When you pick a novel off the shelf, do you know what genre it is? Do you care? If asked to list the last five books you read by genre, could you? If you sit down to write, do you already know what genre you are writing, or do you let the words flow and decide later?

While I was penning Blue Tide Rising, the question I found hardest to answer – apart from ‘what’s the book about?’ – was ‘what genre is it?’

This innocent question, one I find myself asking other authors, stumped me every time. What genre is it? 

Beyond the fact that it is contemporary fiction, I struggled, because it doesn’t fit into the confines of any one genre. There are supernatural elements, so it could be speculative. It’s written in a literary style, but does that make it literary? In some ways it’s easier to say what it isn’t. It’s not crime fiction – although crime does feature in the narrative. It’s not fantasy – despite the magical thread running through the book, it is rooted in the real world. It’s not chick-lit or romance either, but that’s not to say there is no romance in it.

When sending to agents or prospective publishers, I got round this by retro-fitting the genre to whatever they were looking for. So when I pitched to my publisher, I called it literary. Although I wasn’t at all sure my writing was clever or cutting-edge enough to be described as literary.

Post publication, things are no clearer. The publisher lists the book as literary/magic realism, but the Waterstones listing calls it ‘horror’ which it most definitely is not!

What does literary even mean? To me it suggests intelligent, experimental, sometimes unfathomable Man Booker-contending material. ‘Literary fiction is fiction where nothing actually happens,’ a fellow author told me. Someone who herself writes literary fiction – although that description definitely doesn’t apply to her writing, as plenty happens. 

So when I saw an event, hosted by a panel of Nottingham’s literary greats, billed ‘Literary versus Commercial fiction’, I rocked up, hoping I’d learn something.

What is literary fiction?

Panel member Alison Moore, whose first novel, The Lighthouse, made the Man Booker shortlist, said she’d come across definitions ranging from ‘commentry on the human condition’ to ‘elegantly written’. Her own writing, she says, crosses genre between literary and horror and she feels such definitions cramp the author’s style. “What’s most important to me is to have the freedom to write what I want to write.”

Kim Slater, also on the panel, writes contemporary literary YA fiction as well as psychological thrillers for adults, which she classed as more commercial, because they make more money. So maybe the distinction simply boils down to what sells best. 

One definition cited was that ‘literary fiction puts the art form first’, while ‘commercial fiction puts the reader first.’ But the panel agreed that is over simplistic. 

There are books that tread a centre ground between literary and genre, which the panel classed as ‘book club’ fiction, also described as ‘upmarket fiction’ and ‘upscaled commercial’. Authors like Kate Atkinson fall into this category, apparently.

There was no mention during the discussion of Uplit, however.

Ross Bradshaw, owner of Five Leaves independent bookshop and publishing company, said genre is a choice made for us, with the big publishers setting the agenda.  It’s not a decision authors or booksellers have control over. It’s a publisher’s job to build an author name as a brand, partly so readers know what they’re getting. Different genres are packaged in a different way, so readers get used to seeing certain types of cover for the genre they like. 

He also said: “Every literary author wants to be commercial,” or words to that effect. So perhaps authors call themselves literary until they start making money. We all want to sell our books, after all.

Some writers switch genres, and may go by different names for the different genres. Iain Banks being a classic example. Others keep the same name for both. Others branch out into new genres. Margaret Atwood famously switched from literary to science fiction. 

To complicate things further, some books can be classed as different genres in different iterations. Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín has been packaged as both literary and commercial fiction and you can tell which by the cover. 

While doing my MA course I had the privilege of being tutored, all too briefly, by the late Graham Joyce. He told me that although he’d won the British Fantasy Awards six times (and indeed the World Fantasy Awards), he didn’t think his books were fantasy. Genre, he said, is just a label so that booksellers know what section of the shop to put your novel in. Most authors cross genres with impunity.

Does the reader care? Some may. If they go into a bookshop looking for horror and come out with something badged as horror that doesn’t meet their requirements, they might be disappointed. Others, like me, remain baffled by the whole thing. Although if there was a space in the bookshop for ‘Uplit’, I’d head straight there.