“As writers, we are in
a state of constant and brutal negotiation with ourselves and the details of
the world.”
a state of constant and brutal negotiation with ourselves and the details of
the world.”
~Victoria Redel
I used to secretly cringe whenever I heard the commandment
of Henry James, that as a writer I must be “one upon whom nothing is lost.” I was all too aware of my shortcomings in this department. I’m not completely oblivious
to what goes on around me, but I’ve been known to forget a face, or not notice
what someone’s wearing, or wonder whether the leaves had fallen from the tree I
walked past a half-hour earlier. Instead, I remember weird things, impressions
really, like smudged lipstick or scuffed shoes or the wet smell of fall.
of Henry James, that as a writer I must be “one upon whom nothing is lost.” I was all too aware of my shortcomings in this department. I’m not completely oblivious
to what goes on around me, but I’ve been known to forget a face, or not notice
what someone’s wearing, or wonder whether the leaves had fallen from the tree I
walked past a half-hour earlier. Instead, I remember weird things, impressions
really, like smudged lipstick or scuffed shoes or the wet smell of fall.
Years passed before I figured out that James wasn’t suggesting
that writers had to be cameras, recording minutia and spitting it back for our
readers. That’s boring and pointless. Readers want to get involved in
the story. They don’t want the author to lay everything out, front and center. “Fiction
is about the selection of details, not the accumulation of them,” says author
Victoria Redel in Words Overflown by
Stars. “Every detail, even the most seemingly random or improbable, must
accrue, must finally as the details that thread and weave through the fiction
become imbued with larger meaning.”
that writers had to be cameras, recording minutia and spitting it back for our
readers. That’s boring and pointless. Readers want to get involved in
the story. They don’t want the author to lay everything out, front and center. “Fiction
is about the selection of details, not the accumulation of them,” says author
Victoria Redel in Words Overflown by
Stars. “Every detail, even the most seemingly random or improbable, must
accrue, must finally as the details that thread and weave through the fiction
become imbued with larger meaning.”
She goes on to explain that random looking, a kind way to
describe my un-Jamesish way of noticing, accumulates into meaning.
“Descriptions of the witnessed world are not important in fiction only to give
the reader a feeling of where the characters are,” she says. “The details of
the witnessed world are essential because, properly selected, they become
vehicles for understanding the human experience.”
describe my un-Jamesish way of noticing, accumulates into meaning.
“Descriptions of the witnessed world are not important in fiction only to give
the reader a feeling of where the characters are,” she says. “The details of
the witnessed world are essential because, properly selected, they become
vehicles for understanding the human experience.”
How do writers select the proper details? “One answer would
be ‘very carefully,’” says Redel. “But I also think that another equally valid
and not altogether different answer might be ‘randomly.’ The random thing
looked at long enough and from enough different angles will become essential
and vital.”
be ‘very carefully,’” says Redel. “But I also think that another equally valid
and not altogether different answer might be ‘randomly.’ The random thing
looked at long enough and from enough different angles will become essential
and vital.”
We don’t need all
the details. In fact, too many will muck things up. Power comes from omission.
By leaving out or strategically withholding certain details, by focusing
tightly on a few and leaving others to the reader, it’s possible to create a
purposeful ambiguity that encourages readers to participate with the text.
the details. In fact, too many will muck things up. Power comes from omission.
By leaving out or strategically withholding certain details, by focusing
tightly on a few and leaving others to the reader, it’s possible to create a
purposeful ambiguity that encourages readers to participate with the text.
This isn’t an excuse for sloppiness. It’s certainly possibly
to overdo ambiguity by making the reader work too hard, with few clues and
little payoff. But hurling everything at the reader invites yawns and
accusations of a different sort of laziness, where the writer says in effect to
the reader: Here, have it all, and you figure out what matters.
to overdo ambiguity by making the reader work too hard, with few clues and
little payoff. But hurling everything at the reader invites yawns and
accusations of a different sort of laziness, where the writer says in effect to
the reader: Here, have it all, and you figure out what matters.
Is omission the same as minimalism? I think not. The point
is not so much to strip down or to be spare or to shun emotion as to make meaningful
choices. “For the most part, to say a thing directly in a piece of fiction, to
say it directly from the get-go, diminishes tension. And the fictive enterprise
is all about maximizing, creating a whirl of tension,” says Redel. “I am
proposing that there is a bounty, often greater bounty, in the partial, the
suggested, the entirely left out.”
is not so much to strip down or to be spare or to shun emotion as to make meaningful
choices. “For the most part, to say a thing directly in a piece of fiction, to
say it directly from the get-go, diminishes tension. And the fictive enterprise
is all about maximizing, creating a whirl of tension,” says Redel. “I am
proposing that there is a bounty, often greater bounty, in the partial, the
suggested, the entirely left out.”
Even crucial literary elements can be omitted, if the writer
is skillful and purposeful about it. In “The Lottery,” Shirley Jackson leaves
out motive; tension is heightened by the juxtaposition of quotidian details against
the horrific.
is skillful and purposeful about it. In “The Lottery,” Shirley Jackson leaves
out motive; tension is heightened by the juxtaposition of quotidian details against
the horrific.
Likewise, some of the most powerful dialogue involves what’s
left unsaid, the responses people don’t make to each other. As Charles Baxter
says in The Art of Subtext, “In truly
wonderful writing, the author pays close attention to inattentiveness, in all
its forms.”
left unsaid, the responses people don’t make to each other. As Charles Baxter
says in The Art of Subtext, “In truly
wonderful writing, the author pays close attention to inattentiveness, in all
its forms.”
Try This: Select a
short scene from a draft. Eliminate one sentence out of every three. Read
through what’s left, and then you may fill in as you choose – as long as you
don’t slip the old sentences back in.
short scene from a draft. Eliminate one sentence out of every three. Read
through what’s left, and then you may fill in as you choose – as long as you
don’t slip the old sentences back in.
Check This Out:
Victoria Redel’s essay “How Do We Mean What We Do Not Say” is part of a
remarkable collection of teachings from instructors in theVermont College
Distance and Point of View, the Fictional “I,” Dreams and Writing Fiction, and
The Wounds of Possibility.
Victoria Redel’s essay “How Do We Mean What We Do Not Say” is part of a
remarkable collection of teachings from instructors in the
Distance and Point of View, the Fictional “I,” Dreams and Writing Fiction, and
The Wounds of Possibility.
Deb crossposts at
www.selfmadewriter.blogspot.com.
www.selfmadewriter.blogspot.com.
Deb — I just came across a beautiful quote by art critic John Berger that relates to your post:
"No story is like a wheeled vehicle whose contact with the road is continuous. Stories walk, like animals and men. And their steps are not only between narrated events but between each sentence, sometimes each word. Every step is a stride over something not said."
(In: J. Berger and J. Mohr, Another Way of Telling)
Lovely! Thanks for sharing that, Michael.
Very cool! Another way to look at choosing details is figuring out what the reader needs to know, and leaving out the rest.