Deliberate Disregard?

Quite often in literature, the introduction throws readers into a situation that the have no knowledge of. Let’s face it. If you read a fantasy novel that immediately told you everything you needed to know, it would be boring, and you would wonder what the point of it was. Literature can also give information that is relevant, without starting the actual story that they have written. Lords of the Rings starts with information about Hobbits, for example. Others begin describing cities (The Darkness that Comes Before, R. Scott Bakker), some with shock scenarios involving characters that haven’t been introduced (Ink Blood Sister Scribe, Emma Torzs) you get the idea. Openings that “drop the reader” into such situations are referred to as ‘media res,’ which literally translates to “in the middle of things.”

Erikson utilises this style in much of Gardens of the Moon.

It can get confusing at times and is similar to a jigsaw puzzle of sorts – with the reader having to put pieces together throughout the story, and the author bringing everything together at the conclusion of the story/book. It can also be very effective, especially where different plot lines, arcs, or character viewpoints come together in a crescendo. Just because this style may be confusing or disconcerting for some readers, does not mean that it is not a valid way to begin a story, as long as the author has the ability to bring all the threads together eventually. As a reader, I enjoy putting the pieces together, coming up with theories and guesses – especially in the thriller/suspense/horror and crime/mystery genres. In fantasy, it can and does work, but as I said, the writer must have the ability to bring everything together in the end, so that the “payoff” for the readers patience is rewarding. In this next part of the article, Chris discusses disorientation, and why she believes it is a problem in the prologue of Gardens of the Moon.

Watch For Disorientation in Your Opening Paragraphs

CW: “Alright, we’re finally past the intro stuff. Really, I swear. That means it’s time for the first sentence! Oh boy.“

The stains of rust seemed to map blood seas on the black, pocked surface of Mock’s Vane.

CW: “I have no idea what’s happening here. There is no context for this description with knowing what Mock’s Vane is. On top of that, “seemed to” is a terrible phrase for an opening line. Besides its frequent appearance as needless clutter, “seemed to” makes the reader second-guess what’s going on. Since readers are already clueless during the opening line, this is a quick recipe for disorientation.

If you want anything to be mysterious, you have to give readers their bearings first. That way, they have some means of comparing the known with the unknown.

At least the line is atmospheric. I’ll give it 1.5 out of 5 stars.

Since it’s a proper noun, I’m guessing “Mock’s Vane” is a strange blackened place, maybe one that has a lot of iron ore.”

Why would a reader expect context for a description in the first, opening line? Especially a short one? This is not a valid representation of disorientation because the sentence does not stand alone as a paragraph.

If the opening line was a paragraph of its own, I could see the possibility for the reader to be confused, or disoriented, but it isn’t.  I think the main issue here is that Chris hasn’t analysed the whole paragraph, and this seems deliberate to make a point. It falls flat, because it’s not in context.

CW: “On top of that, “seemed to” is a terrible phrase for an opening line. Besides its frequent appearance as needless clutter, “seemed to” makes the reader second-guess what’s going on”

The use of ‘seemed to’ in this sentence is like the author using the ‘appeared to.’ It’s something that isn’t fixed. It’s like saying ‘the moon seemed to smile down at me’ – the moon doesn’t smile any more than the vane has maps of blood seas painted onto it – but it appears that it does. The imagery of ‘blood seas’ creates an atmosphere, and again, if it was just one line as a paragraph, it would seem out of place and leave the reader confused, but it isn’t a paragraph on its own.

I also think that as a lesson in writing, any potential author should be relatively aware of the level of comprehension of their target audience. The comment that the CW: “readers are already clueless” and that there is CW: “no context for the description without knowing what ‘Mock’s Vane’ is,” is moot, because more context follows. I say more, because there has already been slight context, because we know it’s a “vane” – and while this depends on the comprehension of the reader, the use of a proper noun (as Chris noticed) along with the spelling, gives the reader the knowledge that Chris says is missing. There aren’t that many ways of spelling the word, and each spelling is specific to its use, as with most similar sounding words. It’s not that difficult to figure out that it’s a weathervane that it being talked about here. After the next sentence, it’s even more obvious:

A century old, it squatted on the point of an old pike that had been bolted to the outer top of the Hold’s wall.

Yet still, Chris asks:

CW: “Wait – it’s just an item someone has stuck on the top of a pike?”

‘Monstrous and misshapen, it had been cold-hammered into the form of a winged demon, teeth bared in a leering grin, and was tugged and buffeted in squealing protest with every gust of wind.

CW: “It’s just a weather vane? Why does it have a formal title? Also, is this weather vane so important that it’s worth spending the whole opening paragraph on? While it adds some atmosphere, it would be more effective to spend fewer words on the vane and more on painting a picture of what’s around it. In particular, this vane monster could be leering at something.”

So, Erikson used a proper noun to give the vane a formal title. Why does it have a formal title? Well, it’s called Mock’s Vane, which means it belongs somewhere – specifically somewhere with the name Mock. The rust looks like blood seas (the shape of a sea as seen in a map, coloured blood red from people who have died in it) and it’s old (over a century and pock-marked) it’s set on an old spike (pointy metal stick) bolted onto the Hold’s wall. The Hold is also a specific place, because it is capitalised. The reason for giving a formal title to the vane, is also because it is something that people use to identify the location.

If a reader of this prologue looks at the relevant additions at the beginning of the book – the dramatis personae, the maps, the poems, etc, or even the title of the series, or the blurb of the book, they will know that this is the story of a fallen empire, with campaigns (see maps) which infer war, which infers dead people. From ‘empire,’ we can also infer that there are cities and cities usually have castles or places that have “holds” or “keeps” which are usually the strongest part of said structures where people gather in case of a siege or attack. If the reader has not done this, then Erikson, by way of a character tells the reader this in the following paragraphs. Just as he also continues to paint a picture of what is around it.

‘Monstrous and misshapen, it had been cold-hammered into the form of a winged demon, teeth bared in a leering grin, and was tugged and buffeted in squealing protest with every gust of wind.

CW: “The last part of that sentence, starting with “and was tugged” could also use some revision. First, the clause gains no benefit from continuing a sentence that’s already long. Second, its in passive voice, using a form such as “it was tugged” rather than “the wind tugged it.” Passive voice is useful in many circumstances, but it softens the effect, so you need a reason to choose it over active phrasing. Finally, Erikson has described the weather vane as a black, leering monster with blood seas on it. Saying it squeals in protest is breaking the mood a bit.”

Erikson uses passive voice, but the use of the word ‘buffeted’ stops the effect from softening because it implies, as it its intention, that the weathervane is violently battered from side to side by the wind and weather. Erikson has chosen to use passive voice instead of active phrasing because he’s using lyrical imagery to describe the weathervane. Making the vane “squeal” is Erikson choosing to add another sensory experience, rather than just sight. It squeals because it is old and rusted and has moved an awful lot over a century.

Don’t forget, this is just the first paragraph. We are still in the “scene setting” stage here.

‘The winds were contrary the day the columns of smoke rose over the Mouse Quarter of Malaz City. The Vane’s silence announced the sudden falling-off of the sea breeze that came clambering over the ragged walls of Mock’s Hold, then it creaked back into life as the hot, spark-scattered and smoke-filled breath of the Mouse Quarter reached across the city to sweep the promontory’s heights.’

CW: “Continuing his trend of being disorienting, Erikson next mentions a specific quarter of a specific city in passing. That wouldn’t be so bad if Erikson was stating the location of “Mock’s Vane,” but we have no idea where this Mouse Quarter is in relation to where we started. After reading the entire paragraph, we can probably conclude the hold is in the city somewhere. Erikson has some nice description of this wind, but it isn’t worth shoving aside everything the reader actually needs to know.

If you want to open with a small piece of a bigger picture, you need to carefully zoom out or add new items to the scene by describing where they are relative to what you’ve already described. For example, Erikson could say the monstrous vane is leering down from the wall at Mouse Quarter. Don’t mention several things that are somewhere in an undefined space; that makes it difficult to piece a picture together.“

The paragraph stated that the breeze clambered over the walls of the Hold (Mock’s Hold) and then the smoke followed when the weathervane indicated a change of wind direction. This infers that it is close to where we started seeing as how the weathervane is attached to said Hold. Also, why would Erikson say that the vane was leering down from the wall at Mouse Quarter when the reader already knows that Mock’s Vane is squatting (precariously – it’s got an old bolt) on top of a pike that is attached to Mock’s Hold? We are given this information so that we can picture it. If the vane was leering, the author would have told us that it was leering.

It is inferred by Chris that in any writing, unless the reader is told where everything is in relation to everything else they’ll never figure out how to piece the picture together, so it’s better, as a writer, to add items to scenes by describing where they are relative to what has already been described. Again, I appreciate that some readers may struggle with lyrical imagery, but this assumption is unfounded.

The next paragraphs introduce us to our first character.

‘Ganoes Stabro Paran of the House Paran stood on tiptoe to see over the merlon. Behind him rose Mock’s Hold, once capital of the Empire but now, since the mainland had been conquered, relegated once more to a Fist’s holding. To his left rose the pike and its wayward trophy.

CW: “We have a character, and we actually know where he is in relation to our preeminent weather vane! I had to look up what a merlon is; I believe it’s the classic jagged railing of a fortified castle wall. Ganoes is on tiptoe, so maybe he’s short? How tall is a merlon anyway? Declaring Mock’s Hold is a “Fist’s holding” is also not helpful because I don’t know what that means, and Erikson is not providing the context to figure it out.”

Again, the context is provided in the next paragraphs. Continuously taking things out of context will cause confusion, and Chris’s responses are such because of the misrepresentation of the text. Chris’s questions are clearly answered in the following paragraph, yet this is not acknowledged.

For Ganoes, the ancient fortification overlooking the city was too familiar to be of interest. This visit was his third in as many years; he’d long ago explored the courtyard with its heaved cobblestones, the Old Keep – now a stable, its upper floor home to pigeons and swallows and bats – and the citadel where even now his father negotiated the island export tithe with the harbour officials. In the last instance, of course, a goodly portion was out of bounds, even for a son of a noble house; for it was in the citadel that the Fist had his residence, and in the inner chambers that such affairs of the Empire as concerned this island were conducted.

CW: “That’s only three sentences. Erikson is definitely one of those writers who makes his sentences too long in an effort to stuff in as much information as he can get away with. In this case, he’s stuffing in unnecessary world exposition.Erikson gave us a whole paragraph about some weather vane and another mostly focused on the wind. If he wanted to describe the hold, that would have been a great time to do it – not after he’s introduced a character that has no interest in the hold and is looking away from it. Don’t get me wrong, this is omniscient narration, so it’s not messing up the viewpoint. But if the only character present thinks the hold is boring, that tells readers they have nothing to be excited about.”

Mock’s Hold forgotten behind him, Ganoes’ attention was on the tattered city below, and the riots that ran through its poorest quarter. Mock’s Hold stood atop a cliff. The higher land of the pinnacle was reached by a switchback staircase carved into the limestone of the cliff wall. The drop to the city below was eighty armspans or more, with the Hold’s battered wall adding another six.

CW: “Erikson, why couldn’t you tell us this earlier? We now have a much clearer picture of a weather vane on a tall wall on a clifftop, overlooking the city. We also know the Mouse Quarter is the poorest quarter. The name is even somewhat intuitive.”

Everything that the reader needs to know has been said. The criticisms are no longer relevant after this point. Erikson didn’t need to tell us this information earlier, because we didn’t need it. The information is produced as and when the reader needs to know and as the author moves through the scene. The “it’s disorientating because the reader doesn’t know where X is in relation to Y” argument doesn’t work anymore because the reader is given the information in due time. However, Chris then picks up on more issues after this next paragraph.

The Mouse was at the city’s inland edge, an uneven spreading of hovels and overgrown tiers cut in half by the silt-heavy river that crawled towards the harbour. With most of Malaz City between Ganoes’ position and the riots, it was hard to make out any detail, beyond the growing pillars of black smoke.

CW: “Telling readers that this quarter is on the inland edge is not helpful, because we don’t know whether the hold is on the inland side or ocean side of the city. For me, it also meant adding a big ocean to the picture for the first time, which was itself disorienting. Erikson has dropped hints that this is a coastal city. He mentioned a sea breeze in his wind paragraph and referred to the area as an island in his hold paragraph. But there are two reasons that wasn’t enough.

1. He’s drowning his readers in disorienting details. This is where the basic principle of cognitive load or comprehension scarcity comes into play. people can only absorb so much information at a time. I’m not going to notice a sea breeze when I’m trying to figure out what the Mouse Quarter is.

2. He’s only mentioned it indirectly or in passing. The manner in which you give readers information really does matter. When you refer to something in passing, it signals to readers that the information isn’t important, and therefore that they don’t need to pay much attention to it or remember it.“

Now, I kind of understand this, because all of the points made make sense, but, as Chris said, Erikson drops hints – the fact that they then go on to say the hints are not enough is simply untrue, because Chris noticed them! Again, Chris makes assumptions about reader comprehension levels, and if we were six chapters in and the writing was extremely complicated, I could possibly support that argument – but it’s been six paragraphs! Six! Still, I think that’s a wildly unfair assumption about readership in general. The things that were “mentioned in passing” were used as descriptors in visual imagery. This response from Chris makes me think that she’s specifically thinking about readers who do not have an affinity for lyrical style, because otherwise this doesn’t make sense, but there’s no confirmation or denial of that in the article.

What follows is how Chris ends this section which, just to remind you, was titled ‘Watch for Disorientation in Your Opening Paragraphs‘ –  let’s not forget that this is a critical analysis illustrating what you shouldn’t do if you’re a writer seeking to get published. The list below is originally bullet-pointed, but for clarity of my responses, I’ve numbered them.

CW: “I’ve been focusing on the disorientation in this opening because without fixing that, it’s hard to do anything else. But after six meaty paragraphs, it’s worth taking a step back to see if this opening has accomplished anything.

1. We know very little about the only character, Ganoes. There’s nothing interesting about him.
2. Ganoes is doing nothing but standing on a wall looking at the city.
3. The city and world so far have no novelty. It’s just a generic fantasy city.
4. Most of the text is dull exposition that is not particularly relevant to the scene at hand
5. I guess there’s a riot somewhere across the city, involving people who we don’t know, resulting in no significant consequences to speak of.

Even if the disorientation were taken care of, this would not be a good opening. So far, posturing seems to be the only thing The Malazan Book of the Fallen has.”

It was midday, but the flash and thundering concussion of magery made the air seem dark and heavy.

CW: “There’s magic! Flashy and noisy magic. At least that’s clear.“

Again, the tone of the article shifts from objective and informative, to subjective, and Chris seems to have not taken in any of the information from the six paragraphs that she has read and deconstructed so far.

So let me step back and see if this opening has accomplished anything. Bear in mind that there have only been six paragraphs to this point.

1: Ganoes has only just been introduced. We’re six paragraphs in. We know that Ganoes is from a ‘noble’ house and is visiting the city with his father, who is there negotiating export costs with the harbour officials, as he has done before at least three times in the last three years, because that’s how many times Ganoes has visited the old capital. We also know that Ganoes pretty much has a free reign there, given the things he has previously discovered. There are, of course, places that he cannot access – that are out of bounds to him even though he has ‘noble’ status.

2 & 3: Ganoes is not interested in the Hold as he usually would be because there is something else capturing his attention in the city. This does not mean that Ganoes finds the Hold boring, it just isn’t what he’s focusing on this time. The city is described as tattered, and the fact he is watching the riots that are happening below show that this is not a normal occurrence. The reader knows that the city is far below because we are told that Mock’s Hold is on a cliff and the drop to the city from that cliff is some 80/86 arm spans (around 400/450 feet, which research shows is standard.) We also know that the city is between Ganoes and the riots in the quarter – and that the fact that there are riots means that this isn’t a standard generic fantasy city – something is happening here.

4 & 5: Erikson has painted a clear picture of Mock’s Hold, which has a weathervane on it – Mock’s Vane – and the surrounding scenery by showing the reader Ganoes’ experiences with the Old Keep – so we know that the Hold is in a state of disrepair, but also that it wasn’t always like that. We are made aware that there are riots in Mouse Quarter, which we now know is the poorest quarter in the city. In real-life, riots are started and continued by people; therefore, we can ascertain that the people in the riots are the people of Mouse Quarter. We know that there is smoke and fire, because Ganoes can’t make out details of what happening because the smoke is affecting his view. As a general point, we also know, or should, that where there’s smoke there’s fire (usually) and that fire is bad and dangerous.

This is not dull exposition – this is Erikson building the scene for the reader in a descriptive and engaging way. In fact, he even writes it in a relatively straight forward and orderly structure:

1) defining feature of the landmark with imagery
2) showing locations close to the structure with imagery
3) a character introduction and their position/location in the structure
4) character experiences at the structure including memories from the past
5) character witnessing what is happening in the present described with imagery
6) character location in relation to the dangerous scenario that he is watching, complete with imagery.

Also, Erikson provides a time frame for the events, using the dates at the opening of the prologue – it is the year the emperor was killed – so the reader can rightfully assume that it is likely that the events in the city are connected to this.

Look how much is there! It’s chock-full of relevant information for the reader!

CW: “There’s magic! Flashy and noisy magic. At least that’s clear.“

Yes, let’s not forget the flashy, noisy magic. While this may be an unexpected way to introduce the idea of magic to the book, it is still an introduction that magic is something to be aware of. That the mention of it includes imagery of a dark, heavy atmosphere gives the reader an expectation of what is to come where magic is involved.

CW: “I’ve been focusing on the disorientation in this opening because without fixing that, it’s hard to do anything else” and “Even if the disorientation were taken care of, this would not be a good opening.”

I think that the argument regarding disorientation could be skewed by personal preference. The objectivity of the article, or lack thereof, is one of the reasons that some of the presented arguments fall flat.

We’re about halfway through the original article and it’s becoming clearer that Chris is not finding anything positive or interesting about the prologue. At this point, it feels like she has already made up her mind that this is an extremely badly written prologue/book.

Most fans of the book and series probably viewed this article as “shit-posting” when it was originally published. However, it is a “lesson” post, a “teaching” post, and as I’ve said before, it’s apparent that many readers do have problems engaging with the text. Had the tone of the article remained objective throughout, I believe that this would have resulted in less negative feedback and comments (not none-at-all, die-hard fans are, after all, die-hard fans.)

However, I have to re-iterate that as a critical “teaching” analysis, Chris should have provided an objective, rather than a subjective opinion on the text presented and the latter is beginning to take over.

That is not to say that Chris is not entitled to her opinion – she most assuredly is – it’s just that in the context of the “lesson” it shouldn’t be the presented argument, which in this case, it is.

Arguments presented as one thing and being another can unfairly influence potential readers.

Next up: Scenes Should Highlight the Action