Writers' obligation is to their craft, not the public

• Source: Global Times
• [00:28 October 30 2009]
• Comments

Westerners have never been particularly concerned about writers making money from non-literary sources. What sometimes sours people, in fact, is when a mediocre – or downright terrible – writer makes a lot of money from a popular book.

For instance, I can't abide the historical nonsense of Australian author Gavin Menzies' dreadful fantasies about Chinese discovering America.

But that's more to do with worry that they might take in the gullible or ill-informed than jealousy of his profits.

There can also be some resentment when a writer seems to be giving up his or her craft for the pursuit of money elsewhere. At the same time, though, writers don't actually owe the public anything. We might feel it's a waste of talent, even a crime against art, when a great creator turns away from his craft, but it's entirely a matter for him.

British writer Neil Gaiman put it well when writing about fans' complaints about another fantasy writer, George R.R. Martin, taking years to complete the fifth book of a series: "George Martin is not your b----."

For me, the real corruption of authors is not money, but power – or, at least, association with power. The thrillof hanging out with the rich and the socalled elite creeps into their work, and they come to increasingly regurgitate the opinions of a tiny class.

This is particularly prominent in non-fiction. You can see it in the work of the bizarrely over-praised Thomas Friedman. He was once a talented journalist and Middle East correspondent, who won two Pulitzers for his coverage of Israel's invasion of Lebanon and the aftermath. His first book, From Beirut to Jerusalem, is excellent.

Then he married into money, started hanging out with "world leaders and opinion-makers," and his books turned into tedious parades of the tossed- opinions of CEOs.

Nowadays his books refl ect a reality that goes no further than big hotels, private jets, and occasional conversations with local taxi-drivers.

Yu Qiuyu doesn't owe the Chinese public anything, and his money is his to do with as he pleases. Perhaps, though, he owes something to his own talent. If he becomes more interested in money – and the rich – than culture, the loss might be his fans'.

The author is a historian and author of The Bloody White Baron (Faber, 2008)