Why You Should Read More Literary Fiction
Books can always offer us life lessons, but literary fiction is particularly good at this.
During this strange and unruly time, as I read more, I have been thinking about how fiction, and particularly, literary fiction, has provided me with a wealth of entertainment, comfort, and purpose over the past few months. And why it matters.
Covid-19 has forced the world to come together, in some cases more successfully than others, and books illustrate that power too. When readers connect over the same book, it creates a sense of unity that is easily lost in today’s world of standardized disconnect.
Despite the term, ‘fiction’ is often not so far fetched from our day to day lives, but more, an interpretation of it.
Literary fiction has many crossovers with the regular genre of fiction, however, it aims to analyze aspects of the human condition and usually contains a form of social commentary.
The tone of literary fiction can generally be darker, but it often forces us to feel empathy and connect with people across societies and cultures, we perhaps, would not get the chance to connect with or think about, in the real world.
There are always problems with categories, lets face it. The categorisation of literary fiction and fiction as two separate entities can negatively influence public perception, as sometimes people think literary fiction is more worthy than fiction when in reality both can have a similar impact but in different ways.
Literary fiction is different from regular fiction, but this never means it’s more important or can be used as a way to ridicule its sister genre.
So what sets it apart? And why is it important?
Literary fiction will often feature a strong, internal monologue, usually driven by a single character that narrates the entire novel, however, in some cases novels can switch between a few select characters. This makes literary fiction nearly entirely character-driven, but this doesn’t mean the plot should suffer.
Contained in the density of inner character studies is often a form of social commentary or political criticism — and this is particularly interesting when it is framed within a specific society, time or place.
Fiction can always teach us something. But literary fiction and its focus on the human experience can teach us a lot too. It forces us to feel empathy with people from different societies and cultures across the world.
I would even go as far as to say it encourages us to be better humans. To be more understanding, and to feel greater empathy.
Delving into the world of literary fiction during Covid-19 has made me realize how small and united humanity actually is — but how we often forget we are more similar than we think.
On the whole, literary fiction is an imperative genre that we can all learn from as it places people, experiences and societies at the forefront — reading it is naturally an education in itself.
So what are some examples of literary fiction? These are my personal three recommendations.
The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt
This is the first book that made me fall in love with literary fiction. I remember after finishing the book I was in a state of awe.
The Goldfinch is one of the finest examples of the literary fiction genre as it combines an in-depth analysis of the human condition whilst not sacrificing a suspenseful plot. Sometimes, literary fiction can subsidise the plot in favour of character development, but not in this case.
The story follows the life of Theo Decker who survives an explosion in a gallery as a young boy. Unfortunately, his mother doesn’t make it and as a result, he goes to live with a rich family friend until he’s captured by his alcoholic father. It’s a complicated and rich plot, which constantly keeps you hooked. It’s the kind of story where I can’t say too much without revealing it — but trust me, it’s gripping.
The novel follows Theo as he grows up, whilst analysing the fragility of the human condition and our inherent flaws as beings. Theo goes through cycles of addiction, obsession, failure, and difficult relationships — all the while hanging onto something from the explosion which could dramatically alter the course of his life if anyone found out.
It also contains elements of political commentary, as it shines an honest light on growing up in modern America and the societal problems that are rife; drug and alcohol abuse, addiction, and impacted family relationships.
It is a dark novel, but honest, revealing, and at the heart of it, an exploration of the fragility of people and life itself.
“…as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch.”
Hot Milk, Deborah Levy
Arguably far less dark than The Goldfinch, but Levy also manages to pull off both character development and a good plot. The story is told through the perspective of Sofia, a young anthropologist who travels to Spain with her mother in the hope of being able to solve her unexplainable illness.
It offers a deep insight into her life, worries, and concerns, as a 25-year-old daughter who effectively puts her life on hold to care for her mother. On display is an inverted mother-daughter relationship and the impact this can have on the course of a young person’s life. Sofia is restless but filled with endless ambition, throughout the novel she realizes she needs to set herself free.
Levy executes an intense character study that is coupled with a definitive plotline, as the reader stays hooked with the hope that Sofia’s mother will be cured of her mysterious ailments. The entire novel is crafted with beautiful language, and often, sections read like poetry.
I could feel the novel and its sensory nature long after finishing the final pages. It’s attention to detail made me question my surroundings and want to see the beauty in every day — its effect lingered.
“I am overflowing like coffee leaking from a paper cup. I wonder, shall I make myself smaller? Do I have enough space on Earth to make myself less?”
An American Marriage, Tayari Jones
Some will argue this comes under the general fiction bracket, but I would argue otherwise.
At the heart of the novel is Roy, a black man, who was put in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Newly married to Celestial, he has to navigate the beginning of his married life from a prison cell. The novel contains three intense character studies and alternates between them, containing the perspectives of Celestial, Roy, and Andre — Celestial’s best friend.
At the heart of the novel is a defining political critique that reveals the systemic racism that engulfs the American criminal justice system. Within this are comments on class, gender, and the lack of opportunities that a divisive, American society naturally creates.
It is to a large extent plot-driven but alongside this, contains intense character studies. The reader desperately wants Roy to be released from prison so he can resume his life. It also provides social commentary on the human condition with an analysis of relationships and their fragility, identity, values, and morality.
It is perhaps a re-working of the literary fiction genre, but a particularly powerful and timely one.
“A marriage is more than your heart, it’s your life. And we are not sharing ours.”
All literature is powerful and can alter our world view.
However, literary fiction forces us to confront people, experiences, and cultures that we wouldn’t usually be exposed to. It can make us feel more at one with human nature through shared empathy and experience but reignite our appreciation for the common struggle.
It shines a light on specific societies and cultures in the form of political critique — and thus, we can always learn something. It may not be a conventional method of education, but an important one.
Covid-19 has forced us to be more alienated from people, but simultaneously, united by the common experience of a pandemic which has affected every living person and society around the globe.
Reading literary fiction can offer a similar experience of unification, which is why it matters probably more than you think.
