Take Winston Churchill’s history of the second world war, which called France’s army “the poop of the French nation” (he had written “prop”). Editors—or “correctors”, as their 17th-century counterparts were called— emerge as crucial props against blunders. Ms Lee also offers many examples of atrocious writing. “Bad” style can ascend to a kind of genius. Amanda McKittrick Ros was an Irish writer of prolix, overblown 19th-century novels. Her euphemisms alone astonish: trousers become “the southern necessity”. Hearing about the Nobel prize, she asked her publisher: “Do you think I should make a ‘dart’ for it?” At times, this inky history feels rushed. Chapters scoot through censorship’s most famous instances and skip across rejections and vicious reviews. But Ms Lee’s judgments are sound: “Freedom to read”, she observes, “remains a right constantly under siege.” Inevitably, the book closes with AI as literary threat and promise. The technology offers a “flood of free or cheap content” and plunders past creativity to deliver “rear-view mirrors of storytelling”. Error-strewn, vice- prone, human-authored books have already weathered almost six centuries of debacles. But this next chapter could be the most dramatic yet. ■ For more on the latest books, films, TV shows, albums and controversies, sign up to Plot Twist, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//culture/2026/05/21/beware-the-typo-and-other-lessons-of- literary-history
Gamified novels—known as LitRPG—are a winning format Readers are hooked. Authors are reaping the rewards May 21st 2026 ALL CARL wants to do is smoke his cigarette, but Princess Donut, his ex- girlfriend’s cat, has escaped. He reluctantly goes after the creature when —“slam”—his building, and the city beyond it, is flattened like “a massive tin can that had been crushed by a giant cosmic boot”. Carl is one of the few survivors left on Earth. Along with Princess Donut, he is forced into a dungeon to fight various monsters; the battles will be televised throughout the universe. As they “level up” through the floors and try to make their escape, they earn XP (experience points). It sounds like the premise of a video game. But it is the introduction to “Dungeon Crawler Carl”, a book series by Matt Dinniman, which has sold
over 2.7m copies in print. The first instalment has been on the New York Times paperback bestseller list for 19 weeks and counting. The eighth, “A Parade of Horribles”, was released on May 12th. The audiobook is in first place on Audible’s bestseller list in America; all the other books are in the top 20. A TV adaptation and a graphic novel of Carl’s misadventures are in the works. Gamified novels—known as literary role-playing games, or LitRPG—are going mainstream. Such novels borrow the tropes of video and tabletop games. (Unlike choose-your-own-adventure tales, however, the reader does not make narrative choices.) Characters face challenges and grow stronger. They go on quests to obtain rewards. In Mr Dinniman’s novels Carl gets tougher as he punches goblins and defeats a “Krakaren”, a monster that is a combination of a “cosmic octopus” and “your average, suburban, anti-vax, let-me-talk-to-your-manager mom”. Throughout the book the reader is updated on his character stats, health bar, XP and special skills. Video-game vernacular provides a useful shorthand. Minor figures are called NPCs: non-playable characters. By “just saying, ‘He levelled up’, I can communicate a tremendous amount of information that if I was writing traditional fantasy, I would have to demonstrate,” says Seth Ring, who has published nearly 50 LitRPG titles. The core readers of LitRPG are gamers in their 30s who appreciate such elements. But its biggest audience is audiophiles, from truckers to stay-at- home mothers. The novels often have only one perspective, and are usually narrated in the first person, which makes them easy to follow. Fans gush about the voice actors almost as much as they do about the authors. Though a relatively new player in Western publishing, LitRPG has been around for a while. (A Russian publisher claims to have coined the term in 2013.) Versions of it have long been popular in Asia. Xuanhuan novels, a type of Chinese fantasy, took off in the early 2000s. Such tales drew on Daoist ideas of “cultivation” and self-improvement and followed heroes as they progressed through different realms. Japanese manga and anime often feature isekai (another world), where characters are transported into video- game-like settings with magic and sword fights. The idea is also a trope in Korean webtoons.
Western writers have borrowed these ideas and created an “unholy mish- mash” to forge their own version of LitRPG, says Andrei Nadir, an author who writes under the pen name Actus. Authors including Mr Dinniman argue LitRPG is less a genre and more a style of writing: stories might be about aliens and post-apocalyptic survival or they might feature steampunk cowboys and orcs who enjoy cooking. In the early- to mid-20th century pulp fiction such as Raymond Chandler’s “The Big Sleep” and Dashiell Hammett’s “The Maltese Falcon” hooked readers with a punchy style. LitRPG follows in that tradition, reckons Rhett Bruno, head of Aethon, a publishing house. It is “filling a big void”, he insists, between ponderous fantasy epics such as “Game of Thrones” and smutty romantasy series like “A Court of Thorns and Roses”. LitRPG offers “fun, light, rompy-type action fantasy”. Chapters are short, action-packed and usually end with a cliffhanger. The format delivers regular dopamine hits to readers. Writers of LitRPG are thinking strategically on and off the page. Many self- publish their work online, chapter by chapter; some are prolific, posting new material daily. Readers often interact with their favourite writers and leave comments on chapters, which then shape the stories. Mr Nadir, for instance, aims for 5,000 words a day and completes a book about every three months. Yet it is not unusual for him to rewrite an already published chapter after receiving feedback from fans. Authors are gaining more than XP. Loyal followers will pay for early access to chapters. One writer, with the cryptic pen name Zogarth, makes nearly $90,000 every month from subscribers on Patreon, making him one of the most successful authors on the platform. Writers have ample leverage if they choose to negotiate with publishing houses. Mr Dinniman sold the print rights to “Dungeon Crawler Carl” to Ace Books and the audio rights to Audible, but retained the digital ones. “We found something that might change the rules of publishing,” declares Seth Fishman, his agent. (In fact, bespoke rights arrangements are not new, but they are increasingly common among digital-first authors.) To be sure, LitRPG is not going to win any prestigious awards. Quantity has been trouncing quality. But readers looking for escapist thrills are often
forgiving. “We are trying to write really, really good stories,” Mr Ring says. “We are not trying to create the next great American novel.” ■ Curious about the world? To enjoy our mind-expanding science coverage, sign up to Simply Science, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//culture/2026/05/20/gamified-novels-known-as-litrpg-are- a-winning-format
Economic data, commodities and markets
Economic & financial indicators | Indicators Economic data, commodities and markets May 21st 2026
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Edith Eger danced for Josef Mengele The “Ballerina of Auschwitz” died on April 27th, aged 98 May 21st 2026 “Dance!” That was what he said to her on her first night in the camp. Edith Eger could dance, of course: she had been learning ballet since she was five years old. In her leotard and tights, she had practised her stretches. Down she would go: spine straight, tummy taut, breathe in, breathe out…She knew how to use her breath to control her body. She knew an entire routine to “The Blue Danube”. She thought she was imagining it when she heard that being played in the camp on her first night. Then he had appeared in her barracks. “Little dancer,” he said. “Dance for me.” That was what he would call her: “My little dancer.” They would call him the “Angel of Death”. Later, after she moved to America, she didn’t want to call that place anything at all. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. She just wanted to be a