I was talking the other day with a co-worker about the idea of "genre fiction", as it exists as a seperate entity from so-called "mainstream fiction."

We both agreed that there is a tendency to look down on works written "in a genre", and a tendency to compliment works by labelling them as "genre-defining."  It's a strange brand of literary snobbery that bleeds into the public subconscious.  The idea is that books that are written in a genre are somehow of lesser quality than their mainstream counterparts.  Case in point:  in Canada there are dedicated awards for fantasy, science fiction, etc. (the Sunburst, the Aurora) and then there are the "big awards", the Governor-General and the Giller Prize, and the tendency is for these heavy hitters to showcase "mainstream fiction."  I find this a little unfair.



For starters, it's pretty difficult to pin down the idea of what makes a genre.  For example, even a dictionary definition of "science fiction" is at best vague:  "fiction dealing principally with the impact of actual or imagined science on society or individuals or having a scientific factor as an essential orienting component ".  From this definition, you could conceivably argue that "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" is science fiction; key plot points include lobotomy, electroshock and other corrective measures that were "scientific" to Behaviourism.

Of course, nobody would ever call One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest science fiction.  That wouldn't just be seen as idiotic, it would be seen as cultural sacrilege.  When we hear "science fiction" we don't picture a mental hospital with social miscreants.

So what are the images we think of when "science fiction" is brought up?  To author Margaret Atwood, science fiction seems to represent something absurd, poorly researched, or without realistic basis.  Star Wars immediately springs to mind, with high-tech impossibilities played out alongside bizarre, unexplained mysticism (unless you believe that midichlorian nonsense.  WHICH I DON'T).

When referring to her own work, Atwood uses the term "speculative fiction", a new label that suggest that whatever happens in the confines of the happy book it applies to is a plausible, nay, probable outcome of today's society.  This somehow legitimizes and elevates her work to a comfortable place where it can fit in with contemporaries like Alice Munro, Leonard Cohen, etc. even though it is drastically different in style and content.  Meanwhile, an author like Robert J. Sawyer, who embraces the label of "science fiction" is rarely lumped in with these writers despite widespread critical acclaim, best-selling works, and even a TV adaptation.  You won't see Sawyer up for the GG anytime soon though.  Does this mean his work just isn't in the same realm of quality as these authors?  Maybe.  Or maybe it's because it comes attached with a genre heading.

The effect of critics, authors, and readers slapping a work of fiction with a genre heading serves to put books in their place - pun intended.  As readers, we need things categorized.  We live for it.  When a genre isn't enough, we need subgenres: cyberpunk, steampunk, dieselpunk for crissakes.  This is the other side of the coin, where being in a genre is cool and hip.  It forms the basis for counterculture revolution, with up and comers writing outside the norm, defying while also paying tribute to their forefathers of genre fiction.  Steampunk is the perfect example of this: an entire subculture of fashion, art, even music springing out of a group of authors in the eighties happening upon the perfect label for a unique set of characteristics.
So, I suppose that it is at least partially self-invited.  Authors and fans who read and write "in a genre" are doing so consciously.  Maybe they like the idea that they're independent, outside the norm, and they'll happily involve themselves with likeminded people.  On the other hand, like Atwood, they may have to self-label themselves with more palatable terminology if they want mainstream attention, and that seems a shame to me.  A book should be able to stand or fall on the merits of its content, not its genre.

"A rose by any other name," wasn't it?