Accessibility. A common word in the reviewer lexicon that I'm starting to hate.
When you look at the word from a dictionary point of view it seems like a good thing:
Accessibility- Handiness: the quality of being at hand when needed
- Approachability: the attribute of being easy to meet or deal with
But somehow this seemingly benign word has turned into a little bit of an insult.
Look at
this definition as an example:
- Accessible - capable of being read with comprehension; "readily accessible to the nonprofessional reader"; "the tales seem more approachable than his more difficult novels"
I know what's going on here. If a book is "accessible," what you're really saying is that it's
dumbed down.Accessibility has become one of the most overused words in reviewing-- right next to "gritty." I've used the word in the past and meant it as a compliment. One of the hardest things to do as a writer is to write in a way that has broad appeal. There are times when being likable is not the same thing as being good (*cough*Twilight*cough*) but I admire authors that can take a lot of complex ideas and convey the essence in a succinct way. Anyone who has tried to write a 200 word book review knows exactly how hard brevity can be.
I'm someone who likes books that are given the humdrum label of accessibility. But I also think we need to reexamine what the word
really means when we talk about literature.
When the word is applied to science fiction, it's pretty easy to read between the lines. If I can understand it, then it's not too complicated. But how complicated should it be? Should a scifi novel read like it was written by Stephen Hawking?
What about fantasy?
I have yet to read a fantasy book I couldn't understand. There are varying degrees of complexity, but nothing that I would say is incomprehensible. The use of maps-- or lack thereof-- has no bearing on whether or not I understand the world in which the story exists. I'm not even thrown by the dictionaries that are so often tacked on the end of a fantasy novel-- I'm good like that. And I'm pretty sure that holds true for most fans of fantasy fiction.
No. These days accessibility seems to cover a lot more territory; and in my opinion has more to do with taste, and maybe the need to dismiss a differing opinion, than anything else.
Here's my gripe. I'm kind of tired of profanity in my fiction. Call me a prude, but I feel like modern entertainment has gotten really coarse. I've read, and championed, more than a few books that drop the f-bomb like nobody's business, so you'd think I wouldn't mind. And I wouldn't if the success of one author didn't spawn a dozen copycats. It's like Hollywood and it's obsession with sequels. They assume that a monster hit in the 80's will automatically generate a huge audience 20-years later because we're too dumb to know that they're out of ideas. Well, publishing has proven that it too will churn-and-burn as many books in whatever style is currently fashionable to make a profit-- not that I blame anyone. I like to make money as much as the next guy. But, like any industry, once you start worrying more about what's popular, you forget to worry about what's good. Worse, you end up with an audience that becomes to immune to subtlety.
And I guess this is where I part ways with some of the other reviewers I cross paths with. I've noticed lately that when I say I like one author more than another who is known for their "edginess" I get the cyber equivalent of a pat on the head and the inevitable observation that it's nice that I like the more "accessible" author-- but it's time to let the grown-ups talk about their books now.
Okay. I exaggerate. But I'm a little miffed that there seems to be this notion that one
has to prefer books that bludgeon the reader with words rather than caress them with language. That it's somehow
dumber to forgo viciousness and sarcasm for something a little more inspiring. That "accessibility" is somehow not a desirable trait.
What can I say other than I completely disagree? I think it's much harder to be interesting when you don't fall back on the lowest common denominator. In fact, I wonder what you'd be left with if you take the profanity and violence out of some current fiction-- would there be a story left? Imagine if you did that with your average video game. Or reality show.
Maybe it's my age. But I feel like the real world is mean enough without it seeping so deeply into our entertainment. I like the dark stuff too-- just not all the time. So, if that makes me unintellectual-- so be it. All you other guys can be the smart ones-- I'll be the happy one.
The one where I didn't feel like smiling, but instead pulled a facial expression so wildly unsmiling that I look like I poked myself in the eye.
Trench coat: mother's, FoxRun. Fingerless gloves: Bancroft Clothing Store. Jeans: Forever21. Plaid shoes: Keds. Elven Brooch: Noble Collection, gift.
Beginning with natural-looking hair that could be achieved by someone with a hair texture different from mine. This is Joanna Bernacka, here to make your hair feel inadequate.
The mussed-up volume! The soft waves! The lived-in-ness!
Rumi's head in double braids (how is this even possible?), because there's something appealingly alien about really tight braids, especially in unexpected places.
Feather hair extensions. Not my style, but I'd be lying if I said that seeing it on other people didn't inspire major hair envy in me. Now, before we move into unnatural hair color territory, I'd just like to take a moment (or thirty) to let my hair envy bubble and splutter at the injustice of NOT HAVING HAIR LIKE THESE LADIES:
Have I mentioned that I have major redhead envy? Because my name is Samantha, and I have major redhead envy.
Not sure what era this hair would fall under (1920s judging by the length and perhaps finger waves?), but this is perfect in at least 47 ways.
Life is not fair.
NOT FAIR. If I wore a giant fur coat in the same color family as my hair, I would just look like any all-black-wearing fashion editor, not a quirky ass-kicking artist.
This is Vanessa from My heart blogged. WHAT IS HER HAIR EVEN. LOOK AT THAT IMPOSSIBLE TEXTURE.
This is Amber from Forever Amber. She is 13 shades of redhead PERFECT.
Jane, from Sea of Shoes, of course, because her hair is (or at least should be) legendary. It should be celebrated or described in a non-historical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier times and popularly accepted as historical. [source, source]
Stop it. Just stop it. This color is unreal. Jane Aldridge is not a real person. She is a hair goddess sent to live on earth among us mortals.
I can feel my hair's self-esteem stumbling into the gutter in a haze of hairspray-ethyl-alcohol, gambling, and loose women.
Flawless hair is flawless. When you are done weeping over your inadequate hair, pick yourself up and dust yourself off, because there is hope, and its name is UNNATURAL COLORING:
This is Chanelle from Not So Naked. I know it's kind of late for dip dye hair, but I want it. In shades of violet, dark blue, and sea green, so that I can feel like a Creature of the Deep is swimming around my head.
Augh. Her color even fades well.
Then again, if I dyed my hair like this, it wouldn't look the same anyway. The texture would be much more Severus Snape Dipped In Oil Meets Ceramic Flat Iron than Careless, Carefree, Calculated Nonchalance.
The photo that started my fishtail braid curiosity.
And of course, peacock-colored hair. With little plastic hairclips that I probably wore without irony when I was four.
I don't think I could ever go this light without looking sickly, but be still, my beating heart! This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.
