What is the point of fantasy? More than simple escapism, I mean.

At every convention I attend, there is usually someone, SF, horror or fantasy, moaning that 'mainstream literary snobs' fail to give their favourite genre its dues. The argument goes that genre can provide great literature, underscored with a list of hoary tomes from centuries past. ('Charles Dickens wrote horror!') Then the conversation turns to how modern gems are quickly plucked out of the genre pile and despatched to Magical Realism or some other shining tower of the 21st Century Literature empire.

I have to say my sympathies are increasingly with the literary snobs and less with the genre afficionados. Literature - or 'art' - is about more than the use of words, the styling, the craft, which is really the Farrow and Ball paint slapped on the bare walls.

To qualify, the work has to be about something. Meaning needs to run rich and powerful beneath the surface of the story. Indeed, the story needs to work hard to illuminate this meaning. Personally, I'd also like the tale to shine a light on humanity, which is why I have issues with a great deal of modern SF, where humanity is often the last ingredient in the mix.

How much modern genre work does this?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not making a sniffy, qualitative judgment here like those aforementioned literary snobs. Clive Barker made an impassioned defence of genre and the values of escapism (as did Neil Gaiman) at the recent Fantasycon. And there's certainly something to be said for a powerful story transporting the reader from a troubled real world to a shimmering other.

But if that's the sole aim then genre writers need to be bold and accept they're writing soap opera - the equivalent of Sunset Beach, Neighbours and EastEnders (albeit with better dialogue and more dragons): sensation, story but no meaning beneath the surface.

Let's face it: soap opera has value. It brings a lot of joy into people's lives, despite how much genre snobs like to dismiss it as not as worthy as SF, fantasy or horror.

In the end, I think, it comes down to ambition. Do genre writers have something to say, and are they prepared to tailor their stories to say it? Or are they going to be brave enough to discard their airs and graces and admit what they're really doing?

Mark Chadbourn