Last week a big puzzle was solved. I figured out why reading some perfectly well-crafted writing can be such a nap-inducing chore. And why reading the work of some less-than-skilled writers can be so compelling, so intriguing, so rewarding.
A large clue to my taste in reading was provided by Adair Lara in her book Naked, Drunk, and Writing: Shed Your Inhibitions and Craft a Compelling Memoir or Personal Essay.
Adair wrote:
...Knowing that you will be writing about change helps you choose which of your stories will have meaning for others.
Some life events feel huge, but do not necessarily change you. You and your mother haven’t spoken in six months. You got fired, you got dumped, you got cancer, or you got treated unfairly. These stories affect you deeply, and feel as if they have meaning for that reason. But many upsetting events come up under the heading of Shit Happens. You can lose a lot of time trying to write about them. Practically everybody who gets fired sits down to write a book about it — but what’s the story? Getting fired makes you mad, but that’s not change. The change may be in what happens next: after you were fired, you realize you never meant to spend your life cooped up in an office anyway, and go to Guatemala to rescue street children.
...
If there’s no catharsis, no growth, no change involved, then you’re left with an anecdote — a part of some larger whole — rather than a self-contained essay or story. Like that of most women, my life has been full of hilarious-in-hindsight incidents. But alas, my accordion body, my landfill approach to housekeeping, my bizarre divorce, my cradle-robbing second marriage, my unseemly yearning to become a born-again trust fund baby and the myriad instances in which my slow-to-rehabilitate smart mouth have gotten me into trouble, are just not going to write. Why? Because I’ve happily, gloriously learned nothing from these romps.
I am not drawn to reading to the end of a piece when nothing is happening, or when neither I nor the author are learning. My lack of interest applies not only to essays and memoir, but other non-fiction, too—even on complex topics such as neuroscience or spirituality.
People changed and learned in two of the books I have appreciated most over the past few years; both were non-fiction. This pair of books were not filled with the gratuitous, vanilla, see-my-method-works tales that we