And yet the value of a novel isn\u2019t only in its prose. On Amazon, \u201cShy Girl\u201d has a rating of four out of five stars, based on input from hundreds of reviewers. Many of them praise its premise and ideas\u2014features of the book that it seems reasonable to think were shaped by human decision-making. (One reviewer describes knowing about \u201cthe controversy\u201d surrounding the novel, but liking it anyway: \u201cThe premise sucked me in.\u201d) The big-picture reality is that many novels are poorly written. They can still succeed with readers because fiction, like music, is a forgiving art form. Just as a good song can have a groovy beat but a predictable melody, so a piece of fiction can work on some levels but not others. Partial success can be enough, as long as readers find something that moves them\u2014suspense, beauty, realism, fantasy, even just a sympathetic protagonist in whom they can recognize themselves.<\/p>\n
If the creation of fiction is a layered endeavor\u2014if premise, plot, style, and so on are to some extent separable\u2014then must all the layers be made by the same individual? This question has already been answered by practicing writers in a variety of disciplines, who often work in groups and teams. James Patterson<\/a>, who produces one out of every seventeen hardcover novels sold in the United States, does so by providing collaborators with detailed outlines and treatments, effectively running what\u2019s been described as a \u201cnovel factory.\u201d (He might oversee thirty projects simultaneously, publishing fifteen books a year.) This practice exiles him completely from the realm of literary fiction; some might even question whether Patterson is really a writer. But our expectations vary by context, with implicit understandings that we rarely make explicit. When reading a Booker Prize-winning novel, we expect every word to have been written by the author, but when reading journalism we assume that both writers and editors played a role. We frequently praise the showrunners of prestige television, who rely on groups of writers to produce scripts. When a screenwriter wins an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, the word \u201coriginal\u201d means only that the script isn\u2019t an adaptation; a lot of people, credited or not<\/a>, may have contributed to the final product. Perhaps we\u2019re more open to writerly collaboration when it\u2019s part of a larger project, such as a film, which is itself inherently collaborative. But what if the larger project is the continuation of Patterson\u2019s \u201cAlex Cross<\/a>\u201d series, which has been running since 1993? No individual could write that many books. A factory is simply required.<\/p>\n