A view from a distance
by Barb, writing in Maine, where the weather has been so beautiful this summer it’s almost hard to believe
Here we are for the third in my series of posts about what I’ve learned after putting in my 10,000 hours writing mysteries.
The first in the series, The Voice, is here.The second, It’s the emotion, stupid, is here.
This time I’m writing about narrative distance.
From time to time, I’m asked to review manuscripts by pre-published writers. Often this is as a part of a conference in which people can pay for manuscript reviews, or in association with a group, like the Sisters in Crime Guppies. (Great UnPublished)
One of the two most common issues I see is narrative distance. Too often I see the insertion of “distancing” words. Like this:
I wondered what he was doing down by the dock by himself. My mind reeled at the idea he might be guilty. I believed him to be a good man. His reputation alone placed him above suspicion. I’d known him a long time. I’d thought he was my friend.
Nothing wrong with that, right? We’ve all read books like that, which is why those words unspool so easily from our minds when we’re writing. But most of the books we’ve read that use this style of narration are older. Modern commercial fiction is most often written in a very close point of view.
Words like “wondered,” “believed,” “my mind,” “idea,” “might,” and “thought” place distance between the point of view character and the narrative. And between the narrative and the reader. You probably don’t use those words when you’re talking to yourself in your head.
Try this:
Jack was alone by the dock. Did he kill Esme? No. He was a good man with a solid reputation. More than that, he was my friend.
When I coach writers to remove all those distancing words, what I am really saying is– remove the distance. Try to get as deep inside the character as you can. Crime fiction requires readers to understand what the POV character, particularly the protagonist, is observing, how they’re processing the information they’re getting, and how they feel about it. The best way to do this is for the narration to come from the inside, looking out. Not to come from somewhere above, looking down.
This works in the third person as well.
He walked along, muttering, watching his step on the rocky path. He thought about Esme. It was hard to grasp that she was truly dead. Like all life partners he’d imagined her death before, what it would be like to go on without her. Somehow it hadn’t prepared him for the reality.
Try this:
His boot slid on the steep, rocky path. He sucked air over his teeth, his arms pinwheeling. For a moment, until he regained his footing, his body was as unsettled as his mind. “Esme is dead. Esme is dead. Esme is dead.” It was unreal, illusive. In his head but not in his bones. Not in his heart. The times he’d imagined his life without her flooded back, closing his throat with guilt and shame. It hadn’t been like this. Not at all.
Am I giving you a rule? “Narration must be in very close POV.” No. As you’ll find out in future posts, I hate it when one writer tells others how they must write. In the examples above you can probably think of lots of places the narrative might have landed in between the two extremes, or beyond them. You might even want to play with distance, closer for a protagonist, farther for another POV character.
Here is my advice: Think about distance. Be aware as you write. If something seems wrong, if beta readers or your writing group aren’t responding as you’d hoped, if agents are saying, “I’m just not in love with the main character,” check the distance. Maybe you’re too far away.
Readers: We have such educated readers. You know what point of view characters are, and the difference between first person and third person narration. But do you ever think about narrative distance? Or is it one of those things that is most successful if you don’t notice it? Writers, do you think about narrative distance?
