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September 23, 2005

Comments

Lickona

In Grammar Hell (E.B. White serving as guide to Thurber?), there will be a most horrific sight - a Royal We with a single Wild Hair up its Asses. Maybe you could get Ralph Steadman to illustrate. And I don't even want to imagine the tortures reserved for the singular use of "their," as in "A person could end up with a wild hair up their ass." Perhaps Maud could suggest something.

The Debt to Pleasure used the first person (and the narrator was less than angelic) to wonderful effect. He was completely self-absorbed - perfect.

Justine Musk

Karen, great posts. Thank you.

I've wrestled with first-person narrator and been defeated every time (except for a rare short story here and there). The examples of first-person narration I've admired and wanted to emulate have been exactly as you just described -- more focused on witnessing the life without rather than articulating the life within -- which I've been experimenting with in my own online journal, with varying degrees of success -- your post makes me want to tackle first person again in my fiction, now that I better understand (in the space of just a couple of paragraphs) the effect I'm striving for.

(Enjoyed BORDER DOGS by the way, and it has one of my favorite opening sentences).

the highway scribe

At least you're thinking about it. Woe to the editor of anything who must work their way through reams of poetry and prose and which people discuss what are their own vaguely disguised lives.

"I stepped out into the autumn morning,
my Volvo stationwagon
beckoning
my golden retriever..."

We are all so special and interesting, you see.

the scribe thinks it's cultural. When he lived in Seville, every March the city would fill up with about 4,000 American students there on exchange. Their conversation, in which accompanying friends were used as friendly sounding-boards for their own personal stories (you guys, should I get the blue blouse?), always constrasted with that of the locals, because folks in this country are obsessed with their "personal basket" of concerns .

The secret is to use the "I" with an "eye" directed at everything surrounding as opposed to inward. Yes, you are your point of reference and prism, but what's of interest are those people, those events, those places.

You can speak for yourself, without talking about yourself.

John Shannon

For an incredibly thorough examination of all the possibilities and drawbacks of the I-narrator and every other sort, see Christine Brooke-Rose, "Narrating Without a Narrator," TLS, December 31, 1999. I've kept it on my desk for years and go back to it frequently.

Kassia

Isn't it funny how we gravitate toward first or third person? First never occurred to me until the day the story came tumbling out and there was this "I" in charge. Since then, one problem I've discovered is that it's difficult to separate I from me. That I blog in the imperial we (creating the impression that there's a large army of elves operating behind the scenes) is a curiosity. I am generally only pompous in real life.

And since our last talk, my third person voice has resurfaced. It was like greeting an old friend -- one who chooses to withhold a few secrets.

Skarr

I'm helping out a friend write her first book (as a writer who has just been published I feel grateful that I made it and thought I would help out others achieve their dream) and you're absolutely right when it comes to a novel written in the first person. The 'I' factor is driving me nuts and I'm unable to figure out how best to let her know that it might be better if she took a different tack, without being offensive. Any suggestions?

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."