William Peace's Blog, page 56

Composition

I have noticed that it takes me longer to produce a page of output than it used to.  When I first started writing, I would write about one page per hour.  Now it takes me at least twice as long.  I’d like to think that’s because the quality of my writing has improved.  What I can say is that I take extra time to:

Capture the characters’ feelings
Avoid common-place language
Make the story interesting to the reader
Clarify the scene and the context
Be concise

I thought it would be interesting to compare an actual passage from my first novel, Fishing in Foreign Seas, with the same passage as I would write it today.  Here, for example is a discussion between Caterina (the heroine) and Jamie (the hero).  They have just come back from a sailing trip with her parents, her brother, Pino, and Pino’s girlfriend, Marina:

They were in her car, driving back from Marsala.

“Caterina, I don’t understand.  Why didn’t your mother object to all the touching and giggling that was going on between Pino and Marina . . . and that swimsuit she was wearing . . . whereas, she would have objected if we had behaved the same, and you had worn a similar suit?”

Caterina smiled: “It is not Mama’s problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mama wants me to be a virgin when I get married, and that includes ‘virginal behavior’ until the big day.  For boys it’s different.  He must not get a girl pregnant before he marries her.  I’m sure Papa has made that very clear to Peppino, and explained, in detail, how not to get a girl pregnant.”

“But Marina was behaving like a bit of a tart.”

“What is a ‘tart’?  ‘A whore’?

“No, just a very sexy girl.”

“That is her mother’s problem.  And when the cat’s away, the mice will play,” she said looking at him with a mischievous grin.  “I bet that Marina spends plenty of ‘after hours’ time at the winery.”

Jamie was puzzled: “Why at the winery?”

“Because Pino has a little apartment there.”

“How convenient! Can I get one there, too?”

“You do not need one. . .   He has an apartment there, because there is a need to keep someone on the premises after hours.”

“Why is that?”

“About two years ago some thieves broke into the storage area and stole over one thousand cases of wine.  Since then, we’ve put in an elaborate alarm system, we fixed up an apartment for Pino, and there are three rather fierce guard dogs which are let out at night.”

“I take it that the guard dogs won’t bite Marina when she comes visiting?”

“The dogs obey Pino, and I guess she calls to tell him she is coming.”

“Was it the Mafia who stole the wine?”

“I doubt it.  When Papa took over the winery from grandfather, the Mafia began asking for protection money.  Papa refused.  They threatened.  For several years, Papa had two carabinieri either parked at the winery or next to his car at home, depending on where he was.”

“Good God!  Why doesn’t he have them now?”

“About three years ago the local Mafia had a shoot out with the police.  One policeman and three Mafioso were killed – two more were captured.  One of those killed was the local Capo Mafia.  He was the one pushing the protection scheme.  Since then three men have been arrested and convicted for attempted extortion.  The public was also getting angry at what amounted to theft from honest people.  Omerta was breaking down, so the Mafia decided to stick to drugs, gambling and prostitution – at least around Marsala.”

 

And here is the way I would write the same passage today:

Jamie was pensive as she was driving back from Marsala.  “Caternia, did you notice all the touching and giggling that was going on between Pino and Marina?”  His eyes were wide with exaggeration.  “And the bathing suit she was wearing?”

She gave a slight shrug.  “Yes.”

“Your mother doesn’t object to any of that?”

“She may not approve, but it’s not her problem.”  She glanced at Jamie, who wore a perplexed frown.  “Jamie,” she continued, “you have to remember that in Sicily young women are treated very differently from young men.  Mothers expect that their daughters will be virgins when they are married.  Fathers expect their sons to experiment, but not to the point of getting a girl pregnant.”  She tapped the steering wheel for emphasis.  “Those are the rules!”

“So Marina’s mother doesn’t know what’s going on?”

“Probably not.  Marina’s a smart girl – maybe a bit oversexed, but she knows what she can get away with.”  Caterina gave Jamie a sly smile.  “And she gets away with plenty!”

“What do you mean by ’plenty’?”  He was intrigued.

“Well, she goes to the winery in the evening to meet Pino.”  Jamie was puzzled.  “Pino has an apartment at the winery,” she added

“And your father knows about that?”

“Yes.  There was a break-in at the winery two years ago.  Thieves made off with about a thousand cases of wine.  After that, Papa wanted the premises to be occupied twenty-four hour a day.  So the apartment, an alarm system and guard dogs were added.”

“And Marina can get past all the security?”  Caterina smiled and shrugged.  “Do you think it was the Mafia who stole the wine?”

She shook her head.  “Burglary isn’t really their thing.  They specialize in protection money, and when Papa took over the winery from my grandfather, they started demanding money to ‘keep things safe’.  Papa refused.  They threatened him.  He reported them to the carabinieri (the Italian civil police), and for a couple years there were two carabinieri parked either at the winery or at home.”

Jamie frowned.  “Why aren’t they there now?”

“About three years ago, there was a shoot-out in which three Mafiosi and a carabiniero were killed.  One of the dead Mafia is believed to be the one who ran the extortion racket.  Since then, Sicilians are less fearful, and key Mafiosi have ended up in prison.”  She smiled.  “Now, their business is mainly drugs, gambling and prostitution.”

 

This first passage is 462 words in length; the second has 405 words: about 15% shorter.  I will leave it for you to judge which version you like better.  My only comment would be that I believe practice can make one a more skillful writer.

Noah

My wife and I went to see the film Noah on Saturday.  I’m sure we were both a bit sceptical about it, having seen some of the reviews beforehand.  Most of the reviews seemed to focus on whether or not the film was faithful to the Bible story, and whether of not this faithfulness (or lack of it) mattered.

Since both of us tend to view the Bible story of Noah as a rather charming fairy tale (which does not add to or subtract from our religious beliefs), we weren’t particularly concerned about the faithfulness issue.

Certainly, the cinematography in the film is spectacular: thousands of animals, thousands of sinful people, an absolutely gigantic ark, a colossal storming of the ark, a horrendous flood, etc.  And the acting seemed credible enough.

Neither of us particularly liked the Watchers: giants assembled from what looked like huge pieces of cold lava, who were apparently sent by the Creator to see what the human race was up to.  For me, the Watchers seemed to clash with the rest of the characters and scenery in the film, all of which seemed quite natural.  In fact, I thought: why include them at all?  The Creator could certainly see for himself what the human race was up to: mostly no good.

The other point that didn’t work for me was that Noah believed his mission from the Creator was to save only the animals: that he and his family would die, too.  I suppose, ingrained in my mind, is the notion that the point of the fairy tale is that God destroyed the wicked people, but He started again with Noah’s family.  In the film, only the oldest of Noah’s sons, Shem, has a wife.  Ham tries to take a wife, but Noah prevents it, and Japheth is too young.  The film character of Noah believes that he must kill the child of Shem’s pregnant wife in order that mankind will eventually die out (as he believes the Creator wishes).  Certainly, this adds some excitement to the plot.  The other bit of excitement is that the king of the evil-doers manages to get onto the ark and avoid the flood. This leads to some arguments, soul-searching and fighting.

I found myself thinking about the evolution of the art of film-making as compared to the art of writing novels.  Noah, it seems to me, is representative of modern films in two respects: the use of technology in cinematography to produce visual effects that were beyond the comprehension of film makers thirty years ago; and, the exposure of raw and profound human emotion.  By way of comparison, I’m watching Sea Devils, a mediocre-at-best, 1953 film starring Rock Hudson and Yvonne De Carlo, set in the Napoleonic era.  There are no special effects and, by today’s standards, the acting is pretty wooden.  Even the feelings of betrayal of a lover are expressed with only a few words and a pout.  In a film today, feelings of betrayal would be compounded with other issues and expressed with violence and shouting.

As to the art of writing (and publishing) novels, the technological changes have been in the evolution of the e-book and in print-on-demand publishing.  Neither of these technologies existed thirty years ago.  And, it seems to me, writers are mining more complex human emotions, and are presenting them more graphically than ever before.

Recent Award

Sable Shadow and The Presence just received its sixth literary award: Reader’s Choice Awards 2014: Honourable Mention, Memoir/ Autobiography/Biography.  I am grateful for the recognition, but I’m not sure Sable Shadow and The Presence fits into the Memoir/Autobiography/Biography category.  As fiction, it isn’t an autobiography, and while my dictionary doesn’t say so, I think that, in common usage, the subject of a memoir or biography is a real person, living or dead.  Any way, thank you, Reader’s Choice.

Four of the awards were presented in Hollywood on the 22nd of March.  If Hollywood were a bit less than a 10 hour flight away, I might have gone to receive the awards.  I tried to call on family members in the vicinity of Hollywood to attend on my behalf, without success.  If someone had been able to attend for me, and if they wanted to know what to say in the way of an acceptance speech, I would have given them the gist of my acceptance at the London Book Festival (fifth award – runner-up – general fiction), which was:

When I started to write Sable Shadow and The Presence, I had in mind writing it in the first person (as a fictional autobiography) – something I had never done before.  I also wanted the story to be about a person, who, as a child, hears voices that he eventually attributes to representatives of God and the devil.  I wrote about four chapters and sent them to a friend of mine who is very well educated, a reader of quality literature and quite direct in his views on matters of interest.  He sent me an email a couple of weeks later in which he said: “Boring!”

I had to admit that I saw his point, and I, too, was struggling with the book.  I put it aside, and I wrote The Iranian Scorpion.  But, I still felt that, hidden in the basic idea, was a good book.  By the time The Iranian Scorpion was finished, I had some new ideas to add to the abandoned manuscript.  I wanted to say some things about existentialism, human identity, tragedy, religion and relationships.  So, I developed a new outline, re-wrote the first four chapters and finished the novel.  It was edited and published.  I decided to give the printer’s proof copy to my friend Peter, who had thought that my aborted attempt was ‘Boring!”‘.  About three days later, I got an email from him in which he said: “Congratulations Bill!  An outstanding achievement!  I couldn’t put it down, meals no meals, I swallowed the book in two days. Your prose has become self assured. you dominate it, rather  than being dominated by it.  The research, as ever is superb, and also completely open to being understood by the layman. . . . You have certainly managed to recreate  life as it is lived – even to the pertinent introduction of the meta-physical element – though a bit wobbly in spots, it stands solid, protected by Sartre. . . . I like it and feel close to it – I guess that’s one of the reasons why I think it such a  remarkable creation.  Your progressive development of style, skills and plot makes my mouth water for the goodies to come.Thank you from me, but really from all your readers.”

In London, I said I wanted to thank Peter for his two critiques, but, in particular, for the first critique.  And I thanked the London Book Festival for their selection.

Time

How does one manage the passage of time in a novel?

In our lives, time can pass extremely slowly, or seem to escape us in a blur of action.  For me, and perhaps for many of us, time can seem to pass with excruciating slowness when I am in physical or mental pain.  Conversely, time seems to literally fly away, when I am engaged in a pleasing pastime.

By contrast, for the reader, the passage of time is more linear: time seems to pass at the rate at which s/he reads.  It can therefore be quite important to give the reader a more variable sense of time.  If time in the novel moves at the same rate as the reader’s eye scans the page, the reader will begin to sense that something is wrong.  This is true even if time in the novel passes at a constant multiple of the reader’s real time: for example of one minute of the reader’s real time is always equal to an hour of time in the novel.

So how can one achieve the sense of the variable passage of time?  In one case, it seems to me that the writer must recognise and write for situations where real time for the reader is the same as time in the story.  One can do this by using short sentences, and by mentioning only the essential sense of what is happening.  For example, see the passage below from Efraim’s Eye where, over a period of seconds, the terrorist is spotted, and his plot is foiled:

 

“My God!” Naomi exclaimed, “There’s Efraim!”

“Where?”

“He’s on top of the glass enclosure, and he’s doing something up there!”

There was, indeed, a man in jeans and a green T-shirt on the enclosure, but he was bent over, arranging something.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yes, it’s him!  I’m sure!”

Paul thrust the remains of his hot dog at Naomi and began to run toward the van.  He noticed two men sitting in the front seat, but he ignored them, and leapt up onto the bonnet.  With another leap, he was on the roof of the van.  Swinging to his left, he saw the green T-shirt man, bent over and preoccupied with what he was arranging, less than ten feet away.  There was a gap of about five feet between the van and the enclosure, which was about two feet higher.  Paul gathered himself and sprang.  He landed awkwardly and fell forward against the man.  The man turned to see who or what had struck him, and tried to recover his balance at the same time.  Desperately, Paul got his feet under him and pushed.  This sudden momentum was transferred to the green T-shirt man, who lost his balance, and, arms flailing in the air, toppled over the edge of the enclosure opposite the van.  There was a loud howl of pain as he struck one of the stone bollards.

Immediately, Paul turned his attention to the shaped charges which had been arranged neatly – each crescent charge seemed to be embracing a cable.

“Detonate!” screamed the green T-shirt man.

Paul scanned the array and spotted the links which closed the charges into a non-recoiling string.

There was another high pitched scream: “Detonate!”

Paul uncoupled the links, holding one end down with his bandaged left hand while his right hand manipulated the clasp.  With his right hand, he began to pull one end of the string.  The charges were heavy.

“Where is the button?”  Was the shouted question from the van.

Paul dragged the first four charges over the edge of the enclosure.

“On     my       seat!” came the agonised reply.

Paul kicked at two remaining charges which were still on the enclosure.  With a rattle, they were dragged over the edge by the gravitational pull of the first four.

“No!  No!”  A desperate scream from below.  Paul began to turn away.  He was struck by a tremendous shock wave.  He hurtled forward, struck the edge of the van roof, and landed, arms outstretched, on the pavement.  There was nothingness.

 

The other situation in which time in the novel can approach real time for the reader is when characters are interacting in an emotional (rather than physical) way.  I think it’s important for the reader to get a sense of what the character is feeling, simultaneously with what s/he is saying.  (There could be conflicts between the words and the feelings.)  Where this kind of conflict, or hidden agenda is present, I like to intersperse what the character says – in plain text – with what s/he is thinking – in italics.

In other cases, there could be a gap of a year or more in the story, and nothing of significant interest occurs during the gap.  Rather than give a recitation of what happened during that period, it is sufficient to begin a paragraph with: “Four years later . . . .”

The other aspect of managing the passage of time is the trade off between setting the scene, and extending the apparent passage of time.  Sometimes it can be essential to describe the situation or the setting in some detail, but in doing so, we lengthen the reader’s perception of the passage of time, and risk losing his/her attention.  I probably have a tendency to set the scene fairly clearly, in the interest of conveying to the reader a sense that ‘this is real’.  When I do that, I try to be careful about using interesting language and phrases.

 

 

Review: Sable Shadow and The Presence

The following review by ‘Kitty Book Lover’ was recently published on Amazon.com:

William Peace has done it again.  His latest book, Sable Shadow and The Presence, which has already won several awards,  combines a clever plot with thought provoking discussions on good and evil, the contradictions and complexities of life, and the meaning of relationships.  The book is written by the main character, Henry Lawson,  in autobiographical form.  It is difficult to sustain the first person voice and not have the reader tire of it, but Mr. Peace has managed to make the story interesting, readable, and anything but tiring.  We meet Henry’s parents, learn about  their individual personalities and the way their relationship develops over a long marriage and his very likeable, but different from him, sister, who is also his friend.  His grandfather and uncles seem to Henry to be more successful than his father and Henry admires them, while not yet understanding his father or his motivations. As he matures, he grows in his understanding of his mother and his father is able to help them through this crisis in their marriage.  We follow Henry through college, his success in business, his marriage to a woman he deeply loves. There are some wonderful vignettes describing the world of office politics and what some people do to get ahead.  Everything seems to be going just the way Henry has planned until a tragic fire in a plant in Mexico that he technically supervises results in the deaths of many people.  Sentenced to jail in Mexico, his career over, he begins to think about what is really important in life and when he is released, turns his life in a completely different direction.

Mr. Lawson explains in the first chapter what the title means.  Sable Shadow and the Presence are two voices that Henry begins to hear as a child.  Lest you think that Henry is just some closet schizophrenic, that is not the case.  These two represent “good” and “evil” and Henry hears them the way we all do when we are making a decision, whether it be a serious moral one, like deciding to have an extra-marital relationship or something more practical like choosing a career.  How many of us have felt/heard  those voices arguing inside of us, each presenting a different way of looking at the problem.,

As in previous books, Mr. Peace explores questions of religion.  In Efraim’s Eye and The Iranian Scorpion he investigated Islam and it’s tenets.  In  Sin and Contrition  different branches of Christianity were examined.  In this book he presents the thesis that existentialism is not necessarily in conflict with the beliefs of Christians.  Not everyone will agree with him., but he posits some compelling arguments to support his ideas.

As in all his previous books, the research is amazing.  Many famous authors employ researches.  Mr. Peace does all of his own and does a superb job with it.

One of the things I like best about Mr. Peace’s writing is that one is able to read on so many different levels.  His plots are well thought out and his characters developed nicely.  One is anxious to turn the page and find out what will happen next.  But when the story is over, one is left thinking about the ideas that have been raised.  What are good and evil?  What makes success and how do we measure it?  What makes something moral and something immoral?  It is easy to see why it has won awards.

Awards: Sable Shadow and The Presence

This novel was the winner in the General Fiction category of three regional contests this year: Los Angeles, Southwest and Northwest; it was runner up in the General Fiction category at the 2014 Great Southeast Book Festival.

These book festivals typically attract over 2000 entries.  Of the five festivals in which Sable Shadow and The Presence has been entered, it won first place in three and second place in two.

Review: Midnight Rumba

Eduardo Santiago’s novel, Midnight Rumba, was runner-up in the New England Book Festival’s 2013 General Fiction category.  I decided to buy a copy and read it, because it is set in the 1950′s Cuba (Mr Santiago’s native country), and my wife and I were going to Cuba for a ten day holiday.

The principal characters are Estelita, the daughter and only child of Esteban, a charming, itinerant musician, who is part of a minor, travelling circus; Aspirrina, an inept dancer who becomes a sort of surrogate mother to Estelita; Juan Carlos, an orphan boy who makes good in the gaudy world of Havana casinos; and Lasky, the American who runs the casino where Estelita and Juan Carlos work.  There are other characters, as well: various circus performers, Delfino, a homosexual from a wealthy family. Maria, also from a rich family but now the mother superior in a convent, and Delfino’s two lovers.

The plot is that  Esteban slides into helpless, violent alcoholism.  Aspirrina and Estelita escape to Havana, where Estelita becomes lead dancer in a casino and has a part in a minor Mexican movie.  In spite of the hedonistic world around her, Estelita retains her purity until she falls in love with Juan Carlos.  From the time she leaves her father in the hospital, Estelita is determined to retrieve her father from the hospital and make a home for him.  As the novel unfolds, Fidel Castro and his rebels close in on Havana.  Some of the characters side with the rebels, others try to remain loyal to Batista, the dictator.  At the end, Estelita reconnects with her now sober father and becomes a minor, provincial dancer.

The book does an excellent job in depicting Cuba at that time: the wild indulgence, the crazy glamour, and also the desperate poverty.  The brutality of the Batista regime (and of the rebels) is also clear.

The novel started off as an 800 page manuscript; as published, it is 414 pages.  At times the story-telling gets bogged down in detail, so that it could well have benefitted from another 100 pages of editing.  Eduardo Santiago’s writing style is clear, friendly, and innovative, but occasionally, one has the feeling that he is hurrying to tell the story, and then the language becomes too ordinary.

I enjoyed reading the book, particularly as I was in Cuba at the time.  For me, it fleshed out the history of the beautiful (but now crumbling) infrastructure of Havana.  I could better understand the people, as well.  But after I finished reading Midnight Rumba, I felt the absence of a message – particularly from a native Cuban now living in the States.  Perhaps it was just intended to be – without commentary – a very good historical story.

The Plot

I was thinking, the other day, about the process of developing a plot for a novel.   When I looked up the subject up on the Internet, I found all sorts of rules which struck me as simplistic.  These rules covered such things as structuring a novel like a three act play, with a beginning, a middle and an end.  The plot should have lots of action to keep the reader interested, and it should have a central character with whom the reader relates, and who has difficulty achieving his/her objectives. Also, it was pointed out that the tension should steadily increase.

All my novels started with an idea, rather than a plot.  Four of my five published novels started with a central character in mind, and in each case he starts out quite well toward his objective, but, at some point, disaster strikes.  He is able, by the end of the novel to recover from the disaster – more or less.  In the fifth novel, Sin and Contrition, there are six central characters who react in different ways to different human temptations. I, as the author, interview each of them as they reach advanced years, and ask them about how they have lived their lives.

There is the classical structure of a plot involving a central character: she/he:

Is challenged
Refuses the challenge
Accepts the challenge
Goes through the adventure
Fails to meet the challenge
Succeeds!

I have never actually written down a plot.  Rather the details of the plot tend to develop as the writing progresses.  Usually, I’ll write an outline of each chapter before beginning it, but I don’t stick religiously to the outline.  What happens for me is that the characters, themselves, tend to steer both the plot and the action which takes place in each chapter.  Not infrequently, when I wake up early in the morning, I’ll have a new idea about the evolution of the plot and its supporting action.  So, for me, developing a plot is an organic process.

More recently, I have begun to pay considerable attention to the ‘message’ or the point of the story.  For me, a ‘message’ is an idea: philosophical, spiritual, or social.  It shouldn’t be obvious; it may be controversial, but at least it should engage the reader at a different level than the story itself. The message tends to affect the action in the plot, and the characters themselves.

Some of my ‘rules’ about a plot are:

It has to be credible.  I’ve never tried to write science fiction or fantasy, but even in those genres, it seems to me that if the author steps outside the bounds of what the reader can believe, the reader is lost.  Credibility is a multi-dimensional measure: it applies to characters, to the setting and to the action.
Action is important, but it doesn’t have to be non-stop or physical action, only.  Action can involve emotional, intellectual or spiritual tension, as well.  In fact, physical action without an emotional response, may strike the reader as dry.
Characters need to have balance.  Good guys have to have defects and bad girls should have redeeming features.  We can relate to people’s redeeming features or to their defects.  All good or all bad characters do not exist in the real world.
Elapsed time is another vital dimension.  If events unfold too quickly they lose credibility; too slowly, and the reader may lose interest.  There are various devices one can use to slow down the pace of events: scene setting, inserting a new action that is minor but relevant, inserting a flash back, etc.

In looking over the rules on the Internet, there is one item worth adding: “Every scene and every chapter must keep the protagonist off-balance – things may get better for him/her, or worse, but they need to be constantly changing.”  (This from The Writer’s Workshop.)  This is a good point.  The reader is living vicariously through each page; if nothing’s changing, why read on?

Review: The Wolf of Wall Street

My wife and I went to see The Wolf of Wall Street, the new film directed by Martin Scorsese and starring Leonardo DiCaprio, last week.  While I have great respect for both Scorsese and DiCaprio, as artists, I found the film disappointing.

I’ve looked at the reviews in the main London newspapers.  The Daily Telegraph, the Independent and The Guardian all gave it good reviews, although The Guardian said, “The Wolf of Wall Street does not quite have the subtlety and richness of Scorsese’s very best work, but what an incredibly exhilarating film: a deafening and sustained howl of depravity.”  It is definitely is a deafening and sustained howl of depravity, and doesn’t have the subtlety and richness of Scorsese’s best work.  I think that for me, the problem was that I didn’t find it ‘incredibly exhilarating’.  The Wall Street Journal was somewhat more ambivalent, saying: “The film may well prove profitable: Lurid outlaws are always appealing, and there’s pleasure to be had in the downfall of slimeballs. But ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ demands a huge investment of time for a paltry return.”

 

There is a comment in my last post: “Moral lessons don’t belong in a good novel.  They can be part of a novel, but if that’s the focus, I put the novel down and read the scriptures.”  Of course, in this case we’re talking about a film, rather than a novel, but I think the comment is still valid.  One might well question whether a moral lesson is the focus of The Wolf of Wall Street, since DiCaprio’s character never shows a jot of remorse, and the focus is clearly on the depravity.  The character does end up in prison, but this seems to be more the result of bad behaviour, rather than any sort of moral judgement.

 

Several reviews take the position that the film is hilarious in its excess.  There is plenty of excess in addition to its three hours length: excessive drug taking (if this were real, the main characters would be dead within the first half hour), excessive swearing (the f-word seemed to be the adjective of choice), excessive group sex with hoards of naked women; and an excessively large trading room (densely packed and the size of a football pitch – if this were real, the company would have swallowed up all its competitors).  I didn’t find any of these excesses amusing.  I like naked women, but not so many at one time that no one can be appreciated.  And, I like sex, but for me it’s best as a one-to-one, mutually-enjoyable activity for consenting adults, not a crazed, grope-and-get activity.  So, I didn’t find any of these excesses funny; sorry, I thought they were rather sad.

 

When I left the theatre, I thought, “What was the point of that?”  Was it supposed to be a comedy?  If so, it wasn’t particularly funny, and even if I have a warped sense of humour, isn’t Scorsese capable of something better than a comedy?  Was it supposed to be a commentary on the excesses in America and the financial sector, in particular?  What was newsworthy or interesting in displaying those excesses?  Was it supposed to be a morality tale?  It wasn’t really pitched that way, and if it had been, who would have liked it?  I think it was just supposed to be a romp – a film about a bigger, more ‘grown-up’, less-supervised, fraternity party.

 

I have to say that the acting and the directing were superb.  The characters were all very real.  Too bad I didn’t like any of them!

What Makes a Good Novel?

In her blog, Words in the Kitchen Sink, Jane Heiress asks: What makes a good novel?

She got quite a few responses, some of which I have selectively included in quotation marks under the below categories.

Is it character development?  “This one is crucial. I tend to love characters that have similar personalities, ideals, or experiences as I do myself or someone I love. I don’t care nearly as much about plot or setting as I do about being able to love at least one character. Really, almost every other one of my preferences can be ignored, if an author can create a strong connection between me and a character. Maybe I’m narrow-minded, but I think most best-sellers find a trait or feeling that almost everyone can personally connect with.  Along the same lines, how does an author make me love a flawed character? One way is by giving him or her flaws that I have myself. I have many quirks that other people may see as “flaws,” but I consider ‘personality traits.’ Even when a character is truly flawed, I’ll give them more mercy if I can empathize with them.”

Memorable archetypes?  “I’m not too strong on archetypes, so I won’t comment on that one. I think the best fantasy novels use the archetypes in new ways, like what Tolkien did by making a hobbit a hero, or what Robin McKinley does with her awkward, misfit female warriors.”  Personally, I try to avoid archetypes.

Neat and logical plot?  I’m not sure a plot, to be successful, has just got to be neat and logical.  Slightly messy and somewhat illogical could make it captivating.  The plot is very important: it is the device which conveys the story and its meaning.  To my mind a plot should be believable, it should be original and it should be interesting.

Unpackaged realism?  “I think that realism has a place in a good novel, but to write a novel with the sole aim to expose reality is actually a very bad idea. If you want reality, you read the newspaper–though I guess it’s all about difference in taste, because journalists in general just can’t write, so if you want realism written in a coherent, logical, and truly unbiased way, you’re kind of up a creek. Anyway, the whole reason we read is so that we can feel like we’re not alone without actually surrendering our own sense of individuality (I stole that from C.S. Lewis). So there has to be enough of reality in a novel to help us feel that the characters might have the same sort of feeling we do when faced with tragic or happy life events.”

Societal issues?   ”Societal issues are important if not too heavy-handed.  Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote Uncle Tom’s Cabin as an expose on slavery in the South, and it was very effective, but have you read that book?  I would hardly call it good, except as an expose on slavery, and if you want that, you could read the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, or other first-hand accounts of former slaves.  Much more powerful.”

Moral lessons?  ”Moral lessons don’t belong in a good novel.  They can be part of a novel, but if that’s the focus, I put the novel down and read the scriptures.”  I agree except that I think that ethical dilemmas have a place in a novel.  Ethical issues are more uncertain than moral issues, and are more subject to interpretation of the situation.  They therefore tend to involve the heart and mind of the reader.

Richness of setting?  “Richness of setting is very important.  Novels with a strong sense of place and circumstance are usually good.  Even though sometimes reading through the descriptions can be tedious.”  I’m not convinced that a setting has to be ‘rich’ to add importance.  In my opinion, it is more important for a setting to be both credible and interesting.

Quality of prose?  “Quality of prose is essential.  I mean, really, the only reason anyone reads The Great Gatsby is because the words are sparkly and fluid and they practically float off the page.  Jane Austen has beautiful sentences; Charles Dickens plays games with grammar as part of his subplots; Chaim Potok paints murals with words, so reading one of his novels is almost like going to an art gallery; Geoge Eliot uses such quality of phrasing that you can’t help loving the words she chooses to describe something.

Suspense?  Dramatic intensity? ”Suspense is important, but I get bored if there’s too much of it.  I don’t guess ahead, and if you pack in the action and tension too heavily, I disengage and go on to something that unfolds more gradually.  I’m going to combine this one with dramatic intensity and use a movie as an example.  I don’t like action flicks because sometimes they go too fast and too much happens at once.  It’s not that I’m too dumb to follow it, but the high-speed car chases and stuff are not the substance of a story for me, so if there’s too much of that, I’m finished. There’s also a book out now, by James Patterson, a new series for teens, that is non-stop action.  Kids like it, but I thought it was second-rate, just because there wasn’t any good character development and his sentence structure was severely lacking in quality.  Robin McKinley sometimes goes the other way and tries to turn her high-speed moments of tension into epic poems.  It doesn’t work either.  J.K. Rowling’s action scenes work very well, mostly because they’re short.”

Comedy?  No one commented on this. I think that if one is writing a serious novel, rather than a comedy, comedy can have a place: either as a device to relieve tension for the reader, or to shed light on a character.  If suspense goes on too long, as the comment above suggests, the reader can lose interest.  Or, if a character says or does something funny, one sees a new dimension of him or her.

Emotional response?  “As for emotional response, if you can’t get emotionally involved with a book, it isn’t worth reading.”  Agreed!

Expanding intellectual horizons?  “When you’re trying to expand someone’s intellectual horizons, that’s tricky.  Any book worth reading will not do that on purpose, because no-one likes to feel dumb, or to feel like they’re being taught something.  A book that expands your intellectual horizons will do it in a painless way–too many new ideas too fast will not make a lasting impression.  The important thing is that a book will set itself up on familiar turf, then take your ideas to the next level.”

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