Why? In three words – entertainment, erudition, and escape. Those are the publishing silos as I see them. The reader interested in entertainment is the “general” or “mainstream” reader. Erudition is the aim of the literary reader. Finally, there are some readers who want to escape. They pick up fantasy, romance, or Sci-Fi. Sure, readers, especially those who “read deeply,” cross boundaries. But, for a moment, I’m thinking specifically about the world of fiction. As a writer, how do you straddle the gulf that seems to separate literature and the mainstream?
In researching agents I recently came across something very interesting in a New York agent’s bio. In fact I fell in love with her statement. She “loves voice and story-driven fiction that hits that sweet spot between literary and mainstream.” To make things even better, she also “has a passion for Southern voices…” Folks, I am in love and I haven’t even met her. I’m not going to identify her because she sounds like my kind of agent and I might want to query her. Stay away! She’s mine! Anyway, agents seem to be sensitive about people violating their boundaries, so she shall remain nameless.
My hunch is this, that fiction has unintentionally bifurcated itself. Literature vs. mainstream. Maybe it came as a byproduct of the professionalization of creative writing, the assignment of credentials to it, in writers having to actually earn their livings at the teaching level. It seems people seek to master the art by obtaining an MFA degree to increase their odds of breaking through the crust of the publication pie. Also, the consolidation of the publishing industry might have something to do with it. Or a host of other developments, not least, the numerical loss of readers who now feast on other forms of media and entertainment. The near deification of technology as an end in itself has also diminished the stature of softer forms of learning, namely, the humanities.
I know for a fact that Hemingway used to write articles for money. He logged thousands of travel miles seeing out experiences on various continents, converting them into paid pieces of writing. In 1967, six years after Papa killed himself in Ketchum, his publisher, Scribners, published a book called By-Line. I am delighted to have a copy. It contains dozens of reprints of Hemingway articles that ran in The Toronto Daily Star, Esquire, Transatlantic Review, Vogue, PM, Colliers, Look, etc. But, clearly it is over, the age of writers who straddled the chasm between the mainstream and literature. Only, look at Hemingway to be assured that it existed. He was a Nobel Laureate. But a journalist first, remember.
Publishers pigeon holes are now small. And the number of magazines running short fiction has dwindled to almost zero. That leaves the literary journals. So, why shouldn’t the world of short fiction be under the thumb of the literary branch. The mainstream has effectively signed a quit-claim deed for its part of it (short fiction).
I hope we aren’t doomed to an age when short fiction in the U.S. is only considered literary esoterica. We may be close now. When I write a story, if it happens to rise to the level of art in places, all the better. But, gosh, I can’t get my mind off that unnamed agent above. The one who says she loves that “sweet spot between literary and the mainstream.”