shewhomust (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shewhomust) wrote2005-06-16 09:15 pm
shewhomust) wrote2005-06-16 09:15 pm
In the same part of another book
While I was away, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nineweaving asked what we look for in a book.
she said, and I was about to leap in with a comment, and say yes, of course, voice is what does it, and then story, and, aslnhammer comments, to find out what happens next, and... Go read the original post, and then read all the comments on it, it's all excellent stuff.
But the more I tried to formulate my own list, the more I began to feel that it doesn't work like that:
For one thing, this is all about what I would like to find in a book. I want voice and imagination and story and vivid use of language and and and. But they don't all have to come in the same book: I'll read crime fiction where a clear narrative leads me through an ingenious plot, even if the language and the characters are pedestrian; I'll read poetry with no narrative at all if the words and the patterns they make do that thing that makes my spine twitch (though I can't read much poetry at one go); I'll read non-fiction if it's telling me about something interesting, even if the telling isn't too thrilling. A book may be way below my ideal, but if it offers me even one fact or one perception or one neat turn of phrase, I'll probably feel that I haven't wasted my time reading it.
At the other end of the spectrum, I feel a bit odd about specifying what I look for in my ideal book. It's as if I were listing the qualities I look for in a friend. I feel as if I were having one of those very blokeish conversations about being a leg man, or a tit man, or only fancying blondes... Which is not only reductive, it's pointless: the people and the books I really love have always come as a surprise.
Ah, perhaps that's the unifying factor: I read to be surprised, to discover something about the world, or the language, or myself that I didn't know.
Meanwhilepapersky considers not what, or why, but how we read.
nineweaving asked what we look for in a book."What I read for, first of all, is voice. Do I want to hear more of this rant, chant, whisper, Tuvan throat music, kazoo? If not, farewell."
she said, and I was about to leap in with a comment, and say yes, of course, voice is what does it, and then story, and, as
lnhammer comments, to find out what happens next, and... Go read the original post, and then read all the comments on it, it's all excellent stuff. But the more I tried to formulate my own list, the more I began to feel that it doesn't work like that:
For one thing, this is all about what I would like to find in a book. I want voice and imagination and story and vivid use of language and and and. But they don't all have to come in the same book: I'll read crime fiction where a clear narrative leads me through an ingenious plot, even if the language and the characters are pedestrian; I'll read poetry with no narrative at all if the words and the patterns they make do that thing that makes my spine twitch (though I can't read much poetry at one go); I'll read non-fiction if it's telling me about something interesting, even if the telling isn't too thrilling. A book may be way below my ideal, but if it offers me even one fact or one perception or one neat turn of phrase, I'll probably feel that I haven't wasted my time reading it.
At the other end of the spectrum, I feel a bit odd about specifying what I look for in my ideal book. It's as if I were listing the qualities I look for in a friend. I feel as if I were having one of those very blokeish conversations about being a leg man, or a tit man, or only fancying blondes... Which is not only reductive, it's pointless: the people and the books I really love have always come as a surprise.
Ah, perhaps that's the unifying factor: I read to be surprised, to discover something about the world, or the language, or myself that I didn't know.
Meanwhile
papersky considers not what, or why, but how we read.
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