And the Novel Matters Because...

So, we're still askin' - why does the novel matter? God knows why (and I'm not being flippant). He should get credit for coining the most elementary of writing techniques: show, don't tell. Such a smarty-pants, He is. He knows so well what will get our attention.

The stories of the Bible are basic and life-changing, whether parable or true account. They are short and to the point, imparting truth and morals without preaching.  I don't remember being dissatisfied with a lack of details as a child. Indeed, we were discouraged from what was considered 'embellishing' scripture.  As a fiction writer, my curiosity now pricks at familiar stories that raise more questions for me than they answer. I find myself applying story-developing techniques, not to embellish, but to glean the most from the story. I speculate as to what the character felt, saw, imagined or concluded.

When we read (and write) fiction, we practice putting ourselves in another's shoes.  We develop empathy for characters, whether fictional or true to life.  This makes the stories of the Bible come alive as it did for me recently as I read again the familiar account of Saul's conversion. 

Saul is a young rising star. He has always gone by the book, jumped through all the hoops, and God is rewarding him for his diligence and righteousness.  His confidence explodes as he now wields the power of life and death over sinners.  He senses God's approval of him, endorsing and rewarding his actions.  Heady stuff for a young man. He's on the express elevator to the top.  Even his peers agree.

Then, on the road to Damascus, he is plunged into darkness.  He hears a voice, but it's not saying God approves of him.  Quite the opposite. Self doubt and confusion bring him to his knees. Is everything he's worked and devoted his life to a sham, or is the evil one trifling with him?  How could he be so wrong? It's not fair.  Fear sets in.   He has enemies in the church and he is at his most vulnerable. In his tortured, confused mind, he imagines the friends and family of those he imprisoned and killed to be close and plotting for his blood, or at least, celebrating his downfall. What if his companions abandon him now?  He would be left at their mercy. He grows despondent suffering from severe depression and doesn't eat or drink for 3 days. A once-great man, he is now completely humbled and degraded.  Life doesn't make sense anymore. His future is gone.  He gives up.

Ananias hears about Saul's condition and perhaps he revels in it. News travels like wildfire.  It's payback time. God is faithful.  He has our back!  But when God tells him to go to Saul to heal him, Ananias reminds God who he's dealing with. Are you sure you want to do that? Since God told Saul that Ananias was on his way, it would be like walking into a trap, and Ananias isn't exactly known for his guts. Perhaps he second-guesses the vision.  Was it really from God, or just a figment of his imagination? Eventually he realizes that it's too true to doubt.  Since God has never actually spoken directly to Ananias in this manner before, he has no choice but to obey. Ananias kisses his wife and children (for the last time, he wonders?) and heads out without telling them where he is going.  He feels a measure of peace in obedience which is better than defying God.  As he nears the street where Saul awaits, Ananias wonders whether his fellow Christians, especially those who have had loved ones imprisoned, will consider him a traitor and doubt his love of Jesus when Saul is back on his feel again.

Anyway, you get the picture. This is the way my mind works, sticking to the scripture and putting flesh onto the characters. Reading and writing fiction makes them come alive, and this is why the novel matters to me.

Do you feel that reading (and writing) impacts your understanding and appreciation of stories in scripture? We'd love to hear.

Narrative Transport

Our dear Latayne is in limbo without internet at the moment, so we have reposted this excellent contribution.  She will be back soon!

Every once in a while I read something that so aptly describes something related to writing and reading that I want everyone to read it.

Such is the case in the following brief quote from the foreword to a collection of short stories of a rare genre: Christian science fiction. The book is Leaps of Faith, edited by Karina and Robert Fabian.

I was a teenager when I read The Lord of the Rings for the first time. Afterwards, I wanted to believe it was true: that somehow, somewhen, elves had walked the earth, men had lived heroic, tragic lives, and curious creatures called hobbits had once saved everyone from evil triumphant before sinking back into well-earned obscurity. . .

 I didn’t analyze it at the time, but allowed myself to be swept up and away by the power of mere words on a page.

 Three decades later, I can put a scientific name to that experience: narrative transport. It describes our capacity to be taken out of our mundane lives, immersed in another world and our feelings irresistibly tied to those of the story’s characters. Whether this capacity is hardwired by evolution, designed by God, or both, it appears there is part of us that can only be accessed by stories. Storytelling is as ubiquitous in human society as religion is, whether that culture is past, present, or future. We tell stories because we have to. We are made that way.

--Dr. Simon Morden

How about you? What book has effected such a "narrative transport" for you?

The Must-Have List for Novels

It's time for what we call the Novel Matters Roundtable. Each of us weighs in on a question asked by the designated inquiring mind. This month it's Patti Hill. But you can't just sit there and read--no, no, no. Your ideas matter just as much as ours. We love chatting up the craft of story and the question-of-the-year, Why does the novel matter. 

By the way, next Monday the 28th, Claudia Mair Burney, gifted storyteller and novelist, will be here to answer that question for us. Today, the question is this, and we have so much to learn from you:

WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A NOVEL?

Author Yiyun Li answers this question in The Secret Miracle: The Novelist's Handbook like this: "I look for a world--sometimes it is one as familiar as this one world we have, and sometimes it is a strange world that perhaps would only happen in a dream--but in either case when I read a novel I look to live in that world along with the characters."

Genre isn't the first thing I look for when choosing the next read. For me the potential novel must ask a question that makes my heart itch for an answer, or provide a glimpse of an answer, or a voyeur's opportunity to see the question through another person's eyes, even--or especially--if it's a question I've never thought to ask. It's the what-if question. What if four women of very different backgrounds with a common urgency to survive found themselves in the dovecote of Masada? (The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman) What if an English village committed to containing the plague within its boundaries by isolating itself from the world? (Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks) What if a 14-year-old Lithuanian girl is deported to a Siberian work camp by Stalin's goons? (Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys) Like Li, I lived the characters of these novels, and they left me changed forever. Hmm. Interesting. All of these books are historical fiction. Perhaps I should rethink the genre thing.

Like Patti, I don't run to genre novels--though I've read a few I enjoyed--and tend toward non-genre, literary (think Doris Lessing), and more recently, that in-between novel that fits everywhere and nowhere (Time Traveler's Wife, The Book Thief, The Kingdom of Ohio, The Cat's Table to name a few recent/favourite reads). Among the six of us here at Novel Matters we're forever recommending books to each other. This, I think, is our second fastest glue one that holds us so close. Sometimes when we ask each other how the other person is, we phrase it as, "What are you reading right now?"

But, when I go hunting for a read,what am I looking for? I think I'm just looking. For a hole in the wall, a stargate, a portal, a beckoning voice. I bought Let the Great World Spin because the first paragraph had me holding my breath, tilting my head to see the tightrope walk that materialized above my head. I didn't need to know why he was there, it was enough for me that McCann conjured him. I'm looking for someone to tell me a story in a world where people only tell me their opinions.

If, however, you were to pin me to a wall and force me to choose (please don't), I would say what I'm looking for are complex stories told from varying points of view, with an eye for undercurrent details, and written with the light hand of respect--for the characters and the reader.

While I too have my favorite genre, it's seldom the thing that compels me to read a book. It's just that mostly my favorites fall into a specific category. But not always. Some of my favorite books over the past 2 or 3 years haven't fallen into that category at all. For example, The Circle Trilogy: Black, Red & White, by Ted Dekker; The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, as Bonnie mentioned; The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. All very different novels, and I loved them all. So genre matters, but not entirely.

I always read the first page or two of a novel I'm considering, and if something doesn't grab me by the end of the 2nd or 3rd page -- forget it. Or if something turns me off within those couple of pages, again, forget it.

First and foremost I need a character to pull me in to his or her story. If I can hear the voice of the narrator or POV character from page one, and it's a voice that entices, I'll stay to the very end no matter where we're headed. If the story seems superficial or the POV character shallow, I'll put it down, because I don't want to waste my precious reading time. It's nice if there's a burning question that I hope the author finds the answer to. But even that isn't necessary for me to deeply engage in a story. Just give me a character to relate to. That, for me, matters most.
==================================

Good characters are important. I must have someone worth taking the trip with.

I did love Let the Great World Spin, but not for the high-wire - I get light-headed even reading about such things. I loved the book for the wondrous character of John Corrigan - it turned out he was the only reason I loved the book, but he was enough. To illustrate:

"He slept on his stomach with a view out the window to the dark, reciting his prayers—he called them his slumber verses—in quick, sharp rhythms. They were his own incantations, mostly indecipherable to me, with odd little cackles of laughter and long sighs. The closer he got to sleep the more rhythmic the prayers got, a sort of jazz, though sometimes in the middle of it all I could hear him curse, and they’d be lifted away from the sacred. I knew the Catholic hit parade—the Our Father, the Hail Mary—but that was all. I was a raw, quiet child, and God was already a bore to me. I kicked the bottom of Corrigan’s bed and he fell silent awhile, but then started up again. Sometimes I woke in the morning and he was alongside me, arm draped over my shoulder, his chest rising and falling as he whispered his prayers."

Acrophobia notwithstanding, I love a sort of high-wire act in a story - a daring, spectacular risk in style or subject matter. The Book Thief is such a book, a story narrated by the angel of death in a style that knocks you off center. Gilead is another - a slow reading, meditative tale that no one but a genious could have written. It still moves me, years after the first reading.

 Oh - and a book must contain wonder if I'm to truly love it. I believe there is beauty tucked in like Easter eggs in every life, and its the novelists job to find them, by golly. If art doesn't give me eyes to see, then what is its purpose? Is it even art?

I look for characters that I respect.  Their lives may be a mess and they may be searching for truth or to find God in their situation, but they respond honestly and look inward as well as upward.  The are multi-dimensional - never flat and predictable.  The correct course of action may be simple, but it's not a simple matter for them to choose it.  They struggle with their human condition but in the end, choose rightly.  We need to see the process and see them overcome.  I guess you could say I'm looking for everyday heroes.

A novel has to promise a kind of richness of experience for me to spend time inside its covers. One of the very best examples of this is Katy's book, The Feast of Saint Bertie. Even before I knew our precious Katy, I was drawn in by the book's cover. It has a cool medallion with scallops anchoring the letters of the title. It has warm, almost-clashing but satisfying colors. The pomegranate has a deep shadowed floret end. There are plums and leaves and juicy pomegranate seeds. The woman looks off into the distance with a slight smile. A feast of a saint implies history and tradition, but the name Bertie is almost flippant and modern.  I couldn't wait to get into the book, and its opening scenario -- a woman's house burns to the ground the day of her husband's funeral, and she can't find their son to tell him his father died.

Wow. A wow cover, a wow opening, a wow book. That's what I look for in a good book.

Book Review: Zora & Nicky by Claudia Mair Burney

Not long ago, I read a book, non-fiction, entitled Love Revolution, by Gaylord Enns. In the book, Pastor Enns reveals that the church has for most of its history passed over the one great New Testament commandment, in favor of a safer, more comfortable Old Testament one.

The commandment we favor is the one that says we shall love our neighbor as ourselves. The one we’ve passed over is the only new commandment Jesus ever gave, and that is that we love one another as he has loved us.

Do you see the difference? Does it frighten you?

Love Revolution is a wonderful book, one of a few non-fictions from this century that have blown my mind. It’s the kind of book that leaves me with more questions than I came with, and a frantic need to know: What would that kind of love, the love of Jesus incarnate in the church look like? How would it walk and talk in this world, this life?

On May 28 we will host a guest-blogger who has written a novel that comes as close to walking me through that answer as I’ve seen in any book, non-fiction or fiction. Our guest will be Claudia Mair Burney and the novel  is titled Zora & Nicky.

Madeleine L’Engle once said she liked books that have something underneath. Zora & Nicky has a universe underneath – or perhaps even a heaven.

It’s a romance, and I rarely read romances, owing to a bias that began when I was twelve and read halfway through a Halrlequin book or two, or maybe less than halfway.  I felt, even then, that something ought to happen in a story besides two people falling in love, swooning, weeping, slapping faces and waiting by the phone.

More happens in Zora & Nicky – Claudia made sure. To start, she made Zora black and Nicky white and drew them from controlling, bigoted families intent on keeping them apart, but that’s just the beginning of sorrows.  On the surface, this book is about a bi-racial couple falling in love. Underneath it is about how estranged we all are, what a failure to love and be loved has done to each of us, and how we mend the tears. The picture of restoration Claudia offers is like a heart-wrenching glimpse of a home far away. It not only walks us through the living out of Jesus’ great commandment, but it provides a compelling answer to the question of why the novel matters, and what a specifically Christian-themed novel can offer: a frank, enchanting exploration of the broken, God-soaked world we all inhabit.

Claudia Mair Burney, fearless explorer, we can’t wait to hear from you.

And you, dear readers, please discuss Zora and Nicky if you’ve read it, or any other book that came to mind as you read this post. We love to read what you have to say. 

The First Two Questions to Ask When Starting to Write a Novel.

I’m not in the habit of quoting Zig Ziglar, but the dude once said this: You don’t have to be great to start you have to start to be great. It’s a nice quote if you can picture saying it sans the fist pump and jazzercise music playing in the background.

Beginning a novel is daunting. Ever since Patti Hill talked about writing as stuffing an octopus into a mayonnaise jar, I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head.

How does a writer go from holding an octopus in one hand and a mayonnaise jar in the other to a tidy stack of papers with his name neatly typed on the cover page?

If starting is the most crucial step (and it is), then starting well will save hours (months? Years?) of frustration in rewrites.

Writing fiction is personal. No two writers come at it in the same way, and no one can say, “This is the definitive method of how to begin writing a novel.”

One writer begins with a character that shows up in her head and won’t go away. Another follows the crumbs of a plot, a series of “what if” questions. For another it’s the setting. Yet another (and this is how I usually begin) it’s theme.

Regardless of what jump-starts you to dive into writing a new novel, there are two questions you need to ask yourself before you put pen to paper.

The first question is: Who is telling this story?

When you discover the answer to this question, you lay the foundation for a myriad of complex literary devices. Discovering your narrator means you’ve discovered:

 Your setting. Real people live in real places—they come from somewhere.
 When (in time and history). Narrators live in the present—even if they are dead (The Book Thief, American Beauty). 

The tense you will use. Past tense (the current champion in novels everywhere), present tense? Which is best. Is anyone out there writing in future tense? 

Voice. Ah voice, that misunderstood device of writing. Both simple and baffling. Knowing who is telling the story means you can listen deeply to that voice that lifts the words off the page and lives in the reader’s heart and mind. 

And the biggest of them all Point of View (POV). Knowing your narrator means the POV (almost) decides itself. First person? Third person limited? Omniscient? Second person (rare, but wonderful when it’s done well)? 

Now, I’m not going to say that if you choose this kind of narrator then you automatically will have this kind of POV. It doesn’t work that way because each novel is different, and the more complex the story, the more layers of questions arise. But. If you spend a good chunk of time fiddling with the question of who, something amazing happens: you get traction under your story at the very beginning.

The second question to ask is: Why must this story be told now?
The word “now” is key to the question.  It’s not asking “is my story timely?” or, “is this culturally contextual?” Those are questions about things that lie outside your story.

Why must this story be told now is a question that, when answered, brings a sense of intimacy, urgency, and intrigue to your novel. That tingly feeling you get when you open a novel and feel pulled in immediately.

Why now? What desperate thing has happened that means the narrator is compelled to speak? Now. Immediately. Today. That not telling the story now would be wrong, perhaps tragic.

Why is now the best time to tell the story? Knowing this will help you know where your story begins.

If you’re starting a new novel, ask yourself:

Who is telling this story?
Why does this story need to be told NOW?

These questions will lead to more questions, which will lead to answers, which will lead to you typing THE END with a flourish.

The God of Story

I think of him first as a storyteller, this Jesus of mine.  That might sound sacrilegious to some. He is after all Savior and Redeemer. Lion and Lamb. But to me, I would not know him as any of those had he not spoken to me first in the gentle whisper of story. Given half a chance, I would sit at his feet and listen even now. I’d follow him through those dusty streets. Stop and ponder in that crowded marketplace. Or lounge on a grass-filled hillside. Prodigal sons and lost coins, rich fools and fig trees, talents and tares – I would cross my legs and sink to the floor, chin on hands, to hear his stories. So kind of him to write them down so I can read them at my leisure. 

This has been a long year for me. And I find myself grappling with Story. I am a student, learning and listening. Over and over again I return to the parables. And I wonder what they mean to me as a writer.

Spend any time in Christian circles and you’ll eventually hear this: “Jesus knew how important stories are. That’s why he spoke in parables.” Those thirty short anecdotes sprinkled through the first four books of the New Testament are the subject of countless sermons. Yet I’ve never seen them used to teach the craft of storytelling.  

Several weeks ago this realization led me to a friend, a former NFL player and PHD in Biblical Studies. The book he handed me weighs more than my two-year-old.

“Do I need a doctorate to read this?”

He gave me a cheeky smile and a bone-rattling pat on the back. “If you want to understand the God of story, this is the book.”

Turns out, the Dictionary of Biblical Imagery is a fascinating read – if you have time to absorb all 1058 pages. Sorry to say I skimmed. My interest then, and now, lies in a mere two pages beneath the heading of “Parable,” a portion of which reads:

“The narrative qualities of the parables are a virtual case study in the “rules” of popular storytelling as we find them in folk narrative, including a reliance on archetypes…Only one of the characters (Lazarus) is named, yet as we encounter the characters of the parables we sense that we have known them already. They are universal types, possessing the traits that we and our acquaintances possess. Never has such immortality been thrust upon anonymity. We do not need to know the name of the woman who first loses and then finds her lost coin: she is every person. The family dynamics of the parables of the prodigal son and the two brothers whose father asks them to work in the vineyards could be observed at any family’s breakfast table… We come to realize that it is in the everyday world of sowing and eating and dealing with family members that people make the great spiritual decisions and that God’s grace works.”

And that’s the power of story, isn’t it? To see ourselves in the narrative. To squirm and wrestle. To celebrate. I find it interesting that overt religious references in the parables are rare. Jesus never inflects his images, never says, “Oh, by the way, that bit about the Prodigal Son is really about you and God. Wanted to make sure you caught that.” Instead, he lets me see my reflection in the story. He leaves me to wonder which part I play.

And I learn from this, tapping my thoughts onto a hard drive while my babies sleep. That’s what it means to show instead of tell. He doesn’t have to elaborate. I am shown the holy in the routine: planting and harvesting, a wedding invitation, baking bread, lighting a lamp, traveling to a distant town. The parables teach me to trust that readers understand the unspoken language of story.

“A final folktale feature of the simple stories Jesus told is their reliance on archetypes – master images that recur throughout literature and life. We think at once of such motifs as lost and found, robbed and rescued, sowing and reaping, sibling rivalry. Often these archetypes tap deep wellsprings of human psychology.”

Master images. Master storytelling. Simple and profound and, honestly, beyond the reach of my current abilities. I wish I could say that I fully understand how to apply the literary tools found in the parables to my own writing. But the truth is that I’ve only scratched the surface. Yet even as I struggle to learn this craft, he says, “Come, let me tell you a story.”

Dry Places

I'm in a dry place at the moment, creatively speaking -- and pretty much every other way if I'm being honest. It's the Sahara of dry places to be more specific. I've been writing for 26 years, and in all that time I've never been without a story. Always, by the time I'm 2/3 of the way finished with a novel I'm writing I have another story emerging from my subconscious. I have to keep the new story at bay so that I can finish the work in progress. I don't silence the voices calling to me; I keep running notes of the emerging story, but I don't give in to the excitement of the new one until the old one is finished. And as you know, it is exciting to consider the possibilities of new characters, setting and plot. It would be easy to yield to the newness, certainly easier than pressing on with the current work, dealing with plot problems perhaps, and characters who won't cooperate.

That's where discipline comes into play. Where you make yourself keep at it until every loose end is resolved, every plot point completed, and you know in your heart you've done the best you could possibly do with the work at hand.

But for the first time in 26 years I've not had to restrain eager characters who can't wait for their story to be told. Yes, I have a new novel in mind, but I've had to dig deep for every idea, every character, every everything. And that's a little bit scary.

Why this dry place? Well, all 6 of us at Novel Matters are going through tough times. Illness, death, economic difficulties, publishing woes. We're all in a hard place. While I'd love to be delivered -- and eventually will be -- I've learned enough over the years to know I should pay attention while I'm in the pit. I need to keep a good record of my feelings, both bad and good: what that churning in my stomach is like in real words, or how a long sleepless night adds to the anguish of my situation; but also what soothes my soul in the midst of despair. Because those are the things, good and bad, that help me "show" and not "tell" which Bonnie wrote so beautifully about on Wednesday. I especially loved this paragraph:

Showing isn't really about an explanation of the action occurring in a novel --
it is an exploration of the people themselves. It is taking the characters, laying them flat and rolling, like a scroll, their essence. Recognizing the
inadequacy of our efforts, we, the writers, pull out what it is to experience
the story we are telling. We examine a facet here, an angle there, all the
while weeping for the parts we cannot tell within the limitations of the medium.

How I love that last line: "weeping for the parts we cannot tell within the limitations of the medium." And yet, because of our own experience, our extreme highs and desperate lows, we convey what there aren't enough pages to capture, sharing a sense of intimacy with those we'll never meet, because of story. If we do it right. It's that connection that gives me the greatest satisfaction as an author, the nearness that occurs between writer and reader, no matter the age difference or the physical distance that separates us.

That happened to me last week. I received an email from a woman who was reading Lying on Sunday. She told me how and why she related to that particular story, about laughing all by herself at 2:00 in the morning (on a work night!) as she read. She emailed me twice more as she made her way through the book, and said she'd love to have lunch with me because she knew we'd get along so well. She said we would probably laugh so hard they would kick us out of the restaurant. And that would be just the remedy for my dry soul. Too bad New Jersey is so far from California.

Laughing with friends is one way I survive in the Sahara. Music is another. Music touches me in those troubled places like little else. I suspect it touches you too. Here's one of my favorite songs to listen to when I need my soul to be soothed: Rescue by Jared Anderson. What's it like for you in those dry places, and what rescues you while you're there?