I Hate Downton Abbey

I know I lay myself open for a lot of hate mail by declaring my dislike of Downton Abby. But you can’t accuse me of just watching one program and writing it off. Nope, I watched every season.

Why?

Self-defence. Invariably, someone would ask, “Did you see Downton Abbey last night?” If I said ‘no’, I invariably got a retelling of the whole program in excruciating detail. So I watched and developed my stock answer: Yes, wonderful setting. Yes, great costumes. Good acting, too.

All of which was true. But I still hated it.

Why do I hate Downton Abbey?

Let me give you an example from the first season. So the heir to the estate shows up. The oldest girl of the family resists falling in love with him, but eventually succumbs. There is a scene of them dancing together to establish it. One wrinkle—the heir is already engaged to someone else and she sees them waltzing.

Right at that moment, I knew the fiancée was toast. And sure enough, she conveniently dies of influenza shortly thereafter, paving the way for True Love.

The whole series had that quality. When a character stood in the way of the advancement of the story, a convenient accident or death whisked him or her out of the way. It was like watching a train barrelling across a prairie towards you and then being asked to be surprised when you had to jump out of the way.

In short, Downton Abbey was predictable.

Isn’t predictability good?

Okay, I’m not saying that predictability is totally and invariably unacceptable. Take mystery novels. As I’ve pointed out in a previous post, they have a well-accepted format which readers expect and enjoy. Murder, suspect, detective, resolution. Same for Harlequin romances. Poor but worthy girl falls for virile but flawed male after series of tribulations.

And I don’t wish to imply that some authors aren’t very inventive in sticking to the expected while still weaving an enjoyable story around it. (Okay, maybe I’m just talking about mysteries.)

But where there is not a well-established path, where you aren’t supposed to know where the story is going—i.e., the rest of fiction—too much predictability is boring.

What should we be aiming for?

Fighting predictability is a constant battle. It’s not that you are aiming for it, but it is often the easy way out of a writing predicament. If your characters have become stock, then when the villain makes a choice, it takes little effort to have him act more evil than possibly explore some other option.

Even when you are striving for more nuanced characters, it is so alluring to have them act in predictable ways. The concerned mother, the feckless teenager, the embittered old man. These tropes aren’t bad in and of themselves, but good fiction aims to help the reader see the world in way he hadn’t before. Not with alien landscapes necessarily, but more with a perspective or insight which is new.

It’s harder to do that if you are using tried and true actions, feelings, or values from tried and true characters. Next post: Avoiding Predictability.

July 17, 2020June 5, 2020

When to Break Literary Law

In the last post, I featured another author, Muriel Spark, whose novel The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie thumbed its nose at literary law. Having already discussed why to be wary of Breaking the rules, I now want to discuss when you might want to.

Unfortunately, I fear this post is going to be pretty wishy-washy. I can’t tell you with certainty when to take the plunge or what form it should take. I may not even be able to give you examples from other writers. Because this is an idiosyncratic and personal phenomenon.

But I am pretty sure of (maybe) that sitting down, thinking, Right, I’m writing an iconoclastic novel, doesn’t work. The result is likely to be forced and false

Breaking literary conventions

I think the time to break literary laws is when the fracturing is required because of the needs of the story or because it is the nature of your voice as a writer.

You may get to the point that following the normal story arc just doesn’t suit or support where you want to take the novel. You might want to interject fantasy elements in an otherwise reality based tale, the significance of which will only become evident at the end. You might have drawn a protagonist who is so out of touch with who he is that the most effective way to show it is to omit any kind of inner life. These might be times when you dump conventions and go with what best serves the story.

I also accept that some writers can best express who they are, i.e. their voice, through elliptical, non-linear, and even chaotic novels where the joy comes from going along for the ride and not from following a strict story line. So ignoring rules may be what is needed to truly capture your spirit on the page.

So, if either of these (and probably others I haven’t thought of) fit you, then by all means, give it a go.

Some caveats

There are, however, some issues which might arise from these approaches which are worth paying attention to.

As I have discussed before, in order to feel true and realistic to your audience, writers must know that the readers’ expectations from fiction which are largely unconscious but which you ignore at your peril.

You might decide that your ending should be vague and even confusing in order to fit with the rest of the novel. However, since readers by and large expect some kind of resolution, you may confuse and even anger them. While you might be going for the latter, do you really want to confuse them?

I’m not saying don’t do it but I think you need to be cognizant of the possible outcome. Because not only are you violating their normal expectations, you are asking them to conform to your new rules, however unspoken. Even if that rule is that there are no rules.

July 10, 2020July 5, 2020

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

One of the only silver linings in this historic period of social distancing is the chance to reread favorite old books. In my case, it is the novel The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark. The book rather than the 1969 movie of the same name (although I liked it, too) is what I want to discuss.

Edinburgh of the 1930s is the setting for the novel. Miss Brodie is a teacher in a private girls’ school and her charge is the twelve-year-old class. She ignores the curriculum to introduce ‘her girls’ to her highly romanticized view of the world with its decided fascist leanings. The girls adore her and follow her teachings slavishly. Well, with one notable exception. Read the book—it really is worth it.

But it is Spark’s defiance of literary conventions which I find fascinating.

Brodie ignores literary conventions

Lack of internal thoughts

A novelist’s access to the thoughts of at least the protagonist allows we understand the character’s world view, her fears, her desires, and hopefully find her sympathetic enough to want to know what happens to her.

Spark never uses this technique. Absolutely no internal dialogue. And yet we have a perfectly clear image of who she is.

How does she do it? By having her girls, their parents, her colleagues and her various lovers be fascinated/annoyed/jealous of her. From those sources, we have a complete picture.

Normally, I would be all over this. It verges on tell, not show. Spark forces us to rely on the observations of others rather than our own. It should be difficult to ‘get’ the character if her thoughts are closed to the reader.

And yet, it totally works. I know who Jean is despite Spark writing with one hand tied behind her back.

Shifts of Points of View (POV)

Because of intense fascination of Brodie’s girls with her, we get lots of shifts into their POV. We are inside the heads of the non-major characters and it all seems perfectly natural. But multiple POVs are usually frowned upon, particularly, you would think, because there isn’t one for the main character.

Shifts of time

In addition, Spark casts forward into the future to talk about the fictional present. She depicts the Brodie girls as adults, discussing how they view Brodie now. Just fascinating..

Breaking the rules

You might think that Spark could get away with what she did as she was depicting an over-the-top persona. The flamboyance of the character makes it easy for others to know her and pass that knowledge on to us.

But other authors have used the same technique with much more taciturn lead characters. Cormac McCarthy, the author of, in particular, All the Pretty Horses features cowboys in many of his novels. Can you imagine a bunch less likely to admit to having inner thoughts, much less sharing them? And yet he also makes it work (also worth reading, by the way).

So, authors can and do break rules that are normally considered sacrosanct. In Breaking the rules, I discussed the danger of writers assuming that they can be as wild and crazy as they like, assuming that their readers will take it lying down. But news, the only thing they might lay down is your book. Next post: When to Break Literary Law.

April 10, 2020April 2, 2020

Creating a Believable World

In the last post, I Love The Handmaid’s Tale, I maintain that the characters work because they are in a world which rings true. How is this created?

What makes a story believable?

Science fiction writer John Wyndham’s gift was a unique ability to consistently create complete worlds. He wrote Day of the Triffids where everyone is blinded. I wanted to stop reading (too scary—see rule) but I couldn’t put it down. Similarly, the Midwich Cuckoos (filmed asVillage of the Damned)is the chilling story of alien children set to take over the world.

Wyndham’s genius is to present the reader, early on, with one unbelievable event. The plants which blind people in Triffids or the birth of the alien children by human mothers—Midwich. If you accept that event, everything else rolls out logically as the characters adapt to the change. Gangs of blind people enslave the few sighted ones to lead them to food; the alien children are in a special school because they’re too brilliant for ordinary education.

And thus a compelling and believable world is born.

So how do you make your fictional world as gripping, even without aliens?

How to make your fictional world realistic

One approach is to creating a realistic world is covered in my post, Creating the Fictional World. Below is another which is similar but different enough to warrant mention.

It helps to have a picture in your mind of a typical scene in your novel, whether main street, Wall Street, or fantasy. Doesn’t have to be fully formed and don’t bother writing it down. Just have it there as we walk through the following discussion.

How does the world affect/influence your main characters?

Pick a few characters (not a lot) and decide how the world influences their behavior. Is there pressure to conform in your small town world? Does the protagonist feel he has to live up to the world’s mythic figures?
Think of a scene which would show this quality to the reader. Write it.
As the novel develops, ask yourself this question again and write the scenes which illustrate the world’s influence.

How do your key characters react to the world?

Consciously try to get into your key characters’ heads
Work through the major events in your novel and consider how each of these characters might react.
For example, in Handmaid’s Tale, June/Offred and other Handmaids are ordered to stone a man. How is Aunt Lydia feeling? Perhaps satisfied but also trying to suppress her underlying misgivings. How is June feeling? Repulsed by it but knows she can say nothing. How is another Handmaid feeling? Perhaps she has been completely hoodwinked and allows her most animalistic urges to find expression. They are going to act differently because they feel differently. How do you show that?

In this way, you can help to build a credible world into which your reader can sink.

Will this guarantee a compelling world?

I really, really want to say, “Absolutely,” but I know I can’t. Whether this works depends on a myriad of things—the setting you’ve chosen, the characters in it, the plot, your mastery of the craft of writing. In other words, the whole shebang.

But being aware that the world you create can and should affect your characters will help to create a continuous dream for your readers. What we all want.

April 3, 2020March 27, 2020

I Love The Handmaid’s Tale

I don’t pay to get scared—a rule I live by. I don’t go to scary movies, I don’t bungie jump, I don’t escape to escape rooms. Yet I watch the dark, creepy and scary TV series, The Handmaid’s Tale.

Why?

Well, aside from deep psychological reasons I won’t go into, because The Handmaid’s Tale portrays a completely credible world (Gilead) in which I must immerse myself.

I’ve discussed this idea in Creating the Fictional World. Here, I’ll discuss how the writers have created this believability.[1]

Two characters in the Handmaid’s Tale

I want to focus on two characters—Aunt Lydia and the Commander, Fred Waterford.

Aunt Lydia

Aunt Lydia, portrayed by Ann Dowd, prepares fertile women for their new and unwelcome role as the Handmaids to Gilead’s elite.

But Aunt Lydia is not a one-dimensional bad guy. She uses a cattle prod to keep the Handmaids in line but argues a disfigured girl should receive a treat. She demands the Handmaids stone a ‘guilty’ man but seems genuinely happy at a pregnancy.

Normally, in fiction, we have trouble with a character that possesses such opposing traits.

Despite this, the writers of the show have made Aunt Lydia credible and compelling. The character has bought completely into the Gilead system. Because Aunt Lydia truly believes what she is doing is righteous, any promptings to be human (compassionate, kind, empathetic) are sternly suppressed as shameful weaknesses.

This rings true because history shows that unbelievably cruelty is possible under the sway of an ideology. During World War II, SS concentration camp officers believed that killing Jews and others, while difficult, was nevertheless for the greater Nazi good.

Aunt Lydia, like the SS officers, does her duty—even if or perhaps especially when, it is distasteful (inhuman).

The Commander

But while Aunt Lydia is caught in a system not of her creation, the Commander helped to shape Gilead’s laws.

Joseph Fiennes plays Commander Fred Waterford, a high-ranking government official. Like Aunt Lydia, he believes in Gilead. But the rules are for the likes of her, not him. He acts as all elites have in history—providing themselves with exemptions not available to the general population.

Thus, despite Gilead’s credo that sex is for reproduction only, he takes his handmaid to a club where the elite indulge in sex for pleasure.

Yet at other times, he invokes the law. He has his wife’s finger cut off for advocating that girls should be taught to read. And is tremendously remorseful later while maintaining it had to be done.

You see, there it is again. Characters acting inconsistently. But it totally works.

Why does this work?

Some might be thinking, “Well, real people don’t always act consistently.” Absolutely right. But say in the novel you’re reading the protagonist is calm, reflective, and logical. Then she suddenly abandons her job and husband for a wild party in India. As a reader, you’d be taken aback unless the writer provides a credible reason for this personality change. Because fiction has rules, albeit often unspoken, that writers must usually respect to produce a story satisfying to their readers.

I think The Handmaid’s Tale works because the characters act in a world which itself rings true. And they act consistently within that world.

So, how do you create a believable world in which characters can live? Next post.

[1] For those who don’t know the story, IMBd has short summaries.