When Perspective is the Story
By Kathryn Craft | July 12, 2018 |
photo adapted / Horia Varlan
One of the first things an editor wants to know about your novel is how many points of view you’ll use. In the broadest strokes, who gets a point of view will determine the structure of your story; down to the smallest detail, it will determine how perspective will illuminate it.
Will this be a story sunk deep inside one character’s perspective, as Garth Stein chose to do through Enzo, a dog, in The Art of Racing in the Rain? Will it alternate first-person perspectives that define and deepen the conflict between adversaries, as in Andre Dubus III’s The House of Sand and Fog? Or will it represent the seven principal parties impacted by one young girl’s fight for self-determination, as in Jodi Picoult’s My Sister’s Keeper?
Such a decision shouldn’t be arbitrary. Some readers choose the novels they read for the way they allow a new perspective through which to view the world.
Not all POV decisions can be executed perfectly. Dubus’s plan worked out just fine until about three-quarters of the way through, when his story demanded that the reader know something that only a non-POV character was experiencing—which led to an odd chapter in the third-person perspective of a secondary character. Picoult—or perhaps her publisher—anticipated that her multiple points of view would be so hard to track that they put each character’s chapters in different fonts.
I could tell you never to do that because it’s cheesy and against all principles of good book design and if your novel is that confusing just simplify it, but this is how much readers care about such things: My Sister’s Keeper, which came out in 2004, still carries an Amazon ranking of #12 in contemporary literature. And Dubus’s novel, with that glaring POV switch, was an Oprah pick, a National Book Award finalist, and a #1 New York Times bestseller.
The most important thing is that these novelists told great stories through perspectives that would serve their telling.
So, how might you handle sixteen perspectives?
That’s how many WU contributor Bryn Greenwood employed in her New York Times best-selling novel, All the Ugly and Wonderful Things. Why would she even attempt that, and how did she get away with it? Let’s see what we can learn from her mad skills.
Why choose multiple perspectives
Greenwood’s story zeroes in on a volatile cultural taboo: age of sexual consent. As much as I enjoy exploring topics that make us twitch, even I had never thought to look at this issue. I mean, we should be protecting our youth from adult predators, right? Case closed.
But what if the greater danger comes from the child’s own parents?
To raise this question in a way that would make her readers think—all while managing the emotions of readers whose opinions are entrenched—Greenwood chose a very loose POV structure that allowed her, in any given chapter, to dip into the perspective that would best illuminate that part of her story.
Her opening gets right to the heart of things, fittingly enough, through perspective. We meet her protagonist, Wavy, through the first-person voice of her cousin Amy, whose mother took in the five-year-old when Wavy’s parents had to do some jail time. From the outset we see Wavy the way others do: voiceless (Wavy rarely speaks) and odd (she won’t eat in front of other people). The second chapter moves to her next caretaker’s perspective—her grandmother’s. Only on page 23 do we finally hear from Wavy, and by this time, we start to get that the novel’s very structure is suggesting how hard Wavy will have to fight to make her own opinions matter in the world.
At the tender age of eight, Wavy meets her baby brother at her grandmother’s funeral. As her parents resume “guardianship,” Wavy becomes his main caretaker while her father cooks meth in a nearby barn and her mother sleeps the days away in a haze. Meanwhile, one of her father’s drug runners, 24-year-old Jesse Joe Kellen, who is obliged to Wavy for helping him after a motorcycle accident, starts to check in on her. He takes her to school. Pays her school fees. Cleans up the house. Cares for her. They stare up at the stars together, learn the constellations. They grow to love one another.
So who else do we hear from? Kellen, of course. That helps us know that his motivations aren’t of the creepy pedophile variety. Wavy’s teacher gives us an important outside perspective, as she thinks Kellen is Wavy’s father. Two of her father’s girlfriends, determined to win her father’s sexual favor, give us a look at the rarified world in which Wavy learns to be female. As Wavy grows old enough to try to seduce Kellen, her Aunt Brenda gives us the reasonable arguments any protective mother-figure might pose. Later, the perspective of the judge who jails Kellen for statutory rape provides the legal context.
Simplifying numerous perspectives
Why did I struggle so with Picoult’s seven perspectives, yet found Greenwood’s sixteen so easy to follow? For one thing, Greenwood showed such restraint, lol: in an interview at the back of the book, she explains that she had drafted more perspectives, but several didn’t make the cut. If you want more on this topic, I recommend that reading.
But the story is clarified through its unrelenting forward movement. Greenwood’s chapters do not flip back and forth through time, nor is one event explored through multiple perspectives; you can rely upon a confident, ever-spooling chronology to order the narratives, and trust Greenwood’s POV choices to effectively deliver that part of the story.
Oh, and there’s one more thing Greenwood does right: she does not attempt to converge those sixteen perspectives into a single beam of white light at novel’s end. Age of consent invokes deeply ingrained moral sensibilities and one novel isn’t going to change that. Wavy and Kellen’s story provides a prismatic look at the issue, and despite its satisfying ending, the prism still stands, casting a full rainbow of colors through its facets. Can you say, “perfect book club read”?
In the end, a perspective-heavy, issue-oriented novel need not change minds. It must simply open them. Greenwood’s sixteen perspectives do just that.
How did you decide on the POVs for your own work in progress, and what were you hoping to accomplish by doing so? Do you have other examples of stories that worked well precisely because of the choice of POV? Other thoughts on use of perspective in Greenwood’s book, if you’ve read it?
[coffee]
Kathryn Craft (she/her) is the author of two novels from Sourcebooks, The Art of Falling and The Far End of Happy. Her forthcoming book, Crafting Story Movement: Techniques to Engage Readers and Drive Your Novel Forward, draws from decades of experience as both a story consultant and a movement specialist/dance critic. Learn more on Kathryn’s website.
You wrote: “Only on page 23 do we finally hear from Wavy, and by this time, we start to get that the novel’s very structure is suggesting how hard Wavy will have to fight to make her own opinions matter in the world.”
It hit me after reading that sentence that Bryn may have chosen Wavy’s “I don’t speak much” demeanor to suggest that same thing. There’s a self v. self aspect to this, too, as she has to use her voice to fight for herself in the end, but it’s physically and psychologically uncomfortable for her to do so.
Great analysis of a great novel, Kathryn, thank you.
I’m so glad you had mentioned that I might like it, Therese! Who knew I’d find a WU post in there?
I’ve loved all the books you mentioned but Bryn’s book takes the cake. Each voice was so distinct and intimate, carrying the story forward. A book to both enjoy and study.
I’m still a newbie novelist so tend to stick to one POV. I did try a novel with alternating viewpoints but found it difficult to not examine the same event through a different lens, ie, trouble moving forward.
I think you’re smart, Vijaya. For many of us, it’s hard enough to master one POV! I think that’s why we’re so drawn to fiction writing—the endless number of ways to continue learning. Each story has its own demands. When you hit on a story idea that demands a more prismatic exploration, you’ll know.
Hi, Kathryn:
Here at Thrillerfest with Don Maass and Steven James and no doubt a few other WU contributors I haven’t bumped into yet. Issues of craft abound — because the parts of the conference that have just concluded are called CraftFest and Master Craftfest. I wish some of the presentations I’ve sat through were half as insightful, useful, and interesting as this post.
One of the recurring pitfalls I’ve seen in the manuscripts of beginning writers is a misunderstanding of omniscient narration. They all too often use it as an attempt to dress up their sloppy authorial intrusions and head-hopping with an air of respectability. And the first thing you have to convince them of is that the scene will only be stronger if seen through a single perspective.
Normally I add that it’s wise to choose the perspective of someone with something seriously at stake in the scene (so I can teach two things at once — POV and stakes). But this post has reminded me that often we don’t want the perspective of the most vulnerable or active person in the scene, but rather of an observer with a keen eye or specifically informative view of the events or of another character or character.
I’m reminded of a point Charles Baxter makes in The Art of Subtext. He notes that obsessive characters, like Ahab and Gatsby, would make terrible narrators of their own stories, because of all the things they would miss — or get wrong. We need an Ishmael or even poor unreliable Nick Carraway to observe the events for us.
What I love about this example is its turning a character limitation — Wavy’s reticence to speak — into a way to reveal an entire story world through the others who must (or choose to) speak for her. I also think that the decision to explore the issue of consent through a character who barely ever speaks was a particular stroke of genius.
Wonderful insights, Kathryn. My mind at last feels awake.
I often teach the same thing, that the POV character should have the most to lose. It’s useful rule of thumb, as it often works out best, and in this novel, it holds true for Wavy and Kellen.
You wrote: “…often we don’t want the perspective of the most vulnerable or active person in the scene, but rather of an observer with a keen eye or specifically informative view of the events.”
This was so relevant with respect to the judge’s perspective in this novel, that the victim at some point will come to advocate for her abuser, bringing along a photo album to prove how loving they were—and then we see Wavy doing the same. The judge has nothing to lose in the scene, yet she can contribute thought-provoking information we couldn’t know any other way.
Thank you for reading and for your kind words, David. Say hi to Don for me and have a great day.
Katherine, . I couldn’t put Bryn’s novel down and your post helped me understand why. These two statements – “But the story is clarified by unrelenting forward movement.” and “…you can rely on a confident, ever-spooling chronology to order the narratives.” – were what struck me this morning. You also reminded me that another character’s observation of an MC, whether flawed or accurate, is a potent a character-building tool. Thank you for starting my day with such delicious brain-food!
Glad you enjoyed both the book and the post, Susan! The occasional fragmented tale has wooed me—Mary Kubica’s THE GOOD GIRL comes to mind—but I’ve come to see that chronology has a lot going for it, especially as bedrock when you are playing with other aspects of structure. In an attempt to be oh-so-clever, we forget that sometimes!
I also loved ‘the Poisonwood Bible’.
Me too! Kingsolver made great, consistent use of multiple POVs, each contributing something different to the overall tale.
I have to admit, as an epic fantasy reader (and writer), the subject of multiple POV use makes me feel a little smug. I mean, we epic fantasy readers routinely deal with casts that number in the hundreds and double-digit POV characters. Sanderson’s Stormlight Archives, 16 POV characters; Robin Hobb’s Liveship Traders, 12; GRRM’s Song of Ice and Fire, 24; Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time, a whopping 58 POV characters. And we don’t just keep track of them, we obsess over their traits and reactions. Just go to any fantasy fan site or Wiki, and enter POV characters, and you’ll see what I mean.
Forgive me, but it’s one of the few opportunities we have to feel smug. Now, I get that this is poo-pooed by non-fantasy fans. Sort of like gaming is to non-gamers. And I get that even the smugness is rightfully poo-pooed. They’re series, not novels. It’s a completely different animal, for crying out loud. As different as ‘serious’ standalone films are to, say, the Marvel Universe.
But I feel compelled to mention it, because we geeks go a long way to proving your point, Kathryn: that if the technique is well-done, not only can readers keep track of a LOT of characters, but they can embrace even dozens of various perspectives and their associated idiosyncrasies.
And I’ll add that you and David make an excellent point about the opportunities for observation. My wife is reading my most recent manuscript (God love her). The other night she said something about how much fun it was watching a battle scene play out from the perspective of the antagonist (something I’d changed in this version). I mentioned that the change provided the opportunity for my MCs to really shine (without humble-bragging from their POVs). She said, “It’s more than that. It’s that he has such a great view of everything!” (He’s standing atop a city’s outer walls, looking down on the skirmish.) I didn’t even realize it, but his POV not only provided observational change and enhancement, but a simple wide-angle camera view of an sweeping action sequence.
Sorry for the smugness. And for patting myself on the back there at the end. Just thought I’d add a geek’s POV. ;) Thanks for your always astute perspective on a near and dear issue, Kathryn. And for the nudge on reading Bree’s book.
V,
I was going to write a comment similar to yours, because, although I’m not as hardcore into fantasy as you, and some of my other friends, as a fan of GRRM I met the master of multiple POVs.
In GRRM’s case I often wonder if this mad skill has something to do with the fact he started as a television series writer.
Also, in the world of gamers, interactive changing POV is the norm, and a lot of emerging writers and readers are exposed to gaming at an early age… so the stylistics of writing may be going through an evolution…
Try as one may, I’m not sure if one can so easily separate the literary POV endeavor from the cinematic nowadays.
I have come to the conclusion it’s why GoT is so successful both as a book series and on film.
And for that matter… your literary endeavor also has this same cinematic quality, which is a very, very good thing.
More perspective! Thanks for contributing to the conversation which such an interesting point, Bernadette.
Thanks for the post Kathryn. I always read and reap benefits from your Mad Skills.
My standard: if I feel the need to build a spreadsheet, I set down the book. Good for you if you can wield that many points of view, especially when names are unusual! Not all of us have the head for it. I would think that your need to “obsess” over traits and reactions is very much needed to pull that off.
Love the way your wife reacted to the POV change in our novel, Vaughn. Sounds like it was a great idea!
The manuscript I’ve just turned in is a mixture of first person and third person – the first time I’ve done that. It seems to work quite well.
David I’d love to hear more about your choices. I assume the first-person account is the protagonist? Who all gets a third-person perspective, and why?
How glad I am to have this take on multiple POV characters and to know that they are not automatically scorned by editors. My novel, still a WIP, has five characters that all insist on being heard. So far I have coped with them by using only one POV per scene. I think it’s working, and I’m relieved to hope that acceptance or rejection of this tale will likely be based on some other characteristic.
Haha: they all “insist on being heard.” What a gift to have such assertive characters, Anna! As author, though, you are the one that will pay the price if it doesn’t work. So pull on your bossy pants and tell them they can have their say only if their perspective is vital to the story, and can’t be gotten any other way.
Awesome post, Kathyrn.
As a writer I have for the past several years been searching for my voice. I think I can be bold enough to say I have finally found it, and that in a sense it was always there, hidden under a bunch of confusing debris from multiple POVs of different writing teachers and their conflicting advice.
I cut out so much of this comment, because it was too rambling and too personal about my writerly journey. Suffice, it is to say, I am grateful for Writer Unboxed, and the Unboxed is the important word here, because without the Unboxed you don’t get the Writer.
So, thank you, to you, and all who strive to share their experiences here… I know I may have given up without WU. You’ve helped me to stick it out, to not give in and to be brave when I didn’t feel brave.
And yeah. I’ve finally found MY POV.
LOVE THIS! I hope you saved the rest of your comment for a separate blog post sometime, Bernadette—would love to read it!
“When perspective is the story” to me says it loudly. The story could be the many views of an event and as a result the reader discovers how the event changes the MC.
Also, could not the richness of the setting and structure be enhanced by seeing the world through varied eyes, as well as the perception of the main character and his/her dilemma.
I agree with Mr. Roycroft, why I love epic of any kind, the rich visuals it can give me and the multitude of characters I can root for or against.
Yes, Sam—one of my favorite ways to learn of a character’s perspective is to see the way they interact differently with the setting.