Sunday, May 21, 2006 AD
Dan Brown: genre traitor
As the Internet Monk and Thomas remind us, it's best all round not to take The Da Vinci Code too seriously. But that does raise two questions: why do so many people who have read the book appear to take seriously some of the claims it makes? And are Christians missing the point when they attack a book that is just a trashy airport thriller?
In other words, have both groups made an error that is basically literary in nature: misunderstanding the book, failing to understand it as a work of "genre fiction" and mistaking it for something of greater significance than is intended?
Well, to some extent that's no doubt true. But when we look more closely at the genre to which DVC belongs, I'd suggest that the confusion arising from the book stems from the fact that Dan Brown is breaking the rules of his chosen genre.
The film critic Mark Kermode has argued that many "serious" film critics often completely misunderstand "trashy" films, because they fail to understand the importance of genre. In particular, Kermode makes the interesting suggestion that most genres rely on a "contract" between the film-maker/author and the viewer/reader. So, for example, the "comedy" contract is: "You make me laugh, and then you can do what you want". The "horror" contract is: "You scare me, and then you can do what you want".
The Da Vinci Code presents itself as belonging to a genre that we might call, "educational thriller". This is the genre to which books such as Robert Harris' books (Fatherland, Enigma, Pompeii) belong, as well as books by the likes of Tom Clancy. The father of the genre is probably Frederick Forsyth, whose Day of the Jackal famously included detailed research on how to obtain a forged UK passport, using a loophole that Forsyth insists remains unclosed even today.
The "contract" for the "educational thriller" is: "You give me an exciting pageturner of a read, and make me feel like I'm learning something, and then you can do what you want". Robert Harris' Pompeii is an excellent example: it's a rattling good read, great fun, but you also feel you've learnt something about life in Pompeii in AD76, and about the eruption of Vesuvius.
Of course, this means that you are taking the author on trust: the rules of the genre are that the author does piles and piles of research, and then incorporates that research into the novel in a manner that is interesting and educational, but also serves the plot rather than interrupting it. (Robert Harris is excellent at this, and I recommend any of his books as great holiday reading.)
This then explains the surprising influence of the ideas contained in The Da Vinci Code. People are reading it as an "educational thriller". They are taking Dan Brown's assertions about early church history on trust, as they take Robert Harris' assertions about the history of Bletchley Park on trust, and as they take Tom Clancy's excursions into the technical details of US Navy submarines on trust. And the book itself encourages them to do so, with its introductory note explaining that the Priory of Sion really exists, and that all details of history and architecture in the book are true.
However, Dan Brown is betraying that trust. He is breaking the contract between himself and his audience, transgressing the rules of his chosen genre, and thus betraying his audience's trust. It is not "missing the point" to object to the misrepresentations of Jesus and early church history found in DVC: it is taking the book on its own terms, and in terms of its genre.
In other words, have both groups made an error that is basically literary in nature: misunderstanding the book, failing to understand it as a work of "genre fiction" and mistaking it for something of greater significance than is intended?
Well, to some extent that's no doubt true. But when we look more closely at the genre to which DVC belongs, I'd suggest that the confusion arising from the book stems from the fact that Dan Brown is breaking the rules of his chosen genre.
The film critic Mark Kermode has argued that many "serious" film critics often completely misunderstand "trashy" films, because they fail to understand the importance of genre. In particular, Kermode makes the interesting suggestion that most genres rely on a "contract" between the film-maker/author and the viewer/reader. So, for example, the "comedy" contract is: "You make me laugh, and then you can do what you want". The "horror" contract is: "You scare me, and then you can do what you want".
The Da Vinci Code presents itself as belonging to a genre that we might call, "educational thriller". This is the genre to which books such as Robert Harris' books (Fatherland, Enigma, Pompeii) belong, as well as books by the likes of Tom Clancy. The father of the genre is probably Frederick Forsyth, whose Day of the Jackal famously included detailed research on how to obtain a forged UK passport, using a loophole that Forsyth insists remains unclosed even today.
The "contract" for the "educational thriller" is: "You give me an exciting pageturner of a read, and make me feel like I'm learning something, and then you can do what you want". Robert Harris' Pompeii is an excellent example: it's a rattling good read, great fun, but you also feel you've learnt something about life in Pompeii in AD76, and about the eruption of Vesuvius.
Of course, this means that you are taking the author on trust: the rules of the genre are that the author does piles and piles of research, and then incorporates that research into the novel in a manner that is interesting and educational, but also serves the plot rather than interrupting it. (Robert Harris is excellent at this, and I recommend any of his books as great holiday reading.)
This then explains the surprising influence of the ideas contained in The Da Vinci Code. People are reading it as an "educational thriller". They are taking Dan Brown's assertions about early church history on trust, as they take Robert Harris' assertions about the history of Bletchley Park on trust, and as they take Tom Clancy's excursions into the technical details of US Navy submarines on trust. And the book itself encourages them to do so, with its introductory note explaining that the Priory of Sion really exists, and that all details of history and architecture in the book are true.
However, Dan Brown is betraying that trust. He is breaking the contract between himself and his audience, transgressing the rules of his chosen genre, and thus betraying his audience's trust. It is not "missing the point" to object to the misrepresentations of Jesus and early church history found in DVC: it is taking the book on its own terms, and in terms of its genre.
