The holiday movie season brings us The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, David Fincher’s English-language version of Stieg Larsson’s bestseller, which has already been made into a Swedish movie. Ordinarily you might not want to make a new movie when one based on the same book came out just two years ago, even if it was in a different language; but Larsson’s Millenium Trilogy is more than popular enough to carry the load, with over 27 million books sold worldwide.
That popularity really bugs some people. Sales figures notwithstanding, Larsson’s books fall pretty dramatically short on several conventional metrics of literary quality, such as “elegance of writing” and “plausibility of plot.” Early in the first novel, before we really know what’s going on or have been properly introduced to most of the characters, we are treated to a scene that consists of one character telling another about a long series of complicated and shady European business deals, complete with obscure acronyms and names that will never be mentioned again. This keeps up for what seems like pages. And it’s just a hint of the various stylistic crimes Larsson will gleefully commit throughout the series. He loves piling on meaningless details, especially about what his characters are eating and the clothes they are wearing. The prose is clunky and often wearying. The series effectively evokes the brooding coldness of Scandinavian winters, but that’s not always a good thing.
And yet — the books are impossible to put down, as approximately 9 million readers will testify. (I haven’t seen the American movie, although I did see the Swedish one, which wasn’t anywhere near as gripping as the original novel.) So we have a fairly common occurrence in publishing: books that are fantastically popular, but nevertheless are not very “good” by many agreed-upon criteria. In very different ways, think of Dan Brown, JK Rowling, or Stephenie Meyer.
Faced with such a puzzling phenomenon, one can go two ways. One is to go all-out curmudgeon: take Michael Newman’s review of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest (many spoilers). It’s not so much a review as an extended whine of incomprehension: How can something so terrible be so beloved by so many people?
The other way, much more interesting, is to actually try to answer that question, rather than just repeat it in an increasingly petulant tone. What is it about these books that makes them so irresistible? In our electronically-focused age, when some good old-fashioned printed books reach dizzying heights of popularity, perhaps the thing to do isn’t to complain that they don’t fit into our pre-existing criteria, but to figure out what they are actually doing right. I personally loved Larsson’s books, and am quite fond of the Harry Potter series, but I would ask the same question about The Da Vinci Code or the Twilight books (the first of which I thought was terrible, and the second of which I was never tempted to pick up). It’s a commonplace to bemoan what a “bad writer” Dan Brown is, but that can’t really be true. People read the books with enjoyment and keep coming back for more; he must be doing something right. Not everything, of course — I doubt that it’s necessary to distort history and science so dramatically just to write a compelling thriller. (A special case would be something like Ayn Rand, whose writing is uniformly off-putting; people keep coming back for the politics, not for the prose.)
In the case of Stieg Larsson, Laura Miller gets it right in her own review of Hornet’s Nest. Say what you will about lumbering prose and distracting minutiae; Larsson has created unforgettable characters and put them in compelling situations. This isn’t a cheap skill that anyone can just pull off, or we’d all be living high off our royalty checks. (Or our heirs would be fighting over them.) When books work for people, it makes more sense to appreciate the craftsmanship than to complain that they don’t fit our criteria. I still don’t know how Dan Brown makes people want to compulsively turn the pages, but it’s no mean trick. More power to him.
Hi Sean, I assume you wouldn’t say exactly the same about the traditional religions, or about (say) New Age self-help books: “so many millions of people have found meaning in them, there must be something worthwhile there that I don’t understand … rather than being curmudgeonly, I say, more power to them!” Obviously, there’s a difference between a work explicitly labeled as fiction and one that isn’t. But when someone like me gets curmudgeonly about (say) hundreds of millions of people going crazy over the Harry Potter books (as I do đ ), I suspect what goes through my head is similar to what goes through yours in the case of religious or New Age books (or for that matter, Ayn Rand novels). Namely: “yes, I realize people love this book because the ‘message’ resonates deeply with them … but it’s a wrong, bad message, one that shouldn’t resonate with them!”
Actually, I am extremely interested in understanding why traditional religions and New Age self-help books resonate with so many millions of people. Appreciating their literary and persuasive techniques, as it were. They are undoubtedly doing something right, and I would like to know what it is.
Note that I didn’t actually use the word “worthwhile” or anything synonymous. I really do believe that there is something called literary quality, and Dan Brown’s books don’t have it. So what is it that they do have?
Of course there is an important difference between enjoying a novel and believing false claims about reality.
Religion and popular art have this in common: They both grab you by the emotional cajones and shake the stuff that really matters. Open any popular book, including the Bible, and you will most likely find death, sex, deceit & betrayal. The protagonist learns to deal with all the left-field pitches thrown by life (or fails to do so at his or her peril). People who are already happy rent comedies. People who feel something is deeply wrong or flawed–either in society, or in their personal lives–tend to be drawn to darker genres. “Quality” only comes into it like “sanding” comes into making furniture. The basic shape of the genre (or the coffee table) remains the same–only the degree of finesse differs, so the critics have something to argue about. The fact is, people prefer a chair with a comfortable shape than a strangely designed objet d’art with an exceedingly high polish on it.
My wife loves Brussels Sprouts, but to me, they don’t even taste like food. Not good, not bad, but certainly not like anything that someone would eat. The difference in taste seems to be genetic. I believe that I’m able to taste some chemical in this plant that she can’t.
Not knowing that, would it make sense for me to try to understand what she sees in Brussels Sprouts that I don’t?
“I really do believe that there is something called literary quality, and Dan Brownâs books donât have it.”
Agreed.
“So what is it that they do have?”
They (not just this story, but all lesser-grade literature) have an appeal for a good many particular reasons, but all of them have this in common: they’re habit-forming. In other words, they are addictive in the same way empty stimulation is continuously sought out, as in a pleasant sensation. Novelty, for no reason other than the sake of shaking up the startle relex, is but one example.
“They are undoubtedly doing something right, and I would like to know what it is.”
There’s the incorrect assumption: that they must therefore be “doing something right”. They are simply providers, and t-yeah, they rake in the bucks alright. But it doesn’t take much sophistication to recognize what people are attracted to and to keep them in good supply as the demand dictates. The error is in thinking that they’ve figured out something profound about human taste which you aren’t aware of. It isn’t aesthetic taste, a cognitive phenomenon generated in large part by the frontal lobes which is being solicited. Its the basist possible appeal to the appetite, the hunger-center, which needs no conscious consideration which the brain-stem or reptilian cortex cannot provide. The error is in thinking that success must indicate the application of an unknown nutritve factor of aesthetic quality, instead of something as banal and unsavoury as, say, that near-rancid and re-used oil used to fry french fries at the local fast-food makes them so irresistable some can’t eat just one. Of course, the demand is insatiable.
“Bad writers” are popular because we (the majority) are ‘bad readers.’ Look at the audience that picks up these books. We aren’t academics with English and/or literary degrees. Nor are we trying to challenge our intellects. We simply want something to distract us from the world around us for a little while.
There’s also a disconnect between what is considered “well written” and how people actually communicate. Sentences beginning with “And,” “Because,” and “But” often come up in everyday conversation even though it’s grammatically incorrect.
Finally, what is considered a “well written” novel? I bet it’s probably based off of classics written over a hundred years ago, right? Herman Melville, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen…all great authors but I’d rather watch the movies than read the books. Why? Because when I try to read them I fall asleep (and I have tried). The books I read now have a lot of dialogue and action sequences in comparisons to these ‘literary masters.’ Even J.R.R. Tolkien’s writting I found incredibly drab. Really, there’s only so many times that walking around, building a fire and cooking food can be interesting when NONE OF THE CHARACTERS ARE SAYING ANYTHING. I think I made it to about page 100 or so before I threw my fifty dollar copy of all three combined “Lord of the Rings” books into the charity bin. I don’t mean to insult these authors, it’s just a difference in taste. I’d just rather have a ‘sandwich and chips’ for my read then sit down for a ‘nine course meal.’
Readers of this blog might be interested in the following:
http://discovermagazine.com/2006/dec/25-greatest-science-books 25 Greatest Science Books of All Time | DISCOVER magazine (Dec. 2006)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/What_Mad_Pursuit:_A_Personal_View_of_Scientific_Discovery Francis Crickâs âWhat Mad Pursuitâ
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_books .
Wish-fulfillment fantasy covers a lot of the ground, I think. Superboy/man comics appealed to me as a child because I could fantasize being invulnerable and able to fly. (If I recall correctly, some boys of my generation actually threw themselves out of windows in the faith that they too must have super powers – or maybe that was an urban legend.) Lizbeth Salanger could read a few math books and figure out an independent proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem, as well as beating up bad guys twice her size, and hacking into any computer system.
Most people are not entertained by reality; that’s where drama comes in: to entertain the masses. Stripped of it’s themes, drama becomes melodrama, and melodrama then sprouts genres. Genres, codified melodramas, are essentially devoid of content. They are codified against themselves, that is, they must restrict themselves, and this growing restriction shows up as a progressive increase in sophistication of plots and plot elements and a growing submersion of codified elements in characters (so that we maintain suspension of disbelief). From such genres reappear dramatic themes, from time to time. These themes have been twisted, however, to serve only the purpose of entertainment. Such brief re-emergences in individual works of genre tend to make people believe that the genre has a heart or is not dead yet. That is untrue; Genre is the death of drama.
Blame Poe, or better yet, blame Conan Doyle. If an essential aspect of drama is that it is a story about the most important event in someone’s life, melodrama and genre negate that completely. Hence, the sequel. Hence, the same central hero, again and again. Genre is a worthy substitute for religion since the hero lives on and on.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for genre and genre writers. It’s better, for one’s health and popularity, to be an Umberto Eco or to have been a Henry James than it is to have been a Franz Kafka.
First, I haven’t read Larsson’s books, so my comments are just general.
It is certainly possible (don’t know whether that’s the case here, though) that the original is good and the translation bad. Good translations are expensive: one has to know both languages well and know how to write (and, for technical translations, have an understanding of the subject as well).
Note that the titles of the first and third books are not literal translations. The first should be Men who hate women. The last, Luftslottet som sprĂ€ngdes, is a bit more difficult to translate. The last word means “was blown up”, i.e. “was destroyed in an explosion”. The first is “castle in the air” which connotes wishful thinking without basis (not sure if it has this connotation in English).
There is a long tradition in Sweden not just of detective stories (in the broadest sense) but also in using them as a means of social commentary.
Of course, the reason for the remake is that most folks in the USA don’t want to see movies which were not made in the USA. Since Larsson’s books are well known, people knew about the Swedish movies (is “film” appropriate if it is done digitally?). However, many other foreign films have US remakes. When I’ve seen both, the remake is usually worse.
Dan Brown? I bought The Da Vinci Code in a bookshop in Gothenburg, Sweden when I wanted to buy something quickly. (Countries with well educated small populations are good places to buy books in various languages. People can read the original, so there is less need for a translation, which might not be financially viable considering the small population anyway. The fact that people can read the original means even less reason for a translation, and dearth of translations might encourage people to read the originals.) I had bought The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail in a bookshop in Birmingham, England when I wanted to buy something quickly in 1984—before an important part of it was shown to be a hoax (not by the authors; they were duped). (Of course, the fact that the hoax stuff is false doesn’t mean that the rest of the book is necessarily false. In fact, much of it is true or at least plausible, and indeed many points had been raised earlier by others. However, while well written in any case, it is more fun to read if one doesn’t know about the hoax.)
I ended up reading The Da Vinci Code while in hospital undergoing chemotherapy, so that might colour my perception somewhat. (At the same time, I read Light, which I just didn’t get at all (I don’t mean the various allusions, but rather the point of the book itself).) While it contains many factual errors (not just the historical woo, but basic stuff which one should get right in a book such as this, even if it is not essential to the plot), as light entertainment (I hope it is not intended as anything else), it is not “bad”, whatever that means.
Of course, popularity and quality are mostly orthogonal. However, there are people who think it is stupid to buy music because it is in the charts but determine whom to hire on the basis of bibliometry. đ
There are three feelings people find extremely pleasing: awe, power and smugness. So, you take a bunch of mystical themes, imply there is deep underlying mythology to them(anything Dan Brown, Hogwart’s, Vampires). This invokes feelings of awe. Your protagonist must be inherently talented, possibly a “chosen one” or possess gifts normal people do not. No matter what, you can’t ever imply that your protagonist did any hard work to get to where he is, it needs to be cosmically granted to him. This serves to empower the reader if he identifies with the protagonist. And then you must make your protagonist, or even better, his entourage, do incredibly stupid things, stumble into the most obvious traps and take far longer at figuring out things than the previous point would suggest they would. This breaks the fourth wall and enables the reader to feel smug about knowing the obvious. However, you can never let the reader know that you intended for him to know this.
Yeah, it’s basically giving your reader’s ego a blowjob.
I don’t find smugness pleasing..?? I find that an odd claim?
You find self-satisfaction unpleasing? Smugness is not pleasing if it’s someone else being smug. If it yourself being smug, it is very pleasing, pretty much by definition.
For what it’s worth, the remake remake gets a very good review from a critic who usually agrees with me.
Not by any means impossible to put down, but impossible to keep reading. I was bored, not intrigued and yes found the unnecessary details (Mac Powerbook ⊠whatever) off putting.
Mon semblable, mon frere! I forced myself to finish the first of these as a courtesy to the person who gave it to me, but the whole set are now sitting in a charity shop and the later ones are uncracked. And I speak as one who loves trashy crime fiction.
Over and above the unnecessary details of the surrounding hardware, I couldn’t take the unnecessary details of abusive misogyny. I’m aware that Larsen intended the books to stand as a condemnation of the misogyny prevalent in Swedish society, but you can only get away with doing this by writing loving and lingering depictions of rape if you’re an extremely skillful writer. Larsen was not. If your principal characters are Gary Stu and Manic Pixie Dream Girl, you end up writing extremely unpleasant porn, and your intentions count for nothing.
“Larsen intended the books to stand as a condemnation of the misogyny prevalent in Swedish society”
While that might be true, it is important to point out that there is less misogyny in Sweden than almost anywhere else. Of course, where it is really bad, people who complain about it get killed, so there is a bias here. (One could almost say that criticism is necessary where it is not allowed and vice versa.) Painting a picture of Sweden from detective novels is probably even less of a good idea than painting a picture of the US from television sitcoms. In recent years, attempts to eradicate misogyny and lack of equal rights have in some cases caused the pendulum to swing too far in the other direction.
As to the science of it, isn’t the complete title The Girl Who Kicked the Hornetâs Nest: Programming Drag Effects into Apiarian Projectile Trajectory Modelling. ?
Sean,
I enjoyed the diversion from the normal flow. I think we human just like to hear a good story. It worked for Homer.
Dave
Stories are often very popular if they feature superheroes doing impossible things, uncovering secrets and righting clear-cut wrongs, and in the process attracting desirable mates. Stories like this feed naive fantasies, and the naivety of the fantasies is why more sophisticated readers deplore them.
As literature, Dan Brown books are pretty thin gruel. But, viewed as art, art history and intellectual history lectures dressed up with a bit of a plot and some characters to give them life and relevance, his books do quite a bit better than the straight non-fiction treatment. How many people would even know that there was a Gnostic heresy or that there were non-canonical Gospels or that the symbol laden monuments of Europe and Washington D.C. even existed without Brown’s introduction?
Dan Brown is also tapping into one of the oldest successful genres of writing, the divine mystery. A claim that something supernatural might exist, with clues and an absence of a quick resolution attracts attention, and an easy reading level makes works like his available to readers who don’t have access to more prestigious treatments of similar ideas.
Re Moby Dick. If a modern editor had gotten their hands on it before publishing it, it would have been much shorter and a better work of literature. I’m afraid that instead, my copy ended up as a friend’s ballistics experiment. Moby Dick is proof positive that rough drafts should not be published until they are edited. However, given the dearth of early American authors, it is still read today in dramatic proof of the fact that culturally, first in time works can have disproportionate impact.
Buhallin: ‘When critics like Newman ask âWhy do people like bad artâ thatâs not the real question⊠What theyâre actually asking is âWhy doesnât anyone care what I think?â
Might if I frame that and put it on my office door?
Re: Moby Dick. Those who think it too long and digressive are nuts – the descriptions of the whaling life are essential and critical elements of the art. They make it real and vivid. Editors who would cut those elements would want to publish Les Miserables and War and Peace as pamphlets. I, on the other hand, would have published Gravity’s Rainbow as a textbook with humorous and other asides.
I loved the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but the subsequent books became very hard to read, and I finished the third book only because I liked Lisbeth Salander, she is a bit like a superhero.
For a highly entertaining look at the art of creating a best-selling novel, read the novel “How I became a famous novelist”. You have to read it with a cynical squint to get the most out of it đ