The Laundry Effect

by Stephanie Black

Multiple discussions about the Whitney Awards have been taking place over on the LDS Publisher blog, including comments on how judging should be done. What criteria do the judges use? Josi Kilpack made the following comment in the comment trail:

A good book is one that keeps me reading instead of doing dishes and laundry--that's my basic measure. The more dishes and laundry piled up when I finish the book is a pretty good indicator of how good that book really was.

I love this. I can relate to the Laundry Effect. And for clarification, the Laundry Effect doesn’t mean that if someone gave me a choice to do laundry or read a particular book, I’d choose the book, therefore it must be good stuff. The back of a cereal box could win in a contest like that. The Laundry Effect means that a book grips me so tightly that I have trouble doing anything else until I’ve finished it. To me, that’s a strong indicator that the author did something very, very well. On some level, that book connected with me. I was riveted by the story. I cared about the characters. The book worked.

Does a novel need to have the most brilliant writing ever penned in order to evoke the Laundry Effect? Not necessarily. The writing has to be solid enough that it doesn’t annoy me and jar me out of the story (and the more I’m enjoying a book, the less likely I am to nitpick), but it doesn’t have to be poetically marvelous. Some writing is “wow” writing where the writer has amazing skill at weaving words together in a beautiful, powerful way. Some writing is transparent writing, where words aim simply to tell a good story. Either type of writing can produce a good novel, depending on the effect the writer seeks.

I can and do enjoy and admire books without experiencing the Laundry Effect. More often than not, I don’t experience it--I can usually set even an excellent book aside and come back to it later. But every now and then, I end up with a book absolutely glued to my hands and I’m willing to let the roof fall in if I can just finish it.

Interestingly, a book that is a Laundry-Effect read for one reader may be a dud for another reader. Reader A was riveted by the book; reader B gave up on page 20 and used the book for firewood. To which I say—so what? We don’t all have the same tastes, and thank heavens we don’t, or the selection of fiction would be far more limited. As Josi also pointed out (I love Josi), just because she hates a book doesn’t mean it’s bad.

I’m guessing most of us give lip service to Josi’s sentiment, but when it comes down to it, we secretly feel that our opinion on a book is the right one. You read a glowing review of a book—or a jillion glowing reviews—then read the book and think, “Meh. Poor to mediocre. What’s wrong with those people who raved about it?” Or vice versa—you loved the book and others didn’t. “What’s wrong with those readers who don’t see how good this is?” Am I right? Have you ever felt that way? Admit it.

What it comes down to is that our taste is books is very subjective. The same book can evoke very different reactions in different readers. I'm betting there isn't a single reader anywhere who thinks every book on the Whitney finalist list is superb. Each reader will love some of the books, like some, and dislike some--and their preferences will be different from those of the next reader. That's just fine. The Whitney Awards can't be all things to all people, and they never will be--not as long as our tastes vary.