Very interesting post at 2 Blowhards titled "Book-length Fiction?" regarding the value of the novel, its length versus short story and the time it demands from the reader as well as what the reader demands from it.
Michael makes the statement:
Watching a film, you know that the camera will cut away to someone else soon. You’re certain that the location will change. There’ll always be something or somebody new to look at and listen to.
By contrast, on-the-page fiction offers nothing but the author’s words — nothing but the author and his/her skill and talent, really. Just that one person … Yet, despite this fact, a novel-author also wants to stake a claim on the reader’s full attention for, say, 15 hours. Whoa, Nelly. In real life, I don’t know a soul who can hold my attention for such a long time. Yet that’s what a typical novel is: a 15 hour long performance by one person — snoozola, man. I’m also struck by how arrogant it seems for any artist to say, "Here’s the deal. I’m going to tell you a tale, and it’s going to last for 15 hours. And for those 15 hours you are going to have nothing but my imagination, my craft, and my voice to enjoy." I’m not sure I want to be in the same room with such a person, let alone pay close attention to him.
"Yet that’s what a typical novel is: a 15 hour long performance by one person" — Yet as I have learned, it is the reader that participates by deciphering the story based on his or her own experience and bent. This is something we do, but not to such an extent with film, mainly because we cannot stop or pause the action to ponder it as we can simply by bookmarking and closing a book and setting it aside–or at least I have lately (witness my month-long dissertation on 100 Years of Solitude here at Spinning last month).
Though some novels, in particular of the mystery or romance genre (Atwood’s Alias Grace aside, which while partaking of both, becomes more classic literature by virtue of Atwood’s writing) ask only the time taken in reading, many beg deeper thinking to separate the layers of meaning only yielding to perceptive reasoning. DeLillo’s The Body Artist was only 120 pages; certainly a very long short story and yet if skimmed at normal reading rate, maybe 2 hours of reader time would be taken but very little of interest would be gleaned. A lady loses her husband to suicide and handles it by attempting conversation with an entity who may or may not be real, then continues on her way after rolling the experience into one of her body performances. While the book was not one of my favorites, it did indeed evoke annoyance and attempts to understand both what the author was saying and its relevance and credibility.
I think that people read fiction of any length for as many reasons as there are people of different personalities: To satisfy, to entertain, to nudge one’s mind to thinking, to get lost in someone else’s world, to titillate, to escape, to have something to discuss with others. But the posting at 2 Blowhards, and the comments made to it certainly are worth reading–for whatever purpose.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
What an odd post brom 2blowhards. If one can’t give 15 hours to a novel, why is this the novel’s fault?
And frankly, as I commented there, I don’t believe that any but the best published authors are encouraged to write blockbuster 400 plus pagers. The lowly beginner is told to keep it down to 100,000 words. As if a story can be squished into a number thought up by a publisher. Compression is one thing, not telling a story that needs the space is ridiculous. It again is where the artist/author/maker must create to the majority consumer. Though I don’t believe Michael is representative of the majority.