She grew up in rural Maine, largely self-taught, and when she sat down to write the novel that made her famous she swept aside all the nonsense she had picked up in school—that all of us were taught—about what literature should be; and in that simple, single courageous act, she separated the Red Sea from Dry Land. She created for herself a narrow trail that led over rocky ground even though gigantic walls of water were being held back on either side of her slender trail by immensely powerful forces. She refused to be distracted by all the babbling on both sides of her. She followed her trail.
It was almost as though she said to herself most novels make readers work way too hard to make sense of them and appreciate them. My novel will be effortless to read.
And it was almost as if she said to herself: Most novels do backflips to give readers a false impression they're 'real' or that they're close to non-fiction because they have plenty of characters, plenty of complicated relationships, plenty of people making poor decisions that, in the end, turn out poorly. Plenty of drama, in other words.
My novel? she mighjt have thought. No backflips. Everything spare. I refuse to hide the notion that my novels are what they are--fiction.
By the way, that's what makes most novels so complicated. Their authors are running around like scared rabbits trying to lie their way into Heaven; almost as if they're trying to run away from the truth that their novels are fiction by compulsively fabricating a bunch of lies. As if the reader has no idea what's going on. Give me a break.
And it's almost as if she said to herself, most novels try way too hard to get readers to feel the emotions of the characters. In my novel, emotions will ooze out between the words, but the words I use will never intellectualize what the character is feeling. The reader will know what character is feeling without having to be told in so many words.
I pledge never to waste even a single word intellectualizing emotions. My novel, and the story my novel tells, will feel completely comfortable with the fact that what is being told here is a story that lives inside a novel. I will not use a single sentence to try and convince the reader it's anything else.
My novel will quietly and patiently focus on its only principal character and honor her fully; for example, I will refuse to use words to describe the settings of my stories.
The settings of my novels will be so prosaic and so well known to the reader that no one will miss it when I don't waste a single word describing the setting.
In addition, my novel will refuse to use words to describe what my characters look like. Why? Because if it's a really good story, by the end, every good reader will be able to write a police bulletin description of what my main character looks like. So why waste words on descriptions which so easily could be at variance with what the reader is imagining in her mind.
This is how My name is Lucy Barton might have taken shape in Elizabeth Strout's mind:
"I know," thought Elizabeth, "I'll have my single character be a patient in a midtown Manhattan hospital that has a famous building right outside her hospital window, The Chrysler Building."
Everybody knows what a hospital room looks like, so I won't have to waste a single word describing it. Same goes for The Chrysler Building.
My character will be named Lucy Barton. She's come from rural Maine but now lives in Manhattan, just like me.
In the story, Lucy Barton's doctor has restricted her to her hospital room for a series of "tests." The facts are kept extremely vague and indefinite. Purposely so.
The only action that occurs: While she's in the hospital Lucy's mother comes to visit. Lucy hasn't seen her mom in years.
I ask you, Dear Reader of my ExcitingWriting essays: Imagine you've been admitted to a hospital for vague 'tests' and you suddenly have an uninvited visitor. It's your mother who you haven't seen for years.
What happens to your emotions? Is there anything that happens from there on out that isn't heavily laden with emotion? Of course not. Could it be your mother has already passed, and is visiting you from the Dead? That is certainly what occurs to me. In any case, emotions ooze out in the spaces between every word.
Fittingly, the novel is mostly dialogue between Lucy and her mother.
This is the novel Elizabeth Strout wrote while she was walking down a narrow rocky trail in rural Maine while on either side of her powerful forces were holding back immense walls of water.
It's called My Name is Lucy Barton. It's about 180 pages short. And it's effortless to read. Don't read it too fast. You might miss something... interesting.
No comments:
Post a Comment