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Troubadour
One thing every writer should do--and especially genre writers--is steal prolifically. Flagrantly. Proudly.
Now, of course most of your probably already know this, but I want to talk about where to steal from, and why that matters. Since I've been working on my first novel, I've been reading a great deal of epic fantasy novels in order to get a better feel for the genre--as much as I've enjoyed fantasy games and movies over the years, my reading habits have mostly trended literary or non-fiction. Therefore this fantasy binge led to many useful insights and plenty of useful theft, especially in terms of world complexity, archetypes, and genre conventions (the ones I find worth adhering to, anyway).
But there's another reason to steal, and one for which genre fiction is a poor victim: style!
Growing up, I had an English professor for a mother, so my taste in books was naturally literary. It was just the way I was raised. If I wanted fantasy, I'd read the Iliad. As I've grown older, I've lost some of my interest in literary fiction, especially of the contemporary variety, because I like grand plots and epic adventures, and The Corrections-style suburban ennui doesn't really cut it for me. But there's one thing I still love about literary fiction, and that's the prose. We can argue all day about the merits of literature versus genre--and for me anyway, I'll take genre at this point in my life. But one thing any reasonable writer should be able to admit is that the quality of prose tends to be tremendously better in literary works. Think about as style versus substance, if that's a more amenable perspective.
Why is this important? Well, it can change the way you write everything. For instance, there's a lot of talk on this board (and among fantasy-readers generally) about "infodump" and related concepts. We all bemoan the tendencies of people like GRRM to spend twelve pages at a go describing every morsel of food and stitch of fabric in a scene. And so, in my reading of genre fiction, I became averse to this sort of over-description. But in that process of learning what not to do by reading the genre, I forgot what I could do, if I elevated my prose. Here's what I mean:
This is from Saul Bellow's The Adventures of Augie March, my favorite novel. It happens to have an epic scope and grand adventure, even if it is set in 20th century America. The quote is from a section some two pages long (with about one paragraph break in the whole thing) that's nothing but description and scene-setting. But it's beautiful. It's heartbreaking.
ah, the gray of that felt, the gray despotic to souls
she had very few of her teeth left--to heed the knocks as they come
Sentences like these thrill the reader with emotion, and draw you into the world and the characters. This is not useless description. And yet, it to some extent fits the criteria of an "infodump," especially as it continues for a good long while afterwards. What Saul Bellow reminded me of was that with voice and elegance, description ceases to be a chore for the reader and becomes a delight. Even physical characterization becomes a way to describe the characters and world in emotional, meaningful terms. It can create atmosphere and establish themes.
We can eschew the sterile, pragmatic, literal descriptions that sometimes plague our genre by cutting out such description entirely--or we can rise above, and elevate it to something masterful. This is what literary theft helps a writer to do.
Now, Saul Bellow was one of the greatest masters of English prose in history--and I am not. But that's OK. I can learn from him, and from others that I love. I can pick up tips and tricks and emulate them in my own way, and in genre fiction which places emphasis on originality of plot--not prose--that is wholly acceptable. So steal, friends! Steal from Dostoevsky, Dickens, Chabon and Bellow! Steal from Homer and the Bard and Chaucer, if that gives you a thrill. But steal, and steal well.
Who do you steal from?
Now, of course most of your probably already know this, but I want to talk about where to steal from, and why that matters. Since I've been working on my first novel, I've been reading a great deal of epic fantasy novels in order to get a better feel for the genre--as much as I've enjoyed fantasy games and movies over the years, my reading habits have mostly trended literary or non-fiction. Therefore this fantasy binge led to many useful insights and plenty of useful theft, especially in terms of world complexity, archetypes, and genre conventions (the ones I find worth adhering to, anyway).
But there's another reason to steal, and one for which genre fiction is a poor victim: style!
Growing up, I had an English professor for a mother, so my taste in books was naturally literary. It was just the way I was raised. If I wanted fantasy, I'd read the Iliad. As I've grown older, I've lost some of my interest in literary fiction, especially of the contemporary variety, because I like grand plots and epic adventures, and The Corrections-style suburban ennui doesn't really cut it for me. But there's one thing I still love about literary fiction, and that's the prose. We can argue all day about the merits of literature versus genre--and for me anyway, I'll take genre at this point in my life. But one thing any reasonable writer should be able to admit is that the quality of prose tends to be tremendously better in literary works. Think about as style versus substance, if that's a more amenable perspective.
Why is this important? Well, it can change the way you write everything. For instance, there's a lot of talk on this board (and among fantasy-readers generally) about "infodump" and related concepts. We all bemoan the tendencies of people like GRRM to spend twelve pages at a go describing every morsel of food and stitch of fabric in a scene. And so, in my reading of genre fiction, I became averse to this sort of over-description. But in that process of learning what not to do by reading the genre, I forgot what I could do, if I elevated my prose. Here's what I mean:
Mama passed the dog's dish to Grandma, and Winne received her food at the old lady's feet from the old lady's hands. These hands and feet were small; she wore a shriveled sort of lisle on her legs and her slippers were gray--ah, the gray of that felt, the gray despotic to souls--with pink ribbons. Mama, however, had large feet, and around the house she wore men's shoes, usually without strings, and a dusting or mobcap like someone's fanciful cotton effigy of the form of the brain. She was meek and long, round-eyed like Georgie--gentle green round eyes and a gentle freshness of color in her long face. Her hands were work-reddened and she had very few of her teeth left--to heed the knocks as they come--and she and Simon wore the same ravelly coat-sweaters.
This is from Saul Bellow's The Adventures of Augie March, my favorite novel. It happens to have an epic scope and grand adventure, even if it is set in 20th century America. The quote is from a section some two pages long (with about one paragraph break in the whole thing) that's nothing but description and scene-setting. But it's beautiful. It's heartbreaking.
ah, the gray of that felt, the gray despotic to souls
she had very few of her teeth left--to heed the knocks as they come
Sentences like these thrill the reader with emotion, and draw you into the world and the characters. This is not useless description. And yet, it to some extent fits the criteria of an "infodump," especially as it continues for a good long while afterwards. What Saul Bellow reminded me of was that with voice and elegance, description ceases to be a chore for the reader and becomes a delight. Even physical characterization becomes a way to describe the characters and world in emotional, meaningful terms. It can create atmosphere and establish themes.
We can eschew the sterile, pragmatic, literal descriptions that sometimes plague our genre by cutting out such description entirely--or we can rise above, and elevate it to something masterful. This is what literary theft helps a writer to do.
Now, Saul Bellow was one of the greatest masters of English prose in history--and I am not. But that's OK. I can learn from him, and from others that I love. I can pick up tips and tricks and emulate them in my own way, and in genre fiction which places emphasis on originality of plot--not prose--that is wholly acceptable. So steal, friends! Steal from Dostoevsky, Dickens, Chabon and Bellow! Steal from Homer and the Bard and Chaucer, if that gives you a thrill. But steal, and steal well.
Who do you steal from?