A book blog posted on the UK’s Guardian – entitled “Life's Too Short for Thousand-Page Novels” by Jean Hannah Edelstein – really, ahem, got my goat recently. Edelstein wrote: “…we are living in an era where novels of epic length are unlikely to be of interest to most readers. In part, it's about the way that we live and read… Aside from the challenge of ignoring all the digital noise, even the most Luddite readers have finite lifetimes to devote to reading. And when there are so many thousands of books to enjoy, it seems inefficient to read a single volume of 200,000 words if there's any risk that it won't be a work of staggering genius (more often than not – yes, I'm going to say it – they're boring, or at least intercut with seriously boring chunks) when the time could be equally spent enjoying a diversity of works from several different writers.”
Well, one thing is blatantly clear here – Edelstein definitely isn’t a fan of science fiction/fantasy. While some mainstream or literary fiction readers may seek out lightweight reads – books you can easily fit into your back pocket or purse and can devour within a few hours – I personally love a good shelf-bender. You know, novels that when read while lying in a bed or on a couch inevitably cut off the circulation to your extremities; books that, if dropped from more than a few feet, could very easily maim or kill small animals. (Ironically enough, I’ve used Stephen King’s It [1,104 pages] to eradicate numerous creepy-crawlies over the years...)
Science fiction and (especially) fantasy novels are all about immersion – the joy of reading these types of stories comes in large part from the totality of it all: the richly described new worlds, the fantastical flora and fauna, the unique cultures and social structures, etc. Rushing through this experience would defeat the purpose of it all – it would be like watching an entire movie in fast-forward or sprinting through The Louvre. These shelf-bending reads – like L. Ron Hubbard’s Battlefield Earth [1,083 pages] or George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire: A Game of Thrones [807 pages], A Clash of Kings [1,040 pages], A Storm of Swords [1,219 pages] and A Feast for Crows [1,104 pages] – were meant to be savored, to be digested slowly. What’s the mad rush, anyway? We’re not mayflies, for God’s sake!
In a world of tight deadlines, ever-increasing workloads, and a seemingly endless barrage of digital distractions (twitter feeds, facebook status updates, iPhone 3G apps, etc.), I go out of my way to seek out good, quality, “meaty” reads – after all, I want my literary escapism to last as long as possible! I’d much rather read an exceptionally written shelf-bending novel or saga – like J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings: Collector's Edition [1,216 pages] or Peter F. Hamilton’s Commonwealth saga: Pandora's Star [992 pages] and Judas Unchained [1,024 pages] – than a hundred mediocre short novels.
Does anyone really care how long a novel is? Isn’t the quality of the narrative far more important than the length? My reading preferences are the exact opposite of Edelstein’s: if I’m enjoying a particular storyline – like Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle: Quicksilver (960 pages), The Confusion (815 pages) and The System of the World (928 pages), for example – I’m hopeful for even more pages because I want the immersion to continue! So in response to the statement – “Life's Too Short for Thousand-Page Novels” – I say this: life’s too short to judge a book simply by its number of pages.
