I gravitate towards dead writers.
After being raised on a classical education (Beowulf, Shakespeare, Charlotte Brontë), I developed a deep love and appreciation for writing as art. The craft of it. Not just the story you tell, but how you tell it – voice, style, tone. Literary elements galore. Fire me up.
Growing up in my classrooms, “consumer” was a cuss word and “literary” was the only fiction worth reading. Not because we considered ourselves to be intellectuals with a capital “I”, but because the books that dominated pop culture charts felt…cheap. Pieced together with plastic prose, lacking soul and depth.
But my perspective has shifted (if only an inch).
Once the August heat in Tennessee becomes just thick enough to be unbearable, my boyfriend and I pack our bags and catch a flight with his family to the cool breeze beaches of Rhode Island for a blissful week of swimming, kayaking, and drinking tequila sunrises on the back porch.
And reading, of course.
This past summer, my book of choice was East of Eden. Laying there in the sand, baking in the warm sunshine and being lulled to sleep by the gentle hiss of foam-tipped waves, I wanted something…easier. I enjoy Steinbeck, but I needed something significantly less Steinbeck-y. You know – a “beach read.” Something quick, mindless, enjoyable. A book that feels like an indulgence.
My boyfriend’s nieces urged me to read an author they loved: Colleen Hoover. When we headed to the bookstore, I grabbed the first Hoover book I saw – titled Verity (a story about a struggling writer who lands a job finishing a recently handicapped best-selling author’s book).
Back on the beach, I didn’t look up once. When I finished the book in a matter of hours, I was equal parts astonished and angry. Astonished because I was fully expecting to hate everything about Hoover; angry because I did hate everything about Hoover, and she still managed to hook me.
Shelving Steinbeck to binge-read Hoover? How un-Grace-like of me. What a nasty case of the “beach read.”
But after this experience, I felt a glimmer of hope on the horizon of consumer fiction. As someone obsessed with what makes good literature tick, I realized:
Maybe there’s more to “beach read syndrome” than meets the eye.
The Genres Explained
Consumer fiction is like candy.
The process is fun and tasty, but you’re left wondering, Why’d I do that?
It’s fast-paced, plot-heavy, and geared towards mass consumption. With writers like John Grisham and Taylor Jenkins Reid, it’s bursting with drama, sex, and suspense. It’s formulaic, repeatable, and leans heavily into traditional tropes that audiences can’t stop consuming. Hence, a consistently booming market. But the downfall of consumer fiction is in its craft – or lack thereof. Writers are hyper-focused on cranking out their next New York Times Bestseller, so they scrape by with tacky prose and cliche characters. Readers hustle through the story, dying to know what happens, only to be left unsatiated. The book is mostly a means to a bare-minimum end. It’s airport fiction. A Netflix binge of the mind.
If consumer fiction is candy, then literary fiction is a protein-packed meal.
It might not be the easiest, tastiest choice to reach for, but the payoff is much more rewarding.
It’s cerebral, thematic, and founded on character and craft. With writers like Toni Morrison and Margaret Atwood, it’s overflowing with stylistic prose, internal character development, and slow-burning existential narratives. The goal is to reflect the human condition. It pulls us deeper into the rhythms of our own lives. It invites us to confront. While this element is core to its success, it's also its detriment; these novels often feel too long, too slow, and too pretentious to pick up.
While consumer dominates the charts, literary wins all the prizes. It’s a choice between money or status. The line between these two genres seems distinct, but the landscape of literature is a minefield riddled with reader sweet spots.
After all, Shakespeare wrote for the masses.
Yin Yang and Fiction
Great stories are founded on duality.
Just like this familiar Chinese symbol.
Yin Yang not only represents the harmony of duality, but the necessity of it.
The dark side (yin) contrasts the white side (yang), but the two move in synchronous fluidity. The small circles represent that there is yin in all yang, and vice versa. No rain, no flowers, so to speak. No order without chaos. No light without dark.
Stories are no different.
No one wants to read hoity-toity, pompous literature; just like no one wants to read trashy, cliche fiction. Having to choose between the two sucks the fun out of reading; but when faced with this choice, the majority of readers reach for the latter because it’s more accessible.
Consequently, we get “beach read syndrome” – where we’re forced to endure crappy writing just to find out what happens. The inverse is also true: when literature is too complex, we struggle to excavate the story and end up abandoning ship.
Novels aren’t meant to be complex or simple; they’re meant to be beautiful.
Thus, a convergence of both complexity and simplicity. Great fiction won’t make you choose between accessibility or depth. It will hand you both.
Emerging Genres That Disrupt “Beach Read Syndrome”
If commercial and literary fiction had a baby, it would be upmarket fiction.
This genre is defined as “a subgenre of fiction books that incorporates elements of page-turning mainstream fiction, while still showcasing the more nuanced prose and complex character development more often found in literary fiction.”
This fuzzy subgenre gives us writers like Ray Bradbury, Gillian Flynn, Harper Lee, and Kurt Vonnegut. It’s also referred to as “book club fiction,” which is a universal sign of a great read (books that are entertaining enough to be discussed over wine and charcuterie, but elevated enough to snake their way into the tight-knit circles of seasoned, voracious readers).
Upmarket fiction is balanced precariously between accessibility and depth. Readers can indulge in a fun, fast-paced plot line while also engaging with nuanced prose, complex themes, and dynamic characters. The highbrow-lowbrow debate is left out in the cold. Everyone can sit back and enjoy a killer story – the end.
As more consumer books are wrapped in literary packaging, and vice versa, they result in emerging subgenres that continue to blur the traditional lines of publishing. Some find this genre-blurring line frustrating and distasteful.
I think it’s kind of the most beautiful thing ever.
What’s On The Horizon?
Imagine Colleen Hoover and John Steinbeck sat down for coffee.
If it’s not the shortest meetup of all time, it might just be the greatest.
Hoover is a crappy writer, but can push a story through a brick wall; Steinbeck is a beautiful writer, but his work often feels unapproachable. Hoover has a thousands-strong cult following and dominates best-seller charts; Steinbeck is one of the most acclaimed writers in history, with a National Book Award, Pulitzer Prize, and Nobel Prize sitting on his shelf.
Granted, this meeting might have gone terribly (on a scale of 1-10, how fast does Steinbeck chug his latte?). Maybe we’re meant to pick our literary battles.
But I think the horizon is brighter than this.
If writers are willing to learn from each other, the world opens up. Putting “trash” fiction and “snobby” literature stereotypes behind us will allow us to create some of the most entertaining and elevated art in history. And make reading on the beach a whole lot more enjoyable.
Thanks for reading this week’s edition of The G Word. If you know someone who loves (or hates) a “beach read,” why not share it with them? :)
G
Finding someone who blends the line between a really well put together story and beautiful prose is such a treat. I especially love when it’s genre fiction. The Name of the Wind is one recent example that comes to mind, as is--ironically--The Shadow of the Wind, a completely unrelated novel.
But when it comes down to story vs prose, I’m pretty solidly team prose. There has to really be nothing happening in a book for the prose to not be enough, and even then I will read some of it and find myself not finishing the book but liking “the idea” of the book and wanted to go back to it multiple times. The most egregious example for me is Look Homeward Angel by Thomas Wolfe. The prose is beautiful and I even will quote it but I can never sit through more than a third.
On the other hand, I do occasionally love some books that are more action focused. The Red Rising series, the First Law series, and some slower mysteries like the Kurt Wallander series come to mind.
Thanks for introducing me to the term Upmarket fiction, I will check this out as it sounds like what is like to write.
Damn, this 100% resonates. You put into words something I couldn't articulate -- the tension between literature and pop fiction.
Your reaction to Colleen Hoover is exactly how I felt after reading It Ends With Us. Often, these books feel like they were written to be adapted into a meh movie (looking at you, Where the Crawdads Sing.)
Yet, when I find myself needed a palette cleanse from literature, I reach for the book candy. Especially after reading a complex & unsettling story like East of Eden. Give me the chick flick laughs & romance haha
Brilliant analysis on how "upmarket fiction" brings in the yin and yang of the genres. Reading this made me think of the Lauren Groffs and Ann Patchetts of our contemporary lit world ❤️