by Lynne | Jan 29, 2013 | Uncategorized
How Human is Human?
I just finished reading the latest Michael Connelly book, “The Black Box.” Frankly, I wasn’t riveted and when I tried to figure out why, I realized it was because Harry Bosch had become soft. His relationship with his daughter played a large role in the story and it annoyed me. He was much too solicitous of her feelings. Nah. He’s an LA cop.
Okay, you say. It’s nice to see he has feelings for his daughter and wants to make her happy. And, you may be tired of the clichéd cops: drunk, surly, never around for family, whatever. I agree with that to some extent. But Harry was almost too human here. This made me think about other books in which I originally liked the characters but began to lose interest when the plot, or mystery, became mired in relationship issues.
Inspector Lynley, Elizabeth George’s character, is a perfect example. Her first books had me hooked. Great plots, well-drawn but human characters with personal foibles lurking about. But once Lynley fell for this Helen woman, suddenly the stories (the cases he had to solve) took a back seat and the relationship was up front. No thanks. If I wanted to read about relationships for half a book, I wouldn’t buy a mystery. I’d watch a series like Downton Abbey, where the characters, very much “real” people, are the main story. Or read one of my favorite authors, Anne Rivers Siddons, whose novels are about people and their relationships with other people.
When I read a mystery, I want to cogitate, figure out whodunit and why. The more pieces that are missing, the better. Sure, I like good characters but in mysteries, I enjoy them second to the mystery. Val McDermid’s Tony Hill series is a great example of both. Tony, a police psychologist, is quirky and weird, and his relationship with the police inspector, Carol Jordan, leaves you wondering what’s going on. But it doesn’t usurp the story. The crime they’re solving together is key.
How real should characters be? Since most people are relatively banal and their lives somewhat boring, a book character must be more than “realistic.” Sue Grafton is an example of humdrum to me. I could care less that she cleans her bathroom every time she’s stressed and certainly don’t want to know the cleanser she uses.
Characters must be colorful, able to be distinguished from another character — perhaps by their speech patterns, their looks, or their mannerisms. Again, their peculiarities don’t need to take center stage all the time. Just on occasion. You want to know them but not at the expense of the mystery.
It doesn’t take much to paint a picture of an interesting character, either. A roll of the eyes, a huff of breath, an about-face and stalking off can do the job. Tony Hill carries his paperwork in a blue plastic bag rather than a leather briefcase. This tells you oodles about him but doesn’t take up pages.
I had a different reaction to “The DaVinci Code.” Here plot, action, adventure, solving the puzzle are paramount. I felt the characters were quite wooden and mechanical and there was little chemistry between the male and female leads. Now, you think, which way do you want it? Characters or plot? Darn, I want both, but I want both done well. The storyline of The DaVinci Code is grand, the characters mediocre. Can you have both? I don’t know. Ask Dan Brown. (Catch him on the way to the bank!)
So, Harry Bosch, yell at your daughter once in a while when she gets on your nerves. Be human. Be real. But do your job and focus on the mystery. I might like you better next time. If I give you another chance.
by Lynne | Jan 22, 2013 | Uncategorized
Writing and Art. Are Both Subjective?
After visiting an art museum recently, I began to wonder about the similarities between art and writing. Fine art, as in a painting, can be considered subjective in terms of good vs. bad. What’s pleasing for one individual is not necessarily for another. You might adore Renoir, I might love Kandinsky. Artists and art critics, however, do have their own standards about good art. These revolve around color, texture, line, impasto and chiaroscuro (shadows and light) among other qualities. But in general, most people would agree that art is subjective. (I might fail to see how a large canvas simply painted red is art, but if you like it, well . . .)
History proves this subjectivity. In the 1930s and 40s, the Nazis not only murdered people, they exterminated art, artifacts, and literature. Hitler and his comrades (Goering, in particular) decided which pieces of art were good and which were bad. To them, the old masters, artists that portrayed life as it really was, like Rembrandt, were worthy. The modernists, impressionists and post-impressionists were entartete kunst – degenerate and despicable, destined for flames. (It is worth noting that in 1937, an exhibition titled Entartete Kunst opened in Munich. The exhibition was designed to ridicule creative works by such artists as Picasso, because it insulted German womanhood. Ironically, it turned out to be one of the most popular museum exhibitions ever displayed, with queues out the door from opening to closing, every day. )
Beyond art, the Nazis attacked literature. Ernest Hemingway, Jack London, and Theodore Dreiser, considered socialists and “corrupting foreign influences,” were among the authors whose books were burned. In the eyes of Hitler, it was the social impacts of the writing that condemned them to the fire.
So, what about prose? Is it subjective like art? Are there standards for quality writing? What are those standards, then, and who determines them? Perhaps, it is merely the telling of a powerful story in a compelling manner. But what about proper grammar and spelling, sentence structure, dialogue, description, and character development?
It’s also no doubt a function of the time period in which they are written. How does Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” hold up to Anne Rice’s “Interview With a Vampire” today? Is one objectively “better” than the other? Then there are classics like “Ulysses” by James Joyce where grammar, sentence structure, et al, are lost in a stream of consciousness. Can this prose be likened to a painting by, say, Salvador Dali, where you have to work to comprehend it?
Bottom line: Is writing simply subjective? Can books, like art, be judged good or bad . . . based on the eye of the beholder?
What do you think?
by Lynne | Jan 15, 2013 | Uncategorized
Let’s Be Practical
The house was dark. It was raining outside, chilly inside. I had no appointments, no particular place to be for a rare afternoon. I didn’t feel like writing (my book, that is.) I didn’t feel like Facebooking or Twittering or LinkedIn-ing.
So I curled up on the couch with what I hoped would be a good book.
“The Emperor of All Maladies,” is a beautifully written non-fiction tome on cancer. 550 plus pages. Pulitzer prize winner. I bought it in an expensive paperback version because it has a series of picture plates inside, which are easier to examine than in an e-book. I also bought it because I had a gift certificate from my in-laws to Barnes and Noble. And I bought it because, well, Pulitzers should be read in traditional book style.
So on this dark, dreary day, I propped myself up on my soft leather couch with this amazing book. (It really is wonderful!) But I had to get up and readjust the lights in the room because there was no Nook glowlight in this edition, and I had to find a cushion to lean the book on because cancer is so heavy – physically and figuratively. Honestly, did you ever try reading a large book on your lap in dim light with old eyes?
After an hour or so, my eyes and my arms got tired, so I switched to a light (inexpensive indie) mystery I had started on my Nook. Ahh, the glowlight made it a delight to read and it was so light in my hands, I wound up dropping it a few times. But then I forgot who one of the characters was and wanted to go back to the first chapter to check. Hmm. Not as easy as flipping the pages. When I finally returned to my current page, I got a signal that the battery was low. Ach.
Which book version is more practical? That’s up to you to decide.
For me, it’s time for a nap while my Nook re-charges.
by Lynne | Jan 8, 2013 | Uncategorized
Visualize Your Scenes
Years ago I saw a terrific IMAX film called To The Limit. In it was a scene I never forgot. A champion downhill skier was sitting on top of a mountain, skis and poles by her side. Her eyes were closed and she was moving her arms and upper body as if she were skiing downhill. She was picturing the course with its turns and moguls as she traveled down the mountain in her mind. She was teaching her brain to prepare for those bumps and curves by visualizing the course over and over. Something similar to muscle memory ie: when you play an instrument and your fingers seem to move on their own, almost apart from your brain.
This visualization technique is crucial in writing. Close your eyes. Picture the scene you’re about to compose. Perhaps it’s a cop getting ready to interview a suspect. From Val McDermid’s The Torment of Others, visualize Detective Chief Inspector Carol Jordan:
“Carol stared through the two-way mirror at the man in the interview room. Ronald Edmund Alexander looked nothing like the popular image of a paedophile. He wasn’t shifty or sweaty. He wasn’t dirty or sleazy. He looked exactly like a middle manager who lived in the suburbs with a wife and two children. There was no dirty raincoat, just an off-the-peg suit, an unassuming charcoal grey. Pale blue shirt, burgundy tie with a thin grey stripe. Neat haircut, no vain attempt to hide the way he was thinning on top.”
Picture the room and a man seated there through the glass. Visualize the suspect, very possibly a child molester, and feel Carol’s frustration at his very ordinariness, the exact antithesis of what she expects a monster to look like. Could she be wrong? Are we being misled by his description?
Follow Harry Bosch in Michael Connelly’s Reversal, when he makes a trip to Fryman Canyon Park, an unexpected natural enclave above the madness of LA:
“Fryman was a rugged, inclined park with steep trails and flat-surface parking and observation area on top and just off Mulholland. Bosch had been there before on cases and was familiar with its expanse. He pulled to a stop with his car pointing north and the view of the San Fernando Valley spread before him. The air was pretty clear and the vista stretched all the way across the valley to the San Gabriel Mountains. The brutal week of storms that had ended January had cleared the skies out and the smog was only now climbing back into the valley’s bowl.”
Harry has been here before and is familiar with the area, its quirky smog patterns and unpredictable weather. Now, so are you.
Visualization is more than “description.” It’s about engaging the senses (see an earlier blog I wrote about this) to get a visceral feel for the scene. Picture a brown leather couch sitting atop a Persian rug in front of a teak coffee table. Now give the couch history – every crack in the leather represents a different house it has lived in or a different person who curled up on its soft hide. It was loved, it was beaten, it was ruined. Even a couch can have personality. What does it say about its owners?
Visualize a woman. She’s not just a blond in a blue dress, wearing high heels and red lipstick. She’s a woman, teetering outside a motel room, black roots showing through the teased mass, blue dress torn at her hem, lipstick smeared like a clown. Picture her. There. . . there she is. You can see her clearly. You know her.
Write your scenes as if they were movies. Let us see what’s happening through your words.
You’re the director.
Direct.
