Anyone who’s ever seen a rerun of the classic series Frasier knows how subtle excellent taste is supposed to be. Niles and Frasier seemed forever in pursuit of the finest art or wine, the best caviar, the most exclusive club, while their father was happy to settle for a beer in front of the tube (they had picture tubes in televisions back then). Martin, their father, never did figure out exactly what his sons saw in those things they called “the best.” Oh, he recognized the hoity-toity pride and bragging that went with procuring a bottle of the finest wine, but never figured out what made it the best. Not when beer went down so well, and so much less expensively.
Over the weekend my husband and I were discussing how man is capable of being so subtle in his taste. In contrast, our dog has almost no discrimination. She loves every scrap of food sent her way, whether my meager culinary talents are on or off on any given day. She also treats every person welcomed into this house with the same warmth and enthusiasm, apparently convinced each is the loveliest person she’s ever met.
Our discussion led me to ponder the varying degree of subtlety in books. Anyone who writes or reads the literary genre will be quick to point out there are books and then there is literature. But to readers who love nearly any kind of story, do they really care about the differences between a genre book and something considered literary?
Some readers may not dissect why they love certain stories. A well-crafted book is often subtle in its greatness. Either the story is so compelling that it appeals across genres, or the characters so unforgettable that the reader just has to tell someone else about them. When plot, character and storytelling ability are woven together inside one cover then it’s almost guaranteed readers will love it. That’s when all the puzzle pieces of the plot fit, and that plot is carried out through characters we all want to spend time with or are fascinated by, using words in narrative and dialogue that are so well chosen that now and then we just have to pause and think—wow, simple profundity. Books that do that for me are Peace Like A River and To Kill A Mockingbird, to name just a couple.
But what is it that makes something excellent? I’ve judged enough writing contests to believe wholeheartedly that excellence in writing is subjective. What I think is wonderful another reader might view as “okay.” Part of it might also go back to the question of subtlety again, as well as how we’re wired. If Frasier were on one end of a spectrum and Martin on the other, all of us fall somewhere along that line.
It has to do with the layers our complicated brains are willing to detect. When we’re interested in something, we love to uncover those layers—to learn and grow and yes, I’m going to use the word evolve. Our taste can evolve into something that learns to recognize the subtleties that artists and writers strive to include in their work.
So here’s to the subtleties in the arts—without them, we’d be more like my dog. And while we might learn something about how we should treat our fellow man, she just cannot be trusted to judge the quality of anything I cook. Or write.
Join Me!