Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "plots"
The Hound of the Spoilervilles
I have a confession to make. I'm notorious for spoiling plot lines.
Before you boo and hiss, hear me out. I would never deliberately spoil a story, that's petty and vindictive. I get so excited about a work, so eager to share my enthusiasm, I unwittingly blurt out Major Plot Developments without thinking. A friend was once furious with me for spoiling A Certain Character Death in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. To which I felt like retorting, "It's been out for months. A true fan would've read it by now -" but no, people can be really irate about this. My other half has told me off on countless occasions.
My problem seems to be that I view stories from a writer's perspective rather than a reader/viewer's. Shocks and twists should be part of a well crafted whole - if somebody manages to sneak one past me, I'm impressed. Non writers don't enjoy fiction like this; they're there for the ride, not picking up clues at the roadside. The way they see it, a spoiler robs them of an experience forever. Think of those moments in a film where the whole cinema jumps or gasps. If somebody was sitting beside you, whispering exactly what would happen next, wouldn't you be hacked off?
Take Jurassic Park. I think it's a perfect film, and watch it on average once every year. (TV schedulers find it Christmassy for some reason). I know every trick, every line, every instance where Ian Malcolm schmoozes or Ellie Sattler is badass. It's one of the few films where CGI works triumphantly - you truly believe in T-Rex and her cronies. Yet, for all my devotion, nothing compares to the thrill of first seeing it aged eight, when I genuinely had no idea if anyone would get out alive.
Which begs the question: what is the shelf life of a spoiler? Some stories filter into the public consciousness, meaning that even if you've never read or seen the work, you have a rough idea what happens. We know Dracula isn't a harmless foreign eccentric making a real estate transaction. We know Darth Vader's interest in Luke goes beyond a villain's for an enemy. (I saw the digitally remastered Empire Strikes Back aged twelve, before the Net; I remember how flabbergasted I was. It seems inconceivable there was ever a time where That Line wasn't quoted or parodied!)
With every retelling a story gains a new following. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries worked precisely because its teenage target audience didn't know if she'd end up with Wickham or Darcy; newbies to Carmilla loved the web series as a lesbian Buffy while old fans relished all the nods to the novella.
So what do you do if something's in danger of being spoilered? Err on the side of caution: wait for the other person to say how far they've got, so they don't have you pegged as "that tool who ruined X" for the rest of their lives. Spoiling, like all bad habits, must be broken in stages. My other half's currently reading Gone, Girl; if she reaches the end without me inadvertently revealing anything, it'll be a miracle.
Before you boo and hiss, hear me out. I would never deliberately spoil a story, that's petty and vindictive. I get so excited about a work, so eager to share my enthusiasm, I unwittingly blurt out Major Plot Developments without thinking. A friend was once furious with me for spoiling A Certain Character Death in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. To which I felt like retorting, "It's been out for months. A true fan would've read it by now -" but no, people can be really irate about this. My other half has told me off on countless occasions.
My problem seems to be that I view stories from a writer's perspective rather than a reader/viewer's. Shocks and twists should be part of a well crafted whole - if somebody manages to sneak one past me, I'm impressed. Non writers don't enjoy fiction like this; they're there for the ride, not picking up clues at the roadside. The way they see it, a spoiler robs them of an experience forever. Think of those moments in a film where the whole cinema jumps or gasps. If somebody was sitting beside you, whispering exactly what would happen next, wouldn't you be hacked off?
Take Jurassic Park. I think it's a perfect film, and watch it on average once every year. (TV schedulers find it Christmassy for some reason). I know every trick, every line, every instance where Ian Malcolm schmoozes or Ellie Sattler is badass. It's one of the few films where CGI works triumphantly - you truly believe in T-Rex and her cronies. Yet, for all my devotion, nothing compares to the thrill of first seeing it aged eight, when I genuinely had no idea if anyone would get out alive.
Which begs the question: what is the shelf life of a spoiler? Some stories filter into the public consciousness, meaning that even if you've never read or seen the work, you have a rough idea what happens. We know Dracula isn't a harmless foreign eccentric making a real estate transaction. We know Darth Vader's interest in Luke goes beyond a villain's for an enemy. (I saw the digitally remastered Empire Strikes Back aged twelve, before the Net; I remember how flabbergasted I was. It seems inconceivable there was ever a time where That Line wasn't quoted or parodied!)
With every retelling a story gains a new following. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries worked precisely because its teenage target audience didn't know if she'd end up with Wickham or Darcy; newbies to Carmilla loved the web series as a lesbian Buffy while old fans relished all the nods to the novella.
So what do you do if something's in danger of being spoilered? Err on the side of caution: wait for the other person to say how far they've got, so they don't have you pegged as "that tool who ruined X" for the rest of their lives. Spoiling, like all bad habits, must be broken in stages. My other half's currently reading Gone, Girl; if she reaches the end without me inadvertently revealing anything, it'll be a miracle.
