How Can There Be Any Sin in "Sincere"?

When Elizabeth Strout visited last week to read excerpts from Olive Kitteridge, someone asked if she considered her writing ironic. "I'm not really sure what that means," she admitted, and qualified the term irony by saying she couldn't be if it goes against sincerity. She considers herself a "deeply sincere" writer.

Relating this anecdote, I agreed instantly that Strout's fiction seems sincere, but when pressed couldn't define what exactly I meant. My best stab at a synonym was "heartfelt," which is too reductive. Sincerity in literature--which I would say is the opposite of irony--is a word familiar to book reviewers, but what does it actually signify? How do we know we're reading "sincere" literature?

Let's start with Lionel Trilling, who wrote Sincerity and Authenticity in 1972. He regards older works as sincere, starting with Shakespeare, and newer works as authentic. The modern goal is to stay true to oneself, despite the pressures of the external world. Authenticity adds a philosophical approach to writing: does this capture the "me," untainted and self-aware? Sincerity, on the other hand, doesn't come this close to existentialism, which is not to say it's shallow. Sincerity is distinctly moral, as Trilling sees it. Both authenticity and sincerity aim for truth, but as a sincere individual, you express your hopes and desires openly, without obscuring them. 

Of course sincerity, then, is an older ideal: morality has waned as what governs us socially. Back in the day, from the 1500s to the 1800s, sincerity was in vogue: an artistic and social ideal. Art reflected society, perhaps more so than the self. To be outwardly honest is a difficult line to walk; Aristole regards one extreme as irony (deficient in expressing truth) and the other as undue pride (which hews close to narcissism). Being boastful indicates a lack of self-awareness, not fitting in what's appropriate. This will seem obvious to everyone around you. 

If I contrast authenticity and sincerity, I wonder if sincerity carries a greater sense of social responsibility. We are truthful to the greater good, the law of man. To be authentic, we look inward at ourselves. If opposed by boastfulness, sincerity seems a quiet art. I would agree that Olive Kitteridge, to bring us back, is a quieter, more character-driven piece. In general, characters propel this moral openness more than story or style. Genre writing does not aim for character first and foremost. Is it less sincere?

Trilling covers irony too: "If we speak it [sincerity], we are likely to do so with either discomfort or irony." Calling literature sincere these days, he says, means, "Although it need be given no aesthetic or intellectual admiration, it was at least conceived in the innocence of heart." Sincerity sounds like a backhanded compliment. In this light, "heartfelt" wasn't such a bad synonym after all.

But Trilling chooses to reclaim sincerity. We should not shy away: "It implies, or should imply, a profound personal self-commitment of the writer... The relevant kind of sincerity is something that has to be achieved by an inner discipline." So despite their opposition, sincerity and authenticity both uphold the authority of the author. So can we use the term in good faith? When a writer transforms into author? When said author somehow opens up, and reveals the greater world? I sincerely hope so.

Stay tuned for Part II, on the New Sincerity movement!