So, in like two seconds of my last post, I know the answer. Of course crime novels written by women sell less than ones written by men. Why? Because plenty of research shows women are dismissed by men and by women. Women are less serious, less talented, more inclined to sentimentality, more likely to be bitchy and irritable and manipulative.
A woman’s chances of being read by anyone — whether male or female — are smaller than the chances of a man being read.
So, GANI & SEAN is now written by me, and my name is Jack Winter.
I continue my debate with myself — do crime novels written by women sell? Should I change my name on my second novel from Jane Cooper Easton to Jack Winter. I thought of this male author name this morning almost as I opened my eyes to the day. ( I think Jack Winter or is it Winter Jack is an alcohol of some kind, perhaps in Great Britain? )
Will men be more interested in a crime novel written by Jack Winter than they are in one written by Jane Easton?
And what — if any! — are the differences between a novel written for women and a novel written for men!?
Please consider purchasing my first novel, IN THE SEVENTH DAY which is not about Mormons! This novel is about religion gone haywire, however. The novel is also graphic — violent with sadism and evil displayed. Thanks in advance!
One does not hear too much about the anti-hero these days, but if that character has moved on to other climes and you miss him, take heart–the bastard is alive and well in a new pull-no-punches novel by Jane Cooper Easton, In the Seventh Day. Set in a small midwestern community that can only be described as “way off the beaten path” Cooper takes us directly into the mind of Kevin Hillar, a charismatic young preacher who has come to town to establish The Way, a new denomination that will follow the “umbrella authority” that his fundamentalist sect has generated from their retrograde understanding of the teachings of the Apostle Paul. To the liberal/secular mind the most generous description to be offered of this quirky theological world would be “violently anti-feminist.” And so it is in Ms. Easton’s novel.
One would have to search far and wide to discover in modern literature a darker, more perverse, self-serving, devious, holier-than-thou anti-hero than Rev. Kevin Hillar. Coupling astounding sexual charm with charismatic preaching he rapaciously and murderously gratifies his libido under the radar as, via pithy and precisely ten minute long sermons he recruits a devoted congregation soon eager to build a permanent “umbrella centric” church to replace the tobacco barn which was his first sanctuary.
Ms. Easton’s book is a chilling murder mystery procedural as well as a tough minded rumination on a particularly destructive form of Pentecostal Christianity in rural America. It also is a daunting cautionary tale about a deeply rooted societal wish to keep women as fully subjugated as suggested by the old Chauvinistic saw, “a woman should be kept barefoot, naked and in the kitchen.” The tale is gripping throughout and may require a strong stomach on the part of some readers. As literature it is a construct almost totally Brechtian in design. In terse, cooly objective prose it sharply defines the malaise, describes its malignant spread, but consciously withholds the expected–indeed, longed for–final scene where poetic justice is meted out.”