It has occurred to me in recent years that, sometimes, novels with which you were not so impressed as a younger man can contain scenes that hang around in memory for decades, often because they contain the seeds of a truth that you only understand, or recognise, after more life experience.*
This has left me feeling that I should try reading modern fiction again, because now I may appreciate insights into character and behaviour more quickly, and not have to wait decades to appreciate it fully.
But - it seems that modern literary fiction is dominated by women, and looking at synopses of the popular novels around, I find their choice of topics rather uninspiring. (I don't know who this guy is, but I don't find much to disagree with in his post Is fiction too female coded?)
My other lament, which I have mentioned before in the context of movies, is that the weird political scene in the US, and the culture wars generally, seems extremely ripe for fictional, probably satirical, treatment; but it just isn't happening, as far as I can tell. Where (as other have asked) is the modern Tom Wolfe?
I have given up on science fiction, as "it's all been done before", and
I remain steadfastly resistant to fantasy. I know a lot of people
liked Terry Pratchett, but I'm not drawn to his oeuvre.
Do I blame authors, publishers, or the book buyers themselves? Probably all them, to some degree.
I guess I can always go back and read some of the famous 20th century authors who I never got around to - but I'm not sure who to start with, and besides, I do feel I want something set in the contemporary world too, because it has become so strange!
So yeah, I am not sure what to read that is set close to the current day, and it's bothering me.
Update: So, it's not a fiction book, but I can still marvel at what some people think is worth writing about. From a summary of up and coming releases in the New York Times:
The Dry Season
by Melissa Febos
Reeling from the end of a “ravaging vortex” of a relationship, Febos — a self-described serial monogamist who gave up alcohol and drugs at 23 — decides to give up sex and dating at 35, if only for three months. “To my great surprise,” she writes, those months become “the happiest of my life,” and turn into a year. This ode to female celibacy interweaves personal memoir with literary and historical research, incorporating the influence of Sappho, Virginia Woolf, Octavia E. Butler and others.
Oh, I see this is her background:
Febos is the author of Whip Smart (St Martin's Press 2010), a memoir of her work as a professional dominatrix while she was studying at The New School.
So she makes both kinky sex and no sex into publication money. I propose she stop talking about it completely.
* Admittedly, sometimes it's memorable only because of a surprise element, which is not such an achievement. Other stories sometimes come back to mind for no obvious reason, even when I remember at the time of reading it I may have been pretty dismissive of its quality and thought it was a bit of a waste of time. I really don't know how my father's brain worked in this regard - he would get my mother to go to the library about once a fortnight and take out (I think) three books - always "mainstream" novels and not particularly literary or genre based - and would read them all. He wasn't fussy, although I suppose my Mum always chose books that looked of interest to men, not women. Anyhow, how much of these stories stuck in his head; or does reading fiction constantly work like an overwriting of the memory banks?