I’m writing this after a twelve-hour shift at my day job.
My feet hurt, my thoughts are moving through treacle, and any particularly dazzling insights I may once have possessed appear to have clocked off several hours ago.
If I pick up a novel before bed tonight, I’m unlikely to choose one with three timelines, an unreliable narrator, and a family tree I need to photograph for reference.
Tonight, I need a book that asks very little of me.
What Do We Want a Story to Do for Us?
That got me thinking about what we want from the books we read—the job we hire them to do, if you will. What do we want a story to do for us? Entertain us? Comfort us? Challenge us? Help us understand ourselves, or simply carry us somewhere else for a few hours?
We often talk about the kinds of books we enjoy: romance or mystery, historical or contemporary, light-hearted or serious. But even within the same genre, readers can be looking for very different experiences. In my own genre of contemporary Christian romance, there is a whole range of flavours—from light, trope-driven stories with a gentle faith thread to emotionally layered novels in which faith is woven through the characters’ deepest struggles. Those reading experiences are far from interchangeable.
One reader wants to believe every step of the plot could really happen. She notices when a character’s decisions don’t make sense, when a conflict could be resolved by one honest conversation, or when the entire premise depends upon everyone behaving like people who have recently suffered a blow to the head.
Another reader is perfectly happy to accept a wildly improbable setup because she isn’t reading for realism. She came for the banter, the yearning, and the cosy little town where every shop sells either books, baked goods, or handcrafted candles. Please do not trouble her with questions about whether the town has a functioning sewage system.
She is there for the vibes.
And do you know what? That isn’t necessarily a failure of discernment. She may see the plot contrivances perfectly well. They simply aren’t preventing the book from doing the job she hired it to do.
Depth, Comfort—or a Little of Both?
Some readers come to fiction looking for psychological depth. They want complicated people whose choices arise from their histories, wounds, desires, and fears. They want relationships that develop gradually and consequences that feel proportionate to the characters’ actions.
Others want emotional safety. They enjoy familiar tropes, predictable beats, and the assurance that nothing will hurt too much before everything comes right. What one reader dismisses as formulaic, another experiences as dependable.
Some want to be intellectually challenged. Some want to be swept away. Some want to cry so hard they need to put the book down and find tissues. Others have endured quite enough character-building in their own lives, thank you very much, and would prefer fictional people to flirt adorably beside a Christmas tree.
Sometimes we want a story that helps us understand something about ourselves or another person. Sometimes we want to inhabit a world utterly unlike our own. And sometimes we simply want a few pleasant hours with appealing people before life comes knocking again.
None of us approaches every book in exactly the same way. The job we hire a story to do may change depending on the season—or even the day.
On holiday, I might welcome a sprawling novel I can sink into for hours. During a busy week, I may need something that lets me slip easily in and out. At other times, I want a story with enough emotional and thematic depth to remain with me long after I’ve finished it.
What Our Criticisms Reveal
Our judgements of books often reveal as much about what we wanted as they do about what the author delivered.
- “Nothing happened” may mean I wanted a stronger plot.
- “It was too heavy” may mean I wanted emotional safety.
- “The characters were unrealistic” may mean I wanted psychological credibility.
- “It was boring” may mean I wanted faster emotional stimulation.
- “It was predictable” may be criticism from one reader and reassurance to another.
- “It felt like a warm hug” may be the highest possible praise—or another reader’s warning to flee.
This is one reason two intelligent, experienced readers can finish the same novel with completely different opinions. One may praise its beautiful atmosphere while the other wonders when the plot intends to arrive. One may admire its emotional complexity while the other feels exhausted by all those troubled people making life harder for themselves.
Neither response is dishonest. The readers simply hired the book for different jobs.
Did the Book Fail—or Was It the Wrong Hire?
Of course, personal preference doesn’t make every criticism irrelevant. A book can promise a gripping mystery and fail to provide one. Characters can behave inconsistently. Plots can collapse under the weight of coincidence. Sometimes a disappointing book is simply a disappointing book.
But it can still be useful to pause before declaring that a novel is “bad” and ask a different question:
What was I hoping this book would give me?
Perhaps the book failed at its intended purpose. Or perhaps it performed another job quite well—just not the one I needed done.
As an author, I find this both humbling and liberating. I can’t write one novel that satisfies every kind of reader. A person seeking uncomplicated escapism may find my story too emotionally involved. Someone who loves intricate literary prose may wish I’d spent another paragraph describing the rain.
All I can do is understand the experience I’m offering, deliver it as honestly and skilfully as I can, and help the right readers find it.
And as a reader, I can recognise that sometimes I want depth, complexity, and a plot in which every choice produces believable consequences.
Tonight, however, I may be willing to overlook quite a lot for kind characters, a hopeful ending, and an attractive man who has mastered both emotional communication and the production of baked goods.
I do prefer believability, and I love Christian content that is obvious. I don’t really look for subtle stuff or something I have to wade through paragraphs to understand. But I also want the Christian content to mean something to the character because then it will mean something to me.
I like a variety of books depending on my mood but I am usually a little let down if the book fails to talk about God, even if it’s just a simple prayer for help or a mention that they went to church. I don’t always need profound, but I do like God to be there.
Yes, Dienece! I love the way you’ve expressed this. The Christian content doesn’t always have to be profound, but it should feel real and mean something to the character—not simply be added as decoration. And I completely understand wanting God to be present in the story, even if it’s through something as simple as a prayer for help. Thank you for sharing what you look for in a book!
Hi Milla, I love how you’ve clarified why reader’s expectations are important. My answer is “all of the above” depending on my mood and what I feel like reading and what’s next in my TBR.
I’ve learned that starting a book with the right reader expectations really impacts my reading experience. I know what I like and I choose to read books that I’m confident I’ll enjoy reading.
Like Dienece has mentioned, I also like knowing upfront if a clean/wholesome read doesn’t include overt faith content. Then I’m not disappointed by looking for faith content that’s not there.
My time is too precious to waste on reading a book I’m not enjoying. My TBR is long and I wish I had more time to read all of the wonderful books on my wish list.
You wrote:
“But it can still be useful to pause before declaring that a novel is “bad” and ask a different question: What was I hoping this book would give me?”
I love this question because it defines the reading experience and isn’t a story spoiler. 🙂
You’ve made such a good point about starting a book with the right expectations, Narelle. Clear signalling helps the right reader find the right book, especially when it comes to the distinction between clean/wholesome fiction and fiction with overt Christian content.
A book doesn’t necessarily fail because it offers one rather than the other, but the reading experience can certainly fail when we were led to expect something that isn’t there. And I’m with you on protecting precious reading time—there are far too many books waiting on the TBR to persevere with one we’re not enjoying! Thank you for such a thoughtful response.
I have times I need an easy read especially more since I have constant migraine pain although its more controlled now. I found the heavier books like you mentioned where there are lots of characters and a lot going on were too much for me to handle. I found the shorter novellas were perfect there is still a good story but its also shorter. A bit like sometimes I want to watch a hallmark type movie the predictable don’t need to think in but other times I need something not so predictable like a Sci fi or drama movie or a cozy mystery type.
I still have times I see a book over 300 pages and get a mental block. It’s not the book is bad its just too long for me most of the time. I also remember years back I read a book that so many had in their top reads for the year many at number 1 or 2. I read the book and it was in my bottom reads. The book wasn’t bad but for me I struggled it had a almost 30 character thinking her life was over because she was still single. I had been there (not to her desperation) but when you grow up in the church and were still single at 30 you start to get treated different cos you are conditioned to think being married is the most important thing (when I was growing up that was the case) Things have changed thankfully but this book really hit all those triggers so I was looking at from one my experience and also how it made me feel as an older still single like a failure again. Not the authors intention but it was my experience. Where as some books I have thought were in my top reads others didn’t connect cos they didn’t affect them the same way.
I guess this is why authors need to put their reader hat on, they have books they read for different reasons some that click and some that don’t and then they can remember just cos their book didn’t click with one reader it will with another. I doubt there is a single book that everyone loves. (I have heard the comments everyone loves Pride and prejudice or Gone With The Wind well I am one who didn’t like either)
Thank you for such a thoughtful comment, Jenny. Chronic pain must make a tremendous difference to the amount of concentration and energy you can give a book, so it makes perfect sense that novellas and gentler, more predictable stories sometimes offer exactly the reading experience you need.
Your example of the single woman approaching thirty is also a powerful illustration of how our own experiences shape what we receive from a story. Other readers may have found that character relatable or amusing, while for you the book reopened painful messages you had already lived with. That doesn’t necessarily make the book bad, but it does explain why your experience of it was so different from theirs.
And yes, authors need to remember that no book will connect with everyone. One reader’s favourite may be another’s disappointment—and the reverse can be true of the very next book. I will even graciously accept your verdict on Pride and Prejudice, although as an Austen lover, it pains me slightly. 😄
I like characters who aren’t cookie-cutter and plots that are well-paced. I like a discernable theme. But as a fiction writer starting out? I just want permission to not be epic right off the bat! The minute I say, ‘How can I ever compete?’ or ‘What could I possibly contribute?’ I’m paralysed. Let me be lame and hopefully surprise myself 🙂
Permission wholeheartedly granted, Rebekah! 🙂 You don’t have to be epic—especially not in a first draft. You only need to tell the story in front of you as honestly and skilfully as you can. “How can I compete?” is such a paralysing question, whereas “What happens next?” might actually get words onto the page. And please allow yourself to be imperfect rather than lame. You may indeed surprise yourself!