In Today’s Journal
* About Hemingway, Part 3
* Of Interest
About Hemingway, Part 3
My writer friend Andrew asked a few more questions, and those led to this post. My thanks to him. And while I’m thinking about it, here’s a link to subscribe to his Substack for new stories and updates on his books.
As I said in my response (much of which appears below) I only wish he’d asked these specific questions before I published the Author Intrusion book. As it stands, I’m considering adding “A Pre-Introduction” to the beginning of the book to include some of what’s below, then republishing it.
First to Andrew’s questions:
1. “What are your thoughts about exposition (giving background information about a certain person, place, or thing or explaining something) and is it okay for a writer to describe something and then give a little background information on it, provided the author doesn’t slow down the story by intruding? Hemingway seems to give at least a little background to certain places and people.”
(1.) Okay, first, not all author intrusions slow down the story. Some of them, like an adjective the writer adds to a setting description because he ‘thinks’ it’s necessary, can be a single word.
2 & 3. “Does exposition become author intrusion when it becomes too much? Would you define exposition differently?”
(2.) I guess it depends on your definition of “too much.” In my definition, anything the character says, thinks, or does is never too much. How can it be? He’s actually living and experiencing the story. He has zero control over future events, and is simply reacting as they occur.
Conversely, anything the author brings into the story from his own critical mind (thought) is always too much. The author has no right to add or detract or otherwise “control” the event or even to react to it in any conscious way.
As an aside, it seems strange to me that many writers don’t understand that simple fact.
Those writers (owing to myths we’ve all been taught from every direction all our lives) seem to feel it’s their actual right to control the story or even construct it from the ground up (via outlines, “thinking it through,” etc.). Yet those same writers would never even consider “correcting” another person they perceive as being “real” (say a neighbor or a relative or a stranger overheard when he’s talking) as that other person relates an event and his reactions to that event. I can only conclude that those writers don’t perceive their characters as “real.”
So to me, the only need for conscious thought on the part of the fictionist occurs external to the story and before it begins: He must consciously decide whether he believes the characters actually exist.
- If he believes the characters and their world exists, then he can set aside all other considerations, including his own thoughts, and simply record the events of the story and the characters’ reactions to those events as he runs through the story with the characters.
- If he doesn’t truly believe the characters and their world exists, then he will “make stuff up” and the characters and the story will be mere extensions of himself and his imaginings.
(3.) Yes, I agree with your definition of “exposition,” but the term itself (like “balance” and “narrative” and “dialogue,” etc.) is yet another word coined by critics (not writers) to create a division among parts of a story as they were deconstructing it.
Another observation about Hemingway is that his intention always was to write in such a way that it was impossible for the reader to distinguish between fiction and reportage, which back then lacked the intentional insertion of the reporter’s personal opinion and was the reporting of actual facts. I think that intention figures into how Hemingway wrote the passages you referred to.
I agree with him that the reader should believe he’s reading a true accounting of events even when he obviously knows he’s reading fiction. I’m also fortunate in that I’ve always had a sense of that. In fact, in my early days as a fiction writer I used to say “Historians do their best to accurately record true stories that have already happened; fictionists write true stories that haven’t happened yet.”
Knowing me, I probably thought that sounded witty, but also a little smart-alecky (per my personality).
But over the course of millions of words of practice, it became evident—at least to me—that other dimensions or other worlds actually exist, and that they are populated with other people: those we call “our” characters.
In fact, these days I seldom think or say “my” characters. I most often think of them as “the” characters. There’s a difference, and the difference is respect for another living entity.
So I’ve revised my original statement: “Historians do their best to accurately record true stories that have already happened in our world; true fictionists do their best to accurately record true stories that happened or are ongoing in their characters’ world.”
Note that I saw no need to specifically mention “dimensions” or any of that because, again, at least to me: Another dimension, an alternate universe, or in the writer’s creative subconscious—where the characters and their world exist doesn’t matter. All that’s necessary is that the writer believes they and it do exist.
Then again, maybe I’m mental. (grin)
Still, I believe in order to “accurately record true stories that happened or are ongoing in their characters’ world,” above all other considerations the fictionist must give himself over fully to that story and that world. He must set aside his own self (ego) and his own logic, beliefs, and experiences and even his own physical and emotional senses.
In some cases—e.g., when writing some SF or fantasy or including aspects of either in other genres—he must set aside even his own sense of physics and other “facts” that are limited to his home world.
To practice that ability, as the writer races through the story attempting to keep up with the characters, he must trust and accurately record what the POV character sees, hears, smells, tastes, and feels both physically and emotionally. To do otherwise is to commit an unwelcome and unnecessary intrusion on the story and the world in which the story is set.
I believe Hemingway’s fiction is so consistently good precisely because he was able to do that.
Of Interest
Got A Question On Last Night’s Post
Why Readers Love Flawed Characters This is a very good article.