Opinions on the Art of Fiction

Prose

I’m referring to the words you assemble (and not their content). Clarity and smoothness are the goals. The reader should encounter no difficulties in following the story and its characters. If you have a gift for lyricism or for beautiful turns of phrasing, keep it in check. (Or save it for your poetry.) And if you’re a profound thinker, be profound enough to understand that density and complexity present problems for the reader. Why make someone good enough to read your work struggle to comprehend what’s going on? Think of your prose in these terms: If you witnessed a three car pileup, and were describing it to someone, would you do it in such a way that what happened was vague — or incomprehensible? No, you’d tell it plainly. As for those who find your prose too plain for their elevated sensibilities, they simply don’t understand that clarity and smoothness take work to achieve. I’m not asking for the prose to be devoid of inventiveness; inventive phrasing is a good thing, as long as it supplements the clarity and smoothness, serves to make it more interesting. And never calls attention to itself. Are you having any problem following my line of thinking?

Construction

What does this word — construction — have to do with the writing of fiction? A novel or story isn’t a building. Well, yes, in a sense it is. If the construction of a building is not carefully planned out before work on it begins, problems will crop up. So it is with a work of fiction. You have to know where you’re going. What will happen to a character on the last page should be known to you when you embark on the first page (as is how he or she got there). Many writers say they sit at their computer with a mere germ of an idea, and it evolves as they tap away. This is romanticism. Does divine inspiration play a role? Or possibly the muse flutters down upon their shoulders? More often than not these miraculously inspired novels tend to show weaknesses at about the halfway mark. Characters act and feel without valid motivation. Or, because they have no place in the evolving plot, some fade away completely. Events occur out of the blue. The writer must engage in patchwork manipulation as the structure wobbles; sometimes a collapse is imminent, and a complete rewrite is necessary. Give me the craftsman. I would ask a question of these novelists who rely on inspirational intervention: before getting into the actual writing of a novel, is it not a creative endeavor to think out your plot and characters? Lying in bed before going to sleep, while driving? Imagine who they are, your characters, and how they got in their predicaments — and what, ultimately, will become of them. When you do begin writing, alterations are natural, but, since the foundation is strong, they will not be major.

Plot

Now we get into your use of the prose. It serves to move events along, to create and deal with predicaments. Since you know where events will go, you use your brains to set things up. A straight line from A to Z is not being proposed. On the contrary, dead ends and detours are often the right way for things to happen (think of your own lives). Since the human mind is a complex thing, complexity is necessary. I was not, in asking that complexity be avoided in the prose, advocating that simplicity be present in the unfolding of events. Confusion, divided loyalties, conflicted feelings and other such dilemmas often confound us. Make the complex dilemmas real, comprehensible, believable. Even bizarre situations are fine if they serve a purpose and are done with conviction. For some characters a motivation will hold steady, or an event will determine a personality. Make the reader feel the power of that motivation, the force of that event. Don’t state it, don’t wave a banner signifying your intent. You’re an artist; you know how to create an effect, even a hidden one. A reader should never think that a character’s reaction is inauthentic. Or not understand how events could have brought them to some point. Plots must have a solid basis, an inevitability. Construct circumstances so that the reader will move along on the path your characters take. In this section I’ve used the word “move” twice. It’s important that your plot never stalls, stagnates. If you keep things moving with action, dialogue, thoughts and feelings the pages will turn. I must add one side note, having to do with that adage “Write what you know.” Should your story take place in a war zone when you’ve never been in a war? I would say no; you can’t comprehend the feelings of people in those circumstances. I believe that adage has a cautionary purpose. Anyway, does the world you’ve lived in — its people and events — not offer up enough material?

Characters

I’m going to sound repetitious: Your characters need to be real, believable. Even if one is a murderer. Have we not all had dark urges? The entire range of human feelings are in us, even repellant ones. Thus we, as writers, can understand them and so can the reader. But I hope you’re working at a higher level than to use sociopaths and oddballs as cheap attention-grabbers. Create a grotesque character only if he or she must exist for the integrity of your work. Most people lead normal lives — at least on the outside. Any life is interesting if looked at closely; no one is simple, and the outwardly dullest individual has depths. To create a character you must see the world from his or her perspective. Become them. With a major character, even a distasteful one, don’t judge, don’t condemn. But, also, don’t weep in pity for one you feel close to. Understand, but keep an element of detachment; this is true even if the character is you. Actually, it is even more true if the character is you; don’t let your closeness distort the truth (we all lie to ourselves). The variety of personalities available to us to depict is endless; what two people are emotional clones? The approaches you take to this rich material can vary greatly. Sometimes a caricature serves the needed purpose. And minor characters can be one-dimensional role players. But, as a general rule, major characters must be people the reader can relate to, and for that to happen they must think and feel and act in ways that have a basis in the realities of human nature. Lacking this critical quality, they are merely an author’s contrivances and as such have little (or no) worth. One last note: How many characters? There can be so many that the reader can’t keep track of them. And when someone appears briefly on page 28, and then reappears on page 132 as important to the plot, how is the reader supposed to remember him? Always care for your readers.

Revision

Revision is an essential part of writing a work of fiction. Before you engage in this wrapping up, give the novel or story time to rest. Don’t look at it for at least two months. You need to engage in revision with a fresh eye. If you did the constructing, got the characters and plot in order in the original draft, it shouldn’t be an ordeal. No overhaul necessary. It should be a matter of making what is basically right better. Seeking out what needs improvement. What loose end is still dangling? Did you overuse the same word? Would a character really say that? Is this reaction a bit maudlin? Get rid of that damn adverb.

Some writers have a support network making suggestions. Consider the source. Does this person understand your intent, are they on the same wave length? Accept what you judge to be correct. But don’t have a closed mind and reject sound advice.

After this initial revision, wait a few more months (or years) and do it again.

Miscellany

Avoid over-describing. A little, if you’re using the right words, is enough, and more than enough is boring. Especially when nature is involved. Are you writing for botanists? A good rule to go by is that a tree is important only if it falls on your character’s head. Places should be sketched in; we don’t need a guided tour of a home or business. Things aren’t people, our main concern, though even the descriptions of the appearance of people can be overdone. Here we segue to what’s been called the “precious” detail. It is precious. A lot of verbiage about a man’s outfit has less impact than the fact that a button is missing on his suit. A house with an aluminum screen door establishes it. And dialogue. It’s an essential way not just to reveal character but to move the plot along. A novel in the first person has the opportunity to capitalize on voice; it’s dialogue as narrative. But only if you’re fully into the character will that voice be consistent and true. Length . . . Well, you’re asking a lot of a person to tackle your 684 page novel. In the 1800s the educated classes wanted them long — what other entertainment did they have? Now many feel intimidated by the whopper. And do you really have that much to say? Is your mind that fertile? Well, maybe it is, so go ahead.

What are your aspirations? If it’s greatness, you’re aiming too high. Try for good (as in “That sure was a good night’s sleep.”). If you aim at that, you may achieve very good. Aspirations of greatness can burden rather than elevate. That said, a novel should be about something meaningful. It should have substance. Even a humorous novel shouldn’t be mere fluff. Say something about the human condition. But efforts to be profound, or to instruct, are a mistake if done overtly. Any insight you want to impart should be embedded in the characters and their situations. The reader should get your message through a process akin to osmosis. Don’t assume the role of a dispener of wisdom.

As for greatness, it’s a descriptive word (one that is woefully overused). Still, there are works that rise above others. They may bypass some of the “rules” I’m putting forth. But when, as a result, they become difficult to read, they forfeit the right to greatness. Writing should communicate and engage. No struggle should be required.

Finally, beginnings and endings. Yes, you do need to engage the reader on the first page. Don’t set things off with a bang — that’s too obvious. Have a character do something, like get out of a taxi in front of a hotel. Or say something: “When will you be home? You know how I worry.” Get things rolling. As for endings, they must be conceived with care. All that came before must be capped off; completeness must be achieved. It can be a dramatic ending, but a quiet one is often as effective. Use what fits. It’s a sad experience when the reader closes a book with a sense of being letdown by a weak ending. 

Last of all: passion (in the sense of a strong emotion). Writers should feel that emotion about what they write — and also about what they read. I like the following story — the passion and conviction in it —  and so will take this opportunity to share it.

Max Beerbohm was on friendly terms with Henry James, but they had disagreements on literature. James had written in a deprecatory manner about Arnold Bennett’s Old Wives’ Tale, which Max believed was the finest novel produced in England in the century. (I agree about its worth.) When Max expressed this opinion, James replied — probably with a dismissive shrug —  “What’s it all about?” At this “enormity” Max put down his teacup before replying: “What’s it about? What’s it about? Why, it’s about the passing of time, about the stealthy merging of youth into age, the invisibility of the traps in our own characters into which we walk, unwary, unknowing. ‘WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT?’!”

I expand on these opinions — and give the names of writers and novels that go against my standards — in the following three essays (which can be located on the left of this page):

Density in Fiction

Zadie Smith on her Craft

Gallatin Canyon

I praise works that give me pleasure in:

What I Want