of past identities was part of the overt decision. I probably should have taken photographs. Mika Waltari also stands out, but he's deep, deep past for me. And oh: Jörn Donner, a Finland-Swedish literary author and filmmaker, but he doesn't appear to be available in English.
Could not agree more. I donated a couple of large boxes full of old pocket paperbacks to a local book trader. Then I regretted it and now I find it's nearly impossible (and often extremely expensive) to find the ones from the 6o's and 70's in decent shape. I'm considering going back to the book trader and see if they still have any of my old ones on the shelves. Fortunately I did Books-11 by Darkmatters, on Flickr Books-3 by Darkmatters, on Flickr Chock full of books you'd doubtless despise.
Literature always contains at least some level of plot and conventional stuff usually associated with genre, and genre contains some digression and unconventional stuff normally associated with literature. It's really the balance that determines which is which. Plus the picture on the cover.
I don't despise books, other than those with execrable agendas. I'm interested or I'm not. As I recall, the summer after high school I was reading E. E. "Doc" Smith (he says, as though this in itself constitutes proof of his broad-mindedness).
I read one of his Lensman books, though I really don't remember it. And I do have a few more literary selections buried in there somewhere. There's some Vonnegut, Moby Dick, Burroughs (that's William, not Edgar Rice), a thick book of Beat poets, and a few genre writers who lean somewhat into the semi-literary like J G Ballard, Fritz Lieber, Angela Carter, and I'm sure a few more. Maybe you could say a few things about literary protags—how passive or reactive do they tend to get in your experience? How active at times? I'm sure there's a lot of leeway there.
I seem to remember Ishmael being largely reactive, mostly an observer of the intense Captain Ahab and Queequeg, Starbuck and the rest of the insane, powerful crew. Not far from the setup for Alice in Wonderland, but at sea. I shouldn't say insane, more like extremely colorful and opinionated. But unless I'm forgetting some decisions and activity on his part, he's mostly a reader proxy into this strange world, and as such less intense than the rest. In fact maybe a bit like Jim in Treasure Island? Another one I don't remember very well though.
This might be a good background reference for the thread:- https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2016/jul/13/three-six-or-36-how-many-basic-plots-are-there-in-all-stories-ever-written And I came across this other recent way of breaking it down:- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Seven_Basic_Plots The thing is I'm not convinced there is that much variety in human life (let alone stories) when it's analysed from a taxonomical, "jar for every bug and every bug in a jar", perspective. It's like most creatures sharing most of their DNA as a result of successive mass extinctions: true, but not particularly useful. Why do we stop the analytical camera here and not zoom in further? Novels assume a writer and a reader! Novels are sequential at their lowest unit of composition! Novels are not interactive! Taking the limited number of possible story structures in context of all the form's other limitations, we should zoom out and look for the diversity in stories at a level we can do something about. If there are 36 possible story structures, I'd suggest most of them are unavailable to most writers. We write what we know, and all we write is character, so our stories are externalisations of our own growth. And maybe readers don't read to find out what happens, but to place themselves in contact with a healthy example of human growth (i.e. the author's). @Also's definition of literary fiction is solid. I think of literary writers as organically growing Literature, rather than as breaking conventions - but it comes to the same thing because Literature is an organism that is only alive when it's growing. Only the writer knows if they are breaking the conventions, and only Literature knows if they succeed. To the extent that genre fiction is mimicking structures that already exist, it isn't growth. So there you are: Literature as a psychic tapeworm, and genre fiction as a mucus coating that helps it slide unnoticed through the soul.
Well, I'm no kind of authority on literary writing, only oriented toward it. And now that you ask me to generalize, it makes me curious about what kinds of things I'm able or not to generalize about -- not only with regard to writing but in general, and I find that at least in this moment, I'm unable to generalize about what I'm able to generalize about. My focus and memory tend to center rather closely on whatever I've most recently been reading or working on, or thinking in isolation about. So I know it would have been more helpful to respond more directly to your specific original question, but all I really had at hand to come with in this thread was the fact that my non-genre WIP wrestles directly with the issues of having a reactive narrator and a vicarious protagonist who is never directly the POV character -- and so the WIP gets criticized by genre writers for that characteristic. And also to come with the fact that as you already suggested, there's strong literary precedent for such an approach.
Well -- my "Dave" is (largely) reactive in Andrea's sphere, but not in his own -- which is one of several reasons I consider his other storyline(s) essential. In Andrea's story, I allow her to confide a lot, so although Dave converses with her, questions her, and observes her affect and gestures, she does at times come close to sharing the POV -- about as much, I guess, as another character can share it in exclusively first-person narration. Particularly in her letters, she discloses much about her state of mind.
I agree analysis by itself isn't all that useful, but as long as it's paired with synthesis I think it serves a valuable purpose. Science and the scientific attitudes of our time seem to often forget about the synthesis part. To analyze is to dissect, cut apart, to study the parts of something in isolation. It greatly extends our understanding of things, but it destroys what it studies. Once you've dissected something, it's no longer alive. To synthesisze is to put together. Either in the sense of aggregating various plastics together to create new fabrics for instance, or in the more original sense to study things together rather than in isolation. That means rather than cut up carcasses, we study the animal while it's alive and preferrably in its natural habitat. That means not only is the creature alive, but so is the society and the ecosystem it lives in. Impossible to really understand the creature unless you know about its environment and its society. So yeah, I see a great deal of value in the process of analysis and synthesis, though the synthesis is the more important. I want to print this up and tack it on my wall I think this thread is becoming far better as a discussion of the differences and similarities between literature and genre rather than the narrow focus I originally gave it. I say let it expand, let's broaden the topic.
I've changed the title. I suspect the original focus of the thread was pretty well played out anyway. Give me a little time and I'll post something to get this rolling (I realize I failed to end on a question in order to elicit new responses). Of course if anyone has anything to say about passive/reactive protagonists in either genre or literature, by all means do so. It's still a part of the overall subject matter.
Still not a question, but a comment (question added). Some genre authors lean toward the literary to varying degrees while still fitting into the context of genre. This was true for instance of Fritz Lieber, who wrote for various pulp magazines from the 30's up through the 80's. While still being ostensibly genre, his work tended to stretch out and expand beyond restrictive genre conventions. In fact one of his editors, who ran one of the pulp magazines, used to regularly publish his Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser stories despite the fact that they tended to burst out of genre conventions because she really liked the stories and the characters. J G Ballard also did this frequently, though usually thought of as a sci-fi author. Do you know of any genre authors who like to expand outside the standard genre limits? Or literary ones who like to use genre conventions, perhaps in an unusual way?
Agree on both points. Plot and other elements growing organically and authentically from the characters is also how I think of it. (Or from other elements, possibly; I haven't pondered that. Growing organically from a set of premises, let us say.) Literary fiction written today will usually or often be outside the conventions, but not with an intent to be outside them. It is as it is for authenticity to something. Especially nowadays, genre fiction will be constructed of largely known pieces to largely known definitions of "good" structure, likely with generous consultation of Truby, McKee, and possibly even tvtropes.com. You know, for instance, that there will be an antagonist or villain before you know anything more specific about that character. You devise one to fit the expected role. If need be, you'll add one to make a plot more dynamic. That can happen, perhaps, in contemporary literary writing as well, but the question is more often "what would happen in real life, how would it happen, and where is the poignancy to be found in it?" or similar questions. It's hard to write conventions that define what is written largely outside conventions. Other guiding lights are possible than "how would it really happen?" But there will be some kind of guiding vision that transcends stock models and the hitting of standard plot points.
I'mma just drop in a post straight from my blog where I sometimes get into this subject: I've tried again to find books or internet articles about writing literary-style, but still getting slim pickin's. Once again I suspect it's because at the poetic/literary end of things it's a lot more intuitive and not nearly as teachable. So far the best resources I've found about literary writing turn out to be the Transcendental Style in Film book by Paul Schrader and Tarkovsky's Sculpting in Time. In fact, my own explorations into Poetic Film, many of which are on this blog, were preparing me for it more than I knew. At the time I was studying film and animation—had no idea I was learning literary style. So apparently the tenets of poetic film are pretty much the same as the ones for literary fiction: slower moving, takes its time less emphasis on plot, more on character doesn't follow narrative form closely if at all (minimalism or anti-narrative) Poetic form—repetitions of themes & motifs, lyrical structure more interior, less exterior (narration over action; telling rather than showing) time-image rather than movement-image makes deep statements or observations about life or the human condition emphasis on style often open-ended, ambiguous Does Your Novel's Genre Matter? How To Fuse Genre And Literary Fiction To Create A Strong Story This LitFic chick ^ is interested in exactly the same thing I am—combining literary with genre. Relaxing the division. They aren't really opposites, or even separate—they're on a sliding scale, and there's a lot of overlap around the middle range. Most of my favorite writers bend or stretch or extend their genre(s) well out into literary-space— Gene Wolfe, Angela Carter, Fritz Lieber, J G Ballard. I suppose there's another approach too—write literature but let plot and narrative firm up more than they usually would. I don't see myself as a literary writer though. I would definitely work it the other way—write genre but allow some breathing room in the plot—open it out and let the characters take on more life, extend the musing and the insight that you wouldn't usually find in a pure genre piece. Well this is really the way I've always written, except that in the past I didn't use (or know much about) story structure. That's the new arrival (still on its way in my writing, but it's coming 'round the bend).
Would one say that John LeCarré started as a non-literary genre writer? Like Woody Allen with Annie Hall, he made an enormous leap with Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy from his earlier work, and never looked back. He became considerably less dense in recent decades, cultivating a light, deft touch, more watercolorish than his middle period of oils, but still of a different mold from his early, standard spy fiction. Possibly a couple of others preceded him, but he's still pretty much credited with single-handedly inventing literary spy fiction, isn't he, for the sheer quality of his example?
