The middle class is doing fine in fiction. But it's not what

“The middle class is doing fine in fiction. But it's not what gets me going. I love the working class, and everyone from it I've met, and think they're incredibly witty, inventive—there's a lot of poetry there.” So speaks Martin Amis, the novelist whose words struck like fire against the conventions of his age. In this saying, he reveals not only his artistic preference, but also a deeper truth about where vitality, humor, and invention are most often found. He contrasts the comfort of the middle class, which produces stability and respectability, with the restless, raw creativity of the working class, which wrestles with hardship and transforms it into song, laughter, and stories.

The meaning of this declaration is clear: while the middle class may provide material for novels of manners and dramas of polite society, it is among the working class that one discovers the unrefined brilliance of the human spirit. Amis, with the eyes of a poet, recognizes that wit and innovation often flourish not in safety, but in struggle. The man who labors at dawn, the woman who keeps a family together on little, the child who learns to laugh in the face of want—these are the souls that carry within them a rich storehouse of poetry, lived rather than written.

Consider the example of Charles Dickens, who in his youth knew poverty and the weight of labor. When he wrote of Oliver Twist begging for more, or of the Cratchit family feasting on a meager goose, he was not inventing from afar but remembering the pulse of real life. Dickens’ greatness was not in depicting the refined salons of London’s comfortable classes, but in giving voice to the struggling many, whose humor and courage carried them through hardship. In them, as Amis declares, is the true wellspring of narrative vitality.

The origin of Amis’s words lies also in rebellion. For much of English literature, the gaze of writers lingered on the drawing rooms and libraries of the middle class. These settings offered respectability and decorum, but they often left untouched the fierce currents of survival and ingenuity that flow among those who labor with their hands. By turning to the working class, Amis aligns himself with a tradition of artists who sought truth not in polish, but in the grit and sparkle of life lived close to the bone.

In this, there is also a lesson of humility. Too often the world assumes that wisdom and beauty belong to those of wealth or education. Yet the laughter of factory workers, the sharp word of a cab driver, or the song of a miner returning home—all these contain a richness that no academy can manufacture. The poetry of the working class is spontaneous, irrepressible, and true. It does not need a stage or a book; it bursts forth in stories told over ale, in jokes on the street corner, in songs sung after long days of toil.

The ancients themselves knew this. The Greek chorus, though stylized, was born from the voices of common people who sang together in festivals. The epics that shaped civilizations, such as the Iliad and the Odyssey, were carried on the tongues of bards, many of whom sprang not from aristocracy but from the people. It is from the multitude, not the select few, that the rhythms of humanity are drawn.

The teaching, then, is this: do not overlook the voices of those who struggle, for in their words lies invention, resilience, and humor unmatched. If you are a writer, look not only to the polished halls but to the rough streets. If you are a thinker, listen not only to professors, but to farmers, laborers, and workers. For in their speech, their laughter, and their struggles, there is poetry that refines the soul more than any polite conversation can.

And to live this teaching practically: seek out the stories of those often unheard. Speak with respect to those who serve you, listen carefully to the wit of the mechanic or the builder, and learn from the resilience of those who work without praise. Let your admiration not be reserved for the comfortable, but extend to those who endure. For as Martin Amis declares, it is in them that we find the inventive spark, the wit that defies hardship, and the hidden poetry of humanity itself.