FANTASY / FRIGHTS / FAIRYTALES/ FOLKLORE

Rick Moody, author of Garden State and The Ice Storm (two incredibly personal novels literary circles adore for their honest observations about the American family) once said, “genre is a bookstore problem, not a literary problem.” 

When you observe the utility of genre as a marketing tool for publishers to better appeal to specific audiences, Moody’s dismissive sentiment on genre domain rings true. For example, Stephen King’s constant readers have been trained over the past fifty years to go directly to the ‘Horror’ section to find his books, despite the fact that his books are thematically diverse and could be placed in a number of different genres from Horror to Fantasy, Post-apocalyptic, Crime Fiction, Historical Fiction, and even a Sports memoir detailing his life as a faithful denizen of the Red Sox Nation. Still, King’s literary works are slammed into the same ‘Horror’ section because his publishers and the bookstores whom carry the product have made a calculus to optimize sales potential over appealing to the genre of each book. It’s the reason why you’ll find The Dark Tower series next to Stoker’s Dracula in ‘Horror’ instead of where it arguably belongs next to Pratchett’s Discworld series in ‘Fantasy.’ 

The genre absolutist believes there is a place for every book and that every book should belong to its rightful place, and they will often bristle against genre when books are clumped together in seemingly arbitrary way. I have fumed to more than one used bookstore owner about my frustrations with Fantasy and Science Fiction oddly sharing shelf space, as though they weren’t ideologically opposed to each other. Fantasy, tonal flavours aside, is clearly more influenced by history, existing cultures, and superstition, while Science Fiction is often future focused and speculative in nature. And sure, there’s a Venn diagram with Science Fantasy in the overlap (think Star Wars or Dragon Riders of Pern), but even The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction points out that this cross-genre has never been clearly defined and its championing began with the pulp magazines of the 1950s and essentially died by the Summer of Love in 1967. And yet, Science Fiction and Fantasy neighbour each other like they’re too house poor to move somewhere else. 

In short, genre becomes much less useful when the focus shifts from selling books to reading books. For centuries, authors have created new works based on their appetite of genre. Stephen King was an avid reader of Edgar Allen Poe, Lovecraft, and Shirley Jackson — all luminaries of American gothic horror who have left a clear impression on him as the ‘Master of the Macabre.’ And at the same time, you cannot read The Stand, The Eyes of the Dragon, or The Dark Tower series without sensing Tolkien’s presence. Which is to say nothing of the many nods in his work to Robert W. Chambers, Richard Matheson, and Ray Bradbury. 

In ‘On Writing’ Stephen King reflected on his influences defining his writing style. “When I read Ray Bradbury as a kid, I wrote like Ray Bradbury — everything green and wondrous and seen through a sense smeared with the grease of nostalgia. When I read James M. Cain, everything I wrote came out clipped and stripped and hard-boiled. When I read Lovecraft; my prose came luxurious and Byzantine. I wrote stories in my teenage years where all these sales merged, creating a kind of hilarious stew.” King is of the belief that this sort of stylistic blending is a necessary part of developing one’s own writing style, but, to Moody’s earlier point, this creates intersectionality of genre beyond the confinements common to the shelves of your local bookstore. 

It’s at this point I need to clarify that I don’t see Rick Moody as some brilliant mind who has dismantled the relevance of genre outside of its impact on copies sold or how a book may or may not become a New York Times Bestseller. Novelist Dale Peck famously skewered Moody in his review of The Black Veil for The New Republic, a review so harsh it became infamous in literary circles. And while I disagree with Peck’s view of Moody as “the worst writer of his generation,” his assessment of Moody’s writing as “pretentious, muddled, and derivative” was right on the money. Like King, Moody is also a creature of his literary appetites. Clearly obsessed with the intellectualism of James Joyce’s Ulysses, Moody made some very revealing comments in an interview earlier this year in which he discussed his undergraduate clique of writers at Brown University, who would all take the same classes and read the same books due to their predilection for the ostentatious

“We were reading all the stuff that you would think we were reading. […] and we always had an ear tilted in the direction of: what was the really cool, recondite thing that nobody knew about?” Recondite. Did you need to Google that word? I did, and ironically it means little known. As in, “the word recondite is recondite.”

Moody’s alienating affectation aside, there is a broader point to be made beyond me roasting a pompous 90s meliorist turned stuffy university English professor who hates Taylor Swift. Genre, even in the hands of the most experimental authors, is still genre. You can try and discredit the broader concept as a marketing gimmick, but its impact on literature remains relevant beyond finding readers and appealing to their general expectations.

Genre can also be a map, assisting the storyteller as they navigate whatever new world they are trying to discover.  When Robert Jordan set out to create his own epic fantasy, very much in the vein of Tolkien’s legendarium, with The Wheel of Time, he did so observant of preexisting storytelling patterns which delivered world-building, character development, and conflict in the most effective ways. There was no need  for Jordan to throw Tolkien’s baby or the bathwater out; to do so would conflate experimental literature with worthwhile literature. Instead, Jordan changed so many variables that his fantasy series felt both familiar and different, while still retaining much of the genre’s comfort.

So, I can confidently call myself a fan of genre in all of its trappings. Not every flavour of genre, perhaps (I can’t say that I care much for Westerns or Romance), but enough that I can confidently walk to the sections of any bookstore I’m visiting and find something. It’s in this spirit that I wanted to create a new website focused on the genres I am the most inspired by, which you are currently visiting. 

LORE✧VERSED was founded to encourage the discovery of literature, specifically within the realms of fantasy, frights, fairytales and folklore. The books that resonated the most to me throughout my life can all be sorted into one of those boxes, and all of these genres of fiction (and non-fiction in some cases) lend themselves to worlds, plot,  and themes with incredible depth. Lore is the knowledge, beliefs, and stories that relate to places, concepts, and groups subject to their author’s narratives, making it incredibly valuable and unique literary device. An unsung hero of storytelling, you might say. No more. 

When my friend and longtime writing partner/editor passed after a long battle with cancer in August of 2018 I floundered for a while. I didn’t want to keep attending conventions, interviewing creatives, and writing about things I had only ever tackled with his input. When I pivoted to criticism and commentary of other forms of media it also felt aimless. I reached a point of depression where I knew I had to walk away until I felt like there was a reason to return to writing. LORE✧VERSED is that reason. I have a lot of different plans for its future, but all are motivated by my passion for lore alone.