With License to Snark

Serial novels* have always been, to me, a mystery of sorts: who reads them, who writes them, and what could possibly make them so interesting? While I understand the charm of the Victorian serial novel, the apparent allure of the current I do not.

( The awful synopsis, for illustrative purposes. )

The book opens with a handy list of the dramatis persona (after the lovely front page, which in my copy bares the signature of the author), followed by a preface on "Fact and Fiction" and off we go, in medias res, no less. As early as page 73 the heroine is  deflowered; the waves go white, a storm builds, there's rain and wind; the waves are frothy, by the way, and the lightning surrounds them completely.

So, from what I can gather, it is a book, set in medieval Norway, written by an upper secondary teacher of history and norwegian, about a girl of 16. She happens to be attractive, thin, get married off to some sod and generally be miserable but hold her head high. Character develo-what? Oh, and there's "love and secret dates, arranged marriage, murder and threats - all come together in a very exciting and dramatic story from a time when blood and family could mean everything". It's just all so very dashing.

This never did turn into the not-so-snarky post about current serial novels I had intended, it turned into a characteristically snarky one on why I think the book is a piece of rubbish, instead. But, get back to me in a month or so, when I've gotten sufficiently bored to actually read the thing, and I'll do a piece on the charms of serial novels. In lieu of the author's defence, the other book like this I've skimmed was worse. The name of the entire series is "Inga Torfinnsdatter" and the first book is simply called "Farlige følelser" (perilous emotions).

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* For lack of a better term, I've dubbed them - perhaps erroneously - "serial novels". I know the term is used in reference to the novels that were published chapter by chapter, particularly during the victorian age, but a series of novels just does not quite do the thing justice - or rather, illustrate the lack thereof. I'm referring to the kind of paper-back novels one finds in the kiosk or the newsstand at the corner. Maidens in distress, virginities lost and that sort of fun. And always in no less than 20 installments, preferably a lot more. They are, from what two specimens I've skimmed through, the unfulfilled sexual fantasies of the authors.

With License to Snark

Serial novels* have always been, to me, a mystery of sorts: who reads them, who writes them, and what could possibly make them so interesting? While I understand the charm of the Victorian serial novel, the apparent allure of the current I do not.

( The awful synopsis, for illustrative purposes. )

The book opens with a handy list of the dramatis persona (after the lovely front page, which in my copy bares the signature of the author), followed by a preface on "Fact and Fiction" and off we go, in medias res, no less. As early as page 73 the heroine is  deflowered; the waves go white, a storm builds, there's rain and wind; the waves are frothy, by the way, and the lightning surrounds them completely.

So, from what I can gather, it is a book, set in medieval Norway, written by an upper secondary teacher of history and norwegian, about a girl of 16. She happens to be attractive, thin, get married off to some sod and generally be miserable but hold her head high. Character develo-what? Oh, and there's "love and secret dates, arranged marriage, murder and threats - all come together in a very exciting and dramatic story from a time when blood and family could mean everything". It's just all so very dashing.

This never did turn into the not-so-snarky post about current serial novels I had intended, it turned into a characteristically snarky one on why I think the book is a piece of rubbish, instead. But, get back to me in a month or so, when I've gotten sufficiently bored to actually read the thing, and I'll do a piece on the charms of serial novels. In lieu of the author's defence, the other book like this I've skimmed was worse. The name of the entire series is "Inga Torfinnsdatter" and the first book is simply called "Farlige følelser" (perilous emotions).

    ----

* For lack of a better term, I've dubbed them - perhaps erroneously - "serial novels". I know the term is used in reference to the novels that were published chapter by chapter, particularly during the victorian age, but a series of novels just does not quite do the thing justice - or rather, illustrate the lack thereof. I'm referring to the kind of paper-back novels one finds in the kiosk or the newsstand at the corner. Maidens in distress, virginities lost and that sort of fun. And always in no less than 20 installments, preferably a lot more. They are, from what two specimens I've skimmed through, the unfulfilled sexual fantasies of the authors.