"Boys" | ||||||||
Carol Emshwiller | ||||||||
SCI FICTION | ||||||||
I. A Story and a Plea
First, stop reading until you've read
Carol Emshwiller's "Boys"
Don't skim or cheat. You're cheating, aren't you? You probably bring loaded dice to a game of craps. Well, if you
cheat or skim, please don't argue in debates doubtless to follow.
You will form an opinion, which is good, but please turn off the bigot spigots. Focus on the debate, not the
debaters (i.e. ad hominem), and you will come out enlightened, no matter how seasoned a reader or writer you may be.
Carol Emshwiller is, without doubt, one of our finest at the craft. "Boys"
is no different. It's an important story -- well told and well crafted -- making bold demands of the reader as all good fiction
should. But one major issue is at stake, and depending on how you view the matter, three others follow: 1. unreliable
narrators, 2. subtlety, 3. gender politics, and 4. writer ethics.
If you must hate, join the legions of I-hate-Trent clubbers! We meet Tuesday nights at the Elks' club. I'm president and
treasurer, the fellow you'll see meandering in the antler hat. We have T-shirts, decals, bumper stickers, and pins by the
coat check in front. Just a word of warning,
though: We kick the butt of anybody who looks cross-eyed at Ms. Emshwiller.
A bunch of warlike, short and ugly brutes, we are!
II. A History of a Review and a Review
To make myself the most reliable narrator possible, I shall, hereafter, don
third person for more reliability: The initial review was written in
depression, which, no doubt, affected its tone, so the reviewer sat on it
for a month and half before passing it along to several intelligent male
readers quite familiar with the genre. All who read it tried to justify the
story in various manners of logic, some quite inventively, but all failed.
One who had not read the story but did read the review called the story
satire, yet as a satire the story fell off the mark. Jonathan Swift also
wrote satire on genders that many would disagree with today (albeit a
criticism of both genders, not just one). While Swift's satire holds a
smidgen of truth, it's that lack of veracity that keeps the gender satire
from reaching the quality of the rest.
Interestingly, one of the men found this quote from Tangent Online: "If I
went to a randomly picked a man and asked him to describe his perception of
the world, I would be disappointed if his reply didn't read like this story.
Carol Emshwiller's story has effectively captured the essence of a
prototypical male." The Tangent reviewer, female, must have also read it as
a gender story as the above males had, missing out on the unreliability that
would have made it not a story of gender politics.
Seven months of sitting on it later, even after the reviewer discussed the
story with the author and rereading carefully, he still felt the initial
reading valid:
"But maybe balance is an illusion that a few of us foolishly cling to.
There's something emblematic in a character that doesn't feel pain at having
a leg shot out from under him. Although people don't all feel pain as
acutely as one another, they all feel it. One wonders how Butler would have
handled the allegory -- not to pit writer against writer, but to lay out the
two methods for the reader to compare. Maybe it isn't a story for men at all
but propaganda for women: a call to arms in the service of peace. That is
something this reader can deal with since the object of propaganda is to
inspire a worthy cause. Peace is certainly worthy and an understandable
sentiment in today's climate."
[Reviewer/Interviewer's note: The following is verbatim culled from various
email discussions but reorganized for continuity and for what the reviewer
felt was the most effective end punch. If it feels like Frankenstein, blame
the reviewer.]
My novel Ledoyt is from the point of view of a teenage girl who's angry and
doesn't know anything. There are lots of famous unreliable narrators, as:
Huckleberry Finn, Cold Sassy Tree, The Catcher in the Rye. Since that's my
favorite way of writing, I do want to turn more people on to that method so
they'll understand what I always write.
It's a technical term invented by professors of literature and is as
undescriptive as "objective correlative"...which actors have...much more
descriptively...called the "psychological gesture." (There's a really nice
term.) I wish there was a better term for unreliable. I remember being
confused myself when I first learned it and took if for a lying narrator.
I think a skewed narrator. I like that word skewed. And of course we're
all skewed. Though the English Teacher's "unreliable" is the term
everybody uses. [I]t'll be hard to avoid.
I think it's always an ironic stance. When Huckleberry Finn says he should
have turned [in] Jim as a runaway slave, we know Huckleberry is right not to
do it, though he thinks he's wrong. Huckleberry Finn's unreliability is a
way for Mark Twain to get over a lot of his ideas.
Mark Twain...and especially that part of Huckleberry F. [are] considered
racist. [...T]hat part is exactly like my story. Huck thinks he's a bad
person because he doesn't follow his society's way of thinking and turn Jim
in. My characters also are deeply enmeshed in their society and try to
live outside it. (if only by falling in love.) That's the point of my
story. I guess I just don't like...and don't want to write the kind of
unreliable narrator you're talking about. My kind...good people stuck in
their situations and being as true to themselves as they can yet being
mistaken...is the only kind I want to do. Because I'm always in love with
my characters. The older I get the more I write out of love. I guess it
doesn't seem like it to you, but I was in love with that poor colonel. Much
more so than with Una.
Cold Sassy Tree is a great unreliable novel in that it's a love story
between older people told from the point of view of a teenage boy who hates
the whole idea of elderly people in love. The person who recommended the
book to me read it as if the boy was right and told me the old people were
disgusting. She completely misread it. I know writing this way is
dangerous, lots of people don't catch on, but I love to do it, anyway.
I just remembered an exercise I give my students in the unreliable narrator:
Describe your own apartment or house from the first person point of view
of somebody who doesn't like it. It must all be true. !!!! Look around
your rooms and try to find what somebody else might not like. Is it too
clean from some people's point of view, or too cluttered, or clean where you
can see and dirty in the dark corners? Is your rug white though you have
three children? Find somebody to find fault with it and get inside their
head. 80% of my students fall into the unreliable narrator automatically.
I don't have to explain to them what it is.
I don't think unreliable narrators lie. I think they tell the truth as
they see it but their view is skewed. Liars lie and that's a whole
different thing.
I don't believe there could ever be such a story [where] everything an
unreliable narrator says is untrue. [I]n first person you're in that
character's mind and no where else. In a third person story the author
would be describing things and you'd know exactly what that wall really is
because the author would have told you. In this story you see him change
his mind. The author can't tell the reader anything the character doesn't
know. I find it much harder to, as [the] author, to stay out of it...I
have to in first person. I have to be that character and not me. You keep
trying to show the spots where my character is reliable. Of course he's
reliable. There can't be a story without some reliability. But he's in a
situation and off on a mission that completely mistaken.
And you're right about all of us being unreliable. The only truth is when
an author says, in their story, It was a dark and story night. You can
believe authors in third person when they're being the author.
[I]n The Mount, I thought to just have two matching short stories as the
first two chapters would be, but when Charley says he wants to be the best
mount there is, he was so mistaken that I knew there was a novel in there
and started getting excited about it. I'm usually so deeply inside my first
person characters that I don't know anything but what they know. People
ask me, "Did Charley's father really come down in an avalanche?" But I
only know what Charley thinks happened.
I do like to talk about the unreliable narrator because it seems to me so
many people don't get it. I don't think I need to put in clues to the
unreliability. I need for the reader to read the first person narrator as
him/her self and no other. As if a character study. If the character never
sees they're mistaken, then they'll never reveal it. I'm always so deeply
into my characters I couldn't step outside them and have them reveal their
biases if I tried. While I'm writing them I AM them.
I don't think I ever put my own ideas in my character's mouths. If I
wanted to write my opinions I'd do essays. I'm more interested in
characters and what they think and what goes on inside them. I do think the
stories themselves are metaphors. I wanted to show people blinded by their
culture...as we all are. I wanted to show people taking things for granted
that seem horrible to us and yet might make us think about our own
situation.
I really don't like that what my characters say is taken for what I think.
I won't hobble myself with that. I write what the story needs. That's more
important to me. Una's opinions are not mine. How could they be when
she's in her own particular situation? My characters are only unreliable in
that their educations and the rules of their society makes them so. That's
the point of the story. That society can make us blind.
And even if a female character in "Boys" says, "Be more like us women,"
that's only true for this story and its boundaries. That's, again, what she
thinks. I don't think women are any less warlike than men...well, maybe a
little bit less. My stories follow their rules rather than my philosophies.
I'd feel really constrained if I had to keep everything to my own ideas
rather than the rules and moralities of the stories. The anti war ideas
are mine.
Neither Una's nor the colonel's ideas have anything to do with me. They are
both doing the best they can within the life they have. I made him as
sweet a person as I could within his circumstances. I consider both of
them victims of their situation. Una's opinions can't be mine considering
what she has to live with. (Just as I consider Americans victims of their
situations????)
Mostly it doesn't occur to me that people might take my character's POVs as
mine. It's disturbing. If anybody cares to see my real feelings about
what men are like, read my non-SF novel Ledoyt. (My western.) He's the
kind of man I grew up with and admire and would take as my norm of what men
are including my son, my father, and my brothers.
It has never occurred to me that my two characters were acting in any way
the could be outside the story and therefore my opinion. They're both true
to their situation. They're both reliable narrators within their situation.
I guess I'd like people to judge my feelings about men (if they must) from
my two more realistic western novels. In those it's the woman who are
mistaken. Or from my whole batch of work. Good grief, though everybody
calls me feminist, I've never ever considered myself that... except in equal
pay. I've been madly in love with men since I was aware of anything. I
don't understand why any particular story should stand for my beliefs instead
of for the morality of the story. I'd rather stand by that.
The colonel is subversive of his culture in his way. He fell in love and
isn't supposed to, and he knows which boy is his son with Una. These are
outside the rules of his culture. He was kind and helpful when he didn't
have to be. That was against his culture, too.
Everything my character says and thinks is reliable to HIM. As with all my
characters. They tell the truth about themselves. And I like him. (And
them all.) He's a moral man under his rules of morality. I seldom write
about people I don't like in some ways even if they are mistaken. I think
villains are too easy to write about. I always set myself a more
complicated story than straight out evil.
Since I usually write first person, my characters have to be more or less
unreliable. I think first person is always seen through a skew. Since I
often like to write from the POV of children and addled old ladies, those
have to be untrue. I think I'm trying to get at a truth through my mistaken
characters. But they're not mistaken in everything. And I keep hoping the
reader will read between the lines.
In the above (actually transpiring as a dialogue with the below), Emshwiller
raised many excellent points; however, her points occasionally miss the
point of the reviewer's although their views of unreliability are not too
dissimilar. He does have his own idea on the matter, but he should cite an
authority since the reviewer's status is a speed bump alongside the mountain
of Emshwiller:
But first, a usable definition is required. Who do we call unreliable?
Emshwiller is correct in saying all first person narratives are skewed, but
by that logic so would all third person narratives be. Human beings write
narratives and chose to reveal what was revealed, skewing and limiting what
the text could be about (i.e. theme). Whom do we trust and why? Do we
trust anyone at all? Even third person omniscient? The author? The
reader? So if, ipso facto, we call all human beings unreliable, all
narratives are suspect down to their very characters and settings. Perhaps
the colonel is not even a colonel, but a young neanderthal daydreaming on
the animal-shaped clouds overhead. Perhaps the war between genders is
really a war of troglodytes and arthropods. Perhaps we are actually all on
another planet -- one where aliens have replaced everything with exact
duplicates.
At some point we must rely on a person's account. We have to grant
authority before we start discounting, relying on the narrative to tell us
who not to trust with evidence why we should not trust them -- otherwise we
are convicting people before the exit the womb. We have to say, "Okay, Mr.
Character, I will trust you until you prove yourself unworthy of trust."
That is to say: innocent until proven guilty.
What function does a term like "unreliable narrator" serve if it is merely a
synonym for "first person?" Furthermore, if all people are unreliable,
there's no reason for "unreliable," either. Readers would assume that
everything Emshwiller or Walters says is dubious. Is it possible for anyone
to be reliable? The reviewer has his own litmus test.
A good rule of thumb, if you want to make sure that your audience gets the
point of unreliability (and surely every writer wants the conscientious
readers to "get it"), is to see to it that the narrator's opinion of the
world is negated -- whether by himself or by something or someone outside
himself, whether purposefully (the conventional conception of a "lie") or
subconsciously deceptive -- at least once, but hopefully twice so the reader
may feel fairly certain. Three times, the cock crows, and it's undeniable.
Have you, dear reader, ever messed up at work? If so, would that make you
unreliable? Is a reliable person someone who is perfect or someone you can
count on? If the former, why do we have the term "reliable?" If you're
reading a first person narrative murder mystery and the narrator were to
travel down the wrong lead, would he be unreliable even if he later found
the proper path? How do you define "reliable" and "unreliable?"
The narrative must show us who to mistrust. We have to place trust
somewhere or remain petrified to walk out the door lest we be bombarded in a
confusing array of unreliables.
A friend sent the following joke:
A comparison of definitions is in order before pressing on. The important
point in Lodge is that we should be able to "discriminat[e] between truth
and falsehood... to reveal... the gap between appearance and reality." For
Lodge, he was concerned about too much falsehood accomplishing nothing
revelatory as an unreliable. For the reviewer, the same could be applied in
the extreme of the other direction: too much truth not allowing the reader
to discriminate the gap between appearance and reality. In Emshwiller's
view, all first persons are skewed, which is true, just as all narratives
are skewed. The amount of skew is what tells us whether or not the readers
should rely on the narrator or not. To lie, as Lodge tells us, "need not be
a conscious, or mischievous, intention." It's possible the dog, if lying,
believes he did serve the CIA yet did not, or maybe he benignly wished to
impress a potential owner. The end result is still a lie, to the dog
himself and/or to another (this position assumes the dog lied and not the
owner or narrator).
To rely or not to rely: oh, Desdemona, what a tricky business! (CLOWN to
DESDEMONA: "To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you where I lie.")
V. A Reassessment
Although the reader is slow and methodical anyway, the second reading was
more careful, lasting over three hours, with notetaking. The reviewer far
prefers Emshwiller's form of controversy over the tepid material that
refuses to take stands, to take chances. What is the purpose of literature
if it doesn't make bold statements as "Boys" does?
If fiction's worth reading, it will reveal more of itself the second
time -- not that a first reading shouldn't reveal, but that subsequent
readings point out more subtleties from the theme grasped in the first
reading. The theme is that which informs the text in what is to be
revealed. The reviewer did not feel mistaken on the theme on the second
read, which comes directly from Una's mouth: "Stay here. Let everybody stay
here and be as women." Why is this the theme? Because nothing in the text
denies it, and everything in the text supports it.
The reviewer had looked for, hoped for, and missed this nod to Aristophanes
earlier: "We're not sure if the women want to stop copulation day or boy
gathering day. We hope it's the latter." (Aristophanes, incidentally, is
evidence to the contrary of the all-boys-are-militaristic theme of "Boys,"
being a boy himself.)
The play on manliness is certainly worth drawing attention to for its
approaching veracity and for its angle on the theme (the reviewer didn't
find this unreliable, but reliable: a truly "manly" POV from one who uses
such a term, that is): "I could shoot one but it wouldn't be very manly to
take advantage of my high point. Were they men I'd do it. But then they do
the unmanly thing. They shoot me. My leg. My good leg."
Because the reviewer was preoccupied with theme early on, he did miss
Emshwiller's sympathy for the narrator, perhaps thrown by a narrator who
wants to win medals and will "never win a medal for being too reasonable"
and who "commit[s] more atrocities in the name of the old ones" even though
he's forgotten "how it all began."
Apart from the last paragraph (a clever subtlety I admit I missed on the
first read perhaps due to the narrator's honesty), the narrator, the
colonel, is highly reliable, judging from what he knows and his basic
willingness to admit faults that are not contradicted in the text. The
colonel tries his best to be as honest with himself as any human being. But
even in the last paragraph, how do we know for certain that the narrator
really is being unreliable? A common aphorism is that men's identities are
often tied to their occupation. Will the narrator be satisfied with his new
life as a physically crippled stud? Will he consider that a viable
occupation?
As a measure of reliability, we the readers ask whether the narrator is
being truthful about his reality as we see it (assuming the reader has any
more capacity of seeing reality): The colonel does not claim telepathy when
understanding the boys but from his own personal experience which mirrors
theirs. Who would admit the things he admits? Only someone honest with
themselves. The following statements seem the height of honesty and
reliability and, thankfully, a certain sympathetic quality, admitting
moments and aspects of weakness (if you buy the narrator is reliable, skip
down to section five):
"In the beginning they're a little bit homesick (you can hear them
smothering their crying the first few nights)"
"I know because I remember when I first had my uniform. I was wishing my
mother and my big sister could see me. When I was taken, I fought, but just
to show my courage. I was happy to be stolen—happy to belong, at long last,
to the men."
(The reader has no evidence to the contrary of this:) "They know they'll
have to go home to mother if they don't do it. They all do it. "
"every now and then, it's clear who the father is. I know two of my sons.
I'm sure they know that I, the colonel, am their father. I think that's why
they try so hard. I know them as mine because I'm a small, ugly man."
"I had bitten my lower lip. In times of stress I'm inclined to do that. I
have to watch out. When you're a colonel, it's embarrassing to be found with
blood on your chin."
"We were little more than children. We hardly knew what we were doing or how
to do it. Afterwards she cried. I felt like crying myself but I had learned
not to. Not just learned it with the squad, but I had learned it even before
they took me from my mother. I wanted to be taken."
"I kept my mouth shut even when I got it. I thought if they knew I could be
so easily hurt they'd send me back."
"We walk carefully around tomatoes and strawberry plants, squash and beans."
"I feel sad that the women want to keep us out so badly. I wonder, does Una
want me not to come?"
"Una has always been nice to me. I often wonder why she likes me."
"The women are angrier than we thought. Perhaps they're tired of losing
their boys to us and to the other side. I wouldn't put it past them not to
be on any side whatsoever."
"a real shot this time. Good shot, too. One wonders how a woman could have
done it. One wonders if it was a man who taught her. The boys are stunned.
To think that one of their mothers or one of their sisters would shoot to
kill."
"I'll most likely be demoted. To be captured by women.... I hope they have
the sense to come rescue us with a large group. They'll have to make a
serious effort."
"Like the women, our boys are soft hearted. They feed every creature that
comes by. I don't let on that I do too."
"If I could just have Una in my arms, I might be able to sleep."
"I feel I'm about to pass out or throw up and I become aware that I've
soiled myself. I don't want the boys to see."
"It must smell terrible in here. I even smell terrible to myself, and it's
uncomfortable sitting in my own mess."
"I think again how … (and we all know, only too well) how love is a
dangerous thing and can spoil the best of plans."
"Then I say … what we're not allowed to say or even think. It's a
mother/child thing, not to be said between a man and a woman. I say, 'I love
you.' "
"But I suppose all this yearning, all this wondering, is due to the leaves
Una had me chew. It's not the real me. I'll not pay any attention to myself.
", yet he realizes his own feelings, his own lies: "... I shouldn't let
myself be lured into staying here as a copulator for the rest of my life. I
can't think of anything more dishonorable. "
Second, even if this dialogue was all that ever appeared, the reviewer would
not attribute it unreliable because all opponents say that their opponent is
doomed. People often don a certain mental state in order to conquer the
other. For instance, when the reviewer allowed depression to make him think
he couldn't pass medical school, he couldn't. But when he told himself to
beat depression and medical school, he did, in certain battles. In the end,
he got kicked out during one of the depression stages (at which point was he
unreliable? When he told himself he could pass medical school or
couldn't?).
Moreover, the colonel later realizes their strength: "It's a wide wall. Not
as badly built as I told the boys it was." So this statement was never
unreliable.
In the end the reviewer came up with one unreliable statement -- the last
paragraph -- when reading the narrative as unreliable, which could also
legitimately be read as reliable since, up to that point, the narrator had
been as reliable as we may expect any human being to be.
VI. Subtlety, Writer Ethics, & Gender Politics
So is the reviewer just sour grapes? sour himself because he didn't "get it"
on the first read? Au contraire, mon frère. In fact, there is nothing the
reviewer loves more than to be fairly tricked. But there is a good reason
why he missed the author's climactic intent... which makes him wonder: Are
the good authors allowing themselves to get too subtle? Are there enough
clues so the careful can get it? This is not a call for authors to become
pedantic or normalize their literature, but help the readers out a little
more. Robert Browning's "The Last Duchess" will still require careful
readers, but the readers are also given a number of clues to unlock the
narrator's unreliability without having to tell us he's unreliable.
Another point not yet fully pursued is that even assuming the narrator's
unreliability, the sweeping generalizations on gender cannot be negated or
denied by the text's reliability.
A story is informed by something. It has a design. Something within the
creator designed it, whether the conscious or subconscious. By the time we
reach the end, if the story is any good, the readers will understand the
conclusion. From this point, they can understand all that has happened
prior to the conclusion, for the conclusion informs us of how to interpret
the rest of the story.
Authors should be aware of the effects they are creating within their
readers: the social climates and the minds of living and breathing people
they are shaping. The reason governments have feared and tortured and
killed writers through the millennia is that writers change the way we
think.
The reviewer realizes this will be the hardest pill for the writers to
swallow. One day he may change his mind, but it seems if a writer wishes to
make readers aware -- as should all writers who want a modicum of permanence
beyond the best sellers -- then they should be aware of the effects of their
texts on readers.
"Does this reviewer mean writers have a legal responsibility?" Absolutely
not. Responsibility lies firmly within those who use the text for good or
for ill.
"Does this reviewer mean that the writer is responsible for every action a
character takes or word a character speaks?" No, the reviewer never said
or implied this (although apparently Lucius Shepard was held responsible for
a male character slapping a woman in one of his stories and John Kessel held
responsible for the feelings of males in his "Stories for Men").
What the writer should be aware of is the conclusion or theme of the story.
As Emshwiller pointed out, the conclusion of Huckleberry Finn is against
racism. Despite what the character says, we know how Huck really feels
about Jim.
But the literary realm and especially the mechanistic gizmo realm of SF were
mainly male domains of crotch scratching and antler crashing. Men of the
30s, 40s, and 50s wrote SF without major roles for women. After all, they
were just writing "If This Goes On" and few seemed to think other
possibilities existed (Heinlein did introduce women into key story roles and
societal roles as well as unparalleled gender exploration in "All You
Zombies"). But women picked up this general implication and wrote the
reactionary feminism of the 60s and 70s saying, hey, you guys are sexist!
And they were, albeit unintentionally and not malevolently so. Their world
view subconsciously informed their works. Yet feminism rightfully let these
men be aware of their subconscious injustice. Yet reactionary feminism,
lest it be deemed hypocritical, should also be aware of its effects. As the
obliviousness of old time SF made women feel worthless, so this reviewer and
other males are made to feel worthless: worlds without men, worlds where
men are destroyed, worlds where all men are jerks who daydream of raping
women and would rape women if only they could. On the other hand, jokes are
perfectly legitimate. Mary Shelley in Frankenstein discusses the monster's
proposed bride "who in all probability was to become a thinking and
reasoning animal," and you thought that dim-witted male monster was bad!
Just wait until someone with brains grabs the helm! This is funny, not
cruel.
Emshwiller does love men. This can be seen clearly in the extraordinary
care with which she portrays the colonel. But that was never questioned.
What is questioned are gender politics, perhaps all done subconsciously, in
a story labeled, "Boys," all men are militaristic and want to kill. All
women want peace. One man gets killed by a woman but she is never
identified or brought to justice. Men are killed by men. Men beat their
mothers with boots and would have used daggers if they had them, and the
women just stand there and take it like stoic martyrs. Women only shoot
legs, but only for that man's ultimate good. Women would rather that a tree
live that the heartless men cut it down in their attempt to escape. Men are
good for little but being studs. When women have no substantially negative
role in this fiction, how can one not say the theme comes from Una's mouth?
In effect we are told that "Men bad, women good; hence men be like women" -- a
scenario John Gardner would call a lack of "intellectual honesty" [see
Gardner, The Forms of Fiction]. Again, if the reviewer is
unrepresentative of his gender (or consciously unaware of his complete and
utter ugliness in relation to women's goodness), please ignore.
Perhaps no one's much interested in gender politics from a male perspective.
But the true blame may lie on the men. Men don't even understand men,
don't know that there is something to be understood, and often don't attempt
understanding. This in itself may compound the problem in ways far worse
than criticism from the opposite gender. Men of an earlier generation don't
question. They just say, "We were jerks, so your generation has to take our
punishment." What?!? This reviewer grew up, not even knowing that men
could be attractive until he met a gay man who showed that men could be seen
as attractive and worthwhile. This is what men and reactionary feminists
have missed out on.
Men can be cruel and indifferent jerks. But why, oh why, do we stop there?
Why not ask why men are jerks? How do men tick? Explore! Isn't that what
SF is all about?
Gender politics has been running for many years now. It is a crucial
consideration if we continue to wish a continued existence as a species.
Science fiction could be at the forefront of gender exploration if they only
applied a little of their namesake: scientific inquiry.
To sum, authors should be aware of the effects they are creating, even in
unreliable narratives. But let the effects be conscious and conscientious
ones, so when governments burn them at the stake, writers can be confident
they done good for the right reasons, not the unintended ones.
VII. The Author Concludes
[Reviewer's note: frustrated by Steinbeck's critical treatment, the
reviewer firmly believes the author should not be squared in by the critic.
This is her opportunity that Steinbeck never got.]
Again, I really hate that a phrase from a character can be taken as my idea.
"Be more like the women." (For you to think that that's me, makes me think
you can't be a writer of fiction. or you'd know better.) My daughter is one
of the most ambitious people I know and always takes on more than she can
handle. Without her nurturing husband she wouldn't get through the day. I
like how gung ho she is and I also like how gentle and supportive her
husband is. If a story called for it I'd write "Be more like a man." I just
now had my first person viewpoint character say...in the story I'm working
on now..."We should be harsher on our young ones." I hope nobody thinks
that's what I think.
My favorite writing book, Janet Burroway's 2000 edition of Writing Fiction,
has several pages on the unreliable narrator and several degrees of it.* My
other writing books have differing ideas of it, too. Sort of like opinions
on POV. Every book is different. And a first person narrator can never lie.
If they're deliberately lying, the reader has to know it since we're inside
their heads.
Trent Walters' work has appeared or will appear in The Distillery, Fantastical Visions, Full Unit Hookup, Futures, Glyph, Harpweaver, Nebo, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, Speculon, Spires, Vacancy, The Zone and blah blah blah. He has interviewed for SFsite.com, Speculon and the Nebraska Center for Writers. More of his reviews can be found here. When he's not studying medicine, he can be seen coaching Notre Dame (formerly with the Minnesota Vikings as an assistant coach), or writing masterpieces of journalistic advertising, or making guest appearances in a novel by E. Lynn Harris. All other rumored Web appearances are lies. |
If you find any errors, typos or anything else worth mentioning,
please send it to editor@sfsite.com.
Copyright © 1996-2014 SF Site All Rights Reserved Worldwide