A part of the mentoring deal I have with a prof of mine is I have to read several books over the course of our time together, and discuss them within the context of what can I take away as a writer. This requires, apparently, a shift in the way I usually read; a search for craft rather than pleasure. I must confess I find this difficult.
My gut response to reading is pretty much the same as my response to film. I react on an emotional level first, but not in a whimsical way (at least not to me). I respond to what I perceive the author's intentions to be (if the writing is effective, that is). I feel the desire for vindication or the stomach-churning tragedy, the elation of a brilliantly human scene. A great example is how distraught I was after finishing Mercy Among the Children by David Adams Richards--a wretchedly beautiful bit of morality.
It's what has always drawn me to books, the way they wrestle to evoke genuine responses. But, in now trying to do the very same myself, I have to move away from the "what" and start banking on the "how".
I have about a 30 page threshold with any given book. If I don't find myself engaged by that many pages, I'm usually done with it. Too many others waiting. When I asked my prof what her threshold was, she informed me most times it was one sentence--maybe a paragraph. For her, that is all the time an author has to truly convince the reader of her books merits.
I suppose this coincides with my question to her of how she reads fiction after so many years in the business of literature. Her response: she reads predominantly as a matter of craft. Every book she reads she stops 5 pages in and asks "why do I care about this character and the story". If she can't come up with a good reason, the book is done. She repeats this throughout her reading, 50 pages in, 100, 200.
So, of course there is some semblance of emotional response (she does care) but the main concern is to try and find out what the author is doing to make the reader care.
For now, I think there's something tragic about no longer having that initial visceral reaction. It might be overly romantic, or nostalgic--perhaps linked to how I can never abandon buying physical books for digital versions (Kindle, Sony Reader etc.). I need that smell of old paper, the bulk in the back pocket when I head to a coffee shop. Even the arrangement of text on the page. All important--for now.
But perhaps the reading process is twofold. One has the initial reaction and but then seeks to know why the reaction is so vivid (or why it's lacking).
I am curious how other writers out there view a book when they read, now that they're entrenched in the process. Writing is theft, I believe that. Necessary theft. And perhaps we are always on the hunt.
6 comments:
The kind of writing I like draws attention to story and character rather than style or technique. Same with movies. If I'm focused on technical issues, the book has lost me. I still finish it, though.
I started Girl with the Dragon Tattoo this week, got a hundred pages into it and haven't looked at it since. It's by no means awful, but it's not engaging. The characters are defined through gimmicks (such as the titular tattoos) rather than decisions and dialogue. Plus it's got long passages about Swedish finance reform.
I find my biggest problem with writing is description, for the simple fact that I don't really like to read it. I always loved Hemingway's quote that the weather in his stories was whatever the weather was when he wrote them.
I think I'm the same way--though I don't think I represented my prof's position fairly. The initial response has to be one of emotion, yes? And that comes from the characters and story, rather than a focus on technique.
But I suppose the former is a product of the latter? Difficult to say.
As for description, it has to be the toughest part write. But I find it necessary. The best books I've read (McCarthy, Steinbeck) use careful lines of it to add weight to the characters and arc.
None of the "it was a sunny day with birds chirping" crap.
Yeah, exactly. Description is just infused into the work, instead of delivered in chunks. Honesty, I don't know how to do that.
Something that strikes me rereading this post--who's the ideal reader for your work? I mean, do you imagine it read by writing pros like Aislinn?
I would think that figuring out your intended audience is important, but I don't quite that thought formulated yet.
Hey, if pros like Aislinn would read my work one day, I'd be flattered as hell. Probably unlikely, though.
You know, it's a good question. I'm not sure I think about my audience enough--or even what the requisite amount of consideration should be.
At best, I think "adults interested in literary stuffs". A dangerous notion when I think of the amount of critics in such a demographic.
I want my audience to be defined by one word: booboisie.
Post a Comment