We're Not In Kansas Anymore, Toto

Dr Who is on the screen telling us that almost every species in the universe is afraid of the dark.
 A family member scoffs, 'What about all the nocturnal animals there are?'
I look at him in some consternation. 'He's probably speaking of thinking rather than instinctual species,' I reply.
 That wasn't good enough however. 'He said all species.'

I guess for him that was that, case closed, you can take it to the bank and thank you very much.
I thought the Doctor's line about almost every species in the universe being afraid of the dark was a pretty good one actually. Not because it invited us to think deeply about it – it didn't. Instead, because it gave us a shiver, called up some dark, primal emotion and made us think quickly of every shadow encountered, every bogeyman hiding in the dark under the bed and in the closet. It made us feel. Well, it did that for me anyway, and I imagine for any other fan of the Doctor, or perhaps any fan of mainstream fiction.
We read (and watch) this sort of fiction because we want to be taken to another place and feel what it's like there. We're not there to make an anthropological study, we're there simply to enjoy the ride (especially if we're scared silly somewhere along the way). With this type of fiction, whether you're amongst the pages of a book or watching an episode of Dr Who on dvd, to get the most enjoyment out of it, you're entering into an implicit agreement with the writer.
Said agreement goes something like this:
Writer – 'I hereby agree (to the best of my ability) to produce something like a continuous dream for you. I'll make the details as believable as I can, so that you can enter into this world of my making, and feel almost that it's real. I'll trick you by all means fair and foul into believing it right along with me, in feeling the thrills and heart spills, in laughing, crying and maybe even screaming whilst you're deep amongst my pages. I'll do my best to make it so that when you put my book down, you'll be blinking like a new babe in the sunlight, hardly recognising your old, familiar world.'
And, dear Reader, your part is this:
Reader – 'When I pick up your book I'm going to fall into its pages like I'm falling through a door into a new world. I'm going to put aside my natural-born scepticism, that hard-ass attitude I need to get through my days in the real world, and I'm going to be a trusting newborn passed into your keeping. I'm going to do my best to believe, I'm going to allow myself to be hoodwinked by your honeyed word; I want to go on this trip with you. I want to care about the people you've made up like they're real, my family, my neighbours, my new best friends, my nightmares. I'm ready and willing, writer man or woman - take me for a ride.'
It's an agreement based in magic. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto, and if the writer is good enough, you'll take her hand and walk right on down that yellow brick road with her. Maybe you'll even hum a little tune.

Filed under: Writing Journal