Why I don't read non-fiction
Friday, July 8, 2011 at 11:35PM Here’s a confession – although a good ninety percent of what I write is non-fiction, I rarely read other people’s. I force myself to from time to time, but medicinally: as little as possible and because I know I should.
There are exceptions. I enjoy anything by Helen Garner. I gobble up her non-fiction as though it were fiction (ironic, given that her fiction is supposed by many to be non-fiction). On occasion I read devotional books and theology with fervour.
But these are the exceptions that prove the rule. I have a voracious appetite for fiction. I always have a novel on the go, and although I am powerfully caught up in whatever world I am immersed in, like a chain smoker, the minute I put one novel down, I’m looking desperately for the next.
My mother was an avid reader, but my memories are of her with biographies or poetry. I can’t remember ever having read a biography in my life. As for poetry, I’m sure it’s a good thing, as long as I don’t have to actually read the stuff.
In theory, immersing myself in good poetry, quite apart from any enjoyment it might offer, will make me a better writer. Such economy! Such richness! Such love of words! But although I don’t mind hearing poetry read, I seldom pick up a poetry book myself. As for writing it, I did that with grim enthusiasm through my depression years. Since I got happy, I haven’t written a word of poetry, nor really wanted to.
I have read a memoir or two, but I had to force myself to finish them. Like poetry, the writing can be beautiful, but there’s something missing. I have been writing a memoir cum family history myself for several years but I know something is lacking there too: something to do with narrative drive. Most memoirs just don’t have it.
It’s the narrative drive, or lack thereof that is the key to why I don’t read non-fiction. When I read, what I want is a story. It’s the promise of story that gets me in: plot, mystery, suspense, the development of characters that I have come to know and feel an interest in, even if I don’t particularly like them.
Story is what has captured human beings as long as they have been around. Gathering at the campfire, in the temple/mosque/synagogue, on their mothers’ laps, story is what people wanted and still do. Jesus knew that; it’s why so many of his recorded words are parables.
I understand that there are those who love reading non-fiction. I have a friend whose sole diet is self-improvement books. People enjoy journals and newspapers – a beast I have learned to love over many years, although what I turn to first are always the book and film reviews.
But I cannot resist the lure of fiction – pretty much any kind. At the end of the first half of this year, I reviewed the list of books I’ve read thus far in 2011. Thirty-four books, two of which were non-fiction and thirteen of which were detective novels.
Detective fiction is what I read when I really want to relax. And it just keeps getting better. These days, there’s an embarrassment of riches when it comes to beautifully written whodunits and variations thereof. I have discovered with delight the usual suspects – Ian Rankin, Val McDermid, Elizabeth George, Susan Hill, Garry Disher, the list could go on and on.
Recently, though, I’ve returned to some of the old girls, of whom we have several shelves at our beach shack. Not just Agatha Christie, but also Margery Allingham, Patricia Wentworth, Dorothy Sayers, Ngaio Marsh. Great stuff, and a lot more escapist than the Rankins and McDermids with their bleak, black, despairing view of the world. Which is probably a far more accurate depiction of life, but not necessarily what I want to immerse myself in at a rare break at the beach.
On my bedside table, there is always a selection of books. A book on the mystics, or meditation, maybe a memoir, or some sort of self-improvement tome. They sit there reproachfully, these poor non-fiction rejects, and rarely get a look in. It’s the novel I reach for, longingly, mouth almost watering with anticipation, every time I get a chance to read.
Maybe that’s why, despite only ever having had non-fiction published, I still haven’t lost the dream of writing a novel. In fact it’s been written, several times over. First time, thirteen years ago, a reworking every few years. Never quite good enough. I had given up, really, until this year, when I enrolled in a mentorship program in an attempt to give it one last burl.
If this shot doesn’t work, will I give up the dream? Probably not. Reading novels is one of the things that gives me greatest pleasure in life. So the pinnacle of achievement for me would be having a novel published, and read, and loved. So, back to the laptop I go. Chapter 41, draft six.
Reader Comments (8)
Hi Clare,
I enjoy all your posts, particularly this one as I relate to it totally.
Don't give up the novel - remember Elizabeth Jolley and I know there are others, even that bloke who won a literary prize a couple of days ago.
Jane
Ah, Clare! Keep working on that novel. Narrative - I couldn't agree more. Now and then a non-fiction book grabs me - but it's the narrative. For example, Kim Traill's "Red Square Blues" has great drive. The book reproaching me on my bedside table at the moment is Kathleen Norris' "Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith." Supposed to be very good. I may never know! Happy reading! Harriet
Fiction started me reading as a boy. The chance to escape my own confusing and threatening world and be delivered into another where I learned to be another self. So 'Robinsom Crusoe' The Swiss Family Robinson' and 'Treasure Island' led me further into escaping through fiction. Even now, I can get lost in the world of a novel and only come back reluctantly.
As you'd expect Clare, I'd counsel not giving up on poetry.The poet Wallace Stevens said that "Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame." (A High Toned Old Christian Woman). I suggest you treat it as literary medicine and take a little once a day just before sleep. It promotes good dreams!
And don't give up on the novel.
Rod
Clare, you say: 'It’s the narrative drive, or lack thereof that is the key to why I don’t read non-fiction. When I read, what I want is a story.'
I reckon you'll find a fair bit of narrative drive in The Surgeon of Crowthorne (by Simon Winchester?), a non-fiction book about a contributor to the original Oxford dictionary.
And you'll also find a fair whack of story in Truman Capote's In Cold Blood.
Or Michael McGirr's Bypass.
Or Peter Rose's Rose Boys.
Or Bob Dylan's Chronicles Volume One.
Or Patti Smith's Just Kids.
Or Paul Kelly's How To Make Gravy.
Or Bill Bryson's guides to travel and language.
Or Matthew Condon's Brisbane.
Or Nick Hornby's non-fiction, High Fidelity and 31 Songs, plus his essays about reading.
Having said that, I've just come back from the library with the latest collection of Roddy Doyle short stories, Bullfighting.
All the best
Vin
I live for poetry, Clare - it's as essential as breathing to me!
Also, I like fiction, J M Coetzee is a favourite - I'm always hanging out for his next book and I recently read "The Book Thief" which was brilliant.
I'm currently reading a biography of Michael Kirby, retired High Court judge, by A J Brown, which I'm enjoying too.
Vin's recommendation of Capote's 'In Cold Blood' is on the mark too.
-Vacheron Constantin Malte watches Swisscious food for thought and, yes, it is a bit like falling in love, isn’t it? The allure, the mystery, the need to know more, as though by knowing more, by discovering more, it will somehow add to your completion,
Mum, I've felt a similar way about most poetry until just recently. I've been teaching the poetry of Robert Frost to my year 12s within the context of 'imaginative landscape' and I have been just loving it - surprisingly most of them seem to be too! In fact some of them (even the boys!) have been writing their own poetry in response. One student has written a collection of poems so beautiful they made me teary. We have been exploring Gwen Harwood, Edward Thomas and Philip Larkin in addition, and all seem to be writing about real stuff in real words. I wouldn't read it at bed time or curled up by the fire of an evening, but I have been enjoying reading it aloud to Will at home and my students at school and feeling the beauty in the rhythm and the brevity and succinctness.
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