In the second chapter of Jonathan Culler’s “Literary Theory: A Very Short Introduction,” the author brings in five points that theorists have made about the nature of literature. First, he says that literature is the “foregrounding of language,” that it captures you through words and how they operate. He then brings up the idea that language has a relation to both itself and to the reader and how this can shape a story’s tone or identity. Third, he identifies literature as a form of escape, as a means for us to distance the author of the work from the work itself and ourselves from the real world; what characters say might not be what the author themselves might say, for example. Fourth, Culler highlights how literature can be an aesthetic object, how it can engage readers to consider the interplay between form, function, context, and content. And finally, he brings in how literature can be a commentary for itself, how authors can play around with or rigidly conform to tropes and such that have long been in play in writing.
Culler brings in the following during his analysis of the second point of five: “To study something as literature, [interpretation of language] tells us, is to look above all at the organization of its language, not to read it as the expression of its author’s psyche or as the reflection of the society that produced it.” Obviously, I don’t have to tell you that this is a rather jaded and dismissive viewpoint. Further down in his “literature as aesthetic object” section, he says that to consider something as literature, one should divorce it from any outward objectives that it may have or that the audience might superimpose onto it.The nature of what we consider quality entertainment is often intertwined with what we consider to be “good art” as the age of the “mainstream geek/nerd” is in full swing. Why are we so captivated by “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” “Star Wars,” “Doctor Who,” or the various Marvel films? (And yes, those are all science fiction and fantasy works, but they do serve as a good example of world building and a deep mythos). Those who turn their noses up at such works do so mostly out of a fear that what they consider true art is being attacked. Except…we love Shakespeare, too; there’s so much beauty in Dickens' “A Tale of Two Cities”; we have whole libraries full to bursting on the subtext and intricacies of Melville, Homer, Orwell, and Steinbeck. Those are all excellent authors and excellent works of literature. But to suggest that these have some superior meaning, to say that if you haven’t read these or don’t like these that you’re just not smart enough, or you just don’t get it-- to hell with that. The Western canon is important, and it’s influential. But then, comic books have been a part of popular culture for a long time now too; there are whole classes now devoted to "Buffy Studies"; we have lecture halls filled with students eager to learn about the science behind "Star Trek."
This mindset of suggesting that these pieces of fiction are inferior simply because they're popular really bothers me because fiction, particularly science fiction which is near and dear to me, is primarily used as a means of examining humanity, an aspect of the human condition, some moral or ethical dilemma, or a facet of what makes us human in the first place. Culler himself does recognize this point later on in his chapter, saying, “Literature is a practice in which authors attempt to advance or renew literature and thus is always implicitly a reflection on literature itself…. [but that the] intertextuality and self-reflexivity of literature is not, finally, a defining feature but a foregrounding of aspects of language use and questions about representation that may also be observed elsewhere.”
Indeed, to pick one example, what makes "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan" so amazing is how it draws inspiration from "Paradise Lost," "Moby Dick," and "King Leer" (among other works), how it is able to connect in new ways themes and ideas long established by those great writers and stories. And this harkens back to a conversation from that film between Kirk and his estranged son, David, wherein David reminds Kirk of words Kirk himself had said at the beginning of the film. And when Kirk dismisses them as "just words," David's response is apt: "But good words. That's where ideas begin." Because few pieces of literature are ever new. Derivation is inbuilt into every story, and it's stories that choose to put a new spin on established practice that end up usually being great.
I was signing up for a writer’s workshop a few years ago and I noticed that one of the classes came with the caveat that we could not submit any science fiction or fantasy works to workshop, despite this being a fiction class. Annoyed, I told this to my mom, who promptly looked at me and cried fowl on the instructor teaching the course, and rightly so. Because, as she said, “fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, horror? That’s where the fun is at.” I ended up not taking that class. And I would add to what my mom said that not only are these genres fun, they’re also a good means of conveying complicated and nuanced ideas in interesting and unique ways.
People who think “Star Trek” is dumb are well within their right to think that. But don’t you dare suggest that this piece of pop culture has no ideas in it, has no story surrounding it, has no broader messages in it besides “spaceships equal awesome.” Because yeah, sometimes spaceships do equal awesome. But so too does watching Picard wrestle with recognizing a member of the enemy Borg as a person; so does the Doctor wanting to save everyone but knowing that he can’t possibly do so; so does Harry, Ron, and Hermione debating back and forth about how to proceed under a strict and oppressive inquisitor; so does Peter and Mary Jane struggling to provide false hope for their only child, knowing that she could die and that their final words to her could be ones steeped in lies.
This is why we love fiction. Not because we want to see big fights or watch unconvincing romances between the cute girl and the nice guy. But because fiction has the power to inspire, it has the power of escape, and it has the ability to connect with its audience. The characters we connect with usually reflect something about ourselves or provide us with a representation of how the world should or could be. And that's extremely powerful. It reminds us that the world can be a good place, even amongst all the crap that the real world seems to throw at us, particularly in the past two years. As Sam says to Frodo in "The Two Towers," "there's some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for." For me, fiction and stories have shaped a good chunk of my life. They've been something to rely on to get me through tough times, certainly, but they've also given me hope for the future. So don’t say that genre fiction isn’t important. It is. You’re living in a world that thrives on it.
Further Reading
"Why Deep Space Nine is the Most Realistic Star Trek Series"
"The genre debate: Science fiction travels further than literary fiction"
"Does Bad Science Ruin Science Fiction?"
"How Genre Fiction Became More Important than Literary Fiction"
"Norton Introduction to Literature" edited by Kelly Mays
"Literary Theory: A Very Short Introduction" by Jonathan Culler
