Tag Archives: Point of View

There are no rules. But lots of decisions.

First draft, rough draft, dirty draft. You know where I’m coming from here. The thing is to write and write some more. It’s all new and in the words of the Director of Deliverance, ALL GOOD.

hugh bonneville
Hugh Bonneville ‘All Good’

Or is it? When do you go with the flow of a scene that’s just taken a surprising turn, and when do you rein in and say, hang on, this isn’t part of the plan? How much does it matter (as posted by Maria Smith) if you think your first chapter, the starting point of the whole thing, is wrong?

Well I’m not going to get stuck in the mire of plotting and pantsing, but I think there are some decisions that need to be made early on. Not because there is anything in a first draft that can’t be undone, but because some things are much harder to undo than others.

Last week I had a think about point of view – who is the main character, and/or how many do you need? (In the interim I have discovered someone who has twelve – yes twelve, his must be Love Actually territory!) But in fact if we decide we don’t need the inmost thoughts of the heroine’s sister-in-law (fascinating though they may be) or if we decide to cut her out altogether, it’s not the end of the world: a few scenes chopped, a few paragraphs rewritten, and maybe some reworking so that we see her, say, through the heroine’s eyes.  In Kettle I began with two MCs/POVs. Once the plot had cemented,  this was clearly not going to work.  But getting rid of  one was a lot less effort than I expected. The scenes could stand, they just needed some rejigging.

But there’s another kind of POV and that’s the grammar part (it might be syntax, do correct me if I’m wrong). i.e. will I write in first (I) or third person (he/she), mix it up, or go mad and attempt second (you). My first novel  was firmly in third person and never wanted to be anything else. But when Ailsa came long it all felt like an experiment. As a heroine she was a generation younger than me. I felt the need to get into her skin and I began in first person present tense. Well present tense was fun at first but hard to maintain.  I also had an inkling it might alienate readers and so I dropped it fairly early on. But first person stayed right to the end of the first complete draft, at which point I recalled all the advice I’d had from writers, agents, people trying to help and began to rewrite in third person. Trust me, this is not something to take on lightly. Since my heroine, obviously, was in every scene, pretty well every line had to be rewritten. The only solution was a new draft.   But although my new version had some merits (well I thought so) it somehow didn’t feel like what I had set out to do. So whad’ya know?   I threw over my own traces and changed it back to first person! I had saved the old version, but in trying to combine the two,  my proof-reader will tell you I made a bit of a mess.

On to the new Work in Progress, the first draft,  the all good scenario. But any WIP is in my book a bit of an experiment – will it stay the course? This time I had no desire to use first person, so that was a relief. But again that need to get some immediacy  in unfamiliar territory took over and I found myself  writing in present tense (quite ironic as it’s set in the 19th century!)

Now there are many fine novels written in present tense, some of which have fared pretty well, including Wolf Hall which I read round the time I started this particular novel. Maybe my choice of tense was simply a case of ‘interference’ from my reading.  But whatever the reason,  I wrote a good 15000 words in present tense before I stopped to question it and it was only when I returned after a lengthy writing break that I found myself ‘slipping’ into past tense, which on the face of it is a better place to be (Mantel, moi?)  And that’s where I was today when I looked at yesterday’s work and thought it lacked the intimacy I was trying to engender.….  So here we go again. I have some scenes in past tense and some in present. Yes, it can be changed, but is/was is like I/me/mine. It’s everywhere.

Now that the world has changed and we (or some of us) are no longer worried about writing conventions or the demands of those elusive agents, it’s easy to say ‘there are no rules’. But a few decisions early on can make a big difference.

hugh bonneville

Twenty Twelve. Classic.

If anyone else is a fan of the lovely Hugh, do visit his website which has a nice charity thing going on. Hope this small direction absolves me from having ‘repurposed’ any images.

A Writer Reads: Maggie O’Farrell

Once you’ve started to write a novel and to reflect on how
it can be achieved, reading becomes not just entertainment but also a learning
experience. That’s why I sometimes hesitate to post book reviews here, and why
I’ve decided to rename some of them as ‘Writer’s reads’, because the
aim is not so much to recommend or otherwise, but to reflect on how the author
has crafted the story and what I may learn from it. Inevitably this has a
bearing on my enjoyment of the book, but one that may not be an issue for most
readers, i.e. a writer’s stance can often be hypercritical, unless, as my old
writing teacher pointed out, the book is so stonkingly good that I am  totally swept along by the story, in which case I’m in the armchair with my feet up and the writer’s hat is thrown on the floor. I have to say this is something that doesn’t happen very often, but many of the books that don’t make it to the hat-throwing are still perfectly enjoyable reads, so, in a nutshell, don’t let me put you off!

The Hand that First Held MineWhich brings me to Maggie O’Farrell, The Hand that First Held Mine, winner of the 2010 Costa award and spied on the local library with a Top Title sticker. As a big fan of The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, and After You’d Gone, I made a grab for it.

It’s immediately clear that his is a ‘two-story novel’ set in different eras. Lexie has given  up conventional family life in Devon to make her way in London of the late fifties and early sixties, while Elina, living with her partner in
contemporary London, has just suffered a traumatic caesarean birth which has left her in total physical and mental shock. The two stories are characterised by very different heroines, but also by a variation in writing style. Elina (and also Ted, her partner) is  written in what is now the conventional ‘close-up and personal’ style, third person but ‘in the head’ of the character as we experience Elina’s small but significant steps to better health and getting to grips with her new role of mother.  With Lexie, on the other hand we are breezing along. In chronological terms we skim through months and eventually years of her life, and the author also invites us to watching her from a greater distance.

‘Here is Lexie, standing on the pavement at Marble Arch’ … Look at her, standing there on the pavement. She looks different from the Lexie in Innes’ room …’

I confess I didn’t quite immediately take to either heroine, finding Lexie and her  love affair curiously one dimensional and wanting to shake Elina and Ted from their self-absorption. But I did appreciate the narrative effect that made the sixties episodes spool out like one of those old cinema newsreels against the slower pace of the modern day story.

As Elina gets her physical and mental strength back, I began to like her better but ironically it then becomes clear that although motherhood is a dominant theme of the book, it is Ted rather than Elina who is the focus of the plot, and the ending is about his and Lexie’s fate rather than Elina’s. Ted’s point of view comes out from early on in the book, but Elina’s entrance is the first and the more riveting. Maybe it’s the motherhood thing, but I remained disconcerted at the shift in plot interest and always felt I was rooting for Elina rather than Ted.

So what did I learn? First of all, that although I prefer the modern narrative idiom, maybe I could or should be bolder in my use of narrative styles rather than sticking to established ‘rules’. Secondly, that it’s till best to be absolutely clear on whose story I am telling and sticking with that person or persons from start to finish. As a read, I never quite lost myself in this, but suspect it will stick  in my mind for O’Farrell’s often mesmerising writing style and the contrast of characters and settings.

First person problematical

The more I’m advised as an unpublished novelist to avoid a first person narrative (on the grounds it will be  ‘harder to sell’ to an agent or publisher), the more I’m struck by how many successful novels (literary or otherwise) use this device. A case in point is Kashuo Ishiguro’s Never Let me Go, a compelling read I can’t imagine would work as well in third person. A random glance along the nearest bookshelf chez moi also reveals books as diverse as The Handmaid’s Tale, The Kite Runner, and The Crow Road. Right now, it wouldn’t surprise me if there were as many first person literary novels around as third person.

So what is it about first person that make it something to be avoided? Is it too limiting for a tyro?  Am I in danger of slipping into autobiography? I’m hoping someone will enlighten me. At the moment I am taking the risk with my WIP, despite (or because of) the experience of a fellow writer who showed her novel to an agent. The agent showed an interest but asked for it to be rewritten in third person. The writer obliged and the book was still rejected.

Going back to Ishiguro, what impressed me was how the timescale was handled, jumping from one preiod to another to hint at the future while gradually revealing the past, all to squeeze maximum suspense out of the subject matter without ever becoming sensational. If anything I found the denouement (when we ‘catch up’ with the narrator) slightly less satisfying to read; I already knew all I needed to know.  

If you’ve read the book, this might make sense. If not, read it! (Though not for light entertainment).