Hello and welcome back to another thrilling installment of Am I the Literary Asshole?, the advice column that wants you to consider anonymously sending me your hot takes in lieu of simply tweeting them out and causing a five-alarm literary fire. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I’m happy to be here with you all today. It’s nice to have a moment of levity in the midst of a cacophony of horrors, isn’t it? Thanks for letting me share this goofy, drunken space with you.
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Today I’m serving up a batch of sangria because to be quite honest with you, I genuinely need the nutrients that come from eating the wine-soaked fruit. (What, it’s healthy! And wine’s technically a grape.)
So why don’t we just sit back, relax, and slip into something a little more comfortable. First up on the docket? Audiobook quandaries…
1) I know, I know—audiobooks are real books, it’s ableist to say otherwise, etc. I know this fully and at least mostly believe in it. I’d love to ask, dad, if you think I’m an asshole for thinking that the quality of narrator greatly impacts the literary experience of a book, and also that as a writer who reveres form and shape, surely there is something missing if you don’t know anything about a story’s written page??? I don’t even want to talk about this with my friends, because the discourse goes straight to the flat and uninteresting “audiobooks are real books (and btw I play them on 3x speed and listen to one a day at work).”
I feel so frustrated by how textureless the discussions are, given how much I personally think we’re giving up with audiobooks. Do I listen to them? Sure—but only for authors where I’ve got a good grip of their craft and I’ve read them before, or (okay maybe I’m an asshole) books where I don’t care about their craft at all and I’m just in it for the genre. Secretly, when someone says they’ve listened to my audiobook, I feel obviously 110% grateful but am a little disappointed. Is there a better way to talk about audiobooks without everyone getting immediately suspicious?
Wow, we’re really starting off with a spicy take!
To be honest, this feels a little like a few different questions smashed together to form a convoluted octopus of thoughts, so I’ll to try and untangle things the best that I can.
I’ll start off by saying that your original nod is one hundred percent correct: audiobooks are real books. It’s important that we all know that and accept it as general fact! The librarian in me hopped up and immediately started rattling the bars of her cage (quiet in there, you) because we’re both in agreement that if you’re reading in any format, you are reading. That’s simply all there is to it.
Of course, with all books, there are variables when it comes to levels of enjoyment. If you don’t like that particular narrator, then of course it’s fine to decide that you don’t want to listen to it. Again, this all boils down to preference. Disliking a particular person’s voice for an audiobook doesn’t necessarily make you an asshole! You just might be picky about tone and pitch and cadence. We feel that way about music, right? That’s normal!
Form and shape are interesting points to bring up here. When I think about these things, I’m reminded of the way that I enjoy poetry. Yes, I do love to see it on the page; notice how things sit. But does that mean I don’t enjoy it when I hear the poet read the poem aloud? No, it does not. I would even venture to say that form and shape are accommodated by things like inflection, pause, and breath. These things are shape. They are form!
I have to admit, it does sound like the other things you’re bringing up here have less to do with the audiobook part and possibly more to do with how you personally like to read. You bring up specific examples here—friends who are listening to audiobooks who power through them at 3x speed, for example—and it’s not hard to make the leap that because they’re getting through them more quickly than you, you’ve decided to make a value judgement. Just because they’re enjoying them at their own particular pace doesn’t means they’re reading them the wrong way.
Friend, there is no one right way to enjoy art. Just like everyone has different ways of writing, everyone reads differently, too. I urge you to let this one go.
And hey, not everyone listens to audiobooks, and you certainly don’t have to! I’ll admit that I can have a difficult time with them myself, mostly because my mind will wander and I’m forced to rewind so I can pay better attention. But you know what? That happens to me with print books occasionally, too, so I guess it’s just part of life!
And now on to our next caller (and our next giant pour of sangria):
2) Can you be friends with someone if you don’t like their partner’s writing? I mean like real friends, the kind who are honest and talk about everything. I have a very good friend who’s been in a long-term relationship for close to a decade and I won’t mince words with you—I think the partner’s writing sucks. And they talk about it non-stop! So I can’t avoid it! I feel like I can’t be honest with my friend because we’re always subjected to their partner’s work and so I’ve got to lie or everyone will be mad. Am I the asshole here?
Woof! This one is tough.
I mean, it sucks that you don’t like this person’s work and you’re forced to hear about it all the time. That’s never fun. I guess I have a few questions in response to your question, if I can be perfectly frank? Like, first of all, does your friend like their partner’s work? Because if they do, and it’s just you that’s hating on it, that would be… a different story. Has your friend given you the impression that they don’t think it’s any good? Or told you that having to hear about this “bad” writing all the time is bothersome to them? From what you’ve written here, it doesn’t seem like they’re all that put out by it.
Then the question becomes this: what do you mean by “real” friendship? Do you mean you want to have the complete freedom to say anything you want to this person? Because I will go ahead and tell you that’s not how friendship works. I mean, yes, it’s important to have open and honest conversations with the people closest to us, to respect each other, to want to be the best and most full version of ourselves. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you need to tell your good friend every bad thing you’re thinking. This is likely one of those situations where some tact needs to be employed.
If you want to keep this good friend, start planning activities where the partner doesn’t have to be present. Have dinners together, go to movies, try and walk in the park. Stuff where it’s just the two of you. Odds are your relationship will improve and you won’t have to talk about her partner’s writing at all. Unless, of course, she decides to bring it up!
Let’s split the last of this sangria and gulp it down while we take a peek at our final question of the day:
3) This is nuts, sorry dad. I don’t read horror because I’m a massive scaredy-cat through and through. But there’s a writer in town I’d love to connect with, and that’s his genre! What do you do when you don’t read someone’s genre for your own peace of mind, and are therefore a bad book launch attendee, first reader, etc. If someone was a friend and writer and didn’t read, say, romance or speculative, even though there are legitimate reasons, there’s such an anti-genre bias that it feels hard to not think they hold the same judgment many do. Anyways I guess I’m just asking if having really bad nightmares is a good reason to not read someone’s work, and how you would approach someone if you thought maybe you could be friends but they are clearly in a place where horror books are everything.
Oh, this is going to be the easiest question of the day! Thank you for that!
If your potential new friend is a horror writer, they’re well versed in the fact that some people are going to be too scared to deal with the content they’re creating. It’s part of the trade! This is different than the other genres you’ve mentioned here because many people have very real fears attached to horror. This writer, if they’re someone you want befriend, will understand that. If anything, they’ll be happy that you want to get to know them. They’ll be flattered that you care about their work, even if you’re not going to be someone who reads it.
Simply preface your interaction by letting them know that you’ve always been too much of scaredy cat to get into horror, but let them know that you admire what they’ve created, regardless of that fact. Follow that up with other writerly questions. Get to know them outside of that particular genre. Don’t give yourself nightmares over this! Everything will work out just fine, I promise.
And that’s all we’ve got for today, folks! Join me next time when I read more of your questions and hopefully I will have also pried all the fruit free from the bottom of this sangria carafe.
Send me your questions!
Orange you glad,
Dad
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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask Kristen via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.
