The Pros and Cons of Camaraderie

The ensuing fallout deriving from Lee Goldberg’s reasoned puzzlement over the hype surrounding Ken Bruen’s THE GUARDS has taken some unexpected, and interestingly uncomfortable, turns. It’s hard to sum them all up, but start with John Rickards’ lengthy post, which deals with his confusion about a so-called “upper ceiling” in effect with regards to author criticism:

Is there some ‘upper ceiling’ of commercial success or profile above which a writer becomes fair game for those outside? Is it because few, if any, of us – the reader, the other writer, the reviewer – know these people in person and can therefore say what we like without fear of reproach?

Is there, at least amongst people ‘in the industry’ – and this is where Craig’s comment comes in – a sense that you shouldn’t shit where you sleep? Rather like Hunter S Thompson’s observation of the Washington press corps in Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72 that they were too chummy with the politicians they were covering and that so much was kept ‘off the record’ because journos didn’t want to offend their friends on the Hill – are we so cosy with one another that we’re afraid of saying what we think?

Why?

Then move to Lee’s follow-up post, where he raises these points about the differences between Bruen and a mega-bestseller on the order of Kathy Reichs:

I think that’s because Kathy Reichs doesn’t hang out at Bouchercon or at other “crime writer events” socializing with other authors and mystery lovers. Ken Bruen does.

And he’s also a very, very nice guy with a strong literary voice and sharp prose. Kathy’s prose isn’t as accomplished.

He’s greatly admired by a tight-knit group of noir lovers and authors. Kathy Reichs isn’t.

He’s also received numerous accolades for his work from respected novelists and crime writing organizations. Kathy Reichs hasn’t.

But I think the most significant difference, as far as Kathy being fair game and Ken being off-limits, is that she’s a lot more successful, commercially, than he is. Far more, in fact.

Lee is essentially elaborating on a point I’d made in the comments to John’s original post, which is that the major bestsellers of mystery and suspense fiction, including John Grisham, Dan Brown, the Higgins Clarks, Lilian Jackson Braun, Reichs, Patricia Cornwell, and so on and so forth, stay out of the mystery world. They don’t go to the independent bookstores. They don’t go to mystery conventions. They don’t, for the most part, associate with the tight-knit community that’s built up within the genre. A community that fosters friendship and kindred spirits, but like any group, also fosters jealousy, gossip, and behaviour on a par with summer camp shenanigans.

And all this got me to thinking. About things that might be off-putting and uncomfortable, but which bear some airing. And which essentially boil down to the following conclusion: what if we’re all shooting ourselves in the foot here? And what if the kind of community that’s built up is actually a hindrance to wider success?

I’ve said before that there are two types of mystery novels: those that gear themselves (or are geared to) those that barely read at all, let alone much of the genre; and those that are for serious crime fiction fans. All those writers I listed above have found away to take the elements of story and character and plot and fuse them in a way that a mass audience finds appealing. THE DA VINCI CODE may have been a freak success, but because of its subject matter, its breathless storytelling and over-the-top approach, it had a much greater chance of finding a mass audience than works that more knowledgeable types wish would have similar success. That’s why when writers like Michael Connelly and Ian Rankin achieve bestseller status, it’s seen as a victory for the genre; they are one of us; they did all the things that fledgling crime writers did. They went to the indies, the conventions, forged connections and never forget them.

But then there’s the flip side, as embodied by Dennis Lehane. How many fans, booksellers, and other industry types bemoan the fact that he’s left his series characters Kenzie & Gennaro behind to write the kind of work he probably wanted to write in the first place, but didn’t have the craft or the nerve to do when he was younger? Or Harlan Coben, who worked every single room available to him (and others less available) as a PBO writer, building up a fan base for the Myron Bolitar books and even the early standalones only to achieve success and perennial bestsellerdom—and the permanent griping of those he left behind? Even though he still attends various mystery-related functions, there’s definitely a sense that he’s “moved on,” and that his presence isn’t even particularly missed. That he doesn’t “need” to go because he’s so successful.

So what, then? Is the mystery world a stepping-stone, a means to an end for some writers? Or something to bypass altogether because we’re just going to resent their bestseller status?

Like any niche group, a sort of defensive snobbery builds up, closing the ranks because most of the world thinks they are inferior. Still, crime fiction types pale in comparison to those in the romance world, who spend so much time defending their genre from attacking outsiders that they seem all the likelier to eat their young and go on spirited counter-attacks against anyone who dares to criticize. That’s why, even though I stopped reading romance novels a long time ago, I still check in with Mrs. Giggles. She loves romance, but she’s not afraid to call anyone’s bluff and be critical. Not surprisingly, many romance writers aren’t too fond of her reviews; it’s a continual slap in the face in a world dominated by the cheesy positivity of Romantic Times and fangirl Internet message boards.

Luckily, the mystery community isn’t at that level—and doesn’t have many of the longstanding issues that permeate the science fiction and fantasy worlds—but where there are cliques and tight-knit groups, there will be problems. Factions facing off against each other, zealously guarding against criticism. And so criticism may be blighted as a result.

Which leads me to a different, but related issue, which is how professional reviewers function within and outside the genre and its associated community. How does having friends within the genre help or hurt? Because both situations occur, as I know all too well.

Unlike most other crime fiction reviewers who have a regular gig, I came up through the ranks, so to speak. I’ve been to several Bouchercons, worked as a bookseller, and attended many functions, public or private, within the mystery world. I started reviewing for a highly regarded online magazine and, of course, began this blog. As a result, I’ve come in contact with a great many writers. Some I’m proud to count as my friends; many more I regard as friendly acquaintances.

This meant that when I began reviewing for the Sun, I had to keep the issue of conflicts of interest uppermost in my mind. There are writers I simply cannot, and will not, ever review in print. Because I edited their work for SHOTS, or will be submitting work to anthologies they edited, or for other, more personal reasons. Sometimes I’ve fudged that line a little bit, and in fact, did so with the very first review for my first column. I’ve known S.J. Rozan for several years, yes, but I felt that ABSENT FRIENDS was so good and my praise deserved to be disseminated to a wider (or different) audience than those who frequent my blog, where I’d been raving for months about the novel. I also sensed—correctly, as it turns out—that major review coverage wasn’t going to be as strong as it ought to be.

Sure, in a perfect world, a person could completely divorce personal involvement with professional opinion, but it’s not a perfect world, and it’s a lot easier—and healthier—to avoid the issue altogether. This stems from my upbringing, in a way, or at least the issue of what’s called marat eyin, or “how it appears to another person’s eye,” loosely translated from the Hebrew. But am I setting myself up for trouble if I keep attending mystery conventions and other industry-related events? Do people view me different because I’m no longer just Sarah the fan or Sarah the blogger, but Sarah, the Sun columnist?

And yet the irony is that some of the best mystery reviewers out there—Oline Cogdill, David Montgomery, Adam Woog, to name a few—are also active within the community. A part of me feels sad that I’ve never made the acquaintance of reviewing colleagues like Dick Adler (Chicago Tribune) Margaret Cannon (Globe & Mail) and Patrick Anderson (Washington Post). Maybe they have been to the same places I have and I just haven’t been able to say hello, but I kind of doubt it.

I think the bottom line, whether talking about reviewing ethics, the mystery community, and camaraderie as a whole is to keep ourselves accountable and honest. Obviously, when people are criticized, their friends will come to the rescue—and rightly so. But I can’t really find anything bad about engaging in tempered—or at least thoughtly reasoned—critique. Because the reason all this camaraderie sprung up in the first place is due to love of genre, or at least particular definitions of genre. And a recognition of when the genre is at its best—be it commercial or critical—and finding ways to keep that level of excellence going.

I suspect I’ve introduced a lot of disparate issues and argued their points to various degreees of effectiveness, but as I said at the top, there’s a lot of fallout—and food for thought.