Someone recently accosted a friend of mine with the snide remark, “I bet you read… literary fiction.” My friend, a nice bookish young man, innocently agreed that most of his reading choices were, in fact, literary fiction. His antagonist then retorted, “I hate literary fiction. I’m reading a vampire novel right now—what do you think of that?” And then he proceeded to mock Kazuo Ishiguro’s last name.
I had a similarly awkward encounter myself. This summer I was lugging around a hardcover with me, when an acquaintance took one glance at its gray cover and black binding and exclaimed, “Oh my gosh! Are you reading the fifth Harry Potter?” I tried to leave my response at a simple “No,” but she continued to prod. “Oh, so what are you reading? The cover looks just like the fifth Harry Potter.” My answer, “the second Proust,” was met with a stare that screamed, “You must think you are pretty great for reading Proust.”
With the simultaneous popularization of and obsession with lowbrow culture (see: ONTD, “Gossip Girl,” Miley Cyrus), has it become a social taboo to read literature?
Caveat: I have nothing against mass-market paperback genre fiction. I grew up devouring Agatha Christie’s crime novels and have recently become hooked on the Kate Fansler mysteries. I appreciate Dan Brown for releasing “The Lost Symbol.” Whatever keeps people literate and the publishing industry alive. Although I have not read any of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight books, if it takes Bella Swan to encourage 13-year-old girls to pick up “Wuthering Heights,” so be it. What is troubling is the unfair assumption that the person who chooses to read Roberto Bolaño is a pretentious windbag. Even Marilyn Monroe read “Ulysses,” at least according to one photo.
Sometimes I also remember that many of the so-called “classics” were the popular fiction of their time. Charles Dickens wrote serially for the purpose of catering to his readers’ reactions. Then I wonder if I am missing out on the contemporary Dickens by overlooking Dan Brown and Stephenie Meyer.
On the other side of the literary spectrum, there is Tom Townsend in “Metropolitan,” who reads only theory. When asked what Jane Austen novels he has read, he earnestly responds, “None. I don’t read novels. I prefer good literary criticism. That way you get both the novelists’ ideas as well as the critics’ thinking. With fiction I can never forget that none of it really happened, that it’s all just made up by the author.”
That statement is absolutely absurd, but Tom Townsends do walk among us. There exists a certain strain of people, especially at Columbia, who actually only read theory. They often do look down on people like myself who enjoy narrative. A good friend of mine is a Tom Townsend type—he uses the terms “reification,” “dialectic,” and “power structures” outside the confines of a philosophy seminar. After enrolling in a Latin American literature class to fulfill the Major Cultures requirement, he said to me, “The class is so easy and fun! All we do is read novels. It’s such a nice break from theory.” Granted, he probably did not mean to sound so condescending. However, he implicitly privileged theory over literature for being more intellectually demanding. To this day, I am still uncomfortable with that value judgment.
Despite numerous attempts to crack Marx’s “Capital” this summer, the same friend conceded that he wanted a more enjoyable read. Vindication is mine. Sir Philip Sidney in “The Defence of Poesy” provides a more thought-out explanation of the advantages literature holds over philosophy (and history, but that’s for another column). Sidney points out philosophy’s bareness—we learn the precept, but too directly to actually retain it. “Capital” does not delight (most of) us the way “Never Let Me Go” does. Literature, on the other hand, works psychologically to accommodate the way most of us process the world. While literature has undergone radical changes since Sidney’s days, the popularity of said vampire novels validates his original argument. Literature, whether it be lowbrow or highbrow, still has its appeal.
Lucy Tang is a Columbia College senior majoring in English. Sentimental Education runs alternating Wednesdays.
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