Orual is a princess, but she’s anything but spoiled. She is strikingly ugly, and her father treats his daughters with the same thoughtless cruelty with which he rules his pagan kingdom. Orual eventually learns to stand up to her father, but she’s terrified of the royal priest, who wears a bird’s head on his chest, and of the deity he serves, a spooky, faceless mother-goddess.
Orual’s younger half-sister Psyche
is kind and beautiful, and Orual adores her.
As Psyche grows older, the two girls prove to be best friends. But everything changes when Psyche is offered
as a sacrifice to the son of the mother-goddess, who lives on the haunted
mountain … and she actually seems happy about it.
We Have Faces is a re-telling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, seen from
the point of view of Psyche’s supposedly jealous and evil older sisters. Like me, you will probably pick it up because
when you see the words “an ugly princess and a beautiful princess,” you
immediately go into the book expecting to identify with the ugly one. And you do.
But see whether, by the end, you don’t identify with Psyche as well.
This book is a perfect addition to
the genre of novels that write ancient pagans sympathetically, but look at
their beliefs with a critical eye.
That’s what I try to do in my books.
Mine were inspired in part by ‘Till
We Have Faces, but they will never rise to its level.
Anna Karenina by Tolstoy (1878)
If you read the back of the book,
you will be told that it is the story of Anna, a beautiful upper-class Russian
woman (pre-Revolution) who has an extramarital affair and is eventually
destroyed by society’s judgment on her sexual freedom. Well, not quite. For one thing, Anna is destroyed by the
affair itself more than by the social condemnation. For another thing, Anna is
only half of the novel.
The other half is about Levin, a
wealthy young farmer who has a spiritual crisis and loses, then regains, the
girl he loves. His long, slow upward
trajectory is the flip side of Anna’s long, slow downward one.
The writing in this novel is
amazing (assuming that you get a good translation). The psychology is beautiful. It’s also an example of a successful
The Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan (1678)
This book was first published in
1678. The language, therefore, is more
modern than Shakespeare, slightly less modern than Jane Austen, but just as
elegant and succinct as either one.
It is an allegory of one man’s
spiritual journey. It is anything but
Take the incident where Giant
Despair throws Christian and Hopeful into the dungeon in Doubting Castle. He beats them, he starves them, he tells them
they will never get out. It is
Christian’s fault they are there (he led them on a shortcut across the giant’s
lands), and he immediately begins to blame himself and apologize to
Hopeful. The giant encourages the two
men to kill themselves and even provides them with a variety of means to do
so. He also shows them the skulls of
past prisoners to emphasize that their fate is sealed.
All in all, if you have ever been
through depression (your own or a loved one’s), you will recognize this as a
precise description of the effects it has upon mind and body. This giant and his wife literally sit up at
night thinking of ways to make the prisoners’ lives miserable.
When the two prisoners finally make their escape, the giant begins to chase them. But when he comes out into the sunlight, he falls into an epileptic type of fit.
The Miss Marple books by Agatha Christie (1930s through 1960s)
Hercule Poirot is the more famous
of Christie’s sleuths, but my favorite is Miss Marple. All the other characters, being British,
consistently underestimate Poirot because he a foreigner. All the younger and more worldly characters
underestimate Miss Marple because she is an old maid who has lived in a village
all her life. They think she is likely
to be naïve and narrow in her views and experience. In fact, Miss Marple has seen quite a lot of
human nature in her 60+ years of life. As
she points out, her village may look as stagnant and sleepy as a pond, but like
a pond, is it actually alive with all kinds of vicious microscopic creatures.
Miss Marple’s method of crime
detection is to rely on her knowledge of human nature. People she meets remind her of other people
that she has once known. She can
recognize the essence of their character and even make guesses about what they
will do based on these past people’s behavior.
She never makes a point directly; her method is usually to tell a little
story about someone she once knew and then surprisingly tie it to the present
situation. Her method of thinking about
crimes is a bit more intuitive than Poirot’s.
Rather than crunching data, she recognizes stories. You could say that Poirot is a plotter and
Marple a pantser. But they both get
their man in the end.
Miss Marple is also aided by her
fantastic British manners. She is an
amazingly good listener. She is
excellent at drawing people out. People
cannot lie all the time; if you let them talk long enough, eventually they will
tell you the truth.
Miss Marple might be a little old
lady, but she is dangerous to criminals.
In one book, she wraps a pink scarf around her head before she goes out
and then introduces herself to the murderer as “Nemesis.”
Of course you doubt yourself. All grown people do. In fact, I don’t entirely trust you if you don’t.
Here is the latest thing that made me doubt myself. It starts out with Jordan Peterson classroom footage, but ignore that. At 9:30, Dave Rubin and Jordan Peterson start discussing archetypes in movies. At about 13:15, Peterson says, “The artist shouldn’t be able exactly to say what it is he’s doing.”
That gave me pause. Sure, I’m a pantser, but this isn’t about pantsing versus plotting. It’s about whether you are primarily telling a story, or primarily illustrating an idea. And anyone, plotter or pantser, can do either. This made me ask myself, I am too heavy on theme? Are any of my characters behaving less like people and more like embodiments of an idea that I love or hate? Good questions to ask.
What have you doubted lately and how are you dealing with it?
OK, that might be an exaggeration. The “endorsed” part, I mean. Not the “great.”
Andrew Klavan writes hard-boiled crime novels. Sometimes they have supernatural elements in them too. I recently discovered Klavan and have started reading through his work. Within the last week, I read Damnation Street. And it is pretty hard-boiled, let me tell you. Lots of violence, lots of language. A keen sense of human sin nature and human limitations.
The hero detective in Damnation Street, however, has a deeply buried romantic heart. And he is very intuitive in his approach to detective work. Here is a passage that describes how he operates:
[The detective, Weiss] wasn’t even sure he was trailing the right guy. It was just one of his Weissian hunches that had brought him here. And while his hunches were almost always right, he almost never trusted them. They were too vague, too unscientific. He wished he could write out the facts on a whiteboard or something and look them over and tap the pen against his chin and reach his conclusions through logic and deduction. But he never could. He just knew what he knew, so he never felt certain he knew it. (pp 77 – 78)
In fact, Weiss is trailing the right guy. And later, on page 91, we get this line:
The truth came to him in that flashing way the truth had.
That’s when he realizes he’s been wrong in certain of his assumptions about the man he was trailing.
OK, so maybe this is not endorsement of pantsing, but it’s certainly a great description of it.
Damnation Street, by Andrew Klavan, published 2006. Harcourt, Inc.
If you hang around writerly sorts, you will hear them talking about plotting and pantsing. Plotting means you plan out your entire novel before starting to write it. You make an outline. You decide what’s going to happen chapter by chapter. Obviously, you do any necessary research before starting to write. The term pantsing comes from the phrase “fly by the seat of your pants.” With pantsing, you might have done some research and you might have a general idea where the story is going to go. But you don’t outline. You just dive in, let the story and characters take over, and record what you see happening. You are just along for the ride, like the lovely lady above on the right side of the picture.
Both methods have their advocates. Both methods even have a book which will tell you how to do the method. I have read neither of these books, but have heard them recommended by other authors. For pantsing, there is Writing Into the Dark, by Dean Wesley Smith; and for plotting, there is Take Off Your Pants! by Libbie Hawker. (How can you not love that title?)
There’s No Right Way, but This Is the Right Way
Perhaps anyone can learn to plot … or to pants. Nevertheless, I think that a strong preference for one or the other is a consequence of the way a person’s brain is wired. This explains why people’s reaction when they hear about the other method (whichever the other method is), tends to be something like, “You mean there are people who live this way?”
Pantsers, for example, tend to sound as if they think pantsing is inherently spiritual. It’s about sensitivity to your characters; it’s about trusting your subconscious and the story itself. It’s about listening to reality, for crying out loud! Writers are people who listen! They don’t impose!
I am thinking here of two of my favorite writers: Anne Lamott and Stephen King. I love Lamott’s book Bird by Bird, and King’s On Writing. Bird by Bird does contain some passages that make it sound (unintentionally, I am sure) as if writers are more mystical or wise or something than the general population. King, meanwhile, believes strongly that you have to let your characters lead. He never plots; he thinks of an intriguing or difficult situation, puts his character in it, and then sits back and lets it play out. Because he doesn’t plan a rescue for his characters, horror usually follows.
I haven’t read as much writing advice by plotters, so I’m not as familiar with their besetting misconceptions. It seems to me, based on little comments that I have seen here and there based on a “how to write a novel” book, written by an editor, that I read many years ago, that plotters have the impression that if you don’t outline, you won’t have a good plot. Nothing will happen in your story. As one person put it, no amount of revision can make a book good if it was a weak story to begin with.
In short, and to make a huge generalization that I will no doubt regret later, diehard pantsers tend to feel that plotting is immoral, whereas diehard plotters tend to feel that pantsing is incompetent.
But Is There Such a Thing as “Pure” Plotting or “Pure” Pantsing?
I can only speak from the pantsing side (in case you haven’t guessed). I am an incurable pantser. But this doesn’t mean I never do any research or plan anything out. When at the writing desk, I tend to look more like the gal on the left. I don’t outline, but to keep things consistent I am forced to make timelines, name and age charts, and so on. I keep research notes and maps handy. It’s just that these things are following the story, not preceding it.
In the same way, I imagine that even those who thoroughly plot spend time listening to their characters so that the emotions ring true. Who knows, perhaps they even change their outline from time to time in response to a character’s wishes or the changing currents of the story.
So the supposed down side of each of these methods is mitigated by the fact that writing is an iterative process and that writers mix in elements from each.
Why Am I A Pantser?
I just am. I am constitutionally unable to make a book outline first and then have that outline actually be the way the story goes.
I might have a general idea of what I think is going to happen (and sometimes it does). But half the time, by the time we get there, things don’t go down that way. The characters have been changed by their experiences and they don’t react the way I expected. Or, they react much more strongly than I expected and do some fool thing that the story then has to accommodate.
This doesn’t make me more spiritual or, God forbid, smarter than the plotters. If anything, it might be the reverse. When my story surprises me, it’s because my subconscious is working out plot points that my better organized fellows are able to do intentionally, with their conscious brains. It may be true that plotting results in twistier, more intricate plots. I’d do it if I could, but I can’t.
In fact, I’m not even able to write a non-fiction piece from an outline. If an outline is required, I do some discovery drafts, let the structure emerge, and then outline it afterward. That’s how pantsy I am.
Luckily, Stephen King is there to remind me that it is possible to be a competent and prolific writer by pantsing.
Now, how about you? Even if you don’t write novels, I’ll bet you plot or pants your way through life. And I’ll bet that whichever you do, the other way seems just wrong.
Also, when you are reading a book can you tell which kind of writer the author is?