In today’s book market there are a number of dividing lines between the camps of ‘literary’ and ‘genre’ fiction, with one prominent differentiation being the latter grouping’s growing obsession with sequels. Whereas the lit-fiction field tends toward potent, stand-alone entries, the vast majority of genre categories – mystery and sci-fi/fantasy most prominently – encourage expansive, multi-volume collections. This is a trend that’s gained such acceptance over the past ten to fifteen years that today – barring quality of writing and originality of concept – the most bolstering quality a novelist’s query letter can contain is the promise of not a single manuscript, but a series in the making.
For author, agent and publisher, the multi-book plotline has obvious perks in terms of production, publicity and profit. When J. K. Rowling first set foot on the market, she did so not with The Philosopher’s Stone clutched to breast, but Harry Potter and the Literary Gold Mine (followed quickly by the sequel, Harry Potter and the Right to Print One’s Own Money). So while the series holds obvious and tremendous appeal in the eyes of the producer, what of the readership?
It’s not uncommon to catch sight of a few rolled eyes when someone mentions that the latest entry in a ten-book marathon is due out soon, and only too often can a reader find themselves following a storyline that has joined the ranks of the living-dead, with what should have passed-on serenely and dignified at the end of the first or second epilogue instead out of its grave and hobbling lamely onward.
That being said, is this trend really so negative a development? Some among the hardline lit-elite might criticize genre writers for cheapening their work by adhering to a ‘machine-gun’ format of mass-produced manuscripts, yet it cannot be denied that the whole of the Atwood fanbase would be a speck on the ocean if set among globally gathered Potter supporters.
In terms of quality, it’s a bit puerile to argue that series-status either makes or breaks an author’s work. Some series succeed in their aims, with readers demanding more pages and patrolling the shelves, on-watch for the next edition, while others leave you preferring to solder-shut your own eyelids than see the next shell in this literary bombing-run hit the stores. Most readers can tell easily the difference between a winning story that deserves continuation and an author who’s beaten their proverbial horse, and then some. Often, however, what turns so many minds against series in general is that a reader will have likely invested in the first two or three books before being able to make this judgment – and so feels cheated of a satisfactory conclusion to a long-running tale, should the plot peter-out.
In truth, the real question regarding series-fever is not its impact on the quality of books, but upon the norms and expectations of the market. As mentioned above, most aspiring authors attending a writers’ workshop will hear it uttered that a good book sells, but even a mediocre series sells more. For those among the readership who find themselves browsing the shelves, seeking a one-off read that won’t require a follow-up bookstore visit in order to reach plotline finality, the fact that it’s becoming increasingly difficult for genre authors to produce just one book and then move on to a new, separate project is a sad but solidifying fact.
In the end, it may be that most have begun adjusting to this multi-volume mainstream already, bidding a slow goodbye to the solo story without even knowing it. Consider that it’s almost as common to hear someone tell you about “the new series I’m reading . . .” as it is “the new book . . .”. At least in terms of genre-fiction, the average reader knows, if only subconsciously, that they are often not merely buying a book when they approach the checkout, but investing in a relationship that will possibly last for years, and which they may never see through to the actual, final conclusion.