I
have learned to cherish the unreliable narrator. I don’t use that term in
the usual sense—the narrator who, often at his writer’s behest, leads readers
astray and makes them think hard about what is true and what is not in his recounting
of a book’s action. No, I mean the character you as an author researched,
outlined, storyboarded, breathed life into, who decides she is NOT who you
think she is.
When I first started writing I did
not know what to make of these episodic occurrences. I’d be writing dialogue
and suddenly some character—usually the main one, the one whose head I lived in,
the one I thought I knew as well as I know myself—would say something I totally
did not expect. The effect was sort of like being hit from behind while
driving. My head would jerk back and I would be swept by a feeling of “what was
that?” The further I got into my inaugural novel, the more frequently my
characters grabbed the reins of power and the more firmly they held them. No
longer was it just a matter of a few sentences that surprised me, they were
making life-changing decisions or rather story-changing
ones. I am not alone in this
experience. Nearly every writer I know has had it. For example, a good friend
of mine who is a successful multi-published author recently reported that the
character she created specifically to be the love interest in her wip decided
this week that he may be gay. Yeah that’s
a game changer.
For a novel to be successful what
our characters do and say must to ring true, must be compatible with their
natures. So who decides upon that nature?
Of course ultimately we can force our
characters to do what we want. But
should we?
As my characters in my debut novel became
more and more strong-willed I began to perceive a pattern. When they stood up for themselves, my writing
came alive. Instead of reaching for
word-count goals I had a hard time stopping for the day. I was late to carpool. I wrote in carpool. By the time I set to work on my second novel,
I viewed my early writing as merely preparation—sort of like prayer. Sure I’d done my research and filled my subconscious
with both historical facts and plot ideas, but I was merely setting a stage. I was waiting for a spark, for what I have
come to call “the genesis moment” when my characters would come to life, and
reveal to me who they really were.
Now, as a veteran writer hard at
work on another first-draft, I view myself less an omnipotent God (and don’t
all novelists sort of feel like they are all-powerful creators manipulating
characters and readers alike when they begin their author journey?) and more
like Abraham Heschel’s “most moved mover.”
Yes, warning, I am going to quote philosophy. Heschel said that, “while God is often
frustrated by our actions, he endures, patiently waiting for us to turn our
attention to the sacred task of universal redemption.” Alright, alright, I do not expect my
characters to get busy with universal redemption (I don’t’ write literary
fiction, remember), but the point is I’ve come to trust my characters. Sure they still frustrate me when they go off
on what I perceive to be a tangent, but instead of fighting them, I try to wait patiently, taking it all down
with the knowledge that they are trying to find their way—to find my way for me—to
where my story needs to be in order to be my best work. This is not recalcitrance, this is inspiration,
and I can discipline them a bit in editing if I need to.
The
very unreliability that used to give me whiplash now invigorates me. It is the crack-cocaine that brings me back to
my laptop every day, the high-inducing interruption that gets me out of my
morning shower and sends me scrambling for a yellow legal pad. My narrators are truly the most reliably themselves
when they become three-dimensional animate actors with free will, not just
stick figures I move around the page in keeping with an outline.
So
I say all hail the unreliable narrator!
What say you?
Sophie P’s The Sister Queens, (March 2012/NAL), is set in 13th century France
and England and weaves the captivating story of sisters, Marguerite and Eleanor
of Provence, who both became queens. She collaborated in the Roman-era A Day of Fire, a ground-breaking “novel
in six parts” exploring the last days of Pompeii (November 2014/Knight Media). Her next novel, Médicis Daughter, (December 2015/Thomas Dunne) is set at the
intrigue-riven, 16th century French Valois court, and spins the tale
of beautiful princess Marguerite who walks the knife edge between the demands
of her serpentine mother, Catherine de Medicis, and those of her own
conscience. Visit Sophie at her website,
or on FB, follow her on Twitter as @Lit_gal
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