Randy Ingermanson published a good definition of the high stakes, high concept novel over at his site a few days ago. It was an idea that came up several times at a Mount Hermon workshop I took with him a few weeks ago.

In the link above, Randy sez: “The higher the stakes, the higher the concept.” Then follows up with wonderful wonderful examples to demonstrate his point of view. An asteroid threatens the entire planet. An evil emperor threatens the entire galaxy. High stakes.

Then he concedes that good books don’t need a high concept–and he cites Jane Austen. Hmm. Now, I wrote my undergraduate thesis on Jane Austen, so I’m a bit of a raving fan. I know, it’s not particularly manly of me to love Jane. But what can I say, Darcy is my hero. Someday I hope to have just a tiny fraction of his infinite coolness.

(And Pride & Prejudice fans should know my secret fear: I’m more Mr. Collins than Darcy.)

See, I love Jane Austen. Her books have this universal conflict of gender that feels very high concept, high stakes to me. We’re talking about love and personal happiness.

But according to Randy’s definition, high personal stakes are not necessarily high concept. I love a good explosion movie as much as anyone. Especially if there are also flying martial artists. Randy, I’m not disagreeing with you on this, I’m just trying to figure out why the division makes me bristle so much.

Patrick O’Brien blows up ships in Master and Commander–so he’s high concept. Jane Austen blows up cultural gender stereotypes (no helicopters, despite what Camille says)–so she’s not high concept.

Do high stakes always involve death? Do more deaths mean higher stakes?

Maybe Hero is my answer. Jane Austen meets Chinese invasion. Love triangle meets assassination plot. There aren’t many explosions, but people fly a lot. They even walk on water. Just watch:

Now if only Pride and Prejudice had a ninja subplot.

Or pirates. Pirates would work too.