by Carla Douglas
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| Image by barefootedgirl (CC BY-NC 2.0) |
Those numbers seem almost quaint by today’s standards – some advice I’ve
read online goes so far as to say that you must hook your reader on the first page! I don’t think it’s fair to
judge a novel based on so little, but there it is – readers are becoming more
and more impatient, and writers had best listen.
How many of us stop to analyze just why we’ve put a book down? This
past weekend I attended a seminar for fiction editors, where we spent a good
part of our time talking about just this: what are the things that
can go wrong in a novel? Here, in no particular order, is a partial list of what
stood out in that conversation.
The novel has weak or
unconvincing dialogue – especially when the author attempts to replicate regional accents or
dialects. A host of other issues crop up in dialogue. Readers can become
confused about who is saying what, and they are easily exasperated by too many chippy
dialogue tags, such as “she quipped” and “he chortled.”
The novel is full of clichés.
It’s bad enough to rely on a cliché once, but when it appears a second time in
the same book, you are probably pushing the limits of a reader’s tolerance. Here’s
an example. Does your handsome male protagonist have “translucent blue eyes”? A
tired expression like this is the literary equivalent of an earworm. Readers
will judge you for not trying hard enough to invigorate your prose.
The novel lacks internal
consistency. Hair colour, eye colour, spelling of names, the town a character is
from – all these things must be carefully checked for consistency. Readers
notice when these things don’t add up (and they love to point them out, too).
Worse, though, is if an underlying premise in the novel fails the consistency
test. For instance, the main character in a fantasy novel has x-ray vision. Yet
in a crisis in which her life is in danger, she can’t find her keys at the
bottom of her purse, and she wastes precious time groping around looking for
them. Huh?
The novel contains one or
more information or research dumps. Yes,
the main character may have a remarkably interesting job, and it might benefit
the novel to include some background information. But readers want to absorb
this knowledge by the way. That is, they
don’t want to be told, in long descriptive passages, about the engineering
challenges of coal mine construction in the 1890s. They would rather look over
the shoulder of a miner as he descends the mine shaft for the first time.
The author cannot resist the
urge to teach, or worse, to preach. Readers
read for a number of reasons, but I think it’s safe to say that they don’t read
fiction in order to learn facts or to be told what to think. When the author’s
voice intrudes in a narrative to make a point, you can almost hear that author
protesting, “This is really interesting and important! Pay attention!” Readers can
be insulted by this – they sense first that the author doesn’t trust them to “get
it” on their own, and second, that perhaps the author should have written
another kind of book.
Much of what these five points boil down to is about the nature of the
author-reader relationship. Readers put their trust in an author to deliver a
satisfying reading experience; authors, in turn, need to trust and respect the
reader to draw whatever conclusions she chooses as a result of that experience.
It’s not easy to build a relationship with the reader, but the effort is worth it.
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This is a great post! I agree with all of these. Information dumps like you mentioned is a huge turnoff. I try to let my authors know when they're doing this, because a reader will get bored and put down the book pretty quick.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comments, Amanda. For some writers it seems that they can't resist sharing everything they know about a subject -- and I agree -- it's boring! Other writers handle technical information so elegantly, though -- Michael Ondaatje's *In the Skin of a Lion* comes to mind.
ReplyDeleteA while back, I decided to reread Angela Carter’s The Magic Toyshop, which I read about 20 years earlier and didn’t remember at all. I must have liked it somewhat back then, because I’m pretty sure I finished it. But the story, the writing, and my reactions to it left no trace in my memory.
ReplyDeleteMy copy has some student’s notes scrawled in black ink in the margins, which didn’t exactly enhance my reading pleasure. I’ve never understood why people do that to books. (“It smells of rotten mortality,” said Finn. is underlined, with LEAR scrawled beside it. Grrr. The phrase is “rotten death,” and it isn’t from King Lear, it is from The Rape of Lucrece. As I read that line, I was reacting to the student’s stupidity. And it also made me aware of how Carter clumsily substituted “mortality” for “death,” making the phrase feel more abstract, more vague – a tiny example of her tendency to over-write.)
My reaction to one part of the book struck me. The passage (which is early in the book, on page 17 of the Virago edition) was:
The lilac bushes stirred. A small, furry, night animal scuttled across the lawn in front of her and vanished with a scrabbling noise into a pile of grass cuttings; the creature, whatever it was, had no more corporeal substance than wind-blown leaves.
“I never thought the night would be like this,” said Melanie aloud, in a tiny voice.
She shook with ecstasy. Why? How? Beyond herself, she did not know or care. ...
***
I was right with the writer, intrigued and enjoying, until I hit “Why? How?” At that point, Carter lost me utterly, and it took at least another 20 pages for me to get back into the story. I felt I was in an English class, and suddenly the teacher was pulling a snap quiz. Of course, I didn’t know the answer to either question, because Carter hadn’t provided one. And her next sentence, “she did not know or care,” immediately reflected my own reaction. I didn’t know why the character was over-reacting, and the book had abruptly lost me as a reader, so I no longer cared.
Hi Greg -- Thanks for your thoughtful comment. You've put it well -- the "why" and "how" are such teacherly questions, aren't they. This is a great example of the author's voice breaking through. And it's patronizing. I think readers will forgive an author a few mistakes -- an occasional typo or continuity error (things an editor should catch!) -- but too much intrusion does test a reader's limits.
ReplyDeleteCarla