Suspense and Suspension of Disbelief: A Look at a Master
By Dave King | March 21, 2017 |
In last month’s music video, I mentioned that suspense rests on the suspension of disbelief. If readers feel your story is contrived, they aren’t going to care how it turns out. In the comments, someone asked how you suspend disbelief when you’re writing about something inherently implausible like, say, vampires taking over a small New England town.
Of course, if you’re writing light comedy or satire, then it’s a lot easier to get readers to suspend disbelief. But most suspense novels depend on readers feeling the reality of whatever horrors you’re inflicting on your characters. So do most thrillers. And you often need readers to suspend disbelief about improbable events in police procedurals, or science fiction, or even cozy mysteries that have to explain why a retired governess turns out to be a stellar detective.
Stephen King is a master of making the outrageous and macabre seem real. One of his techniques is to frame his central implausibility – that small town in Maine being taken over by vampires — in a completely ordinary setting. By introducing readers to the thoroughly normal world of Jerusalem’s Lot, Maine, with the Excellent Café, the old guys hanging outside of Milt Crossen’s agriculture store, and Dud Rogers running the town dump, King anchors his readers firmly in the mundane reality of small-town New England.
Note, by the way, that King doesn’t give into the temptation to turn the town into an idyllic place. The newlywed McDougles in their trailer are dealing rather badly with each other and their toddler – there is hitting involved. And Dud Rogers down at the dump amuses himself by shooting rats. But by not going for the sharp contrast between the good town and the evil that invades it, King makes both the town and the evil feel more real.
He doesn’t let go of that ordinariness even as Dud Rogers starts stalking the dump’s patrons, the McDougles (including the toddler) take to hiding in the crawlspace below the trailer to avoid the sun, and the old guys outside the ag store simply disappear. Even while more and more of the town’s residents are being caught, drained of their blood, and turned into servants of the evil one, people are still eating reheated hamburgers from the McDonald’s in the next town over and getting home-canned corn from the metal shelves in the basement. And the Excellent Café is the last town business to close its doors.
The original Dracula did something similar, setting its tale of ancient horror in the midst of what were, in 1897, the trappings of the modern world. Lucy Westenra is temporarily saved by blood transfusions. Dr. Seward records his notes on a gramophone, and they are later transcribed using a typewriter. The vampire fighters track Dracula’s location through the carting companies he used to ship his coffins. And while some of the action takes place in Dracula’s dank palace in gloomy Transylvania, quite a lot of it happens in modern, gaslit London.
So if you’re introducing an element into your story that stretches belief, find a way to keep it anchored in reality. Neither a vague and forgetful priest nor an aging spinster who has lived out her life in a small, English village is likely to have the penetrating insights into human nature needed to be a good detective. Yet Father Brown and Miss Marple both root their abilities in sharp observations of the ordinary worlds around them – either through hearing people confess their sins or simply watching the neighbors and listening to the gossip in St. Mary Mead.
Another technique King uses in Salem’s Lot is to make his own characters skeptical of what’s happening around them. Here’s Matt Burke, a well-educated high school literature teacher, first beginning to recognize that Mike Ryerson, whom he met at Dell’s bar and invited home because he looked ill, is actually transforming into a vampire.
What you’re thinking is madness.
But step by step he had been forced backward toward belief. Of course, being a literary man, it had been the first thing that had come to mind when Jimmy Cody had thumbnailed Danny Glick’s case [one of the first victims, whose blood was drained]. He and Cody had laughed over it. Maybe this was his punishment for laughing.
Scratches? Those marks [on Mike’s neck] weren’t scratches. They were punctures.
One was taught that such things could not be; that things like Coleridge’s “Christabel” or Bram Stoker’s evil fairy tale were only the warp and woof of fantasy. Of course monsters existed; they were the men with their fingers on the thermonuclear triggers in six countries, the hijackers, the mass murderers, the child molesters. But not this. One knows better. The mark of the devil on a woman’s breast is only a mole. The man who came back from the dead and stood at his wife’s door dressed in the cerements of the grave was only suffering from locomotor ataxia, the bogeyman who gibbers and capers in the corner of a child’s bedroom is only a heap of blankets. Some clergymen had proclaimed that even God, that venerable white warlock, was dead.
He was bled almost white.
Note that King must be aware that his story will draw comparisons to Dracula – Salem’s Lot was written in 1975, a year before Anne Rice began making vampires cool. So he embraces the comparisons by having Burke make the connection himself. And because readers see their own disbelief showing up in the context of the novel, they can feel those doubts without dropping out of the story. This is why King sets this passage up as an internal dialogue. Of the two voices arguing in Matt’s head, one of them is taking the readers’ side.
So if the romance at the heart of your novel is a little improbable, one way to shore up the suspension of disbelief is by having her, or him, or both of them, feel a little surprised that they are actually falling for one another. In Fifty Shades of Grey, it takes Anastasia, the hardware store clerk and part-time journalist, quite a while to believe that Christian, the billionaire playboy, is genuinely interested in her. Her doubts echo the readers’.
It’s tempting to think of prolific, popular writers as hacks, cranking out formulaic genre novels to please a specific readership. To be fair, sometimes that is true, though it’s much less so today than it has been in the past. But as I’ve said before, even genre writers less talented than Stephen King tell their stories skillfully enough that you can learn from them, no matter what genre you’re writing in.
So let the best romances shape your character development, even if you’re writing a police procedural. Watch the way top spy thrillers manipulate how much information readers know at any given point – it could give added depth to your fantasy novel. And there is no better tutor for both suspense and the suspension of disbelief – two elements any story needs — than Stephen King.
So, who have you read who has made the implausible plausible. Remember, you don’t have to limit your choices to horror or thrillers. And remember to include enough detail so that readers who aren’t familiar with the books can understand why you love them so much.
[coffee]
Dave King has been editing for nearly 40 years now. He is co-author of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, a former contributing editor to Writer’s Digest, and has contributed more than 100 articles over the last 12 years to Writer Unboxed. He lives on 25 acres in rural Massachusetts with his business partner and wife, Ruth Julian, who also edits his work. His other day job, at least on Sundays, is as the organist at a Lutheran church in Greenfield, Mass.
My thoughts immediately went to my very first book-love – Black Beauty. Where it was all through the horse’s, or horses’ POV.
But I and millions of others believed it and loved it.
And Black Beauty is a wonderful example of how these techniques can be used in nearly any genre. Anna Sewell managed to make readers believe in a book written from the horse’s POV by rooting her narrative in authentic mundane details of horse behavior and treatment.
I think it works the other work in fiction that is not suspense or horror. In reality based stories it’s useful to show readers that the everyday world is full of miracles.
When miracles are real then we’re ready to believe that two people can fall in love, that forgiveness and sacrifices happen, and that even life-battered souls can change. Dickens’ A Christmas Carol comes to mind, and most fantasy too.
Verisimilitude or a magical world? Interesting topic.
Now that is an interesting line of thought.
Many, many years ago, I read a wonderful science fiction short story about a family about to leave as colonists on an exotic, alien world. The story didn’t describe the world, didn’t even get involved in the technology of space travel. It simply described their saying good bye to the farm in Australia that they were leaving, and did it in a way that showed their ordinary farm was as bizarre and wonderful as any planet they could travel to. One detail that sticks in my mind was a border collie that controlled sheep by effectively hypnotizing them.
Yeah, a talented writer can make the miraculous seem ordinary. But a really gifted writer can make the ordinary seem miraculous.
Benjamin, I had to really work on conveying the emotional journey of my main character so that the ending was believable. Why would anyone make a sacrifice? It’s love. Always love. And when the priorities change, it doesn’t feel like a sacrifice, just the right thing.
“But a really gifted writer can make the ordinary seem miraculous.”
This.
Thank you for this post. This really resonated with me for the story I’m currently revising. “So if you’re introducing an element into your story that stretches belief, find a way to keep it anchored in reality.” I’m going to have to pick up some King stories and reacquaint myself with his technique for suspension of disbelief. It’s been a while.
Oh, do. He is very good at what he does.
One of my favorite novels that stretched belief was “The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared” by Jonas Jonasson. Not that a 100-year-old man disappearing is implausible. But the way he disappeared and his adventures afterward went from normal to deliciously abnormal.
I wanted to believe every detail.
“I wanted to believe every detail.”
Creating that desire to believe in readers is actually another talent. I’d write an article about it, but I’m not sure it can be taught.
“Creating that desire to believe…” I hope you DO try, Dave! That would be the equivalent of a writer’s magic lamp.
“I wanted to believe every detail.” That happened to me recently as I re-read “The Amazing Mrs. Pollifax” in which a sixty-something woman, literally bored almost to death with her mundane life, is inspired by her Dr’s offhand remark that she should try doing something she always wanted to do.
Does it stop her (or the reader) that she always wanted to be a spy for the CIA? Not at all! Author Dorothy Gilman grounds the reader in the details of Emily Pollifax’s ordinariness in exotic landscapes and circumstances, and all I want to do is throw disbelief to the wind and go along for the ride.
I love Mrs. Pollifax! Implausible, improbably, but totally believable. And now that I’m her senior, I want to do it myself.
Mrs. Pollifax is another good example of a story that has to make the implausible plausible, where the implausibilities have nothing to do with magic or miracle.
And, yes, I’ve only read a couple of the later ones, but they are fun.
Hello Dave, and thanks for very clearly showing (not telling) us how the mundane facts of daily life serve to ground the impossible, and make it plausible for readers.
But I can’t give you an example, because I choose to not read novels whose writers play fast and loose with the known laws of physics. However firmly rooted in the workaday world a vampire/zombie/space alien story may be, its operative principle is to dismiss what are for me the facts of life. “Vampire” and “zombie” are metaphors for me, not references to things in the world.
Many are likely to answer that all fiction is by definition unreal, so what’s wrong with exploiting this “reality” in works of fiction? The answer of course is that there’s nothing wrong with it, and I am a fan of the best movies based on fantasies that ignore the known laws of physics.
But for me, the slower, more thoughtful experience of reading would make me scoff at vampires in Maine, however convincing the quaint village might be rendered. And as a writer, the idea of taking that direction would be impossible. It would seem corny and exploitative, because the world we have is world enough, at least for me. Obviously, though, I don’t have a whole lot of company on this.
Thanks again. It’s always good to read posts written by very strong writers.
Time to revise my comment: I published a fable for adults (Just Bill), in which dogs speak English. So much for sticking with “the known laws of physics.” My only defense is that fables are a special case, but I doubt that’s going to hold up under scrutiny.
Actually, it does hold up under scrutiny. Fables are a special case. Readers have a very different set of expectations, and suspension of disbelief is much easier to achieve.
Well, you know what they say about de gustibus.
Still, the techniques King uses can be applied to even the most realistic genres. You might want to dip into a King novel, not for pleasure but for education purposes. (Maybe not one of the vampire or zombie stories — I agree that they are a little overdone.) In fact, you might learn more if you’re unable to immerse yourself in the story.
And thanks for the “strong writers.”
This is a great post, Dave.
When writing my debut, A Keeper’s Truth, taking the extraordinary – Keepers, seers, lost souls – and having them thrive among regular folk in a small town, was of great importance to me. I loved the curiosities, wondering if the guy next door lived past lives of importance, if the little girl in the pink dress killed without regret. It turned things upside down, and kept me (and the reader, I hope) rooted in reality.
Love your examples, Dave. Thanks!
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT (Gift of Travel)
“Anchored in reality” is so true, Dave. For my supernatural novels and short stories (ghosts, angels, demons, music phantoms, magic, witches etc.), the reality comes from the energy and power in my own beliefs. If I believe it, then my characters believe it, and that brings the readers into my world. I think the truth of any story must lie beneath and within the layers to come through on the page. Enforcing and documenting the reality is the key. When I’m writing a ghost story I often read true accounts of people’s encounters with ghosts. There’s a wealth of scientific research that says ghosts are real. And not a single person has absolutely proven that ghosts have never existed. Sometimes I think we are all ghosts.
This is actually a completely different thread. I was thinking more about anchoring implausible events in mundane, ordinary details. But a writer’s own belief in what he or she is writing about is another, equally fascinating, question.
You might be able to make the argument that any writer invests their story with some degree of belief. Or, more accurately, love. If you love the sort of world where angels and spirits get involved in human life, then you’re going to bring that love into your story, and that will make readers more likely to believe it.
Hmmmmm. There may be another article here.
I love the comments section.
Hi, Dave:
This may be a little off topic, but your post reminded me of the difficulty of making coincidence work in a novel. The general rule I’ve heard is: You can only use coincidence if it doesn’t help your protagonist.
Fair enough.
But then I’m reminded of Kate Atkinson’s One Good Turn, which is as full of chance meetings and happenstance discoveries as A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Some do indeed hinder her hero, Jackson Brodie, but others lend a hand, or at least guide him in a new and helpful direction.
I think part of why it works is that she places it in Edinburgh during the Fringe Festival, where everyone is running around the tiny coiling streets all day and all night; part of it is because she immerses you in the minds of her characters (who do, indeed, remark upon the rather curious coincidences), and that immersion bonds the reader to the character in such a way that you surrender to their view of events; but mostly it’s because her voice is so compelling and her command of storytelling so deft that you just get swept up.
Sometimes suspension of disbelief is simply a result of: This is so much fun I don’t care if its credibility is loose on deck.
But, of course, genius is its own excuse for everything. (Which is quite possibly the least helpful thing I could imaginably say.)
Wonderful post. I’ve shared it with my students over at Litreactor.
Now that I think of it, they’re not completely unrelated. One way to make a coincidence more plausible is to have your characters notice it and be surprised by it. As with their doubts, readers get to experience their surprise at the coincidence without leaving the world of the story.
You are so right about slipping in the fantastic (believably written in a matter-of-fact style) with the ordinary to make the fantastic work. One reader of my vampire kitty-cat novel (narrated by the cat) found it “somehow strangely believable.”
Exactly! It’s the writer’s art to make it strangely believable. For reality and the known laws of physics, I go to non-fiction.
Did you ground your vampire cat’s life in genuine cat behavior? What are vampire hairballs like?
Dave, I really enjoyed this post and will have to return to King. Not sure if I can handle the nightmares though.
I kept thinking about WOLF HOLLOW — it’s a children’s book, historical fiction, though I wouldn’t let a child read it (maybe a mature 12-yr-old) — and how skillfully the author showed pure evil. Now, I’ve never met an evil child but when I read the book, there was so much foreshadowing, when the bad things happened, I believed them. The details made it real and all the more chilling. The book is in first person but the narrator is looking back after several years. That’s why I’m not sure it’s a children’s book. It’s sure to give nightmares.
Could you tell us a little more about Wolf Hollow? What sorts of details does Wolk anchor her implausibilities in?
Very helpful post — thank you! I’m working on a science fiction novel with some “inherently implausible” features. I need to make sure my protagonist is just as skeptical about those things as a reader might be.
Gigi Pandian’s Accidental Alchemist series (Midnight Ink; 3 books to date) is set in modern Portland, OR, featuring a woman who runs a tea shop. But she’s an alchemist who survived the Salem witch trials and stumbled into the secret of immortality, and her chef is a stone gargoyle who fell, literally, from the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Other alchemists who have likewise found, intentionally or not, the secret of endless life also drop in and out, from other eras. And by golly, for the reasons you describe, it works — it’s charming, and credible, and thoroughly delightful.
Charming counts for a lot, and this does sound like fun. I’m guessing that the mundane setting of the tea shop (perfect place for an alchemist) helps put the fantasy elements across.
I’m a fan of Stephen King. On Writing gave me the courage to claim my author voice. His fiction flues my writing–even though I don’t write in his genre. Thank you for this, Dave.
I use to want to keep my fiction in the realm “it could really happen” but the more I write fiction the more I want to create new worlds where suspending disbelief is the way of life.
As I have told someone before when they questioned how a Canary could be so smart as to seek out revenge…
“It’s the lack of non in front of fiction that lets me do it.”
First, I love the quote.
And the question of how much your writing should deviate from reality (or at least from commonly accepted sense of reality) is really up to you.
I’ve written before how good writing is based on love. And one characteristic of love is that you tend to find the object of your love to be astonishing, numinous, and breathtaking.
And, by the way, suspense is related to surprise. But that’s a subject for next month’s music video.