Readers’ Expectations

We’re always told (and it’s good advice) to “write the story that is in you.” But since we’re also concerned with selling that story to others, readers’ expectations are something to keep in mind.

These are not exactly the same as readers’ tastes or the kinds of book they like. Taste varies radically from individual to individual, and its origins lie deep in the person’s psyche. Not much we as writers can do about that, because there is no one universally popular book. We can only target readers who “like this sort of thing.” But some expectations have an objective dimension.

Readers expect—and have the right to expect—certain things of a book. This is especially true of genre fiction, since genres follow rules.

Is it me or you?

First, there’s the subjective or illegitimate expectation, a particular pitfall for authors who venture into a new genre after establishing themselves in one. I’ve encountered this problem frequently when fans of my mystery series dip into the other less-well-genre-defined one.

In one of my books, someone commits a brutal murder, but of the wrong person. The victim’s son then sets out to find and punish the murderer. In my mind, this was a coming-of-age story about the son—a quest, not a mystery. The identity of the murderer was clear to everyone but him, and I set out to analyze this denial mechanism in him. But readers assumed it was a murder mystery, and some were bummed that the perpetrator was so obvious.

Be prepared for that sort of thing if you cross genre lines. There will be disappointment—I’ve experienced this very thing myself as a reader, haven’t you? That shock of disappointment (“I wanted X…”) can breed a sort of resentment (“but you gave me Y”) that takes an effort to overcome, and not all readers will be willing to make that effort. It’s easier to blame the author!

Noblesse oblige

Not much defense against that sort of disgruntlement, since such expectations come from within the reader. They may be as transient as a mood. But the bigger jolt comes when an author transgresses some of the traditional rules, customs, or fashions of genre.

This can be in tiny things like phrasing of titles (and yes, there certainly are rules, customs, and fads! Remember The Girl Who/In/On? Remember The X’s Wife?) Or the voice. I was once told that by starting my historical fiction book in omnipotent third I was setting readers up to expect fantasy. Who knew? So do your research. Read in your genre. Then if you still decide to buck the trend, you won’t be taken off guard by a backlash.

Mostly, readers’ legitimate expectations have to do with content. They want a satisfying ending. They want a protagonist they can identify with. If it’s a mystery, they want enough clues that the final reveal doesn’t come out of the blue—but they don’t want a perp who’s so obvious from the beginning that there really isn’t any mystery. They want the girl and her guy (or gal) to end up happy ever after in a romance. These are legitimate expectations, because genre literature promises these things. It’s a compact with your readers that you break at your own peril. That’s why we often pick up a cozy mystery or a romance when we’re too tired for thought-provoking literary fiction: we know what we’ll get.

Now, it could be argued that what makes a book great is precisely its transgression of expectations. Isn’t that being original? Perhaps some expectations are negotiable, but readers have rights too. The books we pick up again and again hit the balance between literary quality and reader satisfaction, and there is no incompatibility between the two.