For centuries, genres have been used to codify and collect works of all kinds, be it art, literature or music. Genres can often help to define one’s tastes; giving them insight into the types of character arcs or narrative styles they like best. But over time, these works start to pull from each other, and different tropes or narrative archetypes are formed. Two prominent examples of genres heavily hampered by the emergence of these tropes are the bildungsroman and noir genres. Despite having ample room for complex and engaging narrative structures, many pieces of literature within these genres simply follow the same structures as their predecessors, switching out names to create only modestly derivative works. Yet, from the mid-twentieth century onward, a number of authors have offered up new and refined versions of the aforementioned genres, eschewing tropes altogether in favor of renewed character arcs, interesting or even perplexing plot construction, as well as a renewed emphasis on the internal thoughts and feelings of the characters. Three great examples of this, Sula by Toni Morrison, Zoot Suit by Luis Valdez, and Winter’s Bone by Daniel Woodrell, have helped to reshape the collective narrative landscape by breathing new life into the bildungsroman and crime/noir genres.

            Valdez’s Zoot Suit and Woodrell’s Winter’s Bone use careful plotting and inventive story

decisions to invigorate and reestablish the genre of crime novel. While some would argue that

Zoot Suit and Winter’s Bone are in two completely different sectors of literature, their underly-

ing similarities help to put them in essentially the same genre of literature. Winter’s Bone’s st-

ory concerns Ree Dolly, a 16 year old girl who’s tasked with finding her father, a criminal who

has put their family home up for bond. The novel owes much of its style to the noir genre; with

its tired, out-of-luck protagonist made all the more endearing by the bleak, languid setting they

are forced to operate within. The opening lines of the book describe “halt haggard houses” and

“skinned torsos” hanging from ropes (Woodrell 3). These traits have been stylistic points of the

noir genre since its inception, but one of noir’s most well-received features is its tendency

towards stylistic, artistic or narrative subversion. Frank Krutnik, in his book In a Lonely Street,

notes that the noir genre is often regarded by critics for “its supposed challenges of or disruptions of the stylistic, narrative and generic norms of the ‘classical’ system” (Krutnik, X). Nowhere is this ideal more apparent than in Winter’s Bone, where many of the tropes of the genre (e.g. femme fatale, big city setting, proper detective protagonist) become either eschewed or subverted in the pursuance of a more “rootsy,” or realistic, narrative style. Similarly, Zoot Suit takes the spirit of a courtroom and crime drama, and applies a perplexing new narrative format, often using a meta character called “El Pachuco” to explain different scenarios, cultural reference and pieces of symbolism. The story of Zoot Suit, told non-linearly, moves back and forth between different points in time. By doing this, Valdez provides meaningful exposition while still maintaining the revelatory pacing of traditional crime narratives. The characters of Zoot Suit also help to strengthen the genre connection, with a cast of rich personalities that fill many of the archetypes of this class.

            Additionally, both Winter’s Bone and Zoot Suit play host to protagonists that defy literary expectations. In Zoot Suit, the main protagonist, Henry Reyna, is a young Latino man whose adherence to social and cultural practices does more to define him than his placement in a gang or his time period. He continually defies racial expectations by assuming the role of leader, despite his greatest protestations. Winter’s Bone goes a step further putting a female in the traditionally male role of the “pursuer,” or the one who goes looking for something that will drive the plot. Andrew Dickos, in his book “Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir,” establishes the pursuer as someone who is “flee[ing] externally imposed torments” and is seeking whatever will solve their problem or mitigate a deeper anxiety, the so-called “noir torment” (Dickos 65). Ree’s discontentment with both her inherent life situation, as well as the new problem concerning her father’s whereabouts, are often addressed in the novel, with Ree at one point saying “…I can’t forever carry both… them boys’n Mom…” (Woodrell 134). In spite of the vulnerability inherent to her position, Ree actually proves to be quite a strong character. She handles rejection, physical and emotional violence, and continual disappointment with an unflappable strength. She also attempts to pass this strength onto her brothers, telling them “don’t fight if you can help it. But if one of you gets whipped by somebody both of you better come home bloody” (48). Interestingly enough, she also espouses their weak youthfulness, saying that she wants them not to be “dead to wonder by age twelve, dulled to life, empty of kindness, boiling with mean” (11).

            Similarly, Zoot Suit’s Henry Reyna projects a strong and unshakeable façade that ultimately gives way to a desperate and vulnerable core. “You think you can just move in and defend anybody you feel like? When did I ever ask you to start a defense committee for me? Or a newspaper? Or a fundraising drive and all that other shit? I don’t need defending, esa. I can take care of myself” (Valdez 71). As the main plaintiff in a joint appeal, the burden of the entire group is put on his shoulders. He is made the figurehead of someone else’s movement and, in a manner similar to Ree, has to assume a role he would rather run from. His role, while not exactly matching that of the pursuer, is closely in line with a crime novel’s protagonist. Dickos defines the noir protagonist as someone whose “human weaknesses and passions receive no kind reception in a social order structured to deny their existence” (Dickos 65). He and Ree both carry the burden of others on their shoulders as they’re constantly shunned and stunted by a society bent on otherizing and demonizing them. For Ree and Reyna, this fits perfectly with their communities, be it the misogynistic backwoods hills of the Ozarks or the racially charged streets of 1940s Los Angeles.

            Toni Morrison’s Sula and Luis Valdez’s Zoot Suit help to redefine the bildungsroman genre by filtering the maturation of their characters through numerous unorthodox scenarios. Morrison’s Sula at first glance comes across as a tad excessive—characters burn to death, lose their fingers, drown and violently extract excrement from babies. The scenarios that, in some cases, come one after another in Morrison’s coming-of-age tale are nearly unbelieveable, but also show an eye for character development and narrative arcs that are often absent in bildungsromane. Valdez does essentially the same thing, maturing his protagonist by showing the horrifying effects of systemic racism and an unforgiving prison system. The hardships that Sula and Henry face are simple and effective ways of fostering a vast amount of character development. Sula evolves from a girl who continually asserts her individuality with repeated proclamations of “I am me” to a woman who takes comfort in losing herself in others (Morrison 28). When the novel begins, Sula and her friend Nel are inseparable, but by the end the two can barely stand the sight of each other. Sula’s previous respect for her friend and self-sustaining attitude seem to die simultaneously when she’s caught sleeping with Jude, Nel’s husband (105).

            The way that Sula’s character develops is astonishing and tailored by her extraordinary circumstances. Similarly, Henry Reyna’s bouts in the 38th Street gang, as well as prison on trumped-up murder charges, shape him in previously unconscionable ways. He begins the novel as a contentious and motivated man who has plans and aspirations for his life. But after being dragged through the mud countless times by the antagonistic media and complicit courts, Reyna loses his motivation to join the Army, continue with his gang activities or even marry the woman he loves. At the end of the play, he vacillates hopelessly between two women that have shown him varying levels of affection throughout the work, and ultimately fails to make a concrete decision regarding any of them (Valdez 91). These destructive character arcs fly directly in the face of the quintessential bildungsroman (read: To Kill a Mockingbird, Catcher in the Rye) that usually ends on a hopeful, if not rapturous note. These stories show characters wounded and, more or less, ruined by the horrific scenarios that they encounter. They go into the narrative hopeful, playful and even truly happy, but emerge as mere shells of their former selves, either poised for a life of vapid physical pleasures or of deep emotional absence.

            As studies of their respective genres, Sula, Winter’s Bone and Zoot Suit do an enormous amount of work for the genres. Despite being released in different time periods, these three works share common themes, common messaging and, in some ways, common goals. By skillfully subverting genre tropes while also giving them new interpretations and new life, these works

have invigorated the literary world at large. They serve as important reminders of the power of fiction as an academic enterprise by actively enhancing the methodologies that birth these clichés and evolving them to a point where they can work in the service of their works, not to their detriment. They also do a wealth of good with regards to the way that women are portrayed

as protagonists, and with how race is addressed in fiction narratives by presenting strong, layered

characters that with brilliantly constructed character arcs.

As Toni Morrison describes her process in her foreword to Sula, it becomes evident that her intention was to truly offer up a capital-I Important piece of literature that pushed the boundaries of the genre and of the literary world in general. That may not have been the intentions of the other authors, but it was the result, and the true extent to which these works changed literature cannot yet be measured.