A Fundamental Shift in How I Look at Literature

In the most recent issue of The Believer magazine there is an article by Colin Asher about writer Nelson Algren which states that “... every word Algren wrote was guided by the belief that writing can be literature only if intended as a challenge to authority.” I didn’t know much about Nelson Algren before this, but the article was very good, and it got me thinking about this idea that literature must challenge authority. My first reaction is to disagree. I believe that literature is complex and varied, and that putting parameters or limitations on our definition of it does the idea of literature—and ourselves as readers—a disservice. But. . .

. . . But then I started thinking about all the books and writing that I consider “literature” and I found that most of them DO challenge authority in one way or another, even those works that I consider the most tame. Pride and Prejudice challenges the social and economic conventions of the time. Lolita challenges the idea that a pedophile is a monster who can neither elicit nor deserve sympathy from the moral majority. The Hobbit challenges the assumption that the smallest and quietest among us can’t change the course of history. These are just a few examples, but the more I thought about it the more I began to convince myself that great literature does indeed pose a challenge, if not always to authority, then at least to the status quo.

I’m still not sure that I would agree with Algren’s purported belief that writing can only be literature if intended as a challenge to authority. What about non-fiction, beautifully written biographies, pieces of literature in which all the author wanted to do was write the truth? I don’t believe that writing has to be an act of revolution, or civil disobedience, in order to be literature. However, I’m not as sure, nor as quick to shoot down the assertion as I was. To be honest, I’m having more trouble than I thought coming up with examples of good literature that don’t support Algren’s belief.

I now can’t help but ask myself a question that could lead to a fundamental shift in the way I define literature: Can great literature be truly great literature if it doesn’t challenge our ideas about the world in which we live?

I'm a Gullible Sap After All--or--How to Sell Books to Cynics

Yesterday's Indiespensible delivery was its usual treasure trove of literary fun. The main attraction was Naomi Benaron's Running the Rift; and judging from the two pages I've been able to read since it arrived, I anticipate an emotional but engrossing journey. The dust-jacket describes the book as the story of Jean Patrick Nkuba, "a Tutsi in a world that has become increasingly restrictive and violent for his people." The novel "follows the progress of Jean Patrick from the day he knows that running will be his life to the moment he must run to save his life." It doesn't sound like it will be a light and easy read, but I'm certain it will be an enriching one.

Of most interest to me thus far in the shipment has been The Algonquin Reader, Volume 1 Issue 1, from Algonquin Books. When I first caught sight of the small, creamy, cardstock-covered folio I thought it was a new literary magazine and my heart leaped with joy. Upon perusal I discovered that it was not a literary magazine after all, but a "periodical in which [Algonquin] authors introduce their new work in their own words." My initial response upon reading this was to be disappointed; after all, I already get too many e-mails and ads from everybody and their brother trying to sell me something. This marketing overload has made me cynical and wary of every sales pitch, even the ones from the publishers I like! As I read that first page of The Algonquin Reader my jaded cynicism reared its ugly head and whispered we aren't gullible enough to get trapped by this clever bit of marketing.