Q: How can i be sure my readers will understand my core message, my purpose for writing the book in the first place – unless I help out with a little commentary or explanation?
A: Authors need to respect their readers and allow them their own reactions to the narrative.
This issue comes up frequently for authors at the early stages of writing a novel, memoir, or non-fiction narrative. The writer wonders: “How present should I be in the story?”
What’s wrong with explaining?
The original motivation for an author is usually to illuminate a story that the reader can easily identify with and care about. So what’s wrong with underlining an idea or focusing on the intentional meaning of what’s going on?
What’s wrong is what I see frequently as a developmental editor. Authors who insert themselves intrusively into the story in a misguided effort to explain the meaning of what’s happening and control how the reader responds to the characters and action.
A guiding principle
Have you ever been to a movie where there’s an annoying voiceover narration that keeps commenting without adding anything to what you’re seeing on the screen?
That’s equivalent to an excessive explanation that an author inserts unnecessarily.
Far better to let the story tell itself.
Don’t do this
“’Goodbye forever, you creep!’ Emily screamed hysterically, slamming the door. George was devastated, coiling a strand of his hair around his finger desperately and pulling on it violently in an act of existential anguish until it tore a raw, blood-seeping chunk out of his poor and innocent scalp.”
Do we need all those adjectives and adverbs to help us understand what’s happening here? Not really. We get it. Emily left him. George is upset.
Don’t do this either
At the other extreme, I sometimes see prose stripped down to terse action and minimalist dialogue, like “Emily walked out. George pulled his hair.”
It’s a style that can be so self-consciously diminished it becomes annoying. As a developmental editor, I might suggest new language to add a bit of color, attitude, and a sense of human feelings.
How much should writers reveal themselves?
Should writers reveal themselves as the omniscient puppeteers behind the curtain, or remain completely in the background, totally invisible?
My view has always been that less is better. Let your readers have their own experiences with your book. As readers ourselves, we know that we bring to the book our own perspective, our own unique response to the characters and their stories.
In the first sample above, for example, some readers may resent the author’s apparent intention to make us feel sorry for George, preferring Emily’s point of view. Others may feel otherwise. That’s what is wonderful about reading a book — or experiencing any work of art, including music, painting, film — our own emotional and psychological backstories and personal, intimate temperaments influence profoundly how we respond to what’s written.
Mistrust is at the heart of the question
Consequently, I believe all writers should avoid the mistrust at the heart of engineering artificially authorized feelings. Instead I recommend an author include only what’s necessary to achieve a proper balance between the quick and the dead, the hollow shell of rapid surface events and the overwrought laboring of an author preaching from a soapbox.
Here’s a good example of such a subtle balance from a very good short story by Tessa Hadley called Clever Girl that recently appeared in the New Yorker magazine:
“Our new garden, which my window overlooked in blind indifference, was only a rectangle of clay, marked off with fence posts and wire from the clay rectangle belonging to the other houses.”
Hardly any explicit emotional direction here. “Blind indifference” is the only clue of where the author might be coming from, but the author hasn’t chosen the words: It’s a first-person narrative.
Meanwhile, the bare description and repeating appearance of the clay rectangle again and again sent a shudder down my spine, evoking, for me at least, desolation, dread, isolation, vulnerability and fear. All very powerful in this story, which is narrated by an unhappy ten-year-old girl who has just moved to the suburbs with her mother and unwelcome new stepfather.
The debate between too much and too little
There are no sure-fire formulas for great writing, however. The debate continues.
For example, Aine Greaney an Irish-born author and essayist wrote a piece on the website Gently Read Literature which addresses this problem entitled The Ghost Behind the Page.
“In my author-school days, Rule Number 1 was to never insert yourself between the story and the reader. Yet, I believe that too many modern fiction authors eclipse themselves completely from the work. As we read their books, we cannot sense the presence of an author-ghost behind the pages. While the story is clever or exciting or readable, the narrative provides no window into that author’s sensibilities or philosophies or attitudes. Quite simply, there’s no author there.”
Here’s a different approach from best-selling author Abraham Verghese, who sets out explicit meaning and explanation for the story that he’s going to tell at the opening of his novel Cutting for Stone.
“We come unbidden into this life, and if we are lucky we find a purpose beyond starvation, misery, and early death which, lest we forget, is the common lot. I grew up and found my purpose and it was to become a physician. My intent wasn’t to save the world as much to heal myself.”
Very nice. Well written. Pretty much tells us what the book is going to be about. Not every author, however, has the literary skill or story-telling ability of Verghese.
What about you?
What kind of balance between explaining and trusting the readers are you choosing? Send in your examples and thoughts on these subtle but critical literary choices.
“Authors who insert themselves intrusively into the story in a misguided effort to explain the meaning of…”
Are you talking about Stephenie Meyer? Bwahahaha!
In the beginning of my writing career, I also thought the writer should comment on his dialogue to make sure the reader got the point. Now, with published novels under my writer’s belt, I no longer comment on my dialogue. I let it speak for itself. Even my summaries and tranistions are concise and precise, letting the reading do his own thinking and assuming. I have recently added some of my published books to my Kindle e-book reader bookshelf, but before I did the electronic steps necessary, I made sure I read each book again and like a typical writer, I ended up revising each book down in wordage, getting rid of any explanations or “windy” passages that could benefit from less words and more meaning as a result. And I’ve come to the conclusion that the e-book versions of my printed books are not only a shorter read, they’re a better read. When it comes to reviving literature, I have the feeling that Amazon is doing the “Lord’s” work in reviving book-lover interest in quality serious literature, as well as the usual genre offerings.
It’s very nice to have an excerpt from my essay in “Gently Read Lit” quoted here, and used in that perpetual argument over the extent to which an author should reveal him or herself in the narrative. Thank you.
Excellent comments, too. In my published work, I’ve always been astonished by the details that readers hone in on, and equally how some miss completely obvious plot points. In some cases, this is a cultural mis-match, as much or part of my work is transatlantic or set partly in Ireland. But often, as Marcus Brotherton points out, I believe that 21st century readers are “quick and cold” and seeking the PowerPoint bulleted list. This latter sensibility reveals itself during in-person book club discussions. But just as I despair of the future of attentive reading, someone writes me a wonderful note that assures me that there are, indeed, all levels of readers out there. A final point: in its early submission days, two review editors (at my publishers) read my work and returned very contrary commentary and suggestions re: this author-explaining issue. Most of the argument centered around the issue of using foreign language terms or expressions in the otherwise English narrative. One review editor wanted full, English explanations for each usage, while the other damned me for over translating and over explaining when the meaning was perfectly clear from the context. Any other authors run into the non-English language usage and the need to translate (or not) within the text?
AlreadySaidTooMuch,
It’s often difficult to tell the truth without offending someone. If you can live with the results, including being sad, my advice is don’t look back. On to the next book.
Every situation is different, but a friend who would disown you in a case like this, may not have been much of a friend to begin with.
Hi Alan,
Love your blog! In my memoir, I wrote about my difficult marriage for the purpose of developing a parallel story between my work life and my personal life. One close friend, male, has completely removed me from his life. His view is that I have betrayed the essence of “family as sacred and private.” He even tried to get me to remove the 10 pages (out of 225) from the book. While I decided to not take his advice and have since been dis-owned as friend, I do understand his point of view. I feel sad that I have offended him. Any advice on handling this point of view?
Already Said Too Much
Wonderful post. I love the easy, simple explanation followed by examples. Bookmarking this post for my writing group to read. Thank you for posting.
These are some pretty good tips, but one thing caught my attention.
Because of my style of writing, which is a mix of science fiction, drama and parody all in one, I think that in certain situations, a author inserted into the story fits the purpose of the joke or pun intended. In such a story that I may or may not write, the personalities or aspects of inserting myself are not explicitly explained, it’s more like a cameo effect intended as a joke. It’s like Scary Movie where he tells the girl ‘this is just a movie. sweetie. There’s the director, the cameraman…’ and the camera moves to show the so-called director, cameraman, etc portrayed by actors. I’m not inserting my own thoughts, feelings, actions, etc into the story nor am I becoming a character into the story, It’s for the purpose of a cameo character and joke effect who (if turned into a movie) can be played by any random stranger.
I know none of you know me, but if you did, I think you would understand because my type of humor or storytelling is actually quite unique in a way where I can (literally) pull something off like that. I’ve had the only two readers of my unpublished novels like the effect and intentionality of the aforementioned, so as you blog states, I trusted (and will continue to trust) the reader to get the joke, fiction or drama intended.
Excellent post! And being a Libra, I can fully appreciate the value of doing things in proper balance. Too little is risking the premise getting lost, leaving it up to too much speculation and getting misinterpreted too often, but then again, explaining too much is kind of a way to pigeonhole your work into being about just ONE thing, or set of things. Ensuring that your work is well-rounded is definitely key.
Or else, maybe the idea is to present the story from different perspectives. I love doing that. I end up feeling like I’m arguing with myself in different chapters. One minute, I’m writing how great a feeling is, the next I’m lamenting about how awful it feels. That way, the book doesn’t just take a singular stance and present one single main idea or moral to the reader. It ends up presenting both sides of an issue, or multiple sides, so that the reader can choose which school of thought they want to subscribe to.
I mean, after all, isn’t that the core of analysis? Seeing an issue or feeling or situation from all angles to determine what’s really going on at the core? :-)
Ultimately, too much explanation can definitely sway and prejudice a reader’s leanings in any direction, it can come off as preachy, it can reveal the writer too much, but too little explanation and the book ends up looking misdirected, uncontrollable and unguided.
Balance balance balance, :-D
I often get readers telling me the premises of my stories. They find things in my novels I do not know are in there. Wow. I do not correct them, because if you find it, it must be there. I often go and read the bits they mention, and sure enough, I find their “atmospheric suggestion” or “avuncular archetype”. What readers find in fiction is not always up to the author. True, sometimes they miss intended references and allusions, but they find others… or not, and move on to some other author who might provide them. This is an extract I feel works for my readers. It’s from According to Luke. http://tiny.cc/o0yon
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‘Goodness!’ His expression did not change. ‘Did they take anything?’
‘Yes, they knew exactly what to look for. But that’s not the worst of it.’ She drew a long breath. ‘Anita Schneider is dead.’
‘Dead!’
Light streamed from a bank of stained glass windows between them. It was as if it were an acoustic barrier too. Booming echoes from exclaiming tourists and the high pitched drone of a Dutch guide masked what he said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I asked when this happened.’
It was days ago, but she did not feel that way. The tight feeling of grief was still in her chest, accompanied now by the nervousness the murder had created in her.
Once more, he said something she missed. She tilted her head. The hum of conversation in the church was now rowdy, as if they were at some party. Jana wished she could put the box down. It was ridiculous. She should have looked for another bag for her things. She should have left the notebooks behind. But there was the other object she was hiding – where would she have placed that? She looked down in consternation. The marble inscription under her left foot said mori. She moved it. Memento mori. Remember that you will die.<
The whole premise of the book can be contained in one sentence, which I am not about to put here, of course!
Alan,
Important reminder and good reading. That’s great work, that whole post up there. Congratulations!
Sheila Cull
Great post. I hate those moments when an author, metaphorically speaking, says, “And now we interrupt this story for an important announcement.”
Great information.
I write my stories to entertain; simply take the reader for an interesting journey; http://wp.me/p1BAlV-x A writer’s opinion on the piece usually comes through in the way they tell the story, the path they take, the examples they use. Usually I give my take on things more explicitly with poems. ‘Dry’ http://wp.me/p1BAlV-p
It’s hard to know when you have explained too much or too little. A reader or writer’s group can help. I’ve found that everyone takes a little something different from each story, and I don’t worry about preaching a message.
It seems to me I read Stephen King saying once… you have to hit the reader over the head with it. I may be wrong. I think having someone who reads, read the piece is good. If they don’t understand a part, or miss a whole idea, it’s time to add a little to clarify.
I am a strong proponent of “trust the reader.” That trust can pay off in wonderful and unexpected ways. In my last novel, all my adult readers loved the character of Aya and didn’t like his much younger brother Manerra. A teenaged reader identified with Manerra and hated Aya. In the end of the novel, both groups of readers switched opinions, the adults saying they were pleased by Manerra’s maturity, and the young adult admitting that Aya had been right and wasn’t so bad after all. A writer can’t wish for higher praise.
Friends,
Listen well to the words of Maestro Rinzler. Full disclosure: We recently worked together. Alan edited my first foray into fiction. (I have been a business writer for most of my life.) Ordinary grooming was not nearly enough; he went through my novel with a fine-toothed rake.
I’m happy to say two agents are now reading the complete MS.
Alan’s work was extraordinary. (By the way, he didn’t prompt me to write this, of course.) He did all of the above and more — forced me to trust the reader.
In one chapter in the first draft, two women meet who are old friends, and they just happen to have a love interest in the same man, only one isn’t quite ready to acknowledge it to herself. They psychoanalyze their man, well, like crazy; explaining almost all of his motivations.
Never one for subtlety, Alan’s response to this chapter was, “This is death!”
No kidding. What great Faulkneresque advice. (Meaning: kill your darlings, not the Urban Dictionary def: Get drunk and write in a stream of consciousness. Or should that be unconsciousness?)
Before Alan chimed in, I thought I had done brilliant work in the aforementioned chapter, espousing all kinds of Freudian and Proustian interpretations related to the love interest. The chapter was removed.
It wasn’t necessary and readers now have a greater affinity for the story after making their own connections/interpretations.
Alan went on to correct a few more “bad turns” in the novel to make it more coherent, compelling and satisfying to the reader.
Less is, indeed, more.
Great post, Alan.
Wonderful blog post! I love how you explain the interaction of reader with book, moviegoer with film. Great art allows different people to come away from it with slightly different experiences, based on who they are and their life experiences at the time.
I love the excerpt from “Clever Girl” – beautiful writing, with so much emotion conveyed through language and symbolism. I think that too often in modern minimalist literature there isn’t enough use of literary devices such as symbolism and creative use of language. On the other hand, talented writers succeed with different styles of writing. I think Cormac McCarthy’s THE ROAD is a phenomenal novel written with very sparse language.
Here’s my attempt to show through language a family becoming aware that their child is a faerie capable of magic, in my dark fantasy short story BRIGHT MOON. This story takes place in modern-day China on a farm that becomes affected by pollution from iron-ore mining. I wrote it after watching a TV show about these real-world problems. Since, according to myth, metal is fatal to faeries, I set BRIGHT MOON in China and had a peasant family find an infant, secretly take her in as a second child in violation of China’s One-Child Policy, then discover that she’s a faerie shortly before their farm is affected by iron-ore pollution in nearby waterways. Ming Yue (meaning BRIGHT MOON) is the faerie, Cheng-Gong is her brother, Jia Li is their mother, and Quon is their father.
From BRIGHT MOON:
Three months after Ming Yue’s arrival, as his mother was changing his little sister’s clothes, Cheng-Gong pointed to her back. There sprouted tiny, sparkling, light blue feathers. Suddenly released from the confinement of the tiny undershirt, they fluttered and flapped, completely out of sync with each other. The baby giggled and smiled at her mother.
Jia Li stared at the feathers that had suddenly sprouted; then wrapped her daughter in an undershirt, a heavier flannel shirt and dark green coveralls.
Later that day, as the family worked their small plot of land, the baby, confined to a handmade baby seat, cooed and waved her arms as though communicating with unseen forces. Wrestling with his own mixed feelings of delight and envy toward the intruder, Cheng-Gong carried on negotiations. He tickled his new sister’s belly, rolled on the ground, danced all round her, made funny faces and sang songs. He approved her reaction, increasing his animation as the baby’s face shifted into a myriad of expressions in observing him: baby blue eyes widening in fascination, narrowing in concentration, happiness filling her face as she burst into fits of laughter.
After lunch, Cheng-Gong returned to one of his favorite activities: digging in the soil for earthworms. Finding a particularly long, fat, and wriggling one, he carried it over to show Ming Yue. Her eyes squinty, lips pursed and chubby cheeks tightened in concentration, she studied the creature intensely. Disappointed that she didn’t smile, Cheng-Gong carried the squirming annelid away from her, placing it on a long, thick piece of grass, trekking after it as it crawled away, putting his hands on his hips and addressing it, “Go, worm, go;” then squatting on his muscular little legs to examine the looping invertebrate whenever it stopped to rest.
Ming Yue stared. She caught the essence of her older brother’s glee around the periphery of her vision, but she zoomed in mostly on the worm that had been taken away from her. She furrowed her sparse blonde eyebrows to watch the worm glide from the succulent leaf onto the dirt, then slither away through forests of grass and wheat.
Jia Li looked up from her work, tending the cabbages. “Cheng-Gong, mind your sister!” Not used to the responsibilities of older brothers or the tone of alarm in his mother’s voice, the young boy kicked dirt on the worm; then stomped over to where Ming Yue sat and stared. “What are you looking at?”
In response, Ming Yue pointed a chubby finger toward the fields.
As Cheng-Gong turned around, he witnessed worms poking up everywhere from loosely crumbling ground. Beneath the surface, worms glistening with slippery hues of red and brown shimmied and zigzagged their way through mud, leaving a vast network of tunnels in their wake.
Before the toddler could run to grasp the emerging treasures, his father screamed from across the fields, “Jia Li, take the children inside!”
The woman ran across the field, tripping over cabbages at the plot’s edge, scooping up Ming Yue and pulling Cheng-Gong along by the hand, dragging them to safety inside their home. Resisting the strong tug of his mother, the toddler yanked back at one point, fell down, and surreptitiously strong-fisted two clammy worms into his pants pocket.
Good points. Trust your reader, but it’s also important to know your reader. I enjoy the occasional melodramatic escapist fiction with overwrought emotional adjectives. Bathtub reading, beach reads, all have a place. But use of the word existential is unforgivable.
This is a great piece. When an author takes himself too seriously is when the “Will they get my message nonsense?” comes out. The CRAFT of my writing I take seriously of course, but in the end it’s just a story. The reader makes the meaning and sometimes quite different than what the author intended. Sting is a bit horrified that people think “Every Breath You Take” is a love song when in reality it’s about a stalker probably wanting to do harm. When a writer wants to be impactful (sic), trouble ensues. Bottom line is that if the audience did not get a writer’s core message it is because the piece was poorly written. Moreover if the core message is one that needs explaining BEYOND the characters’ capacity to expose it, the audience will find it self-indulgent.
Alan,
Once more, another excellent post.
One of my biggest gripes is seeing characters being introduced and then the entire following paragraph describing what they look like, what they’re wearing etc etc. I try and avoid this and describe characters through other characters’ eyes. I write science fiction and have a lot of other-worldly beasties in my work. One thing I desperately avoid is describing those creatures or parts of those creatures as “like a (insert terrestrial animal here)” The second you do that, you strip away all of the reader’s creativity.
I wrote a similar post on this topic as a guest blog not long ago. You can find it here:
http://tinyurl.com/69ppry4
Once again, a great post, thanks for taking the time to write it.
My philosophy is that writing is like lingerie on women. If you lay out every detail, it’s not nearly as attractive — on even the most beautiful woman — as leaving a few key points to the imagination.
That said, it’s a very fine line to walk. I decided to end my novella with a letter from one of my characters discussing all the points I had been mulling about in my mind as I wrote the book. It might over-explain but it satisfied the need in me to talk to my readers about what it REALLY was that I wanted to talk about. The story was just a very long metaphor and maybe they got it, but maybe they didn’t.
At any rate, I have several copies out to friends and they can tell me if they got it or not! :)
http://www.outrageousfortune.net
Alan, you do know what to write to help writers. I think I’m guilty of not explaining more, but that’s one issue I’m working on right now.
Yes, I’ll explain a more without explaining too much. I used to think that it wasn’t okay to influence how the reader thinks. But sometimes it’s neccessary. Sometimes writers shouldn’t let the reader wonder too much.
I also realize that sometimes, if a writer doesn’t explain what was written in a paragraph, etc., the same words could be interpreted a million different ways.
Great examples.
Marcus,
Here’s what I think:
Factor #1: Not all books are for all readers. The reader who skims and doesn’t get it is just not your audience. Too bad, since pondering, ruminating, finding the meaning that most resonates for our unique personalities is one the great joys of reading.
Factor #2: If your book is fortunate to have many readers, it may inspire a Cliff Notes or commentary and analysis that provides one critic’s point of view. I don’t believe, however, that this walk through should be provided by the author. The author should sustain an Olympian distance and let others have their own experience.
With my first novel, I’d write a line of dialogue, then a sentence explaining it. A writing friend of mine told me, “You don’t need that. Readers are smart.” He was right. Readers enjoy working things out for themselves.
One of my beta readers wrote; When Jeff demands, “Where’s Ric?” I would insert something like “I didn’t appreciate Jeff barging in. I didn’t want him ruining our cosy evening, but I could see
he was determined and there was no stopping him.” I said as she’d correctly gathered how the narrator felt from the dialogue, I didn’t need to put it in.
Difficult to pick a short example, but this is from ‘Replica’. Nick, a rogue MI5 operative, has just sprung Beth and her replica from a secret laboratory and they have to get past the security gate.
“I was back in that horrible van, which still smelled faintly of sick – but this time I was not alone, and hope burned perilously in my heart. I sat awkwardly on the cold metal floor, clutching the broken lock with both hands, frightened of losing my grip and getting us caught. The other Beth bumped against me with every jolt. The van stopped, and Nick said something. Another man’s voice, then a conversation I couldn’t quite hear. Fear seized me – we weren’t going to get away with this, the man at the gate didn’t recognize Nick, was asking awkward questions. I sat in the smelly dark, acutely apprehensive, sweating. If the man opened the door, I’d run for it. The van tilted fractionally; Nick was getting out and walking round the front. Something heavy smashed into the off side panel, making me jump; I heard a thud and some grunts. Everything went quiet for a bit. I waited, heart pounding. Then the creak and clunk of the barrier lifting; the van door slammed and we moved off.”
A very interesting post. Thank you. I’ve often struggled with finding the balance between explaining things and not.
I lean toward not explaining things, because, as you say, good writing points to this. Also, it lets readers have their own experience with Art without having a tour guide leading them along.
But I’ve found that often when I explain less, I get readers saying things such as, “I just didn’t get it,” or, “Oh, I missed that.” And I’ve come to think there are at least 2 factors in modern society that have shifted paradigms and now prompt writers to lean toward explaining more these days, perhaps than in years past.
The 2 factors are:
1) Readers are “quick and cold” now. They are used to skimming blog posts. They look for numbered bullet points to get their facts. The want very clear premise statements at the beginning of essays. A book slows them down from what they are used to anymore, so writing has got to be more overt than in the past.
2) Everybody has become used to DVD commentaries along with their stories. Every time they watch a movie, they get the option at the end of the show of watching more narratives that discuss every nuance they’ve just seen. So I think readers are used to having the story, and then the Cole’s notes version of the story readily at hand. As such, I see a need for more devices like appendices, epilogues, introductions, and overatures, that help walk readers through the book.
Alan, I’m curious what you’d think about this.
Thanks.