Telling Children's Stories: Narrative Theory and Children's Literature

2. Familiarity Breeds a Following: Transcending the Formulaicin the Snicket Series

22 2 { Familiarity Breeds a Following Transcending the Formulaic in the Snicket Series danielle russell The fiction series stands out in the realm of children’s literature for several reasons. A popular format since its inception in the nineteenth century, series books have always targeted children.1 Twentieth-century series, Deirdre Johnson asserts, “rest firmly on a nineteenth-century foundation” (147). Content and characters “may reflect twentieth-century perspectives,” but the patterns of series books are carryovers from the past (147).2 The formulas have been so well established that they are instantly familiar. This fact is incorporated into The Children’s Literature Dictionary entry for “series”: “a group of works centering on a single subject, author, format, or character. Developed in the nineteenth-century . . . based on formulas yielding superficial characters and predictable plots” (Brodie, Latrobe, and White 153). Also carried over from the nineteenth century is a critical response that is often condescending, if not condemning. The tendency to disparage series fiction has a long history. Both the quality of writing and the sensational content of the books were the target of numerous critics. Peter Soderbergh offers a succinct summary of the protests of the critics: poor prose, a reliance on “exaggeration and sensationalism,” and the Danielle Russell { 23 “assembly-line manner of production” (65). Published in vast numbers at a rapid pace, early series fiction was viewed as less literary because it was mass produced. Nancy Romalov insists that the “campaign against series books” was symptomatic “of the ongoing discourse over ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture, of larger debates about literary value and about who gets to do the valuing” (113). It was linked with the public library movement—“larger reform efforts [. . .] that sought to shape public behavior” (113). Literature was viewed, in part at least, as a tool of socialization. The fact that series fiction flourished then and now reveals the futility of the antiseries rhetoric; popular opinion sided (and sides) with the books.3 But what became of the debate about the literary value of series fiction? The dire warnings of the nineteenth century have diminished in our time. For the most part the moral tone has disappeared; a lingering suspicion of the incompatibility of literary creation and mass production, however, remains. Soderbergh divides twentieth-century responses to children’s series fiction into two camps: classicists (“loath to relinquish the power of choice to the child, genuinely concerned he or she might linger too long on impoverished material”) and developmentalists (who deem “debates on literary merit” “unprofitable” and directed parents and teachers to “view reading as a continuum [. . .] and the various reading stages as identifiable elements in the total maturation process”) (70–71). The classicists adopt a protective stance, standing between the impressionable child reader and series fiction with its “poor literary quality” (70). In contrast, developmentalists sidestep the issue of literary merit, focusing instead on the need to empower the child. The act of reading, in this context, is key, not the reading material. Series fiction represents one stage in the development of the child reader. The implication is that parents and educators need not be concerned with the books because they are merely a phase (presumably to be outgrown) in the child’s literary life. Developmentalists argue in favor of the child reader’s autonomy—at least in terms of selecting his or her own books—but do not necessarily differ from the classicists 24 } Familiarity Breeds a Following in their assessment of series fiction. As Soderbergh perceptively notes, both approaches avoid why or how series fiction captivates an audience. Neglect has replaced critical bias, proposes Victor Watson; “perfunctory treatment”—focusing critical attention on the first book while summarizing or listing sequels—“implies that to follow a successful novel with a sequel is a loss of writerly seriousness , a decline into repetitive and formulaic spin-offs” (537). Such a dismissive approach is not without risks; critics who rely on generalizations can (and do) get things wrong. The assumption that the formulaic cannot accommodate variety is challenged by the popular Lemony Snicket series. After the first novel each text is instantly familiar; the reading experience is remarkably (or annoyingly) similar. Patterns are quickly established and maintained through most of the series. Difference is found in the content of the narratives rather than the style of the series.4 Expanding Territories: Playing with(in) Patterns “Formulaic?” queries Gregory Maguire of the Snicket books. “Selfconsciously , generously...