I can’t help but cringe when I read that a story or novel should have a “hook”. While I agree that a beginning should be interesting, all the writing manuals in the world have emphasised this point so strenuously that every mediocre, or even less-than-mediocre writer has learned to start his story with one. Well, I’m not fooled. The hooks are transparent. They’re easy, and by no means an indication that the rest of the story is going to be interesting. Here are the kinds of opening sentences that are meant to hook the reader.
By the time we’d got Simon disentangled, the mailman was dead.
For years I’d been looking half-heartedly for my name in the dictionary. Nothing, however, prepared me for the shock of actually finding it.
“You can pray all you want,” Chris said. “God’s not listening. And besides, he’d never take an interest in dominos.”
I admit they’re silly, but that’s all there is to it. You could fill volumes with them. (Calvino, in his lecture on Quickness, mentions a Guatemalan writer, Augusto Monterroso, who wrote a story consisting only of one sentence: “When I woke up, the dinosaur was still there.” ) They’re so easy to come up with, and the writers who insist on them so mediocre, that they are a guarantee that what you read will not live up to the promise (if you can truly say there is any) of that first sentence. They should, like Monterroso, just stop there, because that’s as good as it gets.
How’s this for a first sentence?
Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet.
Not particularly promising by today’s standard. I can hear the whining shits in writing workshops complain, “The hook’s not strong enough.” And yet, it’s from one of the greatest stories ever written, “The Dead”. Joyce’s story is the opposite of the hook-approach. The reader is lulled by forty-odd pages of interesting but somewhat uneventful writing into thinking that nothing is going to happen and shocked by the magnitude of what eventually does.
The writing that is taught in manuals, and I imagine in workshops, is so formulaic, and its practitioners so unimaginative that for some time I had been suspecting that its effect was not only to lead writers (and publishers too, I suspect) to think that there is only one way to begin a story, but was also creating a new kind of reader: one who immediately punishes the piece of writing that fails to observe the rules by refusing to read it.
This suspicion was confirmed a few days ago when I was browsing around in Amazon. I’ve been interested in Paul Auster lately. I don’t know, and am not that interested, in how good a writer he is. He has rekindled my interest in story-telling, and I’m reading everything I can find by him and letting his influence on me run its course. I find it liberating. I went to Amazon to check out people’s comments on Leviathan. While I was there, I came across Roger Angle.
Angle is supposedly a writer, and claims to have been nominated for a Pulitzer once for reporting. I rarely go to Amazon. It’s enough to make someone who wants to be a writer give it all up. If I ever entertained populist notions, I’d be cured in about two seconds of browsing there. It’s depressing. I’ll admit they’re cheap shots, and have little to do with the main point of this post, but I can’t help but quote some of Angle’s critical gems.
Of Haruki Murakami’s Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, he writes:
The narrative lacks a sense of place. Although it is set in Tokyo, we don’t see it or hear or smell it. We don’t learn anything about the city or way it is laid or out or how it would feel to be there. The focus is on the main guy and his day-to-day life. Although it is set in Tokyo, there is no sense that this is a romantic or exotic place.
You know why, Roger? Because Murakami’s Japanese, and Tokyo isn’t the least bit romantic or exotic to him. It just happens to be the city he lives in.
Most of Angle’s reviews are of pulp, although he sometimes reviews more “serious” fiction. I find the one on Ondaatje’s Anil’s Ghost quite funny, especially in light of the Auster review.
I loved this book and can’t wait to read it again. The older I get the less I can stand best-sellers, with their rampant exposition and lack of trust in the reader. This is just the opposite. Ondaatje trusts you to figure out the story, to add two and two, which is part of the pleasure of novel reading, I think. His use of language, his keen insight into the characters, the depth to which he plumbs the human heart — all make this a first-rate novel. The only novels I would rank above it are Cormac McCarthy’s “Blood Meridian,” Melville’s “Moby Dick” and James Joyce’s “Ulysses.”
This guy who claims his favourite novel is Ulysses actually spends most of his time reviewing crime fiction and reviews books he hasn’t even finished. Now, keep in mind what he writes about “rampant exposition and lack of trust in the reader” and Ondaatje’s belief in the reader “to add two and two”. Although he finds it harder to stand best-sellers, this is his review of Leviathan after reading only ten pages.
The strategy of the story-telling didn’t work for me.
I found the first ten pages so annoying and tedious that I couldn’t read any further.
What I gather from the first 10 pp is that:
1. The dead guy had a “terrible secret.” I need to know up front what this is, to keep reading. I won’t read another page to find out.
2. The narrator knew the dead guy but doesn’t want to tell FBI. I can’t imagine why, and I don’t care. This is supposed to be a hook, I guess, but it doesn’t work that way for me. Just tell me, right off the bat. At least give me a hint.
3. The dead guy blew himself up for a reason. We don’t know what that is. Right now-during the whole 10 pp-I don’t give a tinker’s damn. I guess this is supposed to be another hook. You have to give me at least a hint. Otherwise I just do a dim-out.I took a workshop from the novelist John Rechy one time. He said: If you keep saying, in your book, “I have a mystery that I’m going to tell you,” and you say it over and over again, it becomes maddening. It will make you put the book down. That is what happened to me here.
Thank God I can just put it down and forget about it.
Whew. What a relief.
Angle, you’re in no position to comment on what Auster says “over and over again”. After a mere ten pages, you have nothing but false impressions. You don’t know jack shit about this book’s strategy. Auster never delays explaining the explosion. The explosion isn’t the point. If Auster has made any mistake, it’s trusting fools like you to put two and two together.
What really impressed me about this review was that it confirmed what I’d been suspecting for some time: that now lazy, formulaic writers have become lazy, formulaic readers, unable to go on if someone hasn’t followed the rules and written the proper opening. When I read it, I hadn’t read Angle’s profile and didn’t know that he’s supposed to be a writer (he doesn’t really mention getting published). The reference to the workshop said it all. Roger Angle just had to put the book down: John Rechy had told him to find it maddening.
As you note, the problem is that the whole thing is circular. Crap authors review other crap authors and say this is how it’s done. An orthodoxy forms and those with taste are left scratching their heads.
In alt.fiction.original, I have found myself many, many times saying “don’t think you *have* to have a twist”, because story after story is a dull crawl towards an awesomely unoriginal twist. The stories so strongly say “I will have a twist” that all you want to do is turn to the end and see whether the twist really was worth trawling through the bullshit to get to it.
It’s always easier to criticise someone else’s work rather than write your own. Those who can’t–review.
(I must point out that this is the first time I’ve read a review of a reviewer. To me, that certainly qualifies as a ‘twist’ in the blogosphere. LOL)
Degree of difficulty is irrelevant. Criticism and writing are two different activities. Not all good critics are good writers, and not all writers are good critics.
In addition, a review is a quick consumer’s guide. Criticism seeks to illuminate, and assessment is a by-product of this.
The notion that critics are failed writers is a cliche tossed about by people who don’t really know anything about the subject or really have any interest in it. It’s like the idea that only a good writer can be a reliable critic. There is, at the heart of it, something illogical.
If you, Seawitch, wrote a book, and I wanted to know if it was any good, I would have to ask a good writer to assess it. Not being a good writer myself, I would not have the means to determine who this good writer is. I would have to ask a third critic/writer to recommend one for me. But of course, I’d have no way of knowing if this third writer was good or knew what he was talking about. And so on.
Try applying this notion to other activities. Only a chef is qualified to tell you that your food tastes good? Is someone who endeavours to explain why the food does or doesn’t taste good and, in the second case, explain why, a failed chef? Or just someone with a separate talent — that of a perceptive palate and the ability to explain clearly and insightfully?
I must point out that this is the first time I’ve read a review of a reviewer. To me, that certainly qualifies as a ‘twist’ in the blogosphere. LOL
Really? You should “get out” more often then. This is nothing by internet standards. Anyone who has a blog knows that what you post can be mindlessly commented on by anyone with a keyboard and a pulse. My post was not a review, however. It was a rant about bad habits in writing becoming bad habits in reading.
Apparently Evelyn Waugh once said that it’s bad form to give a bad review to a book you haven’t read.
As ADD slowly becomes accepted as the psychological standard of normative behaviour, new forms of reviewing will emerge. In the future, books will not be reviewed in their entirety. Capsule reviews will be of capsules within the book: “UPDIKE’S PAGE 236 SHINES!” “ANOTHER FAILED ATTEMPT AT PAGE 46 BY FRANZEN!”
Ah, good ol’ Finn!
You made my day, pal. I’m going to copy down your comment on a slip of paper, keep it in my wallet, and read it whenever this craggy visage needs to smile.
The notion that critics are failed writers is a cliche tossed about by people who don’t really know anything about the subject or really have any interest in it.
Your condescension here is unwarranted.
Using the same logic, the notion that reviewers are actually qualified to review is just as naive as you have so deftly demonstrated with Angle’s critiques.
I’m sorry, Seawitch, but you’re going to have to clarify. You say people who can’t write review and then proceed to call my post a review. Who are you talking about in your first statement? Me or Angle? I took your comment (and others did too) as snide. I was even advised to ignore your comment.
Perhaps there was a misunderstanding.
I don’t know if Angle is a bad writer. He may have real talent. But he is advocating bad habits, and is demonstrating them.
I do believe that it’s a cliche. People who are not particularly interested in the aesthetic questions behind the making of art and the study of it often show a resentment towards people who they feel are merely expressing an opinion. In their view all opinions have equal weight and value.
(Why do you think “Eleftheria, Oxford” decided to weigh in with her carefully considered and eloquently expressed argument in my previous post? She couldn’t resist, probably, what she saw as my arrogance. Who am I to have strong opinions and hold forth so prescriptively?)
But I don’t know anyone interested in such things who reads a critic to learn his or her opinion. They’re interested in the argument and how it’s defended. This is far from easy to do, and it’s ridiculous to say that good critics are doing what they do because they have failed at it. They understand what the writer is doing. The writer doesn’t necessarily understand what he or she is doing. They just do it, and a lot of it is intuitive, although the craft still has to be learned. The critic’s talent is to appreciate — intuitively or not — the writer’s success and clarify how it comes about. (Critics also discuss significance, influence, etc., which enrich the reading experience.) But, as I’ve said, the writer is not necessarily conscious of these things. The critic cannot help but be.
Now, if you disagree, I’d be interested in reading why.
Using the same logic, the notion that reviewers are actually qualified to review is just as naive as you have so deftly demonstrated with Angle’s critiques.
Sorry, but I don’t understand what you mean. Who has claimed that reviewers are or are not qualified to review? I don’t remember saying anything about that. I’m not really concerned with reviewers. My issue, in my post, is not with them. In most cases, they’re merely providing a quick recommendation to the consumer. A notable exception is James Wood. His reviews are more like essays and are often a lesson in good writing.
I am sooooooo very sorry Thomas. I guarantee you that I did not intend to be snide at all. My remark was solely intended for the likes of Mr. Angle. I was referring to his reviews not yours based totally on the absurdity of his book critiques which you quoted in your blog.
SeaWitch said…
Using the same logic, the notion that reviewers are actually qualified to review is just as naive as you have so deftly demonstrated with Angle’s critiques.
In my first post, I was referring only to Angle’s reviews of books when I said that “those who can’t…review”. It was an ‘off-the-cuff’ remark in response to the examples you provided of his baseless comments on books.
In my second post, I thought I made it clear (at least in my head, it made sense) that your review of HIS reviews was much more accurate and justified. Therefore, in my humble opinion, your review holds weight. I considered your conclusions of his writing/reviews to be absolutely justified and definitely much better written. You can write. He is a failed author-cum-reviewer based on the examples you provided in your blog. With his flawed reasoning, I can’t see how he could really be anything but a second-rate reviewer. That was the differentiation I was trying to make. It is obvious that I completely failed to make that comparison for which I completely apologize.
Just because people are literate, does not mean they can review someone else’s work much less publish their own. Likewise, just because someone eats food does not mean they are qualified to critique a 5-star chef.
When I choose to buy books, I do so based on many recommendations and never on the conclusions of one reviewer alone for the simple fact that many reviewers are simply not qualified to write a review such as the one you have written on Angle. You were able to do it because I think you do have an innate writing talent. This is why I truly enjoy reading your blog. You actually have something to say and you say it well.
Again, please accept my apology for having been so ambiguous in my own comments. I, by no means, intended to insult you. In fact, it was quite the opposite…I wanted to compliment you on yet another well-written blog. I will be more careful with my comments in here in the future.
And I apologise, Seawitch, for the condescension. However, I mean everything I say. I just want to make it very clear that I don’t imply that any of it is intended for you.
By the way, you might be surprised to learn the result of a quick google: 1) Angle has three short stories published on the internet, one of which won the Random House Bold Type contest in 2000. It’s fairly competent, but the other two get worse; and 2) he’s taught at least one fiction course.
[...] I understand the concept of hooking the reader right from the start. Sad to say, but in today’s book market it’s essential. And, as a big consumer of suspense/thriller type stories, most of which start out with massive death and destruction, I understand this is one way to set the hook. However, it’s not the only way and not always the best way. A blog I read frequently had a post awhile back that I found helpful as well as encouraging after the recent info-dump remark. [...]