The Perfect Novel (Sage and the Scarecrow)
My first novel -- The Sage and the Scarecrow -- was far from perfect. In some places, the book is downright dreadful. It's the youthful expression of a wish rather than a novel. Nevertheless, recently, I've taken up the challenge of revising it and turning the chapters into short stories.
This is difficult. It means I have to cut out some things that strike me as beautiful.
Here is one part I recently cut. It's the narrator describing his conversation with an English professor.
"I then asked him a critical question, to which he provided a complex answer. I asked him this just because it had been occupying my mind of late. I asked: “What do you think constitutes the quintessential novel?” Not an easy question, since I was asking him what the novel should be in its ideal form. Foster was more or less a Marxists, so I was expecting him to say that a quintessential novel should expand the boundaries of the established ideology, or expose it, or something to that effect; but no, as he is often apt to do, Professor Foster surprised me. He said that a novel, in its perfect form, ought to present a state where the harmonious integration of the world is shattered. The character should inhabit a world in which he feels estranged; the book should then work toward a world that is, at the end, unified in some fundamental way. Or, conversely, a novel should work from a state of totality (unison) toward a state of disunity or estrangement...it’s something I’ll always remember: a gem of wisdom from a very good teacher. "
I was describing in a sense what I was trying to do with my novel. I start with a character whose world is crumbling and try to end with a world that's somewhat put back together, if not completely perfect.
Quintessential is the word I use there. That's the kind of word a 19-year-old would think is pretty smart. This time around, I refer more generally to perfection. The key question, as I write these little short stories is -- can I recapture the angst and yearning of youth.
I think I can. In some ways, I'm more of a 19-year-old than I've ever been.
This is difficult. It means I have to cut out some things that strike me as beautiful.
Here is one part I recently cut. It's the narrator describing his conversation with an English professor.
"I then asked him a critical question, to which he provided a complex answer. I asked him this just because it had been occupying my mind of late. I asked: “What do you think constitutes the quintessential novel?” Not an easy question, since I was asking him what the novel should be in its ideal form. Foster was more or less a Marxists, so I was expecting him to say that a quintessential novel should expand the boundaries of the established ideology, or expose it, or something to that effect; but no, as he is often apt to do, Professor Foster surprised me. He said that a novel, in its perfect form, ought to present a state where the harmonious integration of the world is shattered. The character should inhabit a world in which he feels estranged; the book should then work toward a world that is, at the end, unified in some fundamental way. Or, conversely, a novel should work from a state of totality (unison) toward a state of disunity or estrangement...it’s something I’ll always remember: a gem of wisdom from a very good teacher. "
I was describing in a sense what I was trying to do with my novel. I start with a character whose world is crumbling and try to end with a world that's somewhat put back together, if not completely perfect.
Quintessential is the word I use there. That's the kind of word a 19-year-old would think is pretty smart. This time around, I refer more generally to perfection. The key question, as I write these little short stories is -- can I recapture the angst and yearning of youth.
I think I can. In some ways, I'm more of a 19-year-old than I've ever been.
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Laura J. W. wrote: "This is a small gem with potential to grow. It feels good to rework the early attempts, revisiting them with the experience of life. I know I have discarded bits that I've tucked away in an archive..."I've recently been trying to grow small. I've been trying to turn these bits and pieces that don't work in larger contexts into things that perhaps could work as blog posts, or little stories, or something.
The question is -- how do I develop the art of the small? The little improvised piece that makes someone smile or think.
Quintessential. It is one of those old drama queens a young writer will throw down while in the thick of writing...I recently found it lounging around in one of my paragraphs, and after focusing with the critical stink-eye, I decided to leave her there. The character who used it was in the right time in his life to use such a word, and it was used in a lighthearted and nostalgic moment that it still felt right. I wouldn't let him use it later in the book, he's too mature for that sort of talk.
:)