Tunnel Vision — Part II

Last week I said all I needed about how tunnel vision can impact your writing. Or so I thought. Later, I had a conversation with BFF Jane, and she pointed out some things that I had missed. What, she said, would a child narrator be expected to see? Or someone with mental illness? She offered many other examples. How bloody annoying — but I had to admit she was right.

So, what are the advantages of tunnel vision, and when should a writer use it?

The example I gave last week of the woman hearing footsteps coming up to her bedroom still stands. Any time the character is completely focused on one thing, then you should avoid any extraneous details. Keep it to those things the woman will be focusing all her attention on. And at the risk of stating the obvious, she’s not going to be thinking about her ‘heaving bosom.’ No, really. And don’t try to get around it by writing something like, “She didn’t even notice the sweat trickling between her heaving bosoms.”

Jane’s example of a child’s point of view is pertinent. While some, depending on their age, may be astute enough to see fairly broadly, they are unlikely to anticipate outcomes or consequences. I’ve watched a few videos of children being given hefty sentences for murder, and their shocked reaction is often, “I didn’t know this would happen.” However, a child will look at situations from the perspective of how it impacts them. I didn’t realise when I ate all the doughnuts that there would be none left for the rest of the family. I didn’t think that mum’s car crash would mean that I would have to live with my aunt for a few months.

Some writers do a very good job of capturing the way the child’s mind works. Harper Lee is one of the best examples. Even though her character, Scout, (To Kill a Mockingbird) is too young to realise the danger her father faces by defending a black man from a charge of rape, she conveys all the necessary information that allows the reader to see the potential consequences even though the child cannot.

Another example worth noting is the character who suffers from some sensory deficit. Perhaps he is blind. How does that impact his relationship with the world, or with other people? In The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, the protagonist, John Singer, is deaf. This disability impacts how the people around him relate to him.

A person living in isolation, regardless of the reason, is also likely to have a limited ability to react to the world. Obviously, Robinson Crusoe has a wider world to consider than a prisoner in isolation, but both perspectives are limited to some degree.

As a writer who does not currently suffer any such disabilities, I find it a challenge to imagine the world as it must seem to a person who cannot see or hear. And yet these challenger are, for me, one of the joys of writing. Being able to enter such a different world and inhabit it, to develop a real appreciation for the things some people endure. To see the world through another’s eyes (or not see, as the case may be) is a privilege.

Then there’s delusional thinking. This has downed more planes than hurricanes. Well, I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know it’s a lot. How many times have you heard that the pilot thought he was flying in the right direction to the airport, only to crash into a mountain? Or he thinks he’s at a safe altitude, but it transpires that he’s flying upside down and so he plummets into the sea? People can be delusional about all sorts of things. The shadow of a tree on your bedroom wall can be taken for a monster. The wife of the man across the street is on holiday; her husband hasn’t bumped her off and buried her in the garden. (Take note, Alfred Hitchcock.)

I recently watched William Peter Blatty’s The Ninth Configuration. It’s an excellent film about a group of Vietnam soldiers who appear to be insane. They are being treated in a gothic-looking castle that is always pictured in rain or fog. A forbidding looking place. At the end, one of the characters returns, and we find it is actually a warm and welcoming building, surrounded by flowers and trees.

Delusions. What a great concept for a story.

My final example here is the person suffering from mental illness. I’ve worked in a mental facility during my nurse training, and later in a facility for educationally challenged people. I am in awe of people who manage to cope with these difficulties, as well as those who care for them. Trying to get inside the world of such people is a real challenge, but think what an outstanding novel you could produce if you could manage it. There have been, of course, many books and films about people dealing with mental illness. Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway, Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar to name some of the more illustrious examples.

In a nutshell, then, if the character or the circumstances reveal a narrow perspective, then that’s the way to go. I will say, though, that some of these books can make for tough reading, especially the ones dealing with mental illness. Perhaps that’s just me because I’ve seen some of these conditions up close and they continue to haunt me.

Ideally, at least in my opinion, a book should present a combination of both the narrow focus and the broad spectrum. Obviously, there are times when either one will suffice. But it’s your world. The world you created and inhabit. Have fun with it.

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