The Good, The Bad, and the Bestseller
It's interesting to me that as I write new entries for this blog so many of them seem to be related to topics from previous entries. I'm not sure why I find that surprising, but I do. It's gotten so that when I think about writing a new entry I also consider how it may tie back to older ones. Which leads me into...
From time to time, someone makes a point about how current mystery or thriller genre fiction is disappointing. The characters are no longer interesting, there are plot holes you can drive an Aston-Martin through, the ending could be foreseen ten pages into it, and on and on. Hello! Surprise! Most of the books published by established writers, in other words the mega-bestsellers papering the walls at airport bookstores, are not very good. From their publisher's standpoint, they don't need to be; they only need to sell through to the anticipated number, derived from the popularity of the author as well as past sales figures.
In previous entries I've talked about how too many writers write two good books and then coast into writing their own formulae. They simply don't try very hard. I'm sure contractually producing a book a year, tours, other promotions, and simply time away (family, anyone?) all take their toll. I'd like to think that somewhere, sometime, some new writer will make it big with their first books, then say no to a massive book a year deal with the excuse that it will take them a year and a half or two books to maintain the quality. I'd bet they'd still get paid and we'd get better books.
In a further digression, paying eight bucks for the mass market paperback of these diminishing efforts rankles. But I won't go back there (for now, anyway).
My point here is that while you can blame the writer (ultimately you should), the publisher, or the mass market tastes of the airport/grocery store reader, you can't blame the genre. Good god, do you think you can just pick up a random mystery and be satisfied with it? I mean, some of those covers are really interesting, but still...
I always thought it would be cool if you could pick up a book put out by a certain publisher and have a notion as to how well their books would likely appeal to your taste. With the exception of a Hard Case Crime, where you always know what you'll get (except for the King book, which was in no way "hard" anything) by wonderful writers with style (except for the one author whose second HCC book comes out this year). Some of the writing may be dated, sure, but that's because some of them are reprints from the Gold Medal paperback days. Just read the original novels if you feel that way but the point is, you're in for a failry consistent reading experience when you read their stuff.
The only thing you can do as a reader is keep looking. The books are out there but probably not on the NYT list. Clancy had a good couple but receded somewhat, Grisham shot to the top but couldn't keep going, and I have no time for the gimmickry of Patterson or Koontz. I've put down David Baldacci because I don't like the writing style on page one, and likewise for David Morrell although I have one on the shelf that I'll try again. Michael Connelly seems to me as though he may try but falls short. And on and on.
Give "Eye of the Beholder" by Marc Behm a shot for a psychological thriller you haven't seen before. Or "The Skull Mantra" by Elliot Pattison for a deeply immersive though heavy read in a foreign culture. Scott Phillips ("The Ice Harvest") and Adrian McKinty ("Dead I Well May Be") perhaps haven't broken through yet but may. Allan Guthrie from Edinburgh is good, as is Domenic Stansberry. For the established writers try the Parker series by Richard Stark, the standalones by his other identity, Donald E. Westlake, or the Scudder series by Lawrence Block. And on and on.
Being disappointed by the twentieth entry of a series written by one of the fortunate few to have made their nut with their writing shouldn't surprise anyone. The economics of the system are not set up for continued quality. You need that spark of brilliance to break into the biz, but once you have established yourself, the publishers will let you coast. As long as you sell.
John Sandford, though, seems to me to be an exception all his own with his "Prey" series. Some of his books are better than others, of course, and I let him go for a few years. I did go back, though, and I noticed something: he's actually getting better. He's a mega-bestselling dude who seems to be actually trying while still putting out a book a year. My hat is off. Of course now his hero's married and has a kid and that can't be good...
Keep looking, but don't damn the genre. Skim away the top maybe, and look a bit deeper. There'll always be good ones out there somewhere. Talent will out. I think.
From time to time, someone makes a point about how current mystery or thriller genre fiction is disappointing. The characters are no longer interesting, there are plot holes you can drive an Aston-Martin through, the ending could be foreseen ten pages into it, and on and on. Hello! Surprise! Most of the books published by established writers, in other words the mega-bestsellers papering the walls at airport bookstores, are not very good. From their publisher's standpoint, they don't need to be; they only need to sell through to the anticipated number, derived from the popularity of the author as well as past sales figures.
In previous entries I've talked about how too many writers write two good books and then coast into writing their own formulae. They simply don't try very hard. I'm sure contractually producing a book a year, tours, other promotions, and simply time away (family, anyone?) all take their toll. I'd like to think that somewhere, sometime, some new writer will make it big with their first books, then say no to a massive book a year deal with the excuse that it will take them a year and a half or two books to maintain the quality. I'd bet they'd still get paid and we'd get better books.
In a further digression, paying eight bucks for the mass market paperback of these diminishing efforts rankles. But I won't go back there (for now, anyway).
My point here is that while you can blame the writer (ultimately you should), the publisher, or the mass market tastes of the airport/grocery store reader, you can't blame the genre. Good god, do you think you can just pick up a random mystery and be satisfied with it? I mean, some of those covers are really interesting, but still...
I always thought it would be cool if you could pick up a book put out by a certain publisher and have a notion as to how well their books would likely appeal to your taste. With the exception of a Hard Case Crime, where you always know what you'll get (except for the King book, which was in no way "hard" anything) by wonderful writers with style (except for the one author whose second HCC book comes out this year). Some of the writing may be dated, sure, but that's because some of them are reprints from the Gold Medal paperback days. Just read the original novels if you feel that way but the point is, you're in for a failry consistent reading experience when you read their stuff.
The only thing you can do as a reader is keep looking. The books are out there but probably not on the NYT list. Clancy had a good couple but receded somewhat, Grisham shot to the top but couldn't keep going, and I have no time for the gimmickry of Patterson or Koontz. I've put down David Baldacci because I don't like the writing style on page one, and likewise for David Morrell although I have one on the shelf that I'll try again. Michael Connelly seems to me as though he may try but falls short. And on and on.
Give "Eye of the Beholder" by Marc Behm a shot for a psychological thriller you haven't seen before. Or "The Skull Mantra" by Elliot Pattison for a deeply immersive though heavy read in a foreign culture. Scott Phillips ("The Ice Harvest") and Adrian McKinty ("Dead I Well May Be") perhaps haven't broken through yet but may. Allan Guthrie from Edinburgh is good, as is Domenic Stansberry. For the established writers try the Parker series by Richard Stark, the standalones by his other identity, Donald E. Westlake, or the Scudder series by Lawrence Block. And on and on.
Being disappointed by the twentieth entry of a series written by one of the fortunate few to have made their nut with their writing shouldn't surprise anyone. The economics of the system are not set up for continued quality. You need that spark of brilliance to break into the biz, but once you have established yourself, the publishers will let you coast. As long as you sell.
John Sandford, though, seems to me to be an exception all his own with his "Prey" series. Some of his books are better than others, of course, and I let him go for a few years. I did go back, though, and I noticed something: he's actually getting better. He's a mega-bestselling dude who seems to be actually trying while still putting out a book a year. My hat is off. Of course now his hero's married and has a kid and that can't be good...
Keep looking, but don't damn the genre. Skim away the top maybe, and look a bit deeper. There'll always be good ones out there somewhere. Talent will out. I think.
posted by Rick Ollerman at 9:01 AM
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