Bruce Beckham's Blog - Posts Tagged "present-tense"
The present tense
I'm currently reading How Novels Work by John Mullan.
It's a detailed treatise on structure and style and that sort of thing. Quite interesting though.
Something I've come around to is writing in the present tense. Not everyone's favourite, I know, but it's such a relief as a writer not to know the outcome!
Of course, you might know the outcome - but in past tense narration it's obvious to the reader that you must. Writing (and reading) in the present tense is a more filmic experience - events unfold in real time and can take both parties by surprise.
Mullan refers to this 'much rarer' tense, and cites as a good example John Updike's Rabbit novels - near the top of my all-time favourites list, and a collection I must now revisit.
It's a detailed treatise on structure and style and that sort of thing. Quite interesting though.
Something I've come around to is writing in the present tense. Not everyone's favourite, I know, but it's such a relief as a writer not to know the outcome!
Of course, you might know the outcome - but in past tense narration it's obvious to the reader that you must. Writing (and reading) in the present tense is a more filmic experience - events unfold in real time and can take both parties by surprise.
Mullan refers to this 'much rarer' tense, and cites as a good example John Updike's Rabbit novels - near the top of my all-time favourites list, and a collection I must now revisit.
No tense like the present
“I am only 16% into the book, and I am very, very irritated by the use of the present tense.”
Yes – it’s a review of my novel, Murder in School, taken from Amazon’s British website. (One star, naturally.)
I’m afraid I do write in the present tense, and ‘deservedly’ lose a percentage of readers!
But there is some method in this apparent madness.
It all began when I read John Updike’s Rabbit is Rich.
I became totally hooked by the long opening description in which car dealer Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom watches contentedly from his showroom window as Middle America drives by, guzzling gas, soon to be queuing for his miserly Toyotas.
My reading experience could best be described as ‘filmic’ – I felt like I was in a movie, standing right beside Harry, watching, wondering what was going to happen next. I didn’t know, he didn’t know – but more intriguingly, neither it seemed did Updike.
Then the penny dropped. I thought, “Hey – this is the present tense!”
Like a blinding flash of light it struck me that here is the way to narrate a mystery. (Because, frankly, how can you honestly narrate a mystery in the past tense, when you know the outcome?)
I tried it – and made a second remarkable discovery. Not only as narrator can you convincingly pretend not to know the outcome – you don’t actually need to know it at all! You can wait until your characters provide the solution.
So, if you ever guess one of my whodunits in the first 25,000 words – congratulations! You beat me to it!
Yes – it’s a review of my novel, Murder in School, taken from Amazon’s British website. (One star, naturally.)
I’m afraid I do write in the present tense, and ‘deservedly’ lose a percentage of readers!
But there is some method in this apparent madness.
It all began when I read John Updike’s Rabbit is Rich.
I became totally hooked by the long opening description in which car dealer Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom watches contentedly from his showroom window as Middle America drives by, guzzling gas, soon to be queuing for his miserly Toyotas.
My reading experience could best be described as ‘filmic’ – I felt like I was in a movie, standing right beside Harry, watching, wondering what was going to happen next. I didn’t know, he didn’t know – but more intriguingly, neither it seemed did Updike.
Then the penny dropped. I thought, “Hey – this is the present tense!”
Like a blinding flash of light it struck me that here is the way to narrate a mystery. (Because, frankly, how can you honestly narrate a mystery in the past tense, when you know the outcome?)
I tried it – and made a second remarkable discovery. Not only as narrator can you convincingly pretend not to know the outcome – you don’t actually need to know it at all! You can wait until your characters provide the solution.
So, if you ever guess one of my whodunits in the first 25,000 words – congratulations! You beat me to it!
Past Imperfect
A small case for the present tense.
I recently re-read Great Expectations, and in starting out it soon struck me that I had entirely forgotten the plot. Would Pip realise his hopes? Would he get the girl? And which girl?
Writing in the first person, Dickens repeatedly points out that here is an autobiographical memoir, recounted omnisciently with the benefit of broad hindsight and lofty maturity.
Things seem to run smoothly, until – maybe three-quarters of the way in – Pip finds himself in mortal jeopardy. You may recall the scene – the drunken vengeful monster Orlick has him trussed up for a brutal execution out on the lonely Kent marshes.
The reader is on tenterhooks. All those hours invested with Pip and his long climb to glory, only to crash to an ignominious end.
But – hold your horses (I thought). Pip’s the narrator. There’s a hundred pages to go. Ergo he lives to tell the tale!
This logic rather killed the tension. The question became not would Pip escape, but how would Pip escape? I could rest easy.
I’m not sure this was the effect that Dickens desired – but he had written himself into a cul-de-sac. Past tense, first person – there was no way out.
Now, I’m always ready to suspend disbelief – there has to be some author’s license – but this technical paradox has long troubled me. Just how do you construct a credible mystery when the reader knows you know the outcome?
Now, the present tense is much maligned, but it does offer a solution. And while some readers find it too elementary, I would point the open-minded to the first chapter of John Updike’s Rabbit is Rich.
You can find it on Amazon by clicking Look Inside. See if you agree with me: the live-action filmic quality is spine-tingling, and the growing sense of anticipation palpable. (And a Pulitzer Prize to boot.)
I recently re-read Great Expectations, and in starting out it soon struck me that I had entirely forgotten the plot. Would Pip realise his hopes? Would he get the girl? And which girl?
Writing in the first person, Dickens repeatedly points out that here is an autobiographical memoir, recounted omnisciently with the benefit of broad hindsight and lofty maturity.
Things seem to run smoothly, until – maybe three-quarters of the way in – Pip finds himself in mortal jeopardy. You may recall the scene – the drunken vengeful monster Orlick has him trussed up for a brutal execution out on the lonely Kent marshes.
The reader is on tenterhooks. All those hours invested with Pip and his long climb to glory, only to crash to an ignominious end.
But – hold your horses (I thought). Pip’s the narrator. There’s a hundred pages to go. Ergo he lives to tell the tale!
This logic rather killed the tension. The question became not would Pip escape, but how would Pip escape? I could rest easy.
I’m not sure this was the effect that Dickens desired – but he had written himself into a cul-de-sac. Past tense, first person – there was no way out.
Now, I’m always ready to suspend disbelief – there has to be some author’s license – but this technical paradox has long troubled me. Just how do you construct a credible mystery when the reader knows you know the outcome?
Now, the present tense is much maligned, but it does offer a solution. And while some readers find it too elementary, I would point the open-minded to the first chapter of John Updike’s Rabbit is Rich.
You can find it on Amazon by clicking Look Inside. See if you agree with me: the live-action filmic quality is spine-tingling, and the growing sense of anticipation palpable. (And a Pulitzer Prize to boot.)
