On learning from
the popular fictions that (eventually) make us cringe.
He wasn’t the
first author I truly loved—that honor would go, if I have to settle on one, to Edward
Ormondroyd. Nor was he the first in whose library I read multiple works—Tolkien
takes that crown, as I ploughed through The
Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings
in the summer before 6th grade. But Tolkien’s books are all
connected, and in fact he even considered Lord
of the Rings one long novel (it was his publisher who
insisted that it be divided into a trilogy). And so I would have to admit
that the first author for whom I read multiple unconnected books—who, that is,
inspired me to check out different offerings not because a series compelled me,
but just because I needed more—was none other than the dean of American
military and espionage porn, Tom Clancy.
It’s easy, and
not entirely inaccurate, to claim that the Clancy beloved to 11 year old
AmericanStudier was substantially different than the author has become in the
decades since. I would certainly argue that around the time of Debt
of Honor and Executive
Orders Clancy decided to make his right-wing politics much more central
to his books, and it’s no coincidence that this decidedly not right-wing reader
found those novels much less appealing; I made it through Rainbox
Six and then said “No mas.” But honesty compels me to admit that in
looking back at the Clancy books I loved, a list headed by The
Hunt for Red October and Red
Storm Rising, I find them full of similarly objectionable adulation for
the military, contempt for the “bureaucrats” who try to limit it, xenophobia
(other than toward foreigners who are also true soldiers, who are wonderful in
every culture), and more. They may have been better novels than the later
books, that is, but I still feel pretty guilty about how much pleasure I got
out of them.
Yet if I move
beyond that guilt, I think it’s fair to say that I can learn a good deal from
my youthful infatuation with the Clancy. Partly, of course, I can learn about
how talented, best-selling authors find their niche audiences and deliver the
goods—for Clancy, it’s fair to say that middle school boys (or men who haven’t
quite outgrown that phase) are a core such audience, and he gave us all the
submarine battles, tank warfare, and macho heroics we could handle. (In Red Storm, a meek weatherman finds his
inner macho warrior and wins a blonde Icelandic beauty.) But Clancy’s appeal
isn’t that simple—I’m sure there are lots of authors who write about similar
subjects and themes and would not have done it for me nearly as fully. He also
constructs perfect thriller plots, whether on a small scale (as in October) or the broadest (as in Storm); and the truth, even if we lit
snobs don’t like to admit it, is that the same can be said for many of the
great novels. Scarlet Letter? Absalom? Beloved? All thrillers in their own way, perfectly plotted to lead
us to their climactic revelations. I’m not saying Clancy is on par with those
folks—but they’re all writers, all novels, and all worth our analytical time.
Last popular
fiction post tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Thoughts on Clancy or similar authors? Suggestions, favorites, or other
responses?
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