Point Of View Versus Perspective

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

While reading some articles on the craft of writing, I noticed the terms Point Of View and Perspective used interchangeably, while other times they had distinct meanings. So, which is it?

Two concepts are at play here:

1.How does the narrator tell the story?
2.Which character (if any) tells the story in a particular scene?

I’ve usually considered #2 above as point of view (POV), but I’m not sure that is right. Sources I read online indicate #1 is actually POV, called narrative point of view or viewpoint by Wikipedia. This definition of POV means essentially the choice of a first, second, or third person narrator. Within a novel, the viewpoint usually stays consistent, but in rare cases an author may switch from one to the other between different chapters.

For #2 above, Wikipedia discusses narrative voice, which may be the same idea as perspective. This deals with whether or not the narrator of a particular scene is a specific character, knowing only what that character sees, hears, feels, and thinks (person-limited). Alternatively, the narrator may know everything about every character (omnicient), or tell the story only by observing from a distance, knowing nothing of characters’ thoughts (objective). Of course, there are variations of these types of narrative voices, such as a storytelling narrator who sticks to one character’s perspective in each scene, but is not that character himself.

For example, if Joe is a person-limited narrator, then the sentence

Joe didn't see the bus bearing down on him

violates Joe’s perspective: he can’t describe something he doesn’t see yet. But, an omnicient or objective narrator can tell this to the reader.

So, I have to ask myself if it makes sense to change my own usage of the the term POV, and whether to preach the difference at fellow writers who may not wish to be lectured. Does it really matter that much as long as the idea gets across?

Book Review: Strange Cargo

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

A few years ago, I read Jeffrey Barlough’s House In the High Wood, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Recently, I read his novel Strange Cargo (third in his Western Lights series). It’s a great book, but not quite as good as the former.

Strange Cargo takes place in a frigid alternate Victorian-like world that in the past was rocked by the “great sundering” - a cataclysmic event that leaves mankind clinging to the mild coastal edges of an English-like civilization. The reader is introduced to three main storylines that crisscross one another as the novel goes on.

First, there is the Cargo family, from the town of Cargo, who learn from an attorney, Mr. Liffey, that they are to inherit the estate of Joseph Cargo, the grandfather of the clan. But, not all of the estate; some of it is left to an unknown Mr. Squailes of the town of Nantle. Mrs. Cargo is especially appalled at the Squailes bequest. So, they all book ship passage to Nantle to find and interrogate the “interloper Squailes.” The Cargos don’t know that Mr. Liffey is often haunted by some kind of sinister presence whenever he is alone.

Next is Miss Wastefield, who is plagued by a locked trunk that murmurs strange things to her. She cannot throw it away, because it always comes back. She travels to Nantle with her little monkey Juga after hearing from a Mr. Thistlewood who claims he can help with the trunk.

And then there is Mr. Threadneedle of Smithy Bank who, after buying some strange stones from a trader, discovers they have the power to levitate objects. So, along with his young helper Tim Christmas, he constructs a contraption within his carriage house that allows the building to fly like an airship. During test flights in the fog, a few people around Nantle spot the flying house, but aren’t believed when they report it.

As the three stories are told, the main characters cross paths with each other and numerous other cast members in and around Nantle, including a Mr. Lanthorne who seems to vanish and reappear at will; monsters called Triametes who eat humans; rooming house owner Mrs. Matchless and her other guests, and several lovable street hooligans.

Strange Cargo’s prose has a distinct old English quality that is captivating, but a bit hard to read when it reverts to the dialect of the lower classes. I found the Miss Wastefield storyline particularly unsatisfying in its resolution because it has a damsel-in-distress theme where she isn’t really saved by the hero. She does discover how the sundering occurred, but never tells anyone else (except the reader). The sundered alternate world created by the author is fascinating. His characters have an innocence and charm about them that is appealing. Strange Cargo is a definite recommended read.

It's Real Life, For Once - Part II

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

In my June 3rd posting on this subject, I mentioned that my writing is far removed from real life. Mobsters, spies, con-men, Pinkerton detectives, extortionists ... not me, no way.  But then, once in awhile, real life - even mine - provides material for a story.

This spring, an envelope from 49 years ago came into my hands. It was unopened, addressed in a kindergartener's scraggly handwriting - my own. What could be inside? Why was it never opened? I wrote a story about it that speculated on its journey. When I read it to my Thursday critique group, the response was so positive that I polished it up and submitted it to a local senior newspaper: Northwest Prime Time.  Within hours I received a "Yes" - they'd like to print it, assuming the month's layout will allow it.  If it makes the issue, it'll be my second non-fiction item published.

That's non-fiction 2, fiction 0.  Hmmm ... not a lot of progress for a determined fiction writer.

Anyway, what was in the envelope?  Ahhh ... stay tuned for the story's publication announcement.

Uhhh ... Where Are We?

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

One of the things I often see when editing or critiquing a manuscript is that the author launches into a new scene or chapter without setting the scene. Instead, we’re subjected to paragraphs of dialog or narration about what the characters are doing. It’s like the characters are floating in a black void, detached from time and place. The reader will manufacture his own mental image of the scene, immerse himself in it, and then is later jarred out of the story when the author finally gives a hint of where or when the action is taking place.

What does it mean to set the scene? At the minimum, the reader should learn exactly where the characters are, and when the action takes place at the point the scene has changed. If a chapter ends with Suzie hanging on the 33rd floor ledge by her fingernails, and the next chapter starts with Suzie still hanging on, then little scene-setting is necessary. Mentioning Suzie and the crumbling ledge is sufficient. But, if the next chapter has Rex sipping a latte and scanning the newspaper’s obituary columns, the reader will be confused if Rex starts chatting with someone or the narrator discusses Rex’s angst over his business dealings. How much time has passed since Suzie’s unfortunate predicament? Is Rex walking along the sidewalk 33 floors directly below Suzie? Or is he about to turn the corner and stumble across her splattered corpse? Is he walking at all? Or is it days later and he’s reading her obit sitting in a cafe? The time and place set the reader’s anticipation of what may happen next.

Beyond the minimum scene-setting (“Rex walked along the sidewalk sipping his latte”), the author can provide richer detail of the scene. As Rex walks along the sidewalk, what does he pass by? Small storefronts nestled together in an ancient brick building, with smells of roasting chicken, garbage, cigars, bus exhaust? Do cars roar by? Does the wind kick up scraps of paper? Rain falls like a fine mist? Is he cold because he left his overcoat at the office? Are scary-looking homeless guys loitering about? As far as setting the timeframe, the narrator can give a hint that it is night (“the glare of a passing Taxi’s headlights”), and the reader knows Suzie’s trouble was at noon. Surely, Suzie is no longer hanging on. Or, Rex hears a streetside clock strike noon.

In my opinion, the scene-setting should begin within the first paragraph of the new scene. More can be added as the scene goes on, but the longer the author waits to set it up, the more the reader constructs his own time and place - maybe incorrectly. That can lead to confusion or frustration later, and diminished reader enjoyment of your story.

Move the Story Forward

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

Keep the reader turning the page. I always try to keep that in mind when I write a short story or a chapter in a novel. In a critique group recently, I was reminded of that when one of my group-mates observed that my chapter ended by wrapping up a mystery, but didn’t provide any teaser to propel the reader on to the next chapter where, presumably, things will begin to unravel (not for the author, of course, but for the characters).

“Why should I turn the page?” she asked.

Ouch! She was right. Mystery and conflict remain for the reader to discover, but I failed to show that. When I read or hear stories from other aspiring writers in my little world, I often think the same thing. Here are some common deficiencies:

• Description - The story is crammed with flowing, minute descriptions of people, their movements, things, the weather, sounds. Description is great if it is done right, if it sparks your mind’s eye (see my blog posting Descriptive Dalliances). But, is the story lost in all the picture-painting? After 10 pages of prose, will the reader say, “All those words just to pick up the bloody knife in his hand?”
• Pleasantness - The story’s characters go on and on in pleasant conversation about what they plan to do later or what they just finished doing or what they wish they could do. At the end of the chapter, they might walk out the door to actually go do something. But, the chapter is stuck in neutral up to that point. Maybe somebody should cry, or yell, or argue, or faint along the way. Hints about coming trouble can trickle out. Dinner can burn and fill the house with smoke. Aunt Agatha can reveal something shocking. These incidents can be used to set up future tension, or flesh out the characters’ relationships, and to cause the reader to wonder what it portends in coming pages.
• Fizzled ending - The chapter comes to an end, but it feels like nothing interesting will happen next. A couple sits on the picnic blanket gazing out over the lake holding hands. Okay ... so? What if instead, they hear a strange rattling sound, but dismiss it? The reader might think, “Oooh. A rattlesnake?” This is basically the art of the cliffhanger - adding it at the end of each chapter or scene to spur the reader to stay tuned.
• Preaching - One of the biggest turn-offs in a novel is when the author fills the pages with some agenda they feel strongly about: religion, environment, politics, conspiracies. These subjects don’t need to be eliminated altogether, just included in a subtle way that doesn’t overwhelm the story or bore the reader.
• Blandness - This may seem obvious, but it happens a lot for aspiring writers. Characters engage in mundane dialog, or speak in ways that aren’t realistic. The narrator tells us facts and figures that may be nice for a scholarly article, but don’t hold interest in a novel where the reader wants action or romance or humor. Or, the pages may be filled with continuous dialog with no scene-setting, gestures, pauses, description, or narration.

You can probably think of several more substandard writing aspects than this. The bottom line is: will the reader feel compelled to turn page after page? If so, then you’ve done something right.

Book Review: Bel Canto

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

Ann Patchett's award-winning novel Bel Canto takes place in a Latin American nation, where attendees at a birthday party in the Vice President's mansion find themselves taken hostage by a rebel force.  The rebels plan to kidnap the President.  But he canceled his attendance at the last minute to stay home and watch his favorite TV soap opera.  The rebels aren't sure what to do, so they hold onto the most prominent men and the one woman at the party who matters: opera singer Roxane Coss, who was the party's entertainment.  Weeks go by.  Negotiations are stalled.  The rebels' strict regimen toward the hostages slackens, and life inside the mansion becomes a small, insular world of its own as hostages and some of the younger rebels bond.  Roxane Coss, deciding she must sing to keep her voice strong, practices her opera daily - delighting rebels and hostages alike.  Life outside the compound is nearly forgotten.  The standoff will never end, they think, so this is all there is.

The entire story takes place in the mansion.  As the story goes on, we see numerous characters contribute their own skills to the smooth operation of their new world.  A pianist.  A cook.  A translator.  The Vice President, who essentially becomes the housekeeper.  Many of the young rebels, who have lived only in the backwoods, learn about society and luxury they've never imagined before, such as watching TV for the first time.   One character, a multilingual Japanese translator named Gen, falls in love with Carmen, one of the young rebels.

Patchett does a masterful job of developing each character without dumping loads of backstory on the reader.  The reader feels sympathy for a General with the disease shingles, which causes an ugly, painful rash on his face. Or Cesar, who learns he can sing opera beautifully.  Or Carmen, who helps Roxane Coss arrange an amorous tryst with a Japanese businessman.  The reader begins to live vicariously in the little false world of the hostages, which is bound to come to a tragic end.

Patchett's language is lyrical, the descriptions rich and humorous at times.  She does not stick to any one character's point-of-view, but rather lets it flow from one person to the next, paragraph by paragraph - and makes it work.

If you long for a novel that explores complex situational character relationships, Bel Canto is worth your time.

It’s Real Life, For Once

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

I just sent off a short story for Writers Digest’s “Your Story” Contest #34. The rules specified to start off with the line of dialog, “You won’t believe what came in the mail today.”

My novels and short stories are based upon anything but my real life. After all, I usually don’t shoot at people, or steal wartime secrets, or blackmail my parrot’s previous owner, or time warp back to 1889 to chase down an arsonist, or wear clown makeup to bed. Although, come to think of it, the clown makeup sounds intriguing.

But, for the Your Story contest, the opening line immediately brought to mind my elderly aunt who passed away a few years ago. The postman’s arrival seemed the big highlight of her day, judging by the attention she gave to all the junk mail that poured in. Scams and gimmickry abounded in nearly every envelope - all clearly aimed at taking advantage of the elderly, who are often all too susceptible to emotional pleas. Added to that, her world was rocked when mail delivery was changed to 5:00 pm. Horror of horrors. What would she have to talk about if not the mail? What would she do with herself all day? The change to her routine drove her to distraction until, mercifully, the postal service moved her delivery back to late morning.

So, my beloved aunt provided the exact subject matter I needed for my short story. The precious pieces of mail, the scams she fell prey to, the junk she ordered, the altered delivery time. No guns or clowns or parrots or arson. Just real life put down on digital paper with a bit of author’s poetic license to weave it all together. Whodda thunk?