Fiction is Dead
Sure, there's the usual range of murder mysteries and so on. Those will be with us to the end of the age. But what has happened to great adult literature, classics like those written by Stevenson and others decades ago? Where have the Steinbecks gone? The Poes? These authors of fiction, though often read by a younger crowd, spoke to larger realities of their world. Poe, for example, revealed through dreadful horror what a godless world looked like. Steinbeck captured the dust and dread of the Great Depression in his novels, picturing in sparse prose the despair of that age. Make no mistake--these works were often gobbled up by young audiences, but they expressed profoundly adult realities. In fact, contrary to what many would think, fictional literature of the past is some of the more philosophical writing you can find. Philosophy may be woven into character development and plot twists, but it's there.
This has changed today. Now, we don't read fictional stories. Or, if we do, we read pulp novels. John Grisham is one example. His novels don't communicate much in the way of philosophical argument. They are essentially entertainment by way of the written word. No, in this age, adult fiction has died. The agent of this death? The television and movie screen. Our generation has not lost the love of story that so characterized earlier generations. We, however, prefer our stories to be acted out on screen. We do not have time, or patience, or energy for a 500-page novel. Give it to us quick, give it us now, give it us flashy. Sorry, fiction. In case you hadn't noticed, you have passed from the world of adults. Did anyone notice?