book reviews, writing technique

Dirty Dangling

I was introduced to suspense by our headmaster at primary school. Every afternoon, he read us a chapter from a book, and the one that’s stuck in my mind is Wingless Victory, the story of RAF pilot Sir Basil Embry’s two-month trek through occupied France after being shot down in May 1940. In my memory, every chapter ended with the promise of some dramatic, perilous event to come. A cliff-hanger. The whole class was hooked.

When I wrote my first crime novel, I naturally wanted suspense to be an ingredient. I’m not big on breathless pace for the sake of it, but there was a gradual build-up of tension till two-thirds through, the main character is upstairs in her house investigating the cause of a strange sound when the lights go out. The following chapter moved to a different character’s point of view, and what happened next in the house wasn’t described till sixty pages later.

Much hesitation preceded that choice. Do I do this or not? Will readers be annoyed? In the end I went for it. Sixty pages, I thought, is fair enough; they won’t be dangling for too long. It’s not as if they have to wait till the next book in the series.

The upshot? It earned me a stern rebuke from a certain Elderberry, who in a very well-written review on Amazon downgraded what was to be five stars to three. Crudely manipulative, she said, and I took her point to heart so much that I revised the book, removing both POV switch and cliff-hanger. But the damage was done, and there her review has sat ever since, at the top of the product page, putting people off.

Unsurprisingly, I’ve cooled on cliff-hangers since then. Which doesn’t mean they’re a bad thing entirely, but only, I think, if the resolution comes in the following chapter, or at most the next but one. Not sixty pages later, and never ever in the next book in the series – that’s like the dirty trick in The Walking Dead where fans had to wait a whole year to see who was clubbed to death.

But I do put a lot of thought into chapter endings. An unexpected development, a bit of tension or surprise – surely that can only be good? A few of the more climactic ones from Perfume Island, book number three in the series:

She read the sentence several times, leant back in her chair, clasped her hands together on top of her head. What the hell does that mean? She was raped?

‘And if that’s so,’ said Magali, ‘it means he came over with a specific purpose in mind. To kill Yann.’

‘I just got news from the Border Police. They fished Hafiz Chanfi out of the water an hour ago. What was left of him, anyway.’

He’d been in the lay-by or somewhere close, had sex with Youma and beaten her. But what if his propensity to rape was not the half of it? What if he was also guilty of incest?

Not exactly cliff-hangers, perhaps, but hopefully with enough drama to have the reader wanting to know more. Manipulation, sure, but don’t we manipulate with every word we write?

If you’re bent on cliff-hangers yourself, below are some tips I found on the MasterClass website (the full article is here).

  1. Withhold key information from a reader. Try narrating from the point of view of a character who doesn’t know all the information.
  2. Stay grounded in a protagonist’s sensory experience. Let the audience experience the cliffhanger the same way the character does. The character’s point of view will invariably provide a heightened sense of urgency..
  3. Keep each chapter ending concise and cut out superfluous descriptions. A great cliffhanger can be watered down by detail that would fit better somewhere else in the chapter. The end of the chapter should be taut.
  4. Make your cliffhanger scenes focus on your main character. A reader is more likely to push past the end of a chapter if a plot twist or suspenseful shift in the storyline focuses on the protagonist rather than an antagonist or ancillary character.
  5. Keep your plotlines distinct. End chapters with a cliffhanger for one particular plotline, and address other plot lines elsewhere.
  6. Remember that a cliffhanger is not a spoiler. As you develop your writing craft, take care to write chapter endings that offer foreshadowing and build suspense, but do not spoil any information that would be better saved for the very end—whether that’s a final scene, final confrontation, or, in the case of television, a season finale.
  7. Use a flashback as a cliffhanger. Flashbacks can make good cliffhangers if they reveal new information that affects the present-day action of the story. As such, a properly constructed chapter-ending flashback can fit the definition of cliffhanger.
Standard
reading, writing technique

On characters, thrills and getting laid

cruise-courtney-fight

I’ve been trying to figure something out. Thrillers. More precisely, why they don’t thrill me enough. Or rather, yes, they thrill me but don’t satisfy me. So I’ve been pondering the reasons for that.

Is it my fault or theirs? It could be mine. I mean, they really are page-turners, most of them. But often what happens is that around page 216, I lose interest. Which is odd, really, considering that it’s precisely the point where the tension is ramped up, the hero’s in real trouble, and the perpetrator / villain / psychopath is about to be discovered. But at that point, I stop caring.

Let me take a couple of examples. No Time For Goodbye by Linwood Barclay and Live to Tell by Lisa Gardner. Gripping situations, both of them, and despite the differences, a similar starting point. Barclay’s book has Cynthia waking in the morning to find her family missing. Gardner’s has Danielle waking in the night to find her family dead.

Now, both these books are bestsellers. They both have 46 chapters of 3 to 4 pages, with the reader left, maybe not always hanging over a cliff, but at least suspended somewhere in mid-air. So in that respect they work. You turn the pages. And yet, after a while, they don’t thrill.

My first thought was, it’s the characters. The first person narrator of Barclay’s book displays all the complexity of a wooden marionette. While after reading Live To Tell, I knew nothing of Gardner’s detective heroine other than that she eats a lot and would really like to get laid.

But of course we don’t go to genre fiction for psychological depth. If we did, Ian Fleming would never have had the success he did. Nor James Patterson today. So I’ve reached a much simpler conclusion: these books are too long. If they ended on page 215, that would be fine. Why the extra 180 pages? I suspect it’s the Hollywood syndrome: the fight goes on a full 20 minutes, Tom Cruise finally knocks the baddy down and then – groan – the baddy’s up on his feet again and we’re into extra time. Maybe it’s a ploy to keep technicians and stuntmen in work, but to the viewer / reader it’s like being force fed when you already want to throw up.

Now Patterson, I can handle, because he knows when to stop (just before I get bored), but in a book 400 pages or more, I want characters that surprise me, intrigue me, characters who reveal a little of what it means to be human.

You might dismiss what I’m saying here as unreasonable. ‘What does he expect? It’s Linwood Barclay, not Dostoyevsky.’ Sure. I get that. It’s just that if I’m in for a marathon read, I need my interest to be sustained. And Dostoyevsky does that, Barclay doesn’t.

Or else you could say it’s sour grapes. ‘He’s griping because he’d really like to do what they do but he can’t.’ And actually, I confess you’d be closer the mark there. Not quite sour grapes, though, because otherwise I’d include Patterson in the gripe. I probably would have if I’d read him back when I was snooty, but now that I’ve seen what it takes, I begrudge no author their success. My attitude now is they must be doing something right, even if it’s just the marketing.

Imitation isn’t the way, I know. Nonetheless, given that I’m no Dostoyevsky myself, whenever I read Patterson (not that often in fact – maybe half a dozen so far), I go into analytical mode. Short chapters – yep, I can do that. Paragraphs, sentences, words – keep ’em simple and direct. And the book itself – to be devoured in about the same time as a chocolate Magnum. It takes a little practice, but all of that I can manage. Where I’ll always trip up, though, is with the characters. They will insist on having foibles, issues, qualms, dilemmas, contradictions. Why can’t they just be simple? Eat, go after the baddy and get laid. Isn’t that what life’s all about?

 

Standard