Category: Writing
This Weekend, Story and I Meet Again. Too Soon?
Story called again (as usual, just about as I was going to sleep) and offered to change for the… change, if that was what was needed. It feels hard to pick up this thread again, it’s perhaps just too soon but the call was intriguing.
Perhaps we’ll have an umpteenth first date, or perhaps we’ll just try to dissect how the relationship went wrong; but there’s so much ground to cover that it may be unprofitable to do so.
We really do have an on-again, off-again relationship.
Why Is Story Standing Across the Street with a Radio Over Its Head?
And I was just getting to know Other Story. We had gone on a rather awkward first date together, and this appearance by my recent ex just makes everything more awkward.
Maybe there’s a poly happy ending to all this fooling about?
An Understanding Between Story and Me
So the drafts for Seal Tales reached a stable iteration. and I ran into a problem.
I did not enjoy the beginning. Or any scene where the two leads were not together. This is my first story separation, where we go our separate ways… And might return as friends. Or not.
The new story is called, for now, in short, “Notions” and it will be a romance scifi. The opening is entirely different. The tone is different. The characters are the same but. We’re starting from nearer to the end. It may end up being a short story after all, due to that.
First line: “Just like that, an academic career ended.”
Ndzzzzzzzz
Session 6 in Cat Rambo’s F&SF Workshop
All good things must come to an end.
~
Four days previous I submitted my first piece to a market (inspired, by the way, by Jeremy Tolbert’s Write Me A Story About This Tumblr). This isn’t something I ever contemplated doing; like many things where writing is concerned, I took this class for a lark (not ill-meant; it’s just how I roll, even for subjects I eventually take in all seriousness later). I know it’s not perfect, and rejection is far more likely than not, but I know it’s time to move on to the next story.
Something has been unblocked in me; old worlds that I thought dead have suddenly sprung back to life, and new ones are blossoming into existence.
~
Three days ago I finished my last critique for the class. I’m not a master of the critique by any measure, but through trial and error required by these past few weeks, I’ve learned that I analyze works best by retyping, I really do, ending up with in-depth annotations that, while still lacking in touching upon bigger concerns, are ones that I can say I was able to put serious thought into. Previously I’d only applied the retyping exercise to established works; this was my first foray into its applications for unpublished work, and I find the method not wanting except for its extended and sometimes painful duration.
~
Two days ago I scrolled out the first chapter, the very first one, of what I now recognize is an ongoing saga, something I never would have applied to Seal Tales if I could have helped it in the past. Part of this was because I simply have been growing as a writer even in these short few months, and very definitely in these short few weeks; and part of this is because I’m better at recognizing what is and what isn’t a short story. Additionally, because of the specific examples I’d chosen for my character exercise, I knew the main players better, and could see better how they’d developed from their old forms on the page.
I took the time to rewrite the first chapter. For the first time, it wasn’t a rewrite that lost its fire, but fanned it. I drew upon techniques and tools both explicitly taught and implicitly learned. Part of this, too, were the weekly writing assignments that forced us to look at writing at different angles, and in the later weeks, to experiment with different writing styles (after all, exercises aren’t completely serious commitments, not like stories or novels are). Timed writing exercises encouraged me to lay it all down on the page like fire, and tinker only afterwards—long afterwards, even, once I saw the value in letting a work lie until enough distance has been gained to revisit the text.
After the workshop, for better or for worse, I’ll likely be writing in omniscient “involved author” present tense. Not something that was pushed upon us, but something that I discovered I like where exercises are concerned. Later this may mutate, but for the time being, it’s a new way to roll.
These things I wouldn’t have figured out as easily without the workshop.
~
Yesterday, class ended. The best takeaway from the ending Q&A session was the following: that the writer should, first and foremost, take care of themself. All else follows—well, almost. We have a tendency to beat ourselves up over various items that, in hindsight, are quite silly.
And of course, there was a bunch of other stuff about the writing life, career, etc.
The workshop group is a good one; there’s something about the class offering that drew together a great bunch of folks who I would not be adverse in sharing my writerly victories and woes with. We’ve bonded, through the teachings and occasional mercilessness of Cat. >^.^<
And yet, there is a part of me that prefers to lone wolf this stuff (as I have done so for just about everything in my life, and writing very much in particular). I much appreciate this small taste of what Clarion must be like, to know for myself the workshop experience, even if ultimately I break away from the group for reasons of practicality and, frankly, personal temperament.
Yet who knows? Maybe for once I’ll have formed lasting writing relationships. There’s a first time for everything.
~
And where I go after this, I don’t quite know.
I’ll have Steering the Craft in one hand, Starve Better in the other, and Nascence balanced on my head. I will carry with me the knowledge I’ve gained in this class, from Cat, from my peers, from practice.
Today, though, I gotta finish up the Darcy extended storyline of Matches & Matrimony.
~
Previous posts: Session 1 – Session 2 – Session 3 – Session 4 – Session 5
Session 5 in Cat Rambo’s F&SF Workshop
Everything is starting to come to a close already, which I don’t want to think about, because this has been an awfully swell ride.
I ended up retyping two of the pieces up for workshop, because I had a mental block versus reading narrative without the help of the keyboard (I get that way, sometimes, which is when I read non-narrative non-fiction). As a result, I got into a lot more detail with my critiques. I’m not sure it was a good method, but I did learn to read text more carefully, as, all in all, I ended up retyping some 20,000 words over three days (two pieces for Cat’s workshop, three pieces in the Online Writing Workshop, a tiny piece of my own work, and MOAR Pride and Prejudice).
Hm, yes, that’s what I spent this weekend on, instead of blogging. Retyping. Peering into the souls of other people’s works, and doing my best to critique. If I really do choose this method, I’m going to end up being the slowest critiquer ever.
Anyways, the class: ’twas about revising and rewriting. I actually revise in chunks as I write, but when it comes to revising the whole thing—or even just large parts of the whole thing—I’m at a loss. Cat told us her method of approaching the drafts, the developmental edit, and successive levels of editing/revision, going from the big picture and applying finer and finer grades of sandpaper.
I see in my notes that I’ve basically circled the secret to endings.
I have a lot of notes.
I certainly would have liked to have these notes and then try the revision homework, rather than the other way around. But now I really will get to try them out for realisies.
Next week is the last week. The workshopping of each other’s work might continue, which would be interesting—we have a good mix of folks. At some point we’ll stop thinking of it as our work being put upon the sacrificial stone.
I really wish I’d been able to put together a second, real story for workshop.
Previous posts: Session 1 – Session 2 – Session 3 – Session 4
You Guys, Ursula K. Le Guin Doesn’t Hate Omniscient POV!
When I turned to “Point of View and Voice” in Steering the Craft, I was prepared for yet another author’s dismissal of omniscient out of hand as an inadequate, shifty, or obtuse point of view. After all, if Samuel R. Delany dismisses omniscient POV (see the Appendix of About Writing: “Such tales cannot turn on any sort of mystery or character revelation, so that it becomes hard for the writer to keep them interesting.”) then surely Ursula K. Le Guin would do the same.
Of course, people differ in opinion. But I’d gotten so used to omniscient’s relegation as the unloved stepchild of writing books, I expected, well, more of the same, maybe a different hand-waving.
I couldn’t be more wrong. In fact, she gave me more vocabulary with which to handle omniscient POV: the two kinds of omniscient POV, “involved author” and “detached author”. Strangely, examples of how awful omniscient POV is read like they mix the two modes, which of course isn’t going to turn out well.
What’s the difference? As it turns out, “involved author” could, to my mind, be read as “caring author”, and in a way it’s the most natural of viewpoints for an author; we must care about all our characters on some level. “Detached author”, on the other hand, has no dog in the race, and reports from a truly objective, uninvolved point of view. “Clinical” in other words.
For me, then, the POV I most want to write in is “involved author”.
Le Guin says this:
Involved author is the most openly, obviously manipulative of the points of view. But the voice of the narrator who knows the whole story, tells it because it is important, and is profoundly involved with all the characters, cannot be dismissed as old-fashioned or uncool. It’s not only the oldest and most widely used storytelling voice, it’s also the most versatile, flexible, and complex of the points of view—and probably, at this point, the most difficult for the writer.
Yes, yes, yes! Oh Le Guin.
She even talks about “involved author” the most in this chapter, giving full examples from older texts. Oh thank you, Le Guin.
On the shifting of viewpoints in “involved author”: it should be so well-done that there is no overt signaling (ETA: there must still be some sort of signaling) and yet the reader is both unconfused and entirely involved with the story. On War and Peace, Le Guin says,
I’m a little shy about telling anybody to go read Tolstoy’s War and Peace, since it’s quite an undertaking; but it is a wonderful book. And from the technical aspect, it’s almost miraculous in the way it shifts imperceptibly from the author’s voice to the point of view of a character, speaking with perfect simplicity in the inner voice of a man, a woman, even a hunting dog, and then back to the thoughts of the author… till by the end you feel you have lived many lives: which is perhaps the greatest gift a novel can give.
Naturally, I’m pretty sure I’ll never live up to Tolstoy, but he did apparently rock the house on “involved author” omniscient.
I’ve just now scanned a bit farther in Steering the Craft before I read it; the next chapter is on changing point of view. “You really can’t shift between detached and involved authorial voice within one piece. I don’t know why you’d want to.” I know why someone would want to—because they think that’s what omniscient is, and thus decide to write a piece in it to show off how bad the POV is.
Also relevant to Hal Duncan’s Rule 4 for New Writers, she says:
Particularly disturbing is the effect of being jerked into a different viewpoint for a moment. The narrative is being told from inside Aunt Jane’s viewpoint. Then for one sentence we’re in Uncle Fred’s viewpoint. Then we snap back to Jane’s. With care, the involved author can do this (Tolkien does it with the fox). But it cannot be done in limited third person.
And she mentions something I’ve already noticed while retyping Pride and Prejudice:
Involved author and limited third person have a wide overlap, since the involved author can and usually does use third-person narration freely, and may limit perception for some while to a single person.
I feel blessed. Even though I know the work is going to be hard and there’s going to be a lot of missteps on the way. For whatever reason, I want to do the hardest thing OMG with respect to POV.
Studying Omniscient POV: Pride and Prejudice, Part 1 Chapter 6
The ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit was soon returned in due form. Miss Bennet’s pleasing manners grew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was found to be intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking to, a wish of being better acquainted with them was expressed towards the two eldest. By Jane, this attention was received with the greatest pleasure, but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment of everybody, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them; though their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had a value as arising in all probability from the influence of their brother’s admiration. It was generally evident whenever they met, that he did admire her and to her it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united, with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of manner which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.
There’s something about the intertwining of the three mindsets here—the side of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, that of Jane, and that of Elizabeth—that’s a little complicated to work through. “…but she considered with pleasure…” seems like it could refer to either Elizabeth or Jane, which changes the meaning depending on which way you take it. Not so much a pitfall of omniscient as a pitfall of pronouns; otherwise, this paragraph would have been a perfect demonstration of how to do omniscient right.
And now we’re going to hit the dialogue fast and hard. It’s no wonder that Austen books make such good movies; dialogue is what carries the day.
“It may perhaps be pleasant,” replied Charlotte, “to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.”
Charlotte feels a lot like a partial author insert, through which Austen speaks to her characters directly when she’s not speaking to us sublimely. I don’t find anything bad with respect to this, it just amuses me as a narrative construct.
“But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too.”
“Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane’s disposition as you do.”
“But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out.”
“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But, though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”
“Your plan is a good one,” replied Elizabeth, “where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane’s feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character.”
“Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have also been spent togther—and four evenings may do a great deal.”
No head-hopping here to confuse the reader; it’s full-out dialogue. In other words, this is full-out show rather than the tell we’ve been getting previously.
“Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingtun better than Commerce; but with respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.”
“Well,” said Charlotte, “I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass you life.”
“You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you woould never act in this way yourself.”
Dun dun dun, foreshadowing, as well as reflection on what the courtship of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet might have been like.
Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley’s attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becomin an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.
He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing with her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing so drew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas’s, where a large party were assembled.
We’re covering an expanse of time that would have resulted in more parties had this been show instead of tell. We’re also covering an expanse of relationship development, at least in its strange early stages when you start to realize you’re going to foolishly fall head over heels for someone. I think that the key to omniscient here is that Mr. Darcy remains effectively offscreen, even if his presence is felt and obviously influential to the story; while Elizabeth remains onscreen and the focus of attention in this chapter.
Note to self: skill with omniscient is all about distributing focus appropriately—not just willy-nilly and playing as if you’re third-person limited simultaneously for multiple characters. It’s a deeper game than third-person limited or first-person (limited).
“What does Mr. Darcy mean,” said she to Charlotte, “by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?”
“That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.”
“But if he does it any more I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.”
On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such a subject to him; which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she turned to him and said:
Derring-do! What’s going to happen? This is where the idea falls apart that omniscient revealing the thoughts of all involved will result in no suspense when characters meet together. After all, while the omniscient narrator can see all, it’s mindful (for the author especially) to remember that the characters themselves don’t.
This is where omniscient’s strength lies: in irony, and thus social commentary is its natural mien. If you’ve not got something larger to say about the relationships between characters than simply their existence, omniscient will not work at all; whereas it’s evident from conversations between Charlotte and Elizabeth that there is a deeper meaning at work here.
“Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”
“With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic.”
And you’ve also got to be a master of dialogue with omniscient, because you can’t head-hop into confusion city. Well, you could, but you run the risk of losing the reader. Right here is when, in a limited/tight POV, we’d drop into one character’s thoughts or another, depending on who we’re following at the moment. We know from the dialogue, lack of external reaction, and previous internal characterization through omniscient that Darcy is acting quite the cool fish.
“You are severe on us.”
“It will be her turn soon to be teased,” said Miss Lucas. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”
“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!—always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing th very best performances.” On Miss Lucas’s persevering, however, she added, “Very well, if it must be so, it must.” And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, “There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge’; and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”
You know, I wish I had even half of Austen’s metier here.
Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display.
Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, ha been listened to with much more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or thre officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was much too engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir Williams thus began:
“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”
The focus switches from Elizabeth to Darcy with the passage of a truly omniscient passage of Mary’s playing. With this buffer, there’s less shock, if any at all, when the focus of the camera changes. I notice now that this buffering is lacking from many examples of how omniscient is “confusing”, when it’s the handling (very poor) that causes the confusion. You can perturb any limited POV to be just as miserable, though in a different way (usually by not taking advantage of the closeness of limited POV to generate deep attachment to the specific character and the filter of the world through their eyes).
“Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”
Sir William only smiled. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; “and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.”
“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.”
“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James’s?”
“Never, sir.”
“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”
“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”
We can already see from the conversation patter of Elizabeth and Darcy that they share more alike than they do different. What will develop on as the book forges deeper onwards is not the attraction of two opposites, but that of two souls that reflect each other on some level. The foreshadowing is all here.
“You have a house in town, I conclude?”
Mr. Darcy bowed.
“I had once thought of fixing in town myself—for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”
He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed to make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the action of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to her:
At the same time, Elizabeth is better conditioned socially than Darcy is, and in that matter they differ. Also, delicious delicious irony.
“My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desireable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William:
“Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”
And the reflection again.
Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.
“You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.”
“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” said Elizabeth, smiling.
Dialogue is best when it’s used as a weapon in these little wars, isn’t it? It’s at its most lively then. That seems to be a secret to wielding it with success.
“He is, indeed; but, considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance—for who would object to such a partner?”
Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some complacency, when accosted by Miss Bingley:
Ah, he’s thinking lovely thoughts about her fire, without being so crass as to actually say, “I love your fire!”
“I can gues sthe subject of your reverie.”
“I should imagine not.”
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”
Well, la-dee-dah, Miss Buzzkill.
“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”
Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity:
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?—and pray, when am I to wish you joy?”
“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”
Oh gods, Darcy, what an idiot you are, especially in light of the earlier conversation between Elizabeth and Charlotte.
“Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is aboslutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you.”
He listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to entertain herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.
” Wit. “
This was… quite long. But there are longer chapters up ahead. This retyping project is going to take a while.
Studying Omniscient POV: Pride and Prejudice, Part 1 Chapter 5
Chapter 1 – Previous Chapter – Next Chapter
Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business, and to his residence in a small market town; and, in quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge, where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For, though elevated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St James’s had made him courteous.
More omniscient stage-setting. This would take several pages in third-person limited.
All the backstory feels like gossip; the kind that wouldn’t be out of place in The Shining Prince.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth’s intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.
“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet with civil self-command to Miss Lucas. “You were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”
“Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.”
“Oh! you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her—indeed I rather believe he did—I heard something about it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr Robinson.”
“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson’s asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whetehr he did not think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and which he thought the prettiest? and his answering immediately to the last questino: ‘Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.”
“Upon my word! Well, that is very decided indeed—that does seem as if—but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.”
After chapter 1, this is another dialogue-heavy chapter. Dialogue is by far Austen’s preferred method of showing, and she’s very good at it; these kinds of chapters are lively, and come to think of it, they’re currently well-paced out amongst the more description/event-heavy chapters.
My overhearings were more to the purpose than yours, Eliza,” said Charlotte. “Mr. Darcy is not so well worth listening too as his friend, is he?—poor Eliza!—to be only just tolerable.”
“I beg you would not put it into Lizzy’s head to be vexed y his ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips.”
The conflict between Darcy and Elizabeth was seeded carefully a couple chapters ago, and it’s been subtly rolling along until his snubbing of her actually becomes a vaunted topic of conversation.
“Are you quite sure, ma’am?—is not there a little mistake?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”
“Aye—because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; but she said he seemed quite angry at being spoke to.”
“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”
“I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had ome to the ball in a hack chaise.”
This is where the backstory set up by the omniscient POV just a chapter before becomes important, in addition to the fine characterization through dialogue of Mrs. Bennet: we know she’s misjudging him already. Otherwise it would be easy to write off Darcy as just a jerk, which would not only perturb the meaning of this chapter to the narrative, but also pretty much ruin the entire narrative.
“I do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,” said Miss Lucas, “but I wish he had dancced with Eliza.”
“Another time, Lizzy,” said her mother, “I would not dance with him, if I were you.”
“I believe, ma’am, I may safely promise you never to dance with him.”
“His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud.”
“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
And we come at last to the theme of the book. This isn’t the most subtle way to start the theme, but on the other hand, I’ve seen much worse.
“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidarity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
This reads a lot like Authur Tract, but I’ll let it slide because essentially this is crossing the boundary between omniscient narrator musings and the characters in the story, and thus is an interesting choice.
“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.”
“Then you wold drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; “and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.”
The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.
I do like the way this chapter ends.
Note how much dialogue carries this chapter in terms of characterization, such that the omniscient narrator barely has to head-dip at all.
Studying Omniscient POV: Pride and Prejudice, Part 1 Chapter 4
Chapter 1 – Previous Chapter – Next Chapter
When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired him.
“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she, “sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!—so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!”
“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth, “which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.”
I’d forgotten how much dialogue played a part in Pride and Prejudice, which should have been evident all the way from chapter 1. Perhaps that’s another reason why omniscient works for the narrative—dialogue is another way of getting to know characters intimately and thus coming to care for them.
Also, I already like Elizabeth.
“I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. i did not expect such a compliment.”
“Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.”
“Dear Lizzy!”
I really, really like Elizabeth.
“Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in your life.”
“I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak what I think.”
“I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! Affection of candour is common enough—one meets with it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design—to take the good of everybody’s character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad—belongs to you alone. An so you like this man’s sisters, too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his.”
They say that to use so many dashes is quite outre—not to mention using so many italics, or indeed, any at all!
But Austen isn’t using these dashes or italics willy-nilly or just for affect, but to create the patter and cadence of a certain kind of dialogue. She really has listened to how people speak, and not just what they speak of, especially when they’re feeling flustered by their subject while attempting to make a point.
“Certainly not—at first. But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her.”
Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced; their behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and with a judgement too unassailed by any attention to herself, she was very little disposed to approve them. They were in fact very fine ladies; not deficient in good humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of making themselves agreeable when they chose it, but proud and conceited. They were rather handsome, had been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the habit of spending more than they ought, and of associating with people of rank, and were therefore in every respect entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in the north of England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their brother’s fortune and their own had bee acquired by trade.
You might think this chapter was in actuality third-person limited, but it’s really just that the camera has set its outmost focus on Elizabeth. We soon slide into “true” omniscient again to get a bead on painting the set-up for Mr. Bingley and friends—or otherwise known as the Department of Backstory.
Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and sometimes made choice of his county; but as he was now provided with a good house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those who best knew the easinesss of his temper, whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to purchase.
His sisters were anxious for his having an estate of his own; but, though he was now only established as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his table—nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it, and into it for half-an-hour—was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.
Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgement the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually giving offense.
The language really carries me away while I’m typing, a sort of meditation based purely on word choice and flow, to the point where I need to stop after every sentence and re-read it for meaning. I wonder what would happen if I were to spend my time typing up Shakespeare; likely I would be taken away by the words.
I couldn’t produce such prose on my own if I tried, I think, but I admit I haven’t tried very hard. But it feels like to try would be to defeat the purpose, that trying would yield a forced result, when the words should be elegant and yet free.
Ah, writing. Play me off, Austen.
The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with more pleasant people or prettier girls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him; there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all the room; and, as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel more beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest, and from none received either attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty, but she smiled too much.
That last sentence is a perfect endcap to that paragraph, somehow. Without the context of the paragraph, we would not grasp the twist that the final phrase gives to the personality portrait of Darcy; but without that twist, the paragraph would be entirely lacking. Not really notes on omniscient, but notes on… well… writing from the bones.
Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so—but still they admired her and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom they would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorized by such commendation to think of her as he chose.
Omniscient is really, really good at setting the stage for more interesting plot to occur sooner. We’ve drawn up the vital relationships between Elizabeth and Jane, Darcy and Bingley. We know Elizabeth’s opinion of the Bingleys and Darcy, and Darcy’s opinion of the Bennets. It’s background, and conveyed very quickly, all in one chapter, one that’s pretty easy to read and very easy to type.
Looking forwards in my Feedbooks edition, there’s going to be rather longer chapters farther down the line, but they seem geared towards setting the second act in motion from their placement in the timeline. But we’ll get there when we get there.
Studying Omniscient POV: Pride and Prejudice, Part 1 Chapter 3
Chapter 1 – Previous Chapter – Next Chapter
Not all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory descrption of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him in various ways—with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of the all, and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favorable. Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! T be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Bingley’s heart were entertained.
“If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,” said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for.”
People today might take Austen to task for using long sentences, but she breaks them up quite well and the flow is excellent. There are shorter sentences to break up the long beginning and long ending sentences of the paragraph, and in any case we’re set up with anticipation (through the witholding of complete information and the character’s interest).
In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet’s visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper window that he wore a blue coat, and rode a black horse.
I really am starting to like the bigger picture that omniscient presents. There’s the cost of distance, but if you can balance it out with voice and sardonism, you can make things work.
An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently, unable to accept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed tht Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing that instead of twelve he brought only six with him from London—his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether—Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.
Again with the long sentences, which are well-split up. These days those semicolons would be replaced by periods most likely, and perhaps some more chopping up of the paragraphs, which would quite change the pacing of the original single paragraph and flowing semicolons. But let’s try it out!
An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched. Already had Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping when an answer arrived whi deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day and, consequently, unable to accept the honour of their invitation, etc.
Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertforshire. She began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to be.
Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball. A report soon followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girles grieved over such a number of ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing that instead of twelve he brought only six with him from London, his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether: Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldes, and another young man.
Hmm. This is quite modern, and I think I might even like it more, being tempered by modern writings as I am. There is a clear delineation in time, broken up into mini-scenes, with Mrs. Bennet’s disconcertion taking place inbetween finding out about Bingley’s deferral and Lady Lucas’ comforting.
Is it better from a quality perspective? I don’t think so.
Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.
Another gift (though of arguable quality, at least in these times when a movie-like framing is preferred in writing) of telling during omniscient. We have a picture, both physical and social, even mildly psychological, of Mr. Darcy, through the opinions of other characters (the general consensus touched upon by the omniscience of the POV) and the contrast between his manners and those of Mr. Bingley.
Were we in third-person limited of one character or another, and/or we stuck to showing instead of telling, this information would take quite a while longer to portray. It’s a matter of taste at this point, but the length of the novel would certainly increase.
This isn’t to say that Austen engages all in tell; far from it. Her character portraits are buffered by evidence through show; you simply anticipate the details more than if she were doing a slow reveal through show.
Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend!
An omniscient narrator must have personality and voice to carry off the narrative. They’ve traded intimacy in and need to replace that advantage with another. This is quite the opposite from the modern advice that the writer must disappear, suppressing all voice and style in favor of a straightforward presentation of the narrative. If it weren’t for good characterization coupled with internal psychology, such an approach might be bland indeed.
This is not to say that omniscient stories shouldn’t include such things, or aren’t improved by such things; but such things have a different role and emphasis.
Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occaisonally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeabe man in the world, and everbody hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him ws Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behavior was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.
The last half of this paragraph is a nice illustration that “show” and “tell” are not binary, but a range. We slide between the two extremes.
I’ll note that this entire chapter has been one of suspension so far, and now it’s going to be intrigue. These qualities are what make for an interesting story, even with (despite of?) explosions, battles, and such.
Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.
“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”
“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”
“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Mr. Bingley, “for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.”
“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. Darcy, looking at the elder Miss Bennet.
“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
One might ask whether, with this series of dialogue as illustrative of personality as it is, whether the earlier portrain drawn through tell of Mr. Darcy was necessary, if perhaps the dialogue could be fixed up to additionally allude to the general opinion of the room, discard with omniscient entirely—but that might very well descend into “As you know, Bob,” territory. But doubtless the light warfare between these two friends might provide the perfect cover—and yet would either be so conscious of the general opinion of the women in the room? I doubt it, it’s unrealistic. Omniscience is required in this case.
“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”
Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.
Might we be better served by a full show of her conversation with her friends? I think not, as we already got the main dialogue she would have discussed already shown to us, and because we’ve got more important showing ground to cover.
The evening altogther passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been distinguisehd by her sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane’s pleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough never to be without partners, which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a book he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the events of an evening which had raised such selendid expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife’s views on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found out that he had a different story to hear.
“Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet,” as she entered the room, “we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of that, my dear; he actually danced with her twice! and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her! But, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the twonext. Then the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger—”
“If he had any compassion for me,” cried her husband impatiently, “he would not have danced half so much! For od’s sake, say no more of his partners. O that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!”
^.^ Sometimes show is very cruel to other characters and, possibly, to the audience, but hey: you’ve got your characterization of Mrs. Bennet down to brass tacks now!
“Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown—”
Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obligated to seek another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.
“But I can assure you,” she added, “the Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man.”
I’m really tired at this point and the meds are starting to take effect, so let me just say that it would be an interesting exercise to rewrite this chapter with modern effects. I fear a lot of its charm might be removed in the process and zzzzz
