The instruction we find in books is like fire, we fetch it from our neighbors, kindle it at home, communicate it to others, and it becomes the property of all. — Voltaire

First of all — thanks for giving me an opportunity to guest edit Necessary Fiction for January. I hope the New Year finds you happy, well and with a good book in hand.

A little about me: I’m a lifelong southerner who has now lived almost 4 years on a small farm in Vermont. My husband is a veterinarian. We have two kids and a heap of rescued dogs and cats, also chickens and goats, and a beta fish my daughter named “Shushi Mittens.” I was once a churchgoing cheerleader who was really good at jazz hands and guzzling sweet tea; Skynyrd, for all the bands’ flaws, can still stir my soul. Now I’m a New England-loving vegetarian Justice of the Peace who likes to run in the snow. I get excited about ornamental poultry, donkeys, and putting up food from my garden. Scribner published my first book, a collection of stories called Birds of a Lesser Paradise, and will also publish my novel-in-progress, Shepherd, Wolf. Also, I am competitive in most hypothetical Jeopardy categories about 80s music. I once had two silkie bantam roosters named George and Ridgeley (Wham! reference, naturally.)

My intentions: My goal is to spend the month having a conversation with you about “socially conscious fiction.” I deplore unnecessary quotation marks, but my urge to bracket “socially conscious fiction” in them is indicative of my concerns: isn’t all fiction socially conscious? Aren’t most writers performing some sort of act of mimesis, e.g. advancing characters through a world that replicates reality? (Or, in the case of much science fiction or apocalyptic writing, the unreal setting is riddled with symbols or familiar societal constructs?) Mustn’t all writers have an awareness of society, its margins, and the way characters brush up against dominant social norms?

Perhaps. But there is at least a spectrum of social consciousness, right? A beach read about girlfriends backstabbing each other over mai tais at a beach club is not Toni Morrison, Tim O’Brien, or Harper Lee. Or might one contend that E.L. James’ books are just as socially conscious as Dickens’ Hard Times?

I’ve been asking myself this question for a while now.

There’s something that seems to me almost narcissistic about being a writer, thinking that I have something to say. I often fight feelings of self-indulgence when I sit down to write. But I also fight feelings of spiritual malaise and melancholy, worried about the world I’ve put my children into. I often bring those feelings to the page; maybe I shouldn’t. Socially conscious fiction feels constructive to me, proactive, purposeful . But also dangerous.

Writing is an act of witness. It is record. It is an attempt. It is an opportunity. Storytelling is one of the greatest, oldest arts — and sometimes I feel a personal mandate to make it matter. Maybe this mandate is old-fashioned. Maybe I can’t get the morality tales of my childhood out of my head — we’re programmed this way aren’t we? The Bible? Fairytales? Action and consequence? But done wrong, or maybe at all, socially conscious fiction can be shrill, preachy, overly-earnest, or alienating to some readers. Over the next few weeks I’ll talk about some of these risks and failures, and allow some of my peers to do the same in guest posts.

I’ll also try to show the connection between people in what I consider “socially conscious jobs” and fiction; what do people read and how does it influence the way they live and work?

Also to be discussed: Edna St. Vincent Millay, propaganda, Michael Jackson videos, passive consumerism, John Gardner, Zadie Smith, Charles Dickens, Lydia Millet.

I welcome your (enthusiastic, civil, contrarian) comments. Wish we could discuss this over a beer or cookies and milk, but the Internet will do for now.

All good things and much gratitude,

Megan Mayhew Bergman