KayeDacus.com

Well, I’ve been waging an internal debate as to whether or not to blog about this, but having seen that there are some out there of similiar persuasion as I, I decided to go ahead and have my say. Some of you may or may not agree, and I’d love for you to post your comments—you won’t offend me. I know this is just a matter of opinion.

Persuasion is my favorite of Jane Austen’s six completed novels. This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows anything about my Ransome trilogy, which was partly inspired by Persuasion (and partly by Horatio Hornblower). It is by far the most mature of her work, no pun intended given that the heroine is twenty-seven when the book opens. The storytelling is tighter, the pace faster, the characters—all of the characters—better developed.

That said, I do not like the newest film version of Persuasion which aired on PBS this weekend. I know that there are lots of women out there this week just raving over it and how wonderful it was. But there are many things to which I take issue in this fiasco of a film:

1. Sally Hawkins (”Anne Elliot”): In the book, though Anne is pained by Frederick’s return after having broken her engagement to him eight years before, she does not sit around pouting all the time. She has some spunk, some personality, some backbone. She isn’t the mopey, sulking character who STARES AT THE CAMERA (for no apparent reason). Her forebearance was born out of what little self-worth she had: she turned him down, therefore who was she to begrudge him finding a suitable (if silly) wife in Louisa Musgrove? I know that much of this is the director’s fault, but there seems to be no sign of life in the actress’s eyes at any point in time in the movie. Even in the end (which I’ll get to in a minute), she looks like a dead fish when Frederick kisses her. There’s also a line in the book after she joins her family in Bath when her father remarks upon how much fresher, younger, better (don’t remember the exact adjective) she looks. But in this film, her look never changes.

Sally Hawkins is a runny-nosed Anne Elliot . . . effective at times, but at too many others, she surrenders to a wide variety of vocal mannerisms and facial tics. At the end of the film, as she is about to kiss Wentworth (oh, come on, you always knew how it comes out), her mouth twitches like a bass zeroing in on a tasty side order of plankton as her face moves slowly toward its target. David Wiegand, San Francisco Chronicle, 1/11/08

2. Direction/Cinematography: I read somewhere that this version was filmed entirely with hand-held cameras. The jostling and shaking was more reminiscent of an episode of Homicide: Life on the Street than a BBC period piece. Then there were the times (already mentioned) when Sally Hawkins stares at the camera, sans expression, sans dialogue, which just made it creepy and annoying. Also, the scenes and cuts were so quick and short (why couldn’t the length have been extended to two hours??) that there was never a chance to just enjoy the scenery or the characters or the costumes or anything.

3. Poor Character Development: Because of the jumping from scene to scene, none of the characters are allowed to be sufficiently developed–especially the secondary characters. Where was Frederick’s jealousy over Anne seeming to become close to Benwick when in Lyme? What about Anne’s fear that Frederick was as good as engaged to Louisa when she left them all for Bath? What about Mr. Elliot—he seemed only an afterthought in this version? Lady Russell—who is the one who actually convinced Anne to break off her engagement? Admiral and Mrs. Croft? Henrietta and Charles Hayter? Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove, who treated Anne more like a daughter than her own father? Even Mary and Charles Musgrove get a short shrift in this one. This novel has some of the deepest characterization Austen ever developed. This film loses all of it.

4. Rupert Penry-Jones (”Frederick Wentworth”): I’m sorry, but some young, blond guy with no experience in his face, no sense of humor, no indication that he has anything of the sailor about him will ever be a convincing Frederick Wentworth. Certainly, he is good looking, and wears the period costumes quite well. But he reminded me more of Samuel West, who played Mr. Elliot in the 1995 version, than he did of a genuine Frederick Wentworth. I’m not so stuck on Ciaran Hinds being the “ultimate” Wentworth that I wasn’t open to the possibility of liking someone else in the role. It’ll just have to be someone other than Rupert Penry-Jones for me (Karl Urban, anyone?).

But Penry-Jones is far too pretty to be Wentworth. He doesn’t have wisdom and pain written into the lines of his face, as did Ciarán Hinds as Wentworth in the 1995 version - indeed, he has no lines in his face. Matthew Gilbert, the Boston Globe, 1/12/08

5. Changes to the Story: I know that any adaptation of a novel is going to require some divergence from the original source material, either because of the limitations of time or to translate what makes sense on the page but won’t on-screen. But they didn’t just alter the story to fit the length of the film—they actually altered the story structure. The most glaring and heinous crime committed against the novel was the screenwriter’s decision to eliminate the most emotional and crucial scene of the book by transplanting Anne’s “we love longest when all hope is gone” dialogue to two snippets in a conversation with Benwick in Lyme—which Wentworth doesn’t even hear. The scene when Frederick overhears Anne and Capt. Harville having the conversation about women loving longest when all hope is gone is the most emotional scene Jane Austen ever wrote—and is what led Frederick to writing her the note telling her he still loved her and that hope still remained for a reconciliation. They also managed to belie the TITLE OF THE BOOK by changing it so that her father is the one who insisted she break her engagement to Frederick years ago, instead of Anne’s being persuaded by Lady Russell to do so because they were both young, he had nothing to offer, and Anne would just be a burden to him because he had no way to support her. Were they trying to imply that the Anne in the book is weak because she gave into this persuasion—that the viewing audience would only like her if she’d had to break the engagement because of her father’s insistence? That to me is a clear indication that no one involved with this project truly understands the nuances of the novel and what the whole story is about!

6. The Absolutely Hacked-up, Mangled, Not-right Ending: I’ve already gotten into some of this above. When I heard the lines from the climax of the story had been dropped into an insignificant throw-away earlier in the movie, I started getting concerned. Then, when the end finally did come, it was almost as if the filmmakers decided they hadn’t liked the way the book ended so they wrote an almost completely different ending! As I’ve said, the scene in the hotel in Bath when Frederick overhears Anne’s thinly veiled confession that she still loves him (while she’s still talking to Harville) is one of the most poignant, romantic scenes ever written in the history of romance novels! As a lover of Jane Austen’s work, and a scholar of the time period, to see Anne Elliot literally running through the streets of Bath was bordering on offensive—not to mention ridiculous, if they’d just followed the actual ending of the book. And I want you to show me where in the book that he buys her a house! Sure, it doesn’t say that they sailed off into the sunset together, either, but within months of this book, England was once again at war with France (after Bonaparte escaped from Elba—which is mentioned in the 1995 version). I don’t know that Anne would have actually sailed with him, but after the discussion in the book (and the 1995 movie) that Sophie had traveled with Admiral Croft on most of his ships, it’s a much more logical leap to see them on the deck of his ship than dancing in the front yard of a manor house. It’s totally out of character for Frederick Wentworth—his life was the Royal Navy . . . okay, maybe I’m putting a little too much of William Ransome into his character, but still. I was more disappointed with the ending of this movie more than anything else about it.

So, that’s my take on the newest film version of Persuasion. Sure, I’ll buy it when it comes out on DVD, simply because that’s my Austen fixation. And in further viewings, I might find things I like about it. But for now, the 1995 Ciaran Hinds/Amanda Root version remains firmly afixed at the top of my list of favorite Austen films.

Give yourself a big pat on the back. You’ve finished the novel.

The End
1. Go back to what you thought the main plot and theme were just from reading the back cover. Is that actually what the theme/plot were?

2. Was the plot well-paced?

3. Did the level of conflict/tension continually rise? Did the author give a few lulls in the action to allow you a breather before moving onto greater conflict/tension?

4.  Do all conflicts/events of the plot/subplot lead up to/set up the climax?

5. What is the climax? Does it work? Is it realistic? Does it pull in all elements of character and plot?

6. After the climax, is there a satisfying denoument?

7. Has the author left any threads dangling/left anything unconcluded? Is this book one of a series? If so, does the author give a satisfying ending for this volume, yet leave you wanting to read the next book?

8. Is the ending satisfying? Not necessarily happy, but satisfying?

9. Is there a strong last line/paragraph?

10. If there’s an epilogue, is it necessary? Does it add to the satisfaction of the ending, or is it just more information?

11. If you don’t find the climax and ending satisfying, how would you have done it differently?
 
……….

But wait . . . there’s more! Now it’s time to reflect on what you’ve read:
1. Did you enjoy reading this book?

2. Were there ever times when you got so caught up in reading that you forgot to critique?

3. What did you like most about the book?

4. What did you like least?

5. What took you totally by surprise?

6. Were there conflicts/plot twists that kept the story feeling fresh and new, or did you know what was going to happen before it did?

7. If you were to write a review of this book, what would be three positive things you would mention? Three negative?

8. Would you recommend this book to your friends and family?

9. Reflect on why you chose this book. Did you get out of it what you hoped?

10. What have you learned about craft to apply to your own writing?

11. How does the title tie in with the story?

12. Did the back-cover copy accurately set-up/convey what the novel is really about?

13. Will you ever re-read this book just for pleasure?

Once again, I have the privilege of bringing you words of wisdom from another writer I highly respect. Melissa Doll is a former critique partner and fellow alumna of Seton Hill University’s Writing Popular Fiction master’s program.

Finding Fantasy in Fiction
by Melissa Doll

When Kaye asked me to cook up a blog on critical reading, I thought, “Sure. I can do that. I’ve earned my Master’s Degree in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. No problem.”

Yeah. That was five hours and two headaches ago. Even though I’d written a critical analysis paper—which was quite scholarly, I might add—I found myself scratching my (rapidly graying) head with the stress of this new assignment.
Critical reading. Hmmmm.

According to Webster’s Encyclopedic Dictionary, “critical” means, “Discerning, based on thorough knowledge.” Good thing tonight’s Bible study dealt with discernment, which is “perceiving with the mind,” or I might have had to look that word up, too! So, armed with those definitions, I concluded that “critical reading” means analyzing written text based on knowledge.

In the case of genre literature, critical reading rests upon knowledge of key conventions; and in the romance genre, I believe the following conventions are foundational to successful writing: 1) a convincing fantasy, 2) coded language, 3) a core story, and 4) a satisfying ending.

In this blog, I’ve only got space to write about the first convention, fantasy. “Fantasy” in the romance genre refers to the themes and locales that carry us away from our day-to-day drudgeries and transport us to exciting new people and interesting/ exotic places. Not all fantasies are positive, which explains the popularity of Stephen King (though he’s certainly not a “romance” writer!).

In her essay, “Judge Me by the Joy I Bring,” Kathleen Gilles Seidel states, “I believe—and this is a very Romantic view of romance writing—that you are more or less doomed to write certain kinds of books. You can only write your fantasies (168).” She continues, “Absolute sincerity about your fantasies is like yeast. If there is none in the kitchen, forget about making a recipe that calls for it. It is the one thing for which there are no substitutions.” Seidel maintains that an author’s fantasies determine how successful he or she will be in the popular fiction market, first by how many people share the writer’s particular fantasies and second by how well the writer conveys these fantasies. (emphasis mine)

Jayne Ann Krentz, editor of Dangerous Men and Adventurous Women: Romance Writers on the Appeal of the Romance, the book containing Seidel’s essay, agrees. “In romance the success of an individual author is not based on how well she writes by conventional standards, but on how compellingly she can write her fantasy and on how many readers discover they can step into it with her for a couple of hours (4),” (emphasis mine).

So what fantasies do I most enjoy reading, and what fantasies do I “tap” in my own writing? My first novel, My Forest Home, includes the following:
• Parents who favor one sibling over another and experience conflict
• Persons who do not “fit” in their societal roles
• Sibling rivalry
• Friendship turned to love
• Persons torn between two lovers
• Emotional abandonment and neglect
• Betrayal

When I read critically, I determine authorial “success” based on the author’s ability to transport me into worlds containing conniving antagonists, competitive women, and strong heroes with flaws. And in my own writing, success depends upon the degree to which I can make these items real to readers.

A second key in fantasy is setting. Seidel writes, “The first function of the setting of a romance novel is to be Other, to transport the reader to somewhere else (165).” She maintains, “Particular settings are associated with particular fantasies.” I love pre-1900 history, and I love American themes from earliest settlement to the westward expansion, thus the 1855 Iowa setting for my first novel.

Seidel says, “Frontier romances are full of fantasies about resourcefulness and daring (166).” Certainly those elements exist in My Forest Home. Books written about the American West will not necessarily appeal to readers who enjoy Regency romance, though both work for me. I also love tales with Middle Eastern and European locales from ancient times through the mid-1800s. It is no wonder, then, that I reach for romance covers sporting heroines bedecked in lavish ball gowns or prairie bonnets. Because of my wide personal interests, I have many setting fantasies to explore in the coming years.

Seidel further states, “Historical romance is more likely to depict poverty, violence, and rape than are romances set in the present. The reason is simple. The historical setting makes the dramatization of such perils more remote and therefore less threatening (166).”

And the heroine has to win to make the fantasy complete!

According to Linda Barlow and Jayne Ann Krentz in their essay, “Beneath the Surface,” the following is true about a successful fantasy:

(There must be) a quintessentially female kind of victory, one in which neither side loses, one which produces a whole that is stronger than either of its parts. It requires that the hero acknowledge the heroine’s heroic qualities in both masculine and feminine terms. He must recognize and admire her sense of honor, courage, and determination as well as her traditionally female qualities of gentleness and compassion. (20)

Because humans are so diverse, reading critically to determine if a writer has created a successful “fantasy” becomes a subjective exercise. What works for me may not work for you. And the degree of success may have nothing to do with skill and everything to do with the themes and/or locales involved in the story. Though I’m new to the agent/publishing process, I suspect that the fantasy preferences for individual agents/editors factors into the equation when selecting materials to represent or publish.

Hey, anyone share my pioneer period fantasies? If so, I can hook you up with a great historical romance!

Reading critically. When we recognize conventions key to our genres, we can effectively evaluate our peers, efficiently select passages for our reading pleasure, and purposefully infuse elements (like fantasy) into our own creations.
Happy cooking!

I devoted quite a bit of space in yesterday’s post on figurative language. Here’s another take on it from literary agent Chip MacGregor:

Discovering Metaphor
by Chip MacGregor
www.macgregorliterary.com

The phone rang. It was an author, asking if he could hire me to consult with them on a manuscript. Why?

“My publisher says it needs more.”

When I ask more what, he says, “More fancy stuff. Symbols. Images. All that crap.”

I try to explain symbolic language isn’t something that can be dumped onto a manuscript later, like gravy ladled across potatoes. He harumphs and hangs up, unaware how metaphor works, and unwilling to learn.

If he’d stayed, I would have explained. A metaphor isn’t a literary trick, made to fancy-up your bland writing. It’s the basic image that gives life to your idea.

Do you know where the word “metaphor” comes from? Meta is Greek for “over.” Pherein is the action “to carry.” When you have one strong image, it can carry over into something else. A metaphor is often a comparison between two things that might at first seem an unlikely pair, but that share a similar quality. That quality carries over from one to another. I.A. Richards refers to the two aspects of metaphor as “the tenor” and “the vehicle.” The tenor is the main subject; the vehicle is the image that embodies it. So in the sentence, “She has all the personality of a flat tire,” her dull personality is the tenor, and a flat tire is the vehicle.

But symbolic language isn’t just a literary device — a way of finding creative descriptions of interesting or emotional people. A truly effective metaphor helps the reader understand the tenor and the vehicle. It gives insight, presenting an idea that hasn’t been seen before. In offering a strong metaphor, the writer gives us a whole new way of viewing things. So you can’t just stick in a metaphor here and there — they’ll seem contrived. Instead, the writing comes out of your metaphor — the natural way the author would describe these events.

When you really know something well, you can make comparisons to it, as a way to offer a more full-bodied description. My father knew the sea. He had spent years on it, and could describe waves and wind and sails in a hundred different ways. He knew the lives of sailors and merchant marines, and used “navy talk” in everyday life. More than that, he could tell you what it was like — could draw comparisons to the sea and ships when he came across a similar situation. For my father, a seafaring metaphor wasn’t a literary device…it was how he observed the world.

In your writing, you’ll discover you have themes drawn from your life. Often times they come from tragedy or failure, since the difficult parts of life mark us more than our successes. In my writing, I find myself coming back to the themes of abandonment and difficult choices — it’s because my childhood taught me life would offer both. It seems the more I write, the more I find ways to explore those themes. I don’t know what your particular disaster is, but I’m sure it will be reflected in your work. And that is where you’ll discover metaphor — in the comparisons between the things you know.

In one sense, it is the writer’s job to create images. A weak or contrived image will always reveal itself because it will feel like the author is trying too hard to be deep. He or she is trying to be “fancy” (to use the phrase preferred by Coleridge). If your images call attention to themselves, they’re too fancy…and you’re probably trying too hard. Instead of relying on what you know to evidence itself in your work, you’re trying to insert extra meaning. But the main goal of using a metaphor is not to show off, or to simply reveal resemblances between two things. The main goal is to establish a vivid image in the mind of the reader that helps him or her to better understand the main subject. That’s why the best metaphors usually offer sensory details, so that the reader will have a specific image in mind.

What are the things you know? What are the recurring images in your writing? That’s where you’ll discover the richest metaphors.

I finally started the book I’ve chosen to read critically: Home to Harmony by Phillip Gulley. I chose it because I’m currently trying to write a small-town fiction novel, but have lacked inspiration to get into that world. Since I’ve already read Jan Karon’s first Mitford book, I decided I needed something else similar to it but by a different author, one published by a CBA publisher, so that I could get a broader scope of the different types of stories in this genre—and to get a good handle on the competitive titles for what I’m writing. I’m about 15–20 pages in (so far have only had time to read when waiting at the dentist’s office and doctor’s office in the past few days), and while I haven’t started writing notes yet, I have been underlining some places where there’s great characterization, description of the setting, and turns of phrase I really like. One of the most interesting things about it is that it starts out reading more like a journal or memoir (written in First Person), but even though there’s a lot of telling in those first pages, it’s still interesting reading because he’s developing the setting and, through describing growing up in Harmony, developing the character.

Okay, on to more questions (I know, you’ve been biting your nails just waiting for another list!) . . .

This time, let’s focus on the literary stuff. It doesn’t matter if you’re reading a category romance, a sci-fi thriller, or a historical epic, every story contains literary elements—it’s up to you to know what the elements are so that you can recognize them. We’ve hit on one or two of them a little bit in earlier posts, but now we’ll get into specifics.

Theme: I was in college before I really got a grasp on what “theme” meant when analyzing literature. At its most basic level, theme is the message of the story—not the subject matter, but the “leave behind” or “moral of the story.” The example that Wikipedia (linked on the title) gives is that the subject matter of Green Eggs and Ham is that green eggs and ham “are worth eating, no matter the location,” while the theme is “having an open mind.” Theme can be intentional or unintentional by the author. I know that I, personally, do not set out to write a story with a specific theme; rather, as I write, a theme emerges, usually spiritual, usually something that I personally am dealing with at the time. Examples:

• The Wizard of Oz: No matter how far you roam, there’s no place like home.
• Pride and Prejudice: Love is more important than wealth or social status and can overcome all obstacles.
• The Star Wars saga: Everyone deserves a chance at redemption.

Imagery: What kind of images are called to mind when reading this book? Are they concrete (descriptions of characters/settings) or figurative (feelings, emotions, ideas)?

Figurative Language: This is the author’s way of turning a phrase to convey meaning. If well done, you may not even notice they’re there, unless you train yourself to notice them. However, if they’re not natural to the author’s writing style, they will stand out like a goose in a hen-house.

• Metaphor: comparing two very different things by substituting one for the other or saying one is the other. (“The fog comes on little cat feet . . .”)
• Simile: comparing two things using like or as. (“My love is like a red, red rose . . .”)
• Allegory or Parable: This was Jesus’ preferred method of getting a message across. On the surface, it says one thing, but when you dig deeper, you find there’s a hidden meaning. Or, in other words, something concrete used to explain something symbolic or thematic or amorphous.
• Analogy: This is very similar to metaphor and allegory—it’s the way of using a concrete idea to explain something difficult (such as comparing the first three chapters of the book to a first date).
• Personification: attributing human attributes to non-human objects. (“The rain wept down the windowpanes . . .”)
• Synecdoche: “A figure of speech in which a part is used for the whole (as hand for sailor), the whole for a part (as the law for police officer), the specific for the general (as cutthroat for assassin), the general for the specific (as thief for pickpocket), or the material for the thing made from it (as steel for sword).”
• Paradox: a statement or idea that seems contradictory upon first blush, but may actually be true. The oxymoron is an example of paradox. (A deafening silence, a painful joy).
• Hyperbole/Overstatement: intentional exaggeration. (“He finally picked up, but not until the phone rang five million times.”)
• Understatement: to purposely downplay something to illustrate its significance or importance or grandeur.
• Irony: Saying one thing but meaning the opposite. (Such as the the use of the phrase, “How nice,” when the speaker means “Ewww, that’s awful.”) Using contradictory ideas to portray what the author really means.

Alliteration: Unless you’re very new to my blog, you know how much I like alliteration. I fell in love with this literary device when I was in high school and first learned to put a name to it. There’s simply something satisfying and sonorous about using words that start with the same sound. It’s become such an integral part of the way I write, that most times, I don’t even realize I’ve done it until I go back and re-read my work aloud. Yes, my example in this paragraph sounds forced, because it was just to convey the meaning. But when done well, it flows and you might not even realize it’s there.

Connotation: Most words have both a denotation (the literal definition) and a connotation (the implied or understood meaning). For example: GOLD. The denotative meaning is a yellow, malleable, heavy metal element (Au on the periodic table). The connotative meaning can be anything from luxurious wealth to gaudy bling. Used literarily, the author could write that the woman “slithered” into the room. It doesn’t mean she literally got down on her belly and moved like a snake. It gives the connotation that she is snakelike in her movements, possibly in her intentions.

Unreliable Narrator: This is not found as much in modern literature as in classics. Henry James was a master at using the unreliable narrator. This is the method of writing such that the reader believes everything as the POV character sees it, only to realize later on (perhaps at the climax, perhaps sooner) that everything they’ve learned through that character’s POV isn’t real or true. This is the character who views the world through rose-colored glasses, the character who has an agenda, or the character who is going crazy but thinks she’s completely sane. A great example of an unreliable narrator is in Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper.”

Again, not all of these are going to be present in everything you read. But familiarizing yourself with these will allow you greater insight into the author’s approach to writing, as well as helping you expand your own writing vocabulary.

Before we continue on with elements to look for/question in your critical reading, it’s time for you to develop some questions. I thought of this last night as I played “Addicted to Harry Potter” trivia on Facebook.

Write a quiz about the book you’re reading.

Remember the quizzes we had to take in school over every book/story/poem we were assigned to read? Well, now it’s your turn to write one. If you were going to write a quiz for others to answer about the book (keeping in mind the intended age/audience of the book), what questions would you ask? Make sure to ask them in such a way that they’re open ended—that they don’t just require a yes/no or true/false answer. No fill-in-the-blanks, either! And they can have subjective/opinion answers.

For example:

In Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, what does the inscription “The last thing that shall be destroyed is death” mean?

Name five items that are introduced early in the series that become important in Deathly Hallows. How were they introduced/used earlier? Did you suspect they might become important in the end, or did Rowling do a good job of hiding them/their true purpose?

Is there another fantasy/sci-fi story/movie you can think of where one of the main characters leaves and then comes back at a crucial moment to save the life of another main character? How do the stories compare? Do you think Rowling got the idea for it from that story/movie?

What is the significance of the “code names” used for characters on the Potterwatch wireless program (especially Lupin/Romulus)?

Compare Harry Potter’s hero’s journey to Frodo Baggins’ hero’s journey. Compare HP’s journey to Luke Skywalker’s journey. Did Rowling stick closely to the standard storyline for a fantasy hero’s journey? If not, where did she diverge?

Did Rowling wrap up all subplots? If so, were the conclusions satisfactory? If not, how would you have liked to see them wrapped up?

What is Ron Weasley’s character arc? How does he change over the course of the series/in Deathly Hallows?

Is it realistic that Harry would name his son after Severus Snape after six years of Snape’s torturing him?

And so on . . .

Post a couple of your questions here and if any of us have read the same book, we’ll try to answer—and you can even grade us on our answers!

You, my dear bloggers, are in for a great treat. Our guest columnist today is a fellow ACFW member whose background in comparative literature gives her greater insight into critical reading than I’ll ever be able to share with you!

Why Learn to Analyze Fiction?
by MaryAnn Diorio, Ph.D.
www.maryanndiorio.com

I’ve read with keen interest Kaye’s great posts on the critical reading of fiction, partly because I want to learn all I can about fiction writing, and partly because she asked me to write today’s post and I didn’t want to come across as clueless regarding what’s been transpiring on this awesome blog. Have you ever jumped into a conversation mid-stream and embarrassed yourself? Do I hear a weak “yes”? Well, then, you know exactly what I mean.

Anyway, Kaye has given me the honor of talking a bit about why I think writers should learn how critically and objectively to analyze the work of other published writers. As someone who spent years doing this as both a Master and a Ph.D. student in Comparative Literature (with a concentration on the novel) and a former university professor who has taught writing courses, I’d like to share with you some of my insights.

It’s one thing to read a novel; it’s quite another to dissect it. Whereas simple reading provides entertainment, dissecting a novel provides an understanding of how that novel was constructed. And knowing how a novel is constructed is crucial to writing one. I call this dissection process modeling.

Modeling, as I define it, is the process of analyzing a novel for the purpose of writing one oneself. Analyzing a novel for other purposes is called literary criticism. Basically, literary criticism is the act of evaluating, understanding, and interpreting an author’s writing for the purpose of appreciating it more fully, not usually for the purpose of writing a novel oneself.

In today’s blog post, we are going to focus on modeling as we explore why it is important for fiction writers to develop the critical and objective analytical skills essential to understanding how to write fiction. Here are some key reasons:

1. Structural Understanding. We analyze in order to understand. When I was a little girl, I enjoyed taking things apart and then putting them back together again. I wanted to understand not only the individual parts but also how those parts fit together and worked together. The same is true of novel analysis. We take a novel apart to understand its individual parts (characters, plot, theme, etc.) and to understand how those parts fit together and work together. It takes this kind of understanding to write a story.

2. Language Understanding. Modeling gives the writer an understanding of the author’s use of language. This use includes literary devices such as metaphor, simile, synecdoche, and personification, among others. Because fiction employs a host of literary devices that create a particular effect, knowing how to analyze a work of fiction helps the writer focus on those language devices that will enhance her own fiction writing and render it more powerful and memorable.

3. Character Formation. Characters drive fiction and are its raison d’être. As we analyze an author’s characters, we observe whether a character is strong or weak and why. We note how the author used dialogue, backstory, pacing, and tension to create his character. As we learn what another author did to create powerful characters, we are better able to create powerful characters of our own.

4. Theme Recognition. Another reason to learn how critically and objectively to analyze a published author’s work is to understand how an author weaves theme into his fiction. Theme is organic to a novel. It grows from the inside out and often emerges without the author’s conscious awareness. As you write your own novels, you may know your theme when you start, but sometimes the theme will not become evident until the novel is finished.

It is a well-known fact that we learn by doing. Dissecting a novel is halfway between reading one and writing one. But how you handle that halfway point can make all the difference in your reaching your final destination.

______________________________________________
© 2007 by MaryAnn Diorio, Ph.D. All rights reserved.
____________________________________________
MaryAnn Diorio, Follower of Christ
Novelist & Poet
Truth through Fiction ®
2006 ACFW Genesis Contest
Third Place-General Fiction
Visit www.maryanndiorio.com

As promised, today I’ll give you a list of questions to consider about characters as you read. If you need a refresher on what makes characters credible, check out the Creating Credible Characters series.

1. What is each POV character’s goal, motivation, and conflict?
2. Is each POV character well-developed and three-dimensional?
3. Are secondary characters realistic and completely developed? Are they necessary? Do any secondary characters steal scenes from the main characters? Are there any secondary characters whose roles could be combined to cut down on the number of characters?
4. What are the conflicts that arise to keep the characters from reaching their goals?
5. Do you care about the characters and what they’re going through?
6. Do the characters have a PHYSICAL presence in each scene? (Do you see them through movement, actions, and description?)
7. Is each character’s internal conflict realistic and believable?
8. Is there ever a time when a character does something out-of-character for the way the author developed him/her?
9. Does any character ever become whiney or overly angst-ridden in such a way that they just come across as annoying? Do you ever find yourself wishing they would just shut up!!!?
10. Are the character’s strengths and weaknesses real? Are they used to good effect as the character meets conflicts?
11. Do you like the main characters enough to want to read a sequel featuring them?
12. If a sequel featured one or more of the secondary characters, would you want to read it?
13. What do you like best about the characters?
14. What do you like least about the characters?
15. Is there one (or more) character(s) you think the author should have left out?
16. If you could steal one character from this book and use him/her in your own story, which one would it be? Why?

Hey, all! Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday filled with too much food and tons of love and loved ones. I had a great time in Hot Springs, Arkansas, with my family, including spending Friday at my uncle’s home watching LSU’s chance at this year’s National Championship slip away. (But I still love my boys—and it’s awfully hard to be mad when the Arkansas defensive player who sacks our quarterback is named Weston DACUS!)

Did you get any reading done over the holiday? I did. I took two books with me—one that’s the book I’ve chosen to read critically and one which was supposed to be saved to read afterward for pleasure. Why did I take it? Because I have no willpower. So, I ended up reading James Patterson’s The Lake House over the long weekend. It was enjoyable, but not quite as good as the first book (When the Wind Blows). It felt really good to knock out a book in less than four days, as reading for pleasure is something I’ve struggled with since learning to become a critical reader. So, again, I’ll give the caveat that while critical reading is important, don’t forget how to read for pleasure too!

What to look for as you read.

Now we’re going to get into some more nit-picky areas/questions to consider as you continue reading your book for critical review.

1. Do you notice any word/language patterns and/or repetitions that don’t work or become distracting? Does the author have a tendency to use clichéd language? Overuse similies? Use mixed-metaphors? Is there anything about the technical aspect of the choice of language that pulls you out of the story or you feel isn’t used well/is overused?
2. Does the author stay consistent with authorial voice/tone throughout the book? Is there ever a time when you feel like you’re all of a sudden reading something written by someone else?
3. If there is more than one POV character, does each have a unique voice, or do they all “sound” alike?
4. Is the dialogue natural? Does it match the time period/region? Is it appropriate for the characters? Is it different from the narrative? Do all the characters use grammatically correct sentence structure when they speak? Do POV characters’ dialogue match their narrative? If the author uses phonetic spellings for dialect, is it distracting? Do you have to read the dialects aloud to figure out what it says?
5. Is the author staying true to the theme you picked up on in the first chapter? Or now that you’ve read further, have you adjusted your concept of what the theme of the story actually is?
6. Has anything surprised you in a good way?
7. Has anything surprised you in a bad way?
8. What are the subplots? Do they support the main plot or distract from it? Can you make connections between the subplot and the main plot, or does it seem totally random?
9. Does the story drag anywhere? Do you find yourself skimming passages or wanting to put the book down because you’re losing interest?
10. Does each chapter end with a hook that makes you want to read more?
11. Did the author do adequate research? Does the author come across as an authority on the subject / occupation / time period / technology / etc. used in the book?
12. Is there ever a time when you feel like the author is trying to teach a lesson or get a personal message across?
13. If it is an inspirational/Christian novel, is the faith element woven in naturally, or does the author come across as “preachy”?

Next time: what to look for with Characters.

I’m pleased today to welcome guest columnist Dr. Michael Arnzen. Dr. Arnzen is one of the driving forces behind the Master of Arts in Writing Popular Fiction program at Seton Hill University, where I had the pleasure of taking several classes from him as well as a few critiquing workshops he’s led, and I’m so honored to be able to pass along some of his wisdom.

“QUESTION-STORMING!”
by Michael A. Arnzen
www.gorelets.com

Every drop of ink that you see on a page is a choice that a writer has made. That choice has a motive. A reason. A rationale. Thus, critical reading is — at its base — a search for that reason. It simply involves ASKING THE QUESTION WHY.

I always read with a pen in hand, taking notes in the margins of my books. I enjoy defacing them, taking control of them, and treating them like learning tools. This might sound like it robs the pleasure out of reading, but it actually has its own pleasures and rewards. Writers are always reading other writers as “studies in the craft,” and we learn a lot from each other along the way.

For me, “critical reading” typically means bouncing a question off the page of a book and following its trajectory to see where it lands. Sometimes the question takes me back to pages I’d already read, or into other works by a writer. Sometimes it takes me into my own memories and life experiences. Sometimes it sends me to the keyboard to write, or to my pen so I can write in the margins.

But the question is almost inevitably a WHY question. Here are typical examples:

• WHY did the writer start this scene with dialogue?
• WHY did the writer call sky “azure” instead of just plain “blue”?
• WHY is the character named “Spring”? What does an allusion to this season accomplish?
• WHY did the writer use a one sentence paragraph here?
• WHY does the villain shoot the character in the chest as opposed to elsewhere?
• WHY does this character always smoke a cigarette when they step outside?
• WHY is this book’s title a pun with a double meaning? Are there other meanings to it?
• WHY do mystery books always focus on WHOdunit, when what matters is often HOW?
• WHY did I hate the lead character’s love interest so much?
• WHY is it snowing in this scene? Is the snow symbolic of something?
• WHY did the book end with a question?

From the mundane and minute to the big picture, I constantly ask “WHY?” — and though you can probably imagine an annoying little kid doing this, too, tugging on the hem of your coat (”Why is the sky blue, Mommy? But why that? And why this?”) — often we learn by exploring POSSIBLE ANSWERS to these questions.

Reading like this becomes habitual if you do it often enough. But if you don’t feel like you’re this sort of “critical reader” you might want to take a moment out of each reading session (say, at the end of a chapter or three of a book) to just do what I call “Question-storming.” It’s sort of like brainstorming, where — with pen in hand — you try to dump all your ideas out onto the page. Only in this case, you’re trying to formulate as many questions as you can. You can think about the answers later. For now, skim what you’ve read and then write down all the WHY? questions you can come up with somewhere, even if its just in the blank space at the top of the first chapter heading. Or you can skim the text and underline key phrases, words, or sentences and then write “WHY?” in the margins.

Take some time later to review the questions and think about the answers. Any of them could lead to journal entries or moments of quiet reflection. Do whatever works for you. Regardless, when we go through this process, we stumble upon new ways of thinking that we might not have encountered otherwise. We engage in a kind of research and discovery mission. And these studies in motive and reasoning in turn shape how we write.

Indeed, readers (especially readers of mysteries) often are silently asking “Why?” in the back of their minds as they read all along, anyway. But it’s in the BACK. When you critically read, you move that question to the front of your mind and allow it to be the most pressing question at issue for you.

When you write, you can play off the reader’s “guessing game” about motives, by predicting what questions they will be asking about your story, and misdirecting them or revealing to them answers that they might not have seen coming. You can play off the most predictable “choices” that writers make, and make your way into new ground by choosing unexpected and alternative paths. Getting into a habit of critical reading is a great way to sharpen your skills at the games readers and writers play on that field of sport we call fiction. By gauging the artistic choices that other writers make, we start to question our own motives…and while this can make you a little paranoid, most writers who do this find they ultimately write with a greater sense of purpose.

—
Dr. Michael A. Arnzen (www.gorelets.com) has taught horror and suspense writing in the Writing Popular Fiction graduate program at Seton Hill University since 1999. His latest projects include a collection of short stories (Proverbs for Monsters) and a spoken word CD (Audiovile). His article on higher education for the horror writer, “Degrees of Dread,” appears in the recent book from Writer’s Digest, On Writing Horror (edited by Mort Castle).