2002-10-01

Literary Trash: a definition.

So, I learned with horror the other day that they've made a film version of "White Oleander," arguably the finest piece of literary trash to rear its head in many a moon, and certainly one of the better books to have Oprah's seal of approval.

Let me explain what I mean by "literary trash." It's the sort of thing one can't really explain other than to say "I knows it when I sees it."

To me, to follow in the great tradition of true literary trash, the book in question has to be deathly serious to the point of being hilarious. I mean, it's gotta be sincere, and actually somewhat well-written, otherwise it's just no fun.

It has to have a slight "panty drawer" quality about it. Ask yourself this when considering it: is it the sort of book you'd have commandeered -- from a dresser other than your own -- to bring to a slumber party?

Like, okay, Harlequin novels are not literary trash. "Historical fiction," by and large, is. In other words, a bodice-ripper can be literary trash, if the bodice-wearing protagonist is based on a historical figure. Get it?

Classic: "Valley of the Dolls," "Wifey."

So, yeah, they've made a movie out of "White Oleander." I saw the trailer for it and audibly winced. Really, the only successful film adaptation of a work of literary trash was "Valley of the Dolls," primarily because it actually managed to surpass the original work in terms of hyberbolic feminine misery (see: Patty Duke's meltdown at the end of the film).

I don't know, man; it's just got "chick flick" written all over it.

lisamcc at 2:00 p.m.

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