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“My story is a work of literary fiction that will appeal to fans of…” Abraham Verghese…George Saunders…Barbara Kingsolver….

Because I frequently work in a literary-adjacent market—“upmarket” or book-club fiction—I see a lot of this kind of story pitch, ones that categorize the author’s work with that shiny coveted label of “literary” and drawing comps with some of the most lauded books of the category.

I’ma wade into another hotbed here, friends, and talk about why your manuscript probably isn’t “literary,” but mainstream.

Look up the definitions of these terms and you’ll find literary fiction summarized as realistic, serious, character-driven, with complex themes and elevated prose. Mainstream or commercial fiction is often described as plot-driven, bound by tropes, formulaic, with functional, simplistic prose.

There’s more than a whiff of classism here, as if a story that’s not full of highbrow concepts and prose is merely a yarn, pulp diversion for the masses, whereas literary fiction, so this perception goes, concerns itself with the profundity of the human condition.

Literary fiction is “art,” commercial fiction mere “entertainment.” 

Ugh.

Who can blame authors for not wanting to classify their own stories—which they may have labored over for months, years, sweated and bled into, spent untold hours and effort honing into something as finely wrought as they are capable of making it—as anything other than the often more prestigious connotation of literary fiction?

The problem with that is that this descriptor is not always accurate, which may get your otherwise entertaining and marketable story judged according to the wrong metrics and limit your efforts to get published or reach your target readers.

If authors want to increase their chances for success—by whatever yardstick you measure that, be it publication or sales or reviews, etc.—then it’s essential that you understand what category your story is likely to be slotted into by industry professionals, the market, and readers.

What Is Literary Fiction?

Often this depends on who you ask. Contrary to what authors may believe, there are no clear, broadly accepted definitions of what makes a book fall into this category.

In fact the genre of “literary fiction” didn’t even really exist before the late seventies or so, says English professor, author, and editor Dan Sinykin in his article “What Was Literary Fiction?” in The Nation. An editorial director of Bantam Books proffered the description for books that didn’t seem to fall neatly into the commercial or genre fiction categories, but he put quotes around the word “literary” and added, “for want of a better term.” (Hat tip to author Randy Susan Myers for these tidbits from her lovely recent article on fiction snobbery in Writer Unboxed.)

Editor Michael Woodson says in his Writer’s Digest article about the topic that literary fiction is “less of a genre and more a writing style” that tends to focus on “style, character, and theme over plot”; and is often slower paced, observational, and doesn’t conform to expected or familiar structures or tropes.

Given the amorphousness and the perceived stature of the term, writers may understandably think, why not call their genre-straddling or character-driven or lyrically written story “literary”?

Most sources agree, though, with the inherent squishiness and subjectivity of the term, offering some variation of “you know it when you see it” (reminiscent of Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s famous definition of pornography).

And many seem to agree on its perceived cachet: Reedsy says it’s “considered a prestige category”; Cambridge dictionary defines the word “literary” as denoting “written artistic works, especially those with a high and lasting artistic value.” Wikipedia just goes all in, saying that literary fiction may also be called “serious fiction, high literature, artistic literature, or sometimes just literature” and “is considered serious art by critics” and often “to have more artistic merit than popular genre fiction.”

Given the amorphousness and the perceived stature of the term, writers may understandably think, why not call their genre-straddling or character-driven or lyrically written story “literary”?

Why Calling Your Story “Literary” May Hamper It

I suspect that besides the prestige aspect of literary fiction, many authors might feel it makes their story more desirable to agents and editors—a “worthier” piece of fiction.

But the truth may be just the opposite: Literary fiction can be a much harder sell. There’s less readership for it, generally—commercial and genre fiction rule the market. Sales of works considered literary may also fall short of what a publisher (and author!) might expect or hope for from a commercial novel that hits a sweet spot in the zeitgeist…or even one that has average sales for the mainstream market. Literary fiction is a niche.

“Literary” authors are also often expected to have attendant qualifications and cachet themselves: MFAs from respected writing programs, high-profile awards, publication in renowned literary magazines, illustrious teaching credits. If you don’t have those things, you might be pushing the boulder even more steeply uphill.

Literary fiction—rightly or wrongly—is often held to a higher standard than commercial fiction might be. In offering editorial feedback on an early draft of one of my manuscripts, my literary agent encouraged me to continue to develop the plot and structure and momentum more propulsively and compellingly—in other words, to lean into the commercial elements. In order to successfully pull off the relatively introspective, thematic, more loosely structured story I had turned in to her, she said, my writing would have had to fall more toward the end of the spectrum with Ann Patchett or Anne Tyler or Annie Proulx.

I was knee-jerk offended by her intimation that my story was not on a par with those—but of course she was right. I was not any of the Anns (nor any other “high literary” author); and while I was writing a story about profound grief and a character “finding herself” (that most vague and frequently off-putting of character arc descriptions; I beg you not to use it), it wasn’t literary fiction. Calling it that isn’t, as I suspect authors may sometimes use it, a get-out-of-jail-free card for not worrying about developing strong momentum or pressing stakes or a propulsive, cohesive plot.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t deeply explore the character growth and themes—but it did mean I needed to continue to develop those core craft areas to meet reader and market expectations and make the thing sellable. After I understood this and did many years of development and rewriting, the story—my last novel—eventually sold to Berkley Publishing, a very mainstream Penguin Random imprint.

And that’s the thing: For all that it’s based on creative endeavors, publishing is a business, and authors have business decisions to make about their work and their careers. What is it you want from your writing? If you hope to publish your work, to sell it, to appeal to agents or publishers or readers enough for them to want to buy it and for you to make money at this career, then you’d better have a clear-eyed understanding of what you’re offering and its place in the market.

If you hope to publish your work, to sell it, to appeal to agents or publishers or readers enough for them to want to buy it and for you to make money at this career, then you’d better have a clear-eyed understanding of what you’re offering and its place in the market.

Here’s a plain truth: Successful literary fiction generally does showcase a depth of craft that successful commercial fiction doesn’t necessarily require. The most important guideline in the latter is to create an engaging, entertaining, broadly appealing story, ideally one with depth and heart that deeply engages readers. That doesn’t mean it can’t have insightful social commentary or thought-provoking themes or even gorgeous prose.

And it doesn’t make one genre superior to the other. In my own reading I generally far prefer well-developed, well-written commercial fiction with compelling characters and plot over even the most masterfully written “literary fiction” that feels like it’s simply swimming in the beautiful waters of its own prose (or as I like to put it, that gets too far up its own butthole).

But this isn’t a statement of the relative worth of either type of story, just my personal preference. And frankly, as I often tell authors, while some may look down on commercial fiction (I’m side-eyeing you, Jonathan Franzen), often it’s the commercial fiction authors who are far more likely to be recognizable names and making a living from their writing.

Let Go of the Stratification

“I write book club fiction…but not women’s fiction.” “I write women’s fiction, but not beach reads.” “I write beach reads—but not romance.”

I hear these kinds of disavowals a lot—writers wanting to make sure their stories aren’t dismissed as “just” whatever genre they find inferior.

But readers don’t care what a story is called—they only care if it’s good. These labels are just to help them find what they like in a bookstore. And guess what? There’s no shelf for “literary fiction” in nearly any store or library you may browse.

These categories are marketing terms—and not even an exact science, but simply a useful shorthand for industry pros to understand what type of story they’re reading and how to angle a book in the market. Many times readers don’t even know what the books they like are classified as—as this Substack post Jane Friedman recently shared about labels and marketing for young adult and crossover stories indicates.

I’ve talked to a lot of agents and in-house editors in my career, and I’ve learned two things about the many submissions they receive: They want to know that the author understands their own story and something of the market, and they want comps to give them an instant idea what kind of story to expect from the submission and how they might position it.

Both come down to this: Understand what you’re selling. (And yes, we’re creators creating art, but if we want to publish we’re also businesspeople offering a product we want to sell.) If I want a steak and you bring me a hamburger I’ll be disappointed–and vice versa. You can take off the bun and call it a filet, but it’s still not what I’m looking for.

And that’s not a value judgment—sometimes you want a slab of Wagyu, but sometimes you want a delicious, juicy burger. Neither one is inherently better than the other; it just depends on your taste and even your mood. (And guess which one sells a lot more?)

Read your ass off—it’s part of the job and will make you a better writer. It will help you understand the market and your particular corner of it. Find appropriate comps—just one or two; don’t barrage agents with a list of books that share any minor characteristic with yours. Here’s what they want to know: What kind of story am I about to read? Does it fit what I’m looking for? Do I know how to sell this?

Make yourself more appealing by making their job easier; show them you have a deep understanding of what you’re writing and how to position it in the market. Make sure the manuscript you send them delivers on those promises.

Most of all, quit worrying about how your story will be regarded. You have no control over that. Write a damn good book—whether it’s psychological suspense or historical fiction or SF or romantasy or that most nebulous of categories, “general fiction”—and readers will love it (and some won’t, and it won’t make any sense, and you have no control over that either).

Write the story. Make it good. And be proud of it.

Read more: "Luck and the Ladder of Life"

Okay, authors, weigh in here: What do you think of as “literary fiction”? Examine your standards: Do you subconsciously (or consciously) think of it as “better” than mainstream or genre fiction? If you’re using the term for your own stories, why, exactly: What specific elements of your story and style denote that genre for you? What do you hope for your published book—are you interested in healthy sales or broad market appeal, seeing your books in airports and libraries and Costco? Or are you aiming for a more niche market of readers? I want to know your thoughts and your thought processes!

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