Torn-bread.

Oct. 25, 2012 at 2:22am with 382 notes

Reblogged from theparisreview

theparisreview:

“The reader of literary genre fiction should feel the structure in her body, particularly with short stories. It’s a recognizable rhythm, it’s a shimmering in one’s veins as one moves from opening scene to well-placed background information to the next, more tense scene to that special, oh-so-revealing flashback about the time our protagonist ran over his rubber horse, or the time he knew he was in love with a real horse, or the time he — oh you see what I mean. In the genre of literary fiction, this structure must lead to a moment of revelation, suggested but never explained.”

The Millions has gathered a great list of some literary fiction signifiers (the above is Scene, Exposition, Scene, Flashback, Scene, Cue Epiphany), including The Long Title and Adultery.
Tell us: what else would you add to the list?

This is brilliant and too true: “This is a “nothing happens” book, the former it girl of literary genre fiction. In my classes, I like to describe these stories as: “A man and a woman buy dishes at the store. When they get home, she goes to lie down, barely talking, something unsettling her. A dog barks in the distance. The man starts to put the plates away, and one breaks. The end.”…Of course, this kind of narrative is a bit out of vogue — there’s a new it girl on the scene. It’s the same man and woman, but now time travel or zombies or tiny people who live in walnuts are involved. Raymond Carver is to blame for the popularity of the first kind of narrative, with his profound stories of small actions, uninterested as they are in directly exploring the inner lives of characters. That genius George Saunders is to blame for the latter: damn him and his faxing cave man!”
Certain body parts appear too often in literary fiction: wrists, clavicles, elbows, lips.
Why are things always happening at dusk or at dawn?
Precocious kids. I blame Jonathan Safran Foer, but maybe he didn’t start it.

“The reader of literary genre fiction should feel the structure in her body, particularly with short stories. It’s a recognizable rhythm, it’s a shimmering in one’s veins as one moves from opening scene to well-placed background information to the next, more tense scene to that special, oh-so-revealing flashback about the time our protagonist ran over his rubber horse, or the time he knew he was in love with a real horse, or the time he — oh you see what I mean. In the genre of literary fiction, this structure must lead to a moment of revelation, suggested but never explained.”

The Millions has gathered a great list of some literary fiction signifiers (the above is Scene, Exposition, Scene, Flashback, Scene, Cue Epiphany), including The Long Title and Adultery.

Tell us: what else would you add to the list?

This is brilliant and too true: “This is a “nothing happens” book, the former it girl of literary genre fiction. In my classes, I like to describe these stories as: “A man and a woman buy dishes at the store. When they get home, she goes to lie down, barely talking, something unsettling her. A dog barks in the distance. The man starts to put the plates away, and one breaks. The end.”…Of course, this kind of narrative is a bit out of vogue — there’s a new it girl on the scene. It’s the same man and woman, but now time travel or zombies or tiny people who live in walnuts are involved. Raymond Carver is to blame for the popularity of the first kind of narrative, with his profound stories of small actions, uninterested as they are in directly exploring the inner lives of characters. That genius George Saunders is to blame for the latter: damn him and his faxing cave man!”
Certain body parts appear too often in literary fiction: wrists, clavicles, elbows, lips.
Why are things always happening at dusk or at dawn?
Precocious kids. I blame Jonathan Safran Foer, but maybe he didn’t start it.