Cross-Over Novels

A lot of books these days are hybrids of several genres. The Cassie Palmer series, for example, appeals mainly to fantasy, mystery and romance fans, with a sprinkling of horror and thriller readers mixed in there for good measure. The question I get asked most frequently is, does trying to please the readers of so many genres, each of which has its own rules and expectations, cause any problems?

Short answer: Oh, yeah.

Long answer: Since one of the biggest bones of contention is how a story ends, let's use that as an example. And there are no two genres more disparate in that regard than romance and fantasy. In romance, the genre expectation is still the happily-ever-after ending (which is so common that it even has a widely understood abbreviation: HEA). Not that all romance stories conform to this anymore-romance, like most genres, has become more flexible in recent years-but a great many romances do follow the old formula because a great many romance fans still prefer it. In fantasy, happy endings are also the norm and have been for generations. It's one of the main things that separates fantasy, even dark fantasy, from horror. The problem is that fans of the two genres often have a very different take on how they define the term "happy."

For romance fans, HEA means a Cinderella ending, in which the heroine gets her man and they go on to have many happy years of wedded (or these days, often unwedded) bliss together. Many times, friends of the main protagonist, vague acquaintances and, well, pretty much everybody except the villain of the piece, also live happily ever after. In fantasy . . . not so much.

Take Lord of the Rings for example. In the end, evil is defeated, good triumphs, and Aragorn becomes king. Seems pretty happy, right? Until you look a little more closely. Because Aragorn wasn't the main protagonist, Frodo was. And what happened to Frodo? A fantasy fan would tell you, probably quite enthusiastically, "he fulfilled his quest! He grew as a person! He became more than he ever thought he could be, and did things that no one else in the story could have done!" HEA, in other words. But a romance fan, if you could tear them away from sighing over a poster of Viggo/Orlando/ assorted pretty, pretty elves long enough to answer, would likely tell you that Frodo got shafted.

I think I can explain this best by showing you, so look into your palantír and witness the following dialogue between a romance fan and a fantasy fan...

Romance fan (wearing an Aragorn & Arwen 4Ever T-shirt): So let me get this straight. Frodo suffers and suffers and, oh, yeah, suffers, then in the end Sam gets the girl, Aragorn becomes king and Frodo ends up sailing off into exile with the elves (whom he'd always found vaguely creepy) because Hobbit medicine can't cure him.

Fantasy fan (clutching a plastic sword of kings): He did not find them creepy!

Romance fan: Like hell he didn't. Bilbo liked elves; Frodo could take or leave them, preferably the latter. Frodo liked the Shire, which he had to leave in the end because he'd changed so much because of all the suffering that he no longer belonged there. And because of the constant pain of a terrible wound-did I mention suffering?--which he'd gotten preserving the Shire and the rest of Middle Earth for everybody else!

Fantasy fan: You are missing the entire point.

Romance fan: And once he got to Valinor, what then? According to Tolkien, he didn't even get immortality or anything, oh, no. He and Bilbo simply lived out their normal lives-alone, exiled from everyone they knew and loved and could relate to-and then they died. In other words, more suffering. How, exactly, does this equal HEA?

Fantasy fan: He saved an entire world. His sacrifice was worth it!

Romance fan: He was so gypped.

Which explains why there are separate conventions for fantasy and romance.

Of course, Tolkien has passed on to the great Valinor in the sky and is no longer too worried about fans' reactions, whatever their preferred genre. For authors who are still alive-at least until we kill off a favorite character and get lynched-the problem is a bit more troublesome. The question remains: can a cross-genre book please everyone? The answer, of course, is no, because no book can please everyone. No matter how much time or effort a writer puts into what he or she views as a masterpiece, someone, somewhere, isn't going to like it.

So what to do? Stay within the narrow confines of the rules established, not by fans or authors, but by marketing departments trying to figure out how to market books or by booksellers trying to categorize and display them? Or go with what works best for a given story line, which may require crossing into another genre's territory?

Obviously, my answer is B. Does this get me into trouble from time to time? Hell, yes, but I knew that going in. And I think, in the long run, cross-genre works are here to stay. In fact, before the modern marketing craze, they were the norm, something people sometimes forget. Homer wrote cross-genre; so did Shakespeare, with fantasy, mystery and romance somehow all sharing the stage. And their works were better for it. Mine aren't in their league, of course, but I sure do like the company. And a well conceived, well-executed story that is ballsy enough to go where it needs to in order to fulfill its potential? That's something that fans of all genres can get behind.