Right now I’m working on a story about a teacher whose life is upended by World War Two. It was going well until I came to the part where I had to describe my protagonist’s wartime experiences. They will form a small part of the overall storyline, since they are merely a catalyst for the real story, but my muse is having trouble swallowing even such a small dose of the military. Whenever she contemplates questions such as What form of transport brought Australian troops to the front in Germany? her eyes glaze over and she decides to stretch out on the chaise and have a nap.
It’s strange that someone who generally loves history should find military history so dull, yet I do, especially the post-1900 variety. I don’t mind learning about medieval conflicts, particularly as they pertain to a country’s wider history, and I find the American Civil War fascinating. Even accounts of war that concentrate on humanist issues – the events that led Hitler to do what he did, for instance – can hold my interest. But as soon as someone starts rattling off dates and squadron numbers and battlefields, I’m done for. I just don't care what General Bloggs did at the Battle of Wherever on such and such a date. Or take Antiques Roadshow: I can binge watch that motherfucker until someone brings in their grandad’s war medals. Then it’s time to visit Facebook for a few minutes.
I have similar tastes as a reader of fiction. I have tried and failed to read military books as disparate as The Cruel Sea and Catch-22. My eyes move across the words but nothing registers in my brain and I soon discover I’m thinking about something else. It’s like I’m in high school again and trying to read something written by Jane Austen.
Crime fiction is no better. Several years ago, I picked up The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler as part of a concerted effort to broaden my reading horizons. My first reaction was almost pornographic: I lapped up its sharp, shiny sentences, well-drawn characters (the old guy in the glasshouse got me intrigued right away), interesting premise and smart sense of humour. I began to have visions where Chandler's every novel lined my bookshelves. But about 100 pages in something unexpected happened: I got bored.
Crime dramas, crime thrillers, crime anything, make my mind wander, in large part due to exposition. The necessary but tedious delivery of facts in a procedural is like being stuck in a bar with some self-obsessed drunk telling a story. Or worse (and more accurately), listening to a cop recount events in front of a jury. It also breaks the rule to which I subscribe religiously: show don't tell. Head to your local bookshop (assuming your town or suburb still has one), however, and you will find one of the biggest sections is devoted to crime fiction.
This variance in reader tastes is heartening to the author who is still trying to establish himself, because it also applies to style. More than once I’ve expressed my dislike for post-modernist wank-fests such as the above-mentioned Catch-22, yet if you visit Goodreads you’ll find it has a slew of five-star reviews. Good writing – that is, prose with strong fundamentals and a unique or appealing style – will almost always find a home. Editors are readers too, so if one doesn’t like your particular style, another will.
Speaking of which, better get back to that war story. Yawn…