Recently, there has been a lot of talk about the “decline of the literary (straight) (white) male.” The marginal benefit provided by an additional take on this topic, some clever new angle walking the tightrope between edgy and politically correct, is rapidly approaching zero.
The problem with these articles—and the discourse as a whole—is that none of them go far enough. There is an impassable chasm between the stardom of Mailer, Updike, McCarthy, DFW, Franzen, etc and whoever is getting fellowships and is published in The New Yorker or Paris Review today. Yet the chief complaint from advocates for the literary men is that they are unfairly denied these fellowships and publications. I’m sure they’re being discriminated against, but you’re just replacing one group of people you’ve never heard of, with a different group of people you’ve never heard of with different sex organs.
This may well be a Title VII problem, but there’s a bait-and-switch happening: the rhetorical appeal of the conversation about literary men depends on the fall-off from The Greats—the juxtaposition between their success and the barren opportunities for literary men today. Yet no one seems willing to contend with the fact that this is not just an issue for literary men, it’s an issue for everyone. What non-identity quality do The Greats have in common that virtually all young contemporary literary fiction writers (Rooney aside), don’t? It’s obvious—people knew about them and bought their books.
The 21st century collapse in American literary fiction’s cultural impact, measured by commercial sales and the capacity to produce well-known great writers, stems less from identity politics or smartphones than from a combined supply shock (the shrinking magazine or academia pipeline) and demand shock (the move away from writing books that appeal to normal readers in order to seek prestige inside the world of lit-fiction)
To start, take a look at Publisher Weekly’s “list of best-selling novels of 1962:”
Ship of Fools by Katherine Anne Porter Dearly Beloved by Anne Morrow Lindbergh A Shade of Difference by Allen Drury Youngblood Hawke by Herman Wouk Franny and Zooey by J. D. Salinger
Here’s 1963:
The Shoes of the Fisherman by Morris West The Group by Mary McCarthy Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters, and Seymour-An Introduction by J. D. Salinger Caravans by James A. Michener Elizabeth Appleton by John O'Hara
It feels a little cruel to rub it in, but for comparison’s sake here’s 2023:
It Ends with Us by Colleen Hoover It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros Atomic Habits by James Clear Dog Man: Twenty Thousand Fleas Under the Sea by Dav Pilkey
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