“I’m sure he’s fine, dear,” said Sarah, “the roads are probably slippery and he has to go very slowly. I wouldn’t be too concerned.”
Just then the phone rang. Harriet pulled herself out of her chair and went into the hall to answer it. She returned a few minutes later and plopped back into the chair. “That was Michael. He said it’s really icy out and he’s decided it’s too dangerous to come back here. So he’s spending the night at home and he’ll be over tomorrow as soon as the roads are cleared.”
“Well, that’s probably best,” said Sarah in a voice that brooked no argument, “you wouldn’t want anything to happen to Michael, after all. I’m sure he’ll be here bright and early in the morning. The city is quite good about getting the streets cleared quickly. He might even be here in time for breakfast!”
Louise found herself resenting Sarah’s tone. She had been ignoring her son’s behavior the entire evening. Michael barely said two words to Louise during the party but instead had fawned over Heather, danced with her, made sure her glass was full, and introduced her to the old family friends at the party. “This is Heather Johnston, my assistant. I don’t know where I’d be without her. She’s not only my assistant, but she’s just started law school at George Washington University.” Yes, she’s going to law school at G.W. all right, with a little help from the firm and Michael in particular. Funny, I don’t remember much encouragement or assistance from Michael when I went to graduate school, Louise thought spitefully.
Evaluating this section of the prologue presents me with a couple of issues:
- Italicized inner voice – yea or nay?
- ‘Brooking no argument’ – needs lots of exploration.
They’re related, in that italicized thoughts written on the page often strikes me as a weirdly easy way to convey a character’s state of mind, desires, issues, etc., without allowing the reader to explore within word choice and tone what might be going on, to create their own imagined world. One of the reasons I adore reading is the opportunity it affords to really take me somewhere else. Somehow, whenever I read thoughts, I feel yanked back to the reality of ‘I am reading a book now’.
Similarly, phrases like ‘a voice that brooked no argument’ sort of shut down further delving. WHY didn’t it allow for argument? HOW does that statement remove room for argument? WHAT about this woman prevents these two adult women from disagreeing with her openly? Skimming through this prologue repeatedly, certain things like this snag my attention like catching nails on hose, when you gasp a little, mentally hoping they don’t rip and eyeing them suspiciously every time you put them on. (Of course, that could just be because I am seemingly incapable of wearing hose without destroying them.)
I have to question myself in the first case, because I don’t know whether other readers are as aggravated as I am by italicized thoughts. They certainly appear in a lot of romances, and occasionally in other works of fiction. [I refuse to discuss italicized foreign language words. That is like nails on a chalkboard to me.] Honestly many times when I see thoughts, I skip whatever is written, because nine times out of ten I can glean the same information from the context and dialogue, and often inner monologues are written as though people don’t create interesting statements in their minds. Often when I’m obsessing about something, planning to have a conversation I don’t want to have, or just observing people as I walk to the subway, I’m trying to create phrases that I think are beautiful, or convey the right feeling of the moment.
For example, coming back from Boston after visiting my aunt, the moment I got off the train at Penn Station I was assaulted by some of my most hated things about New York: the high-pitched screech of unlubricated subway car wheels and brakes; being elbowed out of the way or cut off by other pedestrians; mindless singing along to music so loud I can hear distinct lyrics through someone else’s headphones; the inevitable hour of extra commuting to get anywhere; swerving around people having fights through cell phones; and finally getting up my four flights of stairs to feel confined in our apartment. So I spent the better part of that commute coming up with my specific feeling about New York that day: it was like someone else’s sweaty, shaggy-haired, stained shirt-wearing, body odoriferous uncle spewing racist and offensive opinions at a high volume and rightinmyface.
But that’s just me.
It seems as though in these cases, the narrator wants it both ways – most of the book being presented as 3rd person omnipresent, but sneaking in 1st person thoughts. Assuming that Louise is the main character, and that the book will most likely be favorably narrated for her, why can’t the narrator just use ‘she thought’ and such things to describe emotions and thoughts? Already this happens when Harriet is ‘quick to hear implied criticism’, and the paragraph that ends with Louise’s thoughts is entirely about how she is thinking and feeling.
It’s the show vs. tell problem. Studying literature and theater in college, we were repeatedly instructed that good writing/directing/acting ‘shows’ something in a way that conveys meaning to an audience but doesn’t preach it to them, while obvious writing/directing/acting ‘tells’ the audience what to think. It is so much easier, I believe, to say ‘what a jerk!’ in thought-language, than a statement conveying ‘Louise mentally cursed her mother in law’ (or, obviously, a better phrase). Thought-language feels like telling to me. The alternative feels like I can have perhaps a different view of her actions. Maybe I don’t want direct access to her brain like that.
Now, this paragraph is doubly tricky for me because the entire thing is giving a huge amount of pre-prologue information to the reader. So – is this thought-language merely a tool to deliver yet more info to the reader in a different way? Is there a more subtle way that we can access this exposition? Let’s try:
Original
Louise found herself resenting Sarah’s tone. She had been ignoring her son’s behavior the entire evening. Michael barely said two words to Louise during the party but instead had fawned over Heather, danced with her, made sure her glass was full, and introduced her to the old family friends at the party. “This is Heather Johnston, my assistant. I don’t know where I’d be without her. She’s not only my assistant, but she’s just started law school at George Washington University.” Yes, she’s going to law school at G.W. all right, with a little help from the firm and Michael in particular. Funny, I don’t remember much encouragement or assistance from Michael when I went to graduate school, Louise thought spitefully.Revised
Louise immediately resented Sarah’s blithe disregard of Michael’s absence. She had been ignoring her son’s behavior the entire evening. Michael had barely said two words to Louise during the party, instead spending the evening right beside his assistant Heather. While Louise was making the rounds talking to his guests, her eye kept drifting to her husband across the room: he’d danced with Heather at least four times, checked that her glass was full, and introduced her to the old family friends at the party with his arm draped over her shoulders.Late in the evening Louise overheard him say proudly, “This is Heather Johnston, my assistant. I don’t know where I’d be without her. She’s not only my right-hand-lady, but on top of that, she’s just started law school at George Washington University.” She looked over to see him squeeze Heather’s waist, then let his hand rest there, possessively. Louise was stunned, standing rigidly still as guests mingled around her, absorbing this. When she had been struggling to finance and make time for graduate school, Michael had never even mentioned the fact to friends or colleagues. She’d suspected that the firm was assisting Heather at G.W. but to see him so baldly preening was almost more than Louise could stand. And Sarah had been standing right next to him, hostess-smile in place, not making a move to discourage him from any of it.
Thoughts?
Next time: dissecting Sarah’s ‘tone’ and seeming total dominance over the conversation with Harriet and Louise. I definitely have some thoughts about that.