Resuscitating Novel Conversation: They Once Started Debates–Now, They Just Tick Boxes.

– From Page-Turners to Thought-Starters, Books Should Do More Than Just Sell

In a 2021 interview for the BBC podcast ‘Pride or Prejudice: How We Read Now,’ literary agent Jonny Geller, expressed a concern that experimental and challenging literature was on the decline as the publishing world began to focus solely on books that could sell quickly. If a 2023 panel I attended featuring three of his industry colleagues is anything to go by, he’s not alone in his concern. It seems, according to Geller, that somewhere in the ‘9os, the industry shifted from producing what the writers wanted to write towards prioritising what the reader wanted to read. 

This is understandable really—if you want to make a living out of writing, you kind of have to write to the whims of a larger audience, and obviously publishing companies ultimately want to make money. I’m all for books as escapism—with obvious storylines, predictable plots, neat character arcs, and signposts on every page so you don’t even have to try and remember key information. Nice and formulaic in a package my father would likely have called ‘brain rotting material.’ 

Let me be very clear, I am disinclined to agree with that notion. I think this style of literature is just as necessary. You can’t escape if you can’t shut off your brain, right? There’s very much a sense of safety in formulaic writing and sometimes you just don’t want to be faced with confronting, complex narratives. But when more and more adult readers turn to Young and New Adult fiction—genres that often prioritise readability over complexity—and writers increasingly opt for self-publishing, challenging stories are pushed into university classrooms, or limited by social media algorithms, and out of reach of the general public. These more accessible novels begin to over-saturate the market, and then we have a problem. We start to get writers falling out of love with their own writing as they try to force their narratives into this capitalistic approach to storytelling and better fit social media algorithms. We lose books which may begin as literary, philosophical, or hard sci-fi, to the ‘formula for success.’ Are publishers risking our ability to think critically, in a world that is seriously lacking empathy and understanding at the moment, in order to make more money, while the internet encourages authors to sell their souls to make a living?

Good or Bad, The Rise of Formula. 

 One of my favourite quotes by Poe about writing is from his ‘Philosophy of Composition’, (1846), he says that the reader “is the one who truly determines the meaning of the story, for it is the reader who gives it its ultimate moral, purpose, and significance.” Basically, when a writer puts their work out into the world, they have no control over its reception. Campaigners in 2021 claiming ‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’ perpetuates rape culture is an extreme example–book banning in general the obvious. Yet social media writing coaches and some major publishers still seem to strongly encourage a one-size-fits-all mentality anyway. Both in how we approach storytelling and how we execute it. Even certain MAs encourage students to always consider the ‘marketability’ of their writing, which can become frustrating and off-putting for those whose work does not seem to fit the markets at all. Likely, this rise in formality has come off the back of an increase in self-publication, which saw its first major boom in 2010 with the emergence of KDP, and then its most significant during the Covid lockdown, when traditional publishers faced acquisition limitations. A quick, formulaic approach that encourages writers to hook the audience fast, include romance (extra points for enemies to lovers), and keep the prose short, concise, and snappy is an easy-to-follow blueprint which helps independent authors compete in an algorithmic system that values quantity, ease of message, and thrill over originality and complex introspection. 

Where the 19th century had pay-by-the-word serial padding, the 21st century has rapid-release algorithm-fighting cheat sheets to maintain visibility. Authors simply don’t have the time anymore to spend on developing complex literary fiction like they did in the 1800s if they want to actually sell their work and continue to do so into the future. So the market becomes flooded with formulaic narratives. The issue of the few devil-may-care writers who give indie publishing a bad name is a topic for another day—thankfully independent books are gaining in respect as many opt into hiring professional editors and proofreaders. There’s also a semi-secret part of the formula that essentially says, ‘first, you produce shit to get noticed, and then when you land an agent, you can write what you want.’ Although landing a traditional publishing deal is not the goal for every independent author. 

But according to this cheat-sheet formula, no one wants full scientific explanations in their sci-fi anymore, so move over Asimov and Herbert, you’re boring us. As for the reflective, philosophical and critically introspective prose of Dostoyevsky, Dickens and Melville? No thank you, keep that stuff in non-fiction where it belongs, amIright? If your book doesn’t fit into either Young or New Adult and is easy to swallow with a nice neat moral, is it even worth pursuing as an independent author? When publishers and writers alike focus on what the reader wants, we get a cycle of the same narratives cropping up over and over. Not to mention how the somewhat problematic formula for a ‘successful MMC’ presents a distorted view of ‘alpha males.’ Which, when repeated across quick, marketable literature, can directly influence how real men and boys view themselves in comparison—but that’s also a discussion for another day. Just because these narratives sell quickly doesn’t mean we want them repeated, just look at ACOTAR. While Silver Flames was commercially successful in 2021, there was a distinct loss of interest in the story since the series’ initial release in 2015, as readers condemned the overly explicit content which seemed to replace character development. Four books in, and my friends are telling me not to bother continuing the series after book 2 because it’s repetitive. Maybe Maas just flew too close to the sun, or maybe, despite the sales, readers don’t want the same easy formulas on repeat, they just want to complete their book collection. 

 The genre did get a reboot in 2023 with Fourth Wing, which again had great commercial success but was ultimately criticised for predictability, lack of depth and unsophisticated writing. With readers stating ‘From the first few pages of this book, I knew everything that I needed to know about the plot and the way this story was going.” [kiiitasticBook, ‘Same as it ever was’, 2024] And honestly, I agreed, I’ve not bothered reading the sequels because, by the end of Fourth Wing, I could already guess the narrative of Iron Flame. As Kiiitastic goes on to point out, just because we already know what will happen because of a predictable formula, doesn’t automatically mean the book itself is bad. But perhaps writing to a formula of ‘what the reader wants’ is actually authors falling victim to the Novelty Effect or Neophilia, whereby readers flock to a new shiny release simply because it’s new, or in some cases written by their favourite celebrity, rather than because it actually suits their tastes. While it did reach the top of several sales lists, and essentially spearheaded a new genre, like Fourth Wing, the later novels in ACATOR received criticism for predictability and easy plot structure, something that, if you care to look, is a common theme across a lot of Young Adult, and the rising ‘popularity’ of New Adult fiction which—at time of writing this—still dominates the sales market.

The Formula Effect 

  I’ve lost count of how many times my critique partner has said, “but my writing group says you need to do this…” and I reply, “I don’t care.”

Writing is meant to push boundaries and break rules. It’s meant to reflect the sides of humanity that we cannot face every day or that’s hidden behind our masks. It’s meant to be a window into different styles, voices and perspectives, a chance for readers and writers alike to feel seen and have conversations from a “neutral, composite, oblique space…the negative where all identity is lost.” [Roland Barthes, ‘The Death of The Author’] The one-size-fits-all mentality is detrimental to our ability to think outside our own normal, and the moment we strip writers of their freedom to write, we are reducing books to mere products–easily consumed and commercialised but lacking in originality.

  What this pressure for conformity—intentional or otherwise—does, is begin to marginalise literary and complex fiction. Either by relegating it to fight against the darkness of Bookstagram’s algorithm as more authors opt for self-publishing or by demoralising writers to the point that they give up writing it. Not everyone has the patience or mental capacity of Stephen King to endure 30 rejections from traditional publishers to get even a chance at publishing the novel they want—let alone the time required to produce enough content to stay relevant as an independent. I mourn all the books that have never been written because of this system.

Here’s the real kicker. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that were Herbert or Melville writing today, they would not get published via traditional methods. They’d likely be told they need to cut large chunks of their novels—particularly Melville with his propensity for lengthy, philosophical side quests into minor characters—in order to fit these narrative expectations. In the spirit of balanced arguments though, I will point out that even in a time when challenging fiction and critical social commentary were more prominent, Moby Dick only managed to sell 50 copies during its initial publication and around 3,000 total in Melville’s lifetime. Which means even when literary fiction was popular, Melville was ‘too experimental’ and ‘philosophically complex.’ 

Nevertheless, in a modern world where it feels like experimental rule breakers are having to fight to be acknowledged over the noise of formulaic writing, Moby Dick is considered a literary great, and a first edition of the original English publication is now worth over £135,000. Not only that, but in the December 2024 edition of the podcast ‘Blacklisted’, Moby Dick was praised as being an example ‘of what literature could be.’ But considering today’s reader-first climate, stories like it still don’t seem to be worth the cost or algorithm boosts of publication. The question is, is this because readers no longer care for a challenging read–which the negative reviews about simplistic plot suggest otherwise–or because they simply cannot access it? In ‘Pride or Prejudice: How We Read’ it’s suggested that cancel culture and a fear of controversialism may have a role to play in this too, since a lot of critical and literary fiction often includes some disturbing, uncomfortable themes and characters. Which comes back to book banning, as students advocate for certain novels to be removed from the curriculums for their overt misogyny or outdated viewpoints and authors are held to trial as advocates for the opinions of their characters, we are nurturing a sense of fear about potentially writing ‘the wrong thing’. But if we don’t read, study or write these novels, we are limiting our ability at critical and empathetic thought by not opening ourselves up to new and difficult ideas. While condemning these types of books to academia rather than encouraging new writers and commercial circulation, we are robbing the majority of readers from experiencing them and dooming ourselves to a box-thinking generation. Complex literary novels encouraging social or self-reflections become twisted as Shakespeare did, written for the masses but trapped in the lofty hands of the few. 

Breaking the Narrative. 

Enter Rachel Cusk. If you’ve read both Second Place and Moby Dick, or even just the former but have seen the size of the latter, you may be forgiven for thinking an attempt at comparison is absurd. But bear with me on this. Both Second Place (2021) and Moby Dick (1851) reject the traditional rules of storytelling and essentially forgo a formulaic plot structure in favour of reflective monologuing. Not only do they have narrators with strong introspective and philosophical voices, but they each explore themes of existentialism, power, control, and the pursuit of the unobtainable. Cusk is just more controlled in her writing style, and instead of a white whale we have a tragic, somewhat narcissistic artist. Both encourage the reader to engage with their stories more critically as M and Ahab confront the futility and self-destructiveness of chasing power and/or possession over things you can’t control. They accept that the moment a book leaves the author’s hands, it belongs to the reader, regardless of the formula, morals or meaning they put into it. They write from this place of ‘intransitivity’ and the author dies.   

As Poe suggests, that’s simply the nature of literature. I’ve personally watched beta readers find meanings and themes in my own writing that I never initially thought of or consciously intended. So if I’d listened to coaches or writing groups, any neat little arc or purpose I’d structured into Heads or Tails at their encouragement would’ve been a waste of time, and, frankly reviews wouldn’t have been as fun to read. I want to create arguments over interpretation, not just plot and character, for the “possibilities of the novel…to remain endless.” So that no matter how many times you read it, you may “never get to the bottom of it.”[Jarred McGinnis]

 Yet, despite these similarities, and a popularity boost of 510% after it was long-listed for the 2021 Booker prize, Second Place is still not at the forefront of literary conversation, and the initial launch was polarising with criticism like ‘overly philosophical,’ ‘too abstract,’ and ‘self-important.’ Sound familiar? So regardless of Melville being ‘what literature could be,’ books with similar unconventional structures are still not gaining the acknowledgement they should. Are they, like the classic writers we love today, doomed to reach their literary heights/recognition after the literal death of the writer, when they too shall be placed on the shelves of classrooms rather than the hands of the public? If books that challenge our point of view are increasingly lost to algorithms in favour of Neophilia and easy sales, what does that mean for our capacity to think critically about the world we live in? In a time when the spread of misinformation increasingly overshadows fact and reason, the ability to think beyond the surface level isn’t just a literary concern; it’s a societal one too.  

The Death of the Novel

But there is hope. Once a deal has been made, it takes around two years for a book to get published traditionally. What this tells me is, if agents like Geller and his colleagues were pushing back against the loss of critical literature in 2021 and 2023, we should be due a surge in the traditional market of more writers like Cusk in the coming years. Writers who aren’t afraid to continue thwarting conventions and are ultimately rewarded for it. But a change like that, in a market that seems to love familiarity, needs help from conscious readers with the ability to review as objectively as the author writes. But when readers condemn novels like Iron Widow, by Xiran Jay Zhao to 1 star reviews for how they portray feminine rage and ‘Lazy characterisation’ because ‘despite being raised the same,’ the MC thinks differently to the other women, but then goes on to leave 5 stars for ACOMAF, a formulaic novel that follows the same character archetypes and rules as every other paranormal romance with mating bonds, and includes overt acts of misogynistic control disguised as protection, you have to wonder how objective they are actually being in their review. How their familiarity with simplistic, stable characterisations seen across formulaic Young and New Adult romances has left them incapable of objectively understanding a more complex, nuanced character, allegorising the rage and sacrifices women feel/make when forced to swallow the most heinous acts of injustice, because we don’t have giant robots to destroy the patriarchy with. At risk of turning this into a review for Iron Widow, I feel the reviewer overlooked what the other female characters in the novel actually represent. The reason they act so shallow when really, they aren’t. As an author myself, trust me when I say, nothing in a character’s action or words is done without intent. How you interpret it is unfortunately not up to us. Ultimately, the complaints made against Iron Widow could easily be made against ACOMAF, yet Maas is quickly forgiven. The simple fact is that Iron Widow does not fit with the reviewers outlook or experiences so no matter how well it’s written or how thought provoking the concepts, it gets 1 star and places the reviewer in the ironic position of embodying the very ‘[un]nuanced’ characters they claimed to dislike in the novel. 

You would be justified right now if you’re thinking, ‘but isn’t this just the kind of debate you’re arguing for?’ so I shall try and clarify. 

Everyone is entitled to their opinions, you’re allowed to dislike certain novels and actually I would love to have a chat with that reviewer about their opinion because their review was fairly well written and clearly the book made them feel something very strongly. However, traditional and independent authors alike rely on reviews to help get their work the acknowledgment it deserves, especially when battling the algorithms of social media. So when a reviewer hits that 1 star for nothing more than ‘this is not my view,’ or because they are viewing it through the lenses of ‘formulaic reasoning’ rather than potential ‘critical commentary,’ it’s harming the reach of that novel. Not only by lowering its rating, but by telling those who follow them that this novel is not worth reading. A better example would be Ben Logsdon, an independent author (because indie authors don’t have the aid of publishers when it comes to marketing their work. They only have themselves and the reader). In Memoirs of a Household Demon (2025) Logsdon takes a philosophically, spiritual approach to the paranormal fantasy genre. For me, it felt more spiritual than preachy, but that’s just me. However, Memoirs was criticised in a 1 star review for having a ‘conservative view on morality,’ discussing, ‘the bible,’ ‘prayer,’ and ‘talking directly about God.’ [Review on Goodreads] This reviewer is a self-confessed atheist. Let me remind you, it’s a book about angels and demons and the possibility of a demon rising back into God’s good graces. What exactly did they expect when they opened the book? The review even began by praising the novel for twisting standard conventions for the genre in a ‘refreshing’ way with a ‘pleasantly unique, nostalgic’ writing style, but still gave it 1 star based solely on it ‘not aligning with my morals’—nothing to do with the book itself or how it was written but rather how a book about angels and demons was too religious. This highlights a need to view reviews, as well as the books themselves, in a more critical light. If you are one to look to book reviews before purchase, I encourage you to read the 1 stars and ask yourself, ‘Is this bias?’ 

 A book shouldn’t be cast out as 1 star simply because you don’t agree with your interpretation of it. All this does is ensure that novels rebelling against convention are more likely to remain on the sidelines. (This reviewer also cited a lack of realism… in a fantasy book… which honestly says it all). If anything, this review should have been 2 stars minimum, 3 at most. 

But the point is, there are examples of authors emerging both independently and traditionally who are beginning to push back against the over-saturated ‘normal’ created by self-publishing over the past few years, and finding ways to manipulate the algorithms in their favour. Even books like Second Place and Iron Widow are finding ground and recognition today, despite being published in 2021. Something has shifted to bring them to a wider attention. It starts with genre blendings like Romantasy, Paraligous, and Alternate History, and hopefully, it returns to complex originality, both speculative genre and literary, that challenges societal ideas taking its turn in the spotlight again. They just need more conscientious reviewers' helping them beat the algorithmic void.

So anyone currently navigating the pressures of a one-size-fits-all, formulaic approach to writing and feeling unsure or overwhelmed, stick at it.  Your time is coming and we need you. As when algorithms and hype cycles dictate what sells, muddying the truth of ‘what the reader wants’, and unobjective, biased reviews nurture the system, we risk losing not just complex stories, but the critical thinking ability to appreciate them. If that fades, what do we have left? A readership that mistakes familiarity for understanding, entertainment for genuine sentiment and readers and writers alike that are drawn to what comes next, rather than what lasts. We end up with Donald-fricking-Trump.