I recently re-watched Schindler’s List and was astonished at just how many funny bits were peppered amid the horrific events contained therein. Scenes such as Schindler’s secretary montage to his darkly comic asides with Nazi bureaucrats (“I think I can guarantee you’ll both be in Southern Russia before the end of the week”) got me thinking that humour makes tragedy all the more powerful. If Schindler’s List can have humour, anything can. Heck, even The Passion of the Christ has a funny bit near the start.

The reason is simple: humour is a part of life and should not be omitted even from the most serious drama. The most tragic situations often contain moments of dark comedy. For example, at my father’s funeral I experienced a farcical “shoe malfunction” that would have had Dad in stitches. Perhaps he was laughing up in heaven.

I can think of many other examples where humour has leavened tragedy/darkness and made it all the more powerful. There is a great deal of humour in Dead Poets Society, making the final tragedy all the more powerful. The Remains of the Day (both book and film) would be nigh-on unbearable were it not for the gentle humour dotted throughout. Romeo and Juliet contains some great humour, as does Breaking Bad, The Godfather, Anna Karenina, Wuthering Heights, Thomas Hardy’s most famous novels (although perhaps not Jude the Obscure so much) and many others.

One of the most effective examples I can think of is Blackadder Goes Forth – a hilarious and brilliant TV series that nevertheless ends in one of the most heart-wrenching tragedies I have ever seen. Seeing these characters we know and love meet their deaths in the big push of World War I is absolutely shattering. It is because we have laughed at them so much that we are heartbroken when they die.

Humour provides a crucial counterpoint to tragedy or darkness. Consider The Empire Strikes Back – widely regarded as the finest entry in the Star Wars series. The darkness of the narrative, especially the terrible secret of the Skywalker family line, is leavened by the hilarious, screwball comedy humour of the Han/Leia relationship (“Would it help if I got out and pushed?”). Compare that with the well-intended but overwrought tone of Revenge of the Sith, and it is clear which film has the more believable heart of darkness.

Deliberately omitting humour from tragedy makes for a one-note tale that is depressing for all the wrong reasons, especially if said tale consists of little more than the repetition of endless tragedy. Such stories actually end up becoming unintentionally comic because they are so absurd. A good example from the world of film is Legends of the Fall – an unrelentingly serious and utterly excruciating piece of work that squanders a good cast and big budget on tragedy after tragedy until eventually you laugh because it is all so preposterous.

Anyone who has ever chatted up a girl will know that if you make her laugh, you’re halfway there. I submit the same is true for writing tragedy. If you can make your reader/audience laugh at your characters, they will like them. Therefore they will really feel for them when you put them through tragic situations.

How important is it to be prolific?

For some, one great novel is enough. Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird is an obvious example. But if you are writing as a career, just one novel isn’t going to put food on the table. What then? Should everything you write be considered a masterpiece?

Agatha Christie and Enid Blyton were both hugely prolific. Was everything they wrote gold? No, but some of it was. I wonder just how much of the great stuff would have emerged had they not been as prolific (and therefore practiced) as they were. Although they both enjoyed writing, they wrote for a living, to survive. William Shakespeare was the same. He churned out play after play to pay the bills.

No-one argues the greatness of Shakespeare, but I despair of the snobby attitude some display towards Blyton and Christie – not just because they wrote genre fiction, but because they churned it out so regularly. Personally, I consider Five goes to Smuggler’s Top (Blyton) and Murder on the Orient Express (Christie) amongst the best books ever written.

Obviously all writers are different. Some have a sparser body of work, others write more. But being prolific does have one big advantage: whatever your successes or failures, you continually improve as a writer.

I have never been able to abide the snobbery that exists in some literary circles regarding genre fiction. For example it dismays me that anyone can dismiss The Lord of the Rings because of some pretentious, elitist literary ideal that completely disregards Tolkien’s extraordinary, ground-breaking achievement. Even if you hate The Lord of the Rings, it is undeniably a landmark of literary fiction. It is a masterpiece.

Yet in certain elite circles there still seems to be snootiness not just about fantasy writing but genre storytelling in general. In the same way that Oscar voters often disregard genre movies and typically pick winners that are worthy but dull, Booker prize winners are sometimes (but not always) of a similar ilk. By contrast, an examination of the bestselling books of any given year will provide a list that includes many genre writers – many of whom have also been dismissed by the so-called literary elite – that are clearly beloved by the general public.

In my view, genre writing at its best is just as important as any so-called serious literary endeavour – if not more so. Authors who master genre bring just as much piercing insight into the human condition. The difference is they often do so far more entertainingly and therefore far more effectively.

Sticking with The Lord of the Rings as an example, that novel is not just about a bunch of hobbits trying to chuck a ring into a volcano to destroy an evil Dark Lord. It contains profound insights into the horrors of war, the nature of good and evil, friendship and – in my opinion most importantly – growing up. There is more “truth” in The Lord of the Rings than in many non-genre texts that these elitists seem to prefer.

Germaine Greer once dismissed The Lord of the Rings as “Nazi tosh” on the BBC. She was then challenged by the presenter as to whether she had actually read the book, and forced to admit she hadn’t. Leaving aside the fact that Greer’s ridiculous comment can be disregarded because she hadn’t read the book, accusing Tolkien of being a Nazi sympathiser is profoundly offensive to the memory of the great man. This is particularly galling considering his own well-documented condemnation of Hitler as a “ruddy ignoramus” and the way he told publishers that a German version of The Hobbit could “go hang” because he refused to sign a piece of paper saying he had no Jewish relatives.

Yet this kind of smear, not to mention snobbery about texts like The Lord of the Rings, still seems to persist in these elite literary circles. Other fantasy authors besides Tolkien have suffered a similar fate, with JK Rowling being particularly singled out by some, in spite of the fact that her Harry Potter canon is unquestionably an extraordinary achievement. This snobbery isn’t just directed at the fantasy genre either. Romance, thrillers, whodunnits, science fiction, horror and other subgenres are also routinely dismissed as lowbrow by the literary elite.

Of course, in one sense this doesn’t matter. Genre fiction remains as popular as ever, and the authors are justifiably rewarded. Yet this snobbery really sticks in my craw. Somehow when the literary elite have a go at one of my favourite books (such as The Lord of the Rings), it feels like they are having a go at a friend. Therefore I feel honour bound to go on the defensive.

Incidentally, my most recent novel The Birds Began to Sing touches on the power of the written word in general, and the power of genre writing specifically. Click on the link below to order on Kindle from Amazon.

Print copies are also available from Lulu.com:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/simon-dillon/the-birds-began-to-sing/paperback/product-21878694.html

Print copies of my new novel, The Birds Began to Sing, are now available from Lulu.com. Click below to place an order.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/simon-dillon/the-birds-began-to-sing/paperback/product-21878694.html

The Kindle version can also be bought at Amazon:

Various other downloadable formats are available from Smashwords FREE for a limited time:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/487865

The Birds Began to Sing is page-turning mystery novel influenced by the likes of Agatha Christie, Daphne Du Maurier and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, with a dash of Susan Hill, the Bronte Sisters, Michael Crichton and obviously a lot of yours truly.

Once more, here is the blurb from the back of the book:

When aspiring novelist Alice Darnell enters a competition to write the ending for an unfinished manuscript by late, world famous author Sasha Hawkins, it appears she might have her big break at last.

However, upon arrival at Sasha’s former home – the sinister Blackwood House – Alice is unsettled by peculiar competition rules, mysterious dreams and inexplicable ghostly visions. She begins to question her sanity as she is drawn into a terrifying web of deceit, revenge and murder.