Category: Read This Not That

 Anyone familiar with the outcome of the epic battle of David vs. Goliath will not be surprised at the winner of this memoir vs. fiction face-off. Both Wendy McClure’s memoir I’m Not the New Me (2005) and Danielle Steel’s novel Big Girl (2010) depict how the struggles of everyday life–from family to dating–are influenced or exacerbated by issues of weight and identity. Unrestrained by factuality, great fiction can compete or even excel over memoir in creating an experience that resonates on a realistic emotional level. However, in this case, McClure outshines Steel in offering a complex, realistic narrative and an insightful and witty voice. Even fans of Steel have frequently remarked that Big Girl is repetitious and its characters, one-dimensional. (Many noted that the book seems to fall outside the Steel brand due to either the subject itself or its treatment.) While McClure’s readers may feel frustrated by the lack of closure in her book, this absence of a definitive ending at least reads true-to-life given that issues of image and self-esteem can be an ongoing struggle.

Even considering the subjectivity of book reviews, an average of reader responses from Amazon and other forums clearly favor McClure in terms of literary merit. Yet indicators of sales, as well as bookstore and media interest suggest that greater public attention is given to Steel. This problem of disproportionate awareness is unsurprising in our brand-driven culture yet continually affecting. It demonstrates the war between Brand and Brand New, between the comfort of knowing what you’re getting and the risk of the unfamiliar. And in this case, the brand fails to deliver on its inherent promise. Therefore, if you can read only one, read this, not that.

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Harrison Ford fans and Bibliophiles of the ‘80s are likely to remember the suspense that captivated Presumed Innocent readers and moviegoers alike: Who is Rusty Sabich really–other than the district attorney accused of murdering his mistress—innocent victim of a frame-up? roadkill on the path of political ambition? or an insider working the justice system in his favor? With the release of Innocent, a sequel, Scott Turow wants us to reconsider these questions anew when Sabich’s wife dies suspiciously. Read This, Not That asks, should we take the bait?

A comparison of Presumed Innocent with its sequel raises issues intrinsic to most sequels: the obstacle of reader expectations and the risk to both writer and reader of disappointment or even backlash against the original work. A good sequel allows readers to reconnect with characters and recapture the feelings and reading experience they had originally—but in a completely fresh, new way. With a book like Presumed Innocent, readers are bound to expect surprises and shocking plot twists from a sequel, but how can such twists possibly have the same impact if they are anticipated? What follows are ways a writer might handle the challenges of sequel writing as well as the particular choices Turow made.

Solution 1: Change Main Characters/Narrator (aka The Cop-out)

While there may be some instances when a sequel can benefit from a change in narration or character emphasis, readers are picking up a sequel in large part because of an interest in the original protagonist. When writers employ this solution, it often comes across as laziness and laziness tends to be pervasive, popping up in other aspects of a novel as well. Thankfully, Turow does not fall into this trap. In Innocent, focus diverted from Rusty is minimal and purposeful.

Solution 2: Delay a Sequel (aka The Lollygag)

If a sequel comes out long enough after the original, there’s a good chance readers will have forgotten aspects of the first. It could mean less direct comparison and less chance for disappointment but it also could mean no comparison at all if the audience has forgotten so much that they fail to pick up the sequel at all–a plus for readers but a headache for publicists. Turow’s long twenty-three year wait before producing a Innocent risks the latter and likely prompts some to wonder if this return to his Most Valued Protagonist after so much time is a sign of the creative well running dry. For readers, however, the lag time is fairly insignificant. Innocent can successfully stand on its own as a novel, having ample but not annoying references to the plot of its predecessor. In fact, there’s an interesting parallel in that the MVP has aged too and the publishing delay supports this feeling of time gone by.

Solution 3:  Change the Formula (aka The Master)

The idea behind this solution is that whatever strategy worked for an original novel can’t be outdone. In this case, Turow can’t outsurprise his readers. Of course changing the thing that predominantly hooked readers originally risks turning them off. This is where Innocent falls a little short. Both novels employ the same strategy: they purport to reveal the prime suspect’s guilt or innocence upfront and then proceed to slowly put doubt in the reader’s mind about that supposition until the truth is so muddy that either outcome is plausible.

When a sequel like Innocent can stand on its own, does the original become irrelevant to unfamiliar readers? As someone who has read the original novel, I’m afraid that my own bias affects my choice this week. If you can read only one, read this, not that.

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