Yesterday, when I was flying back from the World Fantasy Convention in San Diego, I read through two “best-of-the-year” anthologies… and landed in Cedar City thoroughly depressed… somewhat disgusted… and more than a little irritated. No… I wasn’t irritated that the anthologists hadn’t picked one of my infrequent short stories. In the first place, I know that it’s unlikely anything I write will find favor with most anthologists [although there have been exceptions]. In the second place, I hadn’t published any short fiction for the year in question.
My anger, irritation, and depression came from the same root cause. Out of something like fifty stories, all but perhaps ten were downers. Out of the ten that weren’t, eight were perhaps neutral or bitter-sweet, and only two could be called upbeat. Now… I don’t have anything against downbeat or depressing stories. I don’t even have anything against them being singled out as good stories. Certainly they were all at least better than competently written, and some were indeed superbly written. And I definitely don’t think a story has to be upbeat to be great or “best-of-the-year,” but after many, many years of writing professionally, and even more of reading all manner of books and stories, ranging from “genre” fiction to the acclaimed classics, it’s clear to me that the excessive citation of literarily depressing stories as classics and excellence is hardly a mark of intellectual distinction, let alone impartial judgment.
All this, of course, reinforces my feelings about those critics and anthologists who seem to dismiss anything with any upbeat feel or positive aspects… or anything that isn’t “literary mainstream.”
The latest New York Times book section contains a review with an opening along the line of “A literary novelist writing a genre novel is like an intellectual dating a porn star.” Supposedly, reviewers who write about books should be able to transcend stereotypes, not reinforce them, but then, snobbery is often based on the enshrinement of stereotypes contrary to the snob’s world view, and all too many critics, reviewers, and even some anthologists are little more than snobs.
A good story is a good story, and a bad story is a bad story, whether it’s “literary” or genre.