Charlotte Lesemann

How You Can Use These Plot Structures

Circular plotting is an oft-used means of structuring a book. A ring structure, also known as a symmetrical plot or a chiastic structure, is a lesser known, but more detailed structuring device. If you’ve ever been confused about the differences, how to use them or why you’d want to use one or the other, you’re in the right place. Stay with me as we examine both circular versus symmetrical plotting.

Circular Structure

If you watch movies, circular plot structures are already part of your intuition, regardless of whether or not you’ve recognized it. I’d be willing to bet that most if not nearly all movies have something of a circular structure. Why? Because it feels complete.

The essence of this type of plotting is that the protagonist’s journey starts and ends in approximately the same place (either the setting itself and/or the type of situation) and yet the character has changed and the conflict is over. I’ll give you an example.

Plot Spoilers Ahead!

War Horse

The movie begins with the hardships of the main character and his family on their failing farm. To make a long (but good) story short, the protagonist’s father buys this splendid but impractical horse at auction. However, Albert bonds with the horse and manages to train him to plough their fields, saving the family from bankruptcy.

That would be a short story if it wasn’t for the war. After all of the drama of the battles and his fight to survive, Albert is reunited with his horse. In the last scene of the movie, he and Joey return home to the family’s farm. That’s what makes this a circular plot: the beginning shows Albert’s trials on the farm, his lack of maturity and the loss of his horse. The ending shows him returning to the farm wiser, reunited to his horse and [as it’s implied] certain to triumph going forward. The story comes full circle.

Ring/ Symmetrical Structure

A ring/ symmetrical/ chiastic structure—three terms that refer to the same thing—takes this circularity to a much greater degree. At its essence, it’s a plotting structure in which the second half of the book (or series!) mirrors the first.

I particularly like Nate Listrom’s graphic (above) which he based off of K.M. Weiland’s series of articles about chiastic or symmetrical structuring. You can find more of her articles about employing this structure here:

https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/the-power-of-chiastic-story-structure-especially-in-series

Notice from above that the reader should see (regardless of whether she consciously notices or not) the resolution as a reflection of the hook, the third plot point as a reflection of the first one and so on. This doesn’t mean that the two are two versions of the same incident. Rather, in the opposing one, the author shows how the characters have changed by giving readers a different view of the same type of incident. We’ll get into more of that below.

This method isn’t necessarily restricted to major plot points. It can be carried down the scene level. Susan Raab’s graphic of the 1991 movie, Beauty and the Beast, is a great example of a story that uses a scene-by-scene symmetrical structure.

In order to help you interpret this, especially if you haven’t seen the movie or it’s been awhile (frankly, it has been awhile), the story begins at the bottom middle point, and then progresses clockwise. For example:

1. At the beginning of the story the spell is cast: a witch transforms the prince into a beast
2. The writers show Belle choosing books above everyone else
3. Viewers see the response of the townspeople (they think she’s strange because she isn’t content with the provincial life that they enjoy)
4. etc.

…after the midpoint, when Belle chooses to love, each of the story’s subsequent actions mirrors those in the first half. Some of these are:

• Rather than Belle rejecting the Beast’s dinner invitation, as she did in the first half, she invites the Beast to dinner (he accepts)
• As Belle had rescued Maurice (her eccentric, inventor father) early in the story, at the opposite point in the story (timing-wise) she comes to the Beast’s rescue
• In the end, Belle chooses the Beast over books
• As a result, the spell is broken

The Mirror

As you can see, some of these events are more reflective (two views of the same type of event) rather than opposing. However, regardless of how the mirroring works, it acts to show change. Look at each of the events above (from Beauty and the Beast) and note how the writers show both Belle and the Beast growing in different ways.

For example, Belle is particularly insular prior to her imprisonment in the Beast’s castle. Early on she comes to her father’s rescue by following him to the Beast’s castle and offering herself as the prisoner in his place. Later she comes to the Beast’s rescue as the townspeople seek to destroy him. These two scenes seem virtually identical with swapped recipients of Belle’s benevolence. But on closer examination, we see that Belle is stepping out of her provincial world—the very thing she said that she wanted to do in the very first scene—and coming to the aid of someone who isn’t a family member.

In another example, note the Beast’s character growth. In the first half of the story, he imprisons Belle in her father’s place. This is consistent with his selfish and ruthless character at the start of the story. However, later he releases Belle so that she can rescue her father [again!]. We see his concern for both of them—a distinct difference from the beast we knew at the beginning.

While these two examples are both very character-centric, other mirroring incidents are more plot-centric such as Maurice’s awkward wood-chopping invention in the beginning that leads him to his imprisonment. Later though, Chip is able to use that invention is to rescue Maurice and Belle from the cellar.

The Value of Symmetrical Plotting

This type of symmetrical plotting feels balanced and satisfying. For one, readers detect that each of the open threads in the story is fully addressed. Each time you show them a before picture of the character, they later receive an after image that closes the loop.

For another, it gives meaning to every aspect of the novel. That funny scene with Belle’s father and his wood-chopping invention comes full circle in the end. It ends up being one of the necessary keys to their escape. Rather than being simply comedic, it’s there for a reason. Readers love when everything has meaning. I think that’s intuitive. We want to see all of the portions of our own lives have meaning and often, even if we believe that they do, we don’t see or understand what those meanings are. In literature, readers want that satisfaction.

How Can We Use this Type of Structure

The key to doing this well is to understand the heart of the story.

Action Plots

Action-driven plots are more straightforward and the symmetry will be as well. However, you don’t want to have exact replicas of each scene in the second half of the story.

Let’s say you’re writing a story about an art heist. Your protagonist is a master thief. In the beginning of the book he steals a car so that his identity is covered in case someone tails him. However, the robbery goes wrong in many ways, including his car being impounded. At the end, he fools the security mastermind who believes that his art gallery is foolproof and gets away by stealing his Lamborghini. He could have escaped in any number of ways, but using another stolen car resonates with his history in a satisfying and humorous way.

Character Plots

If you’re writing a more character-driven novel, perhaps a Horror story (yes, Horror is a character genre; you can read about the relatable, human underpinnings of the genre here: The Relatable Side of Horror), you’ll want to get at the heart of the character’s growth.

Let’s say you’re writing a story about a woman who’s haunted by a female ghost. The story escalates from small-scale torment to life-threatening physical attacks. Readers eventually learn that the protagonist has a history of self-centered actions that often betrayed the confidence and trust of others, especially her supposed closest female friends. This reached a high point many years prior when she abandoned a friend in need so that the other woman had to make her way home alone from a party in the middle of the night. As a result, her friend was brutally raped and murdered. It’s this woman’s ghost who’s now haunting her.

Of course, if you understand the bones of the Horror genre, you know that the ghost is really just the tangible form of the protagonist’s guilt. She knows that she’s in the wrong (or should) and she hasn’t dealt with her former actions. Because of this, the guilt has finally reared its head and is going to traumatize her until she confesses or atones for and amends her ways.

All of this information is crucial because it will dictate how you build a symmetrical structure. In the first half of the book, your main character is simply reacting to this new violentr force in her life. She’s running from it, maybe trying to understand it, denying it, etc. but she isn’t battling it. Not in any sense of actually owning up to her prior guilt.

However, after the second half of the story, she begins to engage in the conflict in a more active way, which includes uncovering the guilt that she previously buried and has since denied. Your symmetrical scenes might look something like:

1st half: perhaps in her workplace she overtly throws someone under the bus or damages this other person’s reputation by allowing a false assumption to go unchallenged because it would cost her something.

2nd half: she goes out on a limb to side with someone, placing herself in the hot seat with them because she knows that this person is in the right, or has been wrongly accused of something.

1st half: maybe she’s having an affair (notice that this is consistent with, but different from her primary problem: her unfaithfulness and selfishness; you’re examining and demonstrating her flaw from multiple angles). Her husband is blithely unaware and is the laughingstock of the neighborhood. He senses that something is wrong, but is ignorant to his wife’s actions.

2nd half: she sees the error of her ways and breaks off the affair. She confesses all to her husband, knowing that it might be the end of her marriage, a relationship that she desperately wants and would hate to lose.

Timing

Notice that none of these examples are truly revolutionary. Most of us know to include this sort of round closure in our stories. However, that doesn’t mean that we always do so as completely as a symmetrical story requires. It also doesn’t mean that our timing lines up with the symmetrical/ mirrored structure that we saw above.

A symmetrical/ ring/ chiastic plot structure uses this type of mirroring in exact (or nearly exact) timing. Meaning that if that opposing scene happens at the 5/8 point, the symmetrical scene should have happened at the 3/8 point (directly opposite one another in the two halves of the story).

There’s a certain instinctual satisfaction when the reader experiences this symmetry. It’s like a circular plot. We use this type of structuring because it reads well. It feels good to the audience. The pieces are all in order, the story is complete.

Conclusion

Using a symmetrical plot structure is a choice. You don’t have to do so, but the rewards are evident. The popularity of books like the Harry Potter series that’s symmetrical at the scene level across the entire series (yes, across books) is undeniable and much of that is probably due to the satisfaction of the tight plotting.

In addition, symmetrical plotting gives the writer a huge advantage: it tells you what you need to do across the entire story. If you open with that work scene in which our character implicitly betrays a coworker, or that art thief steals a car, you know what type of scene to include in the second half of the story and exactly where to place it.

The key is to brainstorm ways (especially in a character-based story) to open or close that loop so that the scene reflects the heart of the opposite one without looking identical and while showing the appropriate degree of character change for that point in the story.

I find this means of plotting extremely liberating, but I have a very structured personality and I thrive off of plans. I recognize that it’s not for everyone, but give it a try and see if it works for you. If so, it can only help you. And if you have used this type of plotting before, let me know. I’d love to hear about your experience!

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How to Make [Almost] Any Story Work

If you’re a new-ish writer, you’ve probably heard the adage that all of your books should [at least roughly] fit into your chosen corner of the literary world. That means that if you’re building an audience based on Fantasy Romance, you shouldn’t switch over to Horror. At least not under the same pen name (brand). Whether or not you agree or adhere to that advice, you may have faced the same problem many of us have: every idea we have doesn’t necessarily fall into the genre puzzle like the next missing piece. What are we to do? There’s hope. I can tell you how to fit almost all of your ideas into your preferred genre.

First a note though: I’m not suggesting that there’s no possibility for deviation. For example, if you write Horror and then want to try some Dark Fantasy, your audience is probably cool with that. Many of the readers in either of those genres would also enjoy novels in the other. But few Horror readers want to read a Coming-of-Age story with touches of romance.

Blend the Two

However, even if your ideas are that disparate, there’s a way to mesh them. You just have to be flexible.

Idea #1

Let’s say that you’ve written two or three Historical Mysteries but this Coming-of-Age story just won’t leave you alone. I wouldn’t recommend writing it in a traditional sense—the modern-day, character story that’s likely for YA readers. And I wouldn’t recommend adopting a new pen name and doing so either. Early in your career, that would be too much of a hurdle. You’d have to build an entirely new market following, none of whom know anything about you.

But…you can modify your story idea so that it’s only slightly tangential rather than a complete departure from your genre. Make it a historical Coming-of-Age story with at least a touch of mystery.

Take your characters, set them in historical setting and, while they’re struggling to come to terms with their maturation and all of the life changes that come with that, give them a mystery to solve. You can tone down the historical details somewhat so that they’re more of an issue of the setting rather than the central role that they play in Historical Fiction. Likewise, the mystery component will likely be less intense than in a more traditional Mystery. However, it will hopefully fall close enough to your existing work(s) that your readers won’t wonder what happened to their beloved author.

Idea #2

But what about those ideas that seem to be radically different such as the one I mentioned before—the case in which you’re a Horror author but want to write a Romance. Better yet: a Coming-of-Age Romance, which seems even farther afield.

Stand back from the two and look at the underpinnings. As Jessica Brody so deftly identified in Save the Cat! Writes a Novel, a Horror story is about a secret sin. It might be something one of the characters has done in the past, or something that a larger figure has inflicted on their community, the country or even the world (as in Swan Song by Robert McCammon). In the Horror novel, some form of monster—human or otherwise—takes the tangible form of that sin. The characters struggle against the monster until they’re able to conquer it and address the sin that to-date remains unaddressed.

There’s no reason why the characters can’t be young ones and that their struggles can’t drive them together romantically. The resulting story won’t look like a traditional coming-of-age story like The Fault in Our Stars or If I Stay and it can’t. Your audience isn’t going to accept that great a departure from what they want from you (Horror). But it can still be a great story with the characters and the love affair that you want to write.

Major on Your Strengths

Another option that might seem similar to the one we just discussed but isn’t necessarily is to consider what you really bring to the table. I’ll use myself as an example.

My first work of fiction is a Historical Gothic Mystery. If I were to want to depart from that genre, I’d need to consider why my readers love my writing. I know something about what that might be because of my editor and others who have commented on my strengths and what really shines in my writing. I’ve been told that my writing is very atmospheric and that I’m “a master of suspense.” I also love plot twists and I tend to write on a deeply symbolic level.

I’ve had a huge idea that I’ve been working on for years. Originally I envisioned it as more of a traditional epic Fantasy series (somewhere around twelve books). But the more I work up to something on that scale, the more I realize that I’ll have more fun with it and will produce a better product if I stick with the things I do well.

Twisting the story (not that hard given what I’m working on) to make it more of a Dark Fantasy chock-full of plot twists and suspense is a no-brainer. And there’s a great possibility that my readers will love it just as much since it includes the very things they’re looking for in my writing.

But I could also write in other genres as well as long as I remember to major in suspense, plot twists in an atmospheric setting. That might be a Paranormal Romance or even a Science Fiction novel so long as it’s lighter on the SciFi and heavier on the other elements.

Sequel/ Prequel/ Extension

If you’re hell-bent on writing that hugely different tale under your existing brand, the only other way to make it work is to tie it into your existing work in some way. For example, let’s say you’re working on a series of thrillers featuring the same main character(s). It’s possible to write an extension story about someone your readers already love.

Perhaps in the first three books your main character garnered the support of a local police detective. At the end of the third book, they conquer that foe and the detective decides to retire and become a school teacher in a small town. He’s battle worn and has seen enough trauma for several lifetimes.

If your readers love that character, it’s likely that a lot of them will want to read more about his life after he retires from hunting monsters. He could very well strike up a romance with another teacher or a local barista. Your extension story might show the difficulty he has trusting people. After all, thrillers are, at their core, about ascertaining who’s trustworthy.

Or you could write a prequel about how he got to the point of being a master monster hunter in the first place. Imagine how psychologically rich that could be.

A Separate Brand

You get the point. For a significant off-brand work to succeed, it’ll need to appeal to your existing readers in some way. It’ll need to tie in due to a merger of genres, common underpinnings (your style), or a character or plot extension.

Otherwise you’re going to need to employ a different pen name. That comes with its own share of difficulties such as having to reestablish a market for your work. Lots of well-known authors do this and once you have an income base from your other work it isn’t as stressful. It gives writers the freedom to dabble in all of the areas they love the most.

If that’s you, don’t be afraid to do this, but if you’re just starting out, know that it may come with a lot of stress and difficulty. If you can shelve your ideas for later when you’re not trying to build a career based on your existing brand, you’ll have a much easier road.

Long way of saying: you can and should write whatever you want to write, but don’t try to write wildly off-brand pieces under the same name. Readers rarely accept it and it’ll undermine your success. Build a consistent brand name and let that name compound your readership so that you have a base under your feet before you veer off course.

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What I Liked About It & Whether I’d Recommend It

Synopsis

World War Z is a fictional account of a decade-long zombie war. However, it’s told by the survivors, after the war is over. It’s also told as a series of interviews, as if the writer is a journalist traveling the world and collecting the stories of what they endured.

It’s organized chronologically beginning with the initial outbreak in China and ending with the final war and the aftermath. Brooks moves from one interviewee to another so that each scene is told from a certain character’s perspective. Other than a few closing remarks from some of these at the end of the book, we never hear from a given character a second time after their scene is over. This lack of any character arcs is quite distinct from a typical novel.

The zombies are also distinct in that they possess finer motor skills than I’ve seen in other zombie tales such as The Walking Dead. In Brooks’s zombie world, the undead are able to open doors, climb walls, and maneuver around obstacles more adeptly than readers might expect. This makes them more of a threat. They’re harder to obstruct, elude and kill.

But did I like it? Yes and no.

What I Liked

Character Voices

Brooks’s ability to tell a story in a slightly different voice across so many characters stood out. For example, the compassionate and pragmatic doctor, Kwang Jingshu tells his story in an observant, compliant manner. He’s reserved, a bit skeptical, but eager to help once he sees how great the need is. His tale is told in a relatively matter-of-fact manner befitting a man of science.

In contrast, Philip Adler, the battle-worn West German soldier whose general ordered them to abandon the civilians, recounts his portion of the tale with all of the bitterness you might expect from someone who felt compelled to do what he knew was wrong. We meet up with him in the likeliest of places: on a pilgrimage to see the pope at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. His story is one laced with emotion and regret.

Since this is a story of a war-torn land and its survivors, all of the characters have something of a battle-hardened perspective. However, within that cross-section, Brooks manages a fairly broad range of perspectives that I found impressive.

Military Knowledge

If all you know about Max Brooks is that he’s the son of Mel Brooks, you’ll be blown away by his knowledge of both military operations and strategy. I’ll admit that I knew nothing about him prior to reading this book. However, when you discover that he holds dual fellowships at the Atlantic Council’s Brent Scowcroft Center for Strategy and Security and the Modern War Institute at West Point, it all makes sense. [You can find more information about him here.]

This is a man who knows a lot about warfare. And it shows. What the book lacks in character arcs it makes up for in a deep knowledge of military tactics, weapons and strategy. Thus the story comes across as profoundly realistic, perhaps even predictive.

Geographical Breadth

And lastly, my favorite aspect of the book is its geographic scale. Brooks takes readers across every continent on earth, to islands in the ocean, on ships, and to many different countries. I’m the type of reader who researches as I read. (I can’t resist.) I learned about so many different places despite the fact that we visit each one for only that character’s relatively brief scene.

This gives the book a truly epic and global feel.

What I Didn’t Like

Character

If you read for character, this book might disappoint you. Though the range of character voices is great, readers see each character for only a few pages. There’s no character change or growth at all. After all, they’re telling a brief synopsis of their participation in the war. Since the story is told in retrospect, there’s really no chance for that character journey that’s the beating heart of almost all literature.

That makes this novel profoundly different. We also hardly see any character relationships or the ways in which different people move through life together. There were moments of bitter disappointment or regret—characters who were left despairing rather than hoping for the future. However, it’s quite minimal compared to what we’re used to seeing in a novel.

Distance

And my least favorite aspect of the book is the distance from the story. As much as I enjoyed the geographical journey and Brooks’s military acumen impressed me, I was almost never immersed in the story. This goes hand-in-hand with the character matter I just mentioned. Since the story is told in retrospect and we aren’t traveling in the shoes of a given character or two, I always felt as if I was removed from the story.

That meant that it wasn’t terribly suspenseful, the story didn’t grip me, and I didn’t feel like I had any real emotional experience while reading it.

Did I like It/ Would I Recommend It

So did I like it? No, for the most part I didn’t. I respect it, but it isn’t a story I’d revisit for an enjoyable literary experience.

HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t recommend it. It really depends on what kind of reader you are. I know a lot of people who love military history or strategy along with weapons and tactics. Someone like that would probably eat this up.

I’d even recommend it to those readers who are more like myself: lovers of literary-quality genre fiction. This is a smart book. There’s a lot that I appreciate about it and Brooks’s style despite the fact that it’ll never be one of my favorites.

If you’ve read it, leave me a comment. I’d love to hear what you did or didn’t like about it and whether it was your cup of tea!

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How I Get Out of the Rut!

I’m working on a book right now: The Monster of Vienna. It’s a great book-to-be with a huge character arc (two of them), boatloads of suspense and an intriguing cat-and-mouse chase. I’m in the chair every day, working on it. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes find myself stuck in a rut. Sometimes the rut is just slow, sloth-like progress. Other times it’s something like a dense brain fog in which all of my ideas scatter like vapor in the mist. I can’t seem to grasp onto any of them. So what do I do? Well, it depends, but there are several methods that work for me when I need to know how to fix writer’s block!

Place

A Change of Scenery

If you’re like me, you sit in the same, or very nearly the same, place every time you write. I sit at my big table in my office. It’s a great space with lots of room to spread out my notebooks and a mug of coffee or tea and a gazillion sticky notes, etc. But sometimes it feels just a little staid. A little too predictable, especially in the conceptual and brainstorming phases of my work.

That’s when getting out to a library or coffee shop can really help. Sometimes a new setting goes hand-in-hand with the free flow of new ideas. Worst case: you get a great cup of coffee or a new book to go.

Into AutoPilot

Have you ever been on a plane or train or in a car and you found that your creative ideas seemed to pour out of you? I have on multiple occasions. There’s actually science behind why this works. It has a lot to do with the same reason some artists drink a lot or use drugs (I don’t recommend either). When we’re doing something active but relatively mindless our “left brain” (the logical, executive portion of our mind) is occupied. That frees up our creative mind to explore.

Dr Shelley Carson, researcher and lecturer at Harvard University, and author of Your Creative Brain, explains that getting into the car and driving can be just the thing to unlock your creativity. Ideally you want quiet roads without lots of traffic or stop lights— things that require your constant focus.

What definitely helps is holding all the information you need in your brain before you reach for the keys. ‘You want to prime what I call your inner repository of your brain with all the information that you might need,’ says Dr Carson. ‘Say you’re writing a book and you’re blocked. Go over as much about your problem as you can, then take a break from it for a while before you go on your ride.

Your brain will start automatically putting things together in what I call the research and development parts of your brain. Then you’re just waiting for the opportunity to bring that into consciousness, which is what the drive is going to provide for you.’

Ganatra, Shilpa. For outside the box ideas, get inside the car. Why driving makes you more creative.

A Change in Schedule

For me, one of the best times for novel ideas and problem-solving is at night. Like really, really late. This is essentially the same concept as the idea above about putting the more logical, executive function of the brain to sleep. As this can happen in a monotonous setting like driving a car on a long, quiet road, it can also happen when we’re really tired.

I usually write during the day. I keep a relatively normal work schedule albeit I might start and end my work day a little later to allow for morning chores. But when I’m in a rut, forcing myself to switch my schedule can be invaluable. This is especially true in a more creative stage of the process such as when I’m trying to decide where the plot should go, or how a character should get out of a given situation.

Inspiration

Warm-Ups

Writers are (or should be) like athletes. I ran cross-country and track in high school and I can tell you that we never went for a run or even did short sprints without first stretching and walking briskly. The human body doesn’t transition well from inertia to full exertion. Ligaments tear, muscles cramp and then you’re out of the game.

In writing, the consequences of not doing some form of warm-up may not be quite so severe, but it can mean never getting off the block. Sitting there for hours in a brain fog. And frankly, that leaves you out of the game too.

What constitutes a warm-up will vary from writer to writer. You’ll have to give different things a try and find what works for you. And if one thing ceases to be effective, try again and find a new way of exercising your writing muscles. Here are some tried and true options:

• Doodling – literally drawing shapes
• Free-form writing – pick a subject either about something in your book, a character or scene you’re working on, or something from your life and just write for 30 minutes or so
• Rereading/ editing the prior section – some authors read over the prior chapter that they wrote, sometimes making minor edits to get their head in the right space. (Avoid major edits or you’ll never move on and will find yourself in the same place the next time you sit down to write.)
• Writing prompts – Follow people who put out writing prompts (or make your own) and allot a specific amount of time to work on it before diving into your regular writing.

The 5 Senses

Many authors swear by a certain playlist for each novel. They’ll create a virtual soundtrack that fits the mood of their work and gets them into the story. Others love to have a certain candle lit or a mug of their favorite tea so that the fragrance and the warmth relaxes them and helps them to focus. If you feel most in tune with your writing by having a character or storyboard that you’ve created and hung on the wall, do so.

Other writers like to spend some time working out before writing. Not only does this relax them, it also helps them to de-stress and to get some perspective about other things that tend to occupy our minds when we need to be working.

Sensitive to External Stimuli

On the flip side of the coin, some writers are particularly sensitive to external stimuli. I’m one such writer. I can handle (and enjoy) a candle flickering next to me, but I usually need to put on noise canceling headphones with some form of white noise: the sound of rain, a box fan, a river running over the rocks. Anything very monotonous that helps me to close out the world.

For the same reason, I would choose the dark corner of a library over a coffee shop any day. A closet is even better. I tend to close the curtains around my office when I’m working. There’s nothing like really closing off the external world to help me focus. The key here is to find what works for you.

Method

If you ever listen to very established writers talk about their methods, some say that they can only brainstorm and plot their story on paper. Others can only write the first draft on paper. Still others do everything in a computer. But some might use a writing software like Scrivener to both brainstorm and write. In contrast, some writers need to see their plotting (if they do that) in a format like Word or Excel before they can write the book.

I’ve found that my brain flies when I brainstorm on paper. That includes the initial ideas about the book and the scene plans. I then transfer these to Scrivener, clean everything up so that the story fits into a solid framework. After that, I write my first draft (and subsequent ones) in Scrivener.

But what about when I run into a problem?

If I find that a character idea isn’t working out as well as I had initially envisioned or I need to strengthen a portion of the story during the rewriting process, I often have to return to paper. The reason for this is that, for whatever reason, I feel constrained by the computer when I’m brainstorming. It feels final, as if I can’t put anything down until I have the finished idea.

I have no idea why I would think this since I always do quite a few extensive rewrites before the book is final. But it is what it is. Knowing that means that instead of trying to fix the problem and wasting hours accomplishing nothing, I immediately pull out my notebook. I’m learning how my mind works best and how to flip back and forth between the methods that get me the best results.

The Conclusion: You + Flexibility

Which leads me to the last comment I’ve learned: flexibility is essential. What works for another writer may or may not work for you and I. What works for one process or problem doesn’t always work for another. The song or environment that inspires me the most for one story or scene, may not do so for any other. I’ve learned that I have to be more flexible than I would naturally be. I have to try various things until something garners the best results.

However, as I move forward, I’ve discovered enough about myself to know what’s more likely to help. That means that I’m able to find the solution more quickly and am able to get myself out of the rut that I’m in so that I don’t suffer from writer’s block!

Let me know what works for you and what you’ve learned about yourself on your writer journey.

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A Review of Wendy Webb’s Daughters of the Lake

Spoiler Free! Proceed without concern.

Synopsis

Webb tells the story in two parallel time periods. In the present day, it follows the story of Kate Granger who’s in the middle of a divorce. She has just returned home for the rest and emotional recovery that she so desperately needs. Instead, she stumbles upon the body of a woman that has washed up on the shore of Lake Superior. The problem is Kate recognizes her from her recent dreams. When she discovers that the woman lived more than a hundred years ago, Kate sets out to unravel the mystery of this poor woman’s death.

Simultaneously, the story follows Addie Cassatt, the young woman who met an untimely end in the lake’s embrace. As Kate uncovers Addie’s life, her connections and who might have wanted her dead, we see the alternate version: the first-hand story through Addie’s eyes.

Elements

This book falls under the Gothic Historical Mystery category. It has a bit of a lot of things in it. On the surface, it’s a mystery: who was Addie and why did she die? It has a great sense of time and place. I particularly enjoyed reading about a place—the upper Midwest—that doesn’t often make it to the literary page.

There’s also an element of romance. As Kate seeks to understand Addie’s fate, she frequently collaborates with the local police detective, Nick Stone. It isn’t surprising that the two of them find enough common ground to begin dating.

There’s also an element of dark family secrets. I wrote an article about how important family secrets are to the Gothic genre and how they tie into Gothic themes. Check it out here:

How to Use Family Secrets to Enhance Theme

In Daughters of the Lake, Kate discovers that her ancestors who built the house to which she retreats and out of which her cousin Simon runs a bed and breakfast, were close friends with Addie. They’re part of Addie’s story and, as Kate will discover, part of her own in greater ways than she can imagine.

And lastly, Kate reads an old story about a French Canadian fur trapper whose daughter, Genevieve marries the the spirit of the lake. And that’s where the Gothic element enters the story and pulls it all together.

Theme

The book is an exploration of the draw that many of us feel towards something like a place such as, in this case, Lake Superior. Kate and Addie (and Genevieve in the story within a story) have a special relationship with the lake. They feel soothed in its presence, immune to its storms and even its often frigid temperature. Webb presents this as if the two women have an ancestral tie to the lake. As if they are the offspring of Genevieve and the spirit of the lake. When they approach the shore or enter the water, the spirit recognizes and shields them. They find solace and refuge rather than the tempestuous depths that others experience.

I could easily make the case that this is Gothic. It’s the type of irrational theme that most of us understand. How many of us can relate to this in one context or another—a place, be it a historical sight such as Machu Picchu, a geographical feature like old growth forests, or a certain time period as in the case of the ancient temples of Angkor Wat that acts like a siren call? It’s as if something within us recognizes and relates to that place or element in a way that’s more like memory than merely respect or a strong interest.

That’s the sort of connection that most of us understand to be true and yet none of us can explain. It transcends science and reason. That’s a Gothic theme.

Tropes

The dominant and only true trope in this story is Kate’s dreams. If you’ll recall from my explanation of the genre, to have a Gothic story, you have to have a Gothic theme (check) and the author needs to use Gothic tropes to make that intangible theme visible to the reader.

[For a reminder of the genre’s underpinnings, check out this article: What is Gothic Literature?]

Those tropes can be things like dark and stormy weather, madness, isolation, family secrets or beings such as vampires and ghosts (among others). However rather than being merely atmospheric or sensational props, these act in such a way that they make the theme more accessible to readers.

Kate’s dreams accomplish this in a sense and I love the parallel story telling that Webb uses. But that’s the most significant thing that would have made the book stronger: if she had incorporated another trope (or two) that tied into the theme more tightly. For instance, I would have worked with the spirit of the lake and found a way to bring him to life as a supernatural character.

Conclusion

I will admit that I knew who the murderer was relatively early (halfway, I think?) in the story, but I have a history of doing that. And I also write historical Gothic mysteries, so my mind tends to pick up all of the tells that other readers might miss.

Regardless, this was an enjoyable story and it’s worth checking out. I’d give it a solid 3.5 stars. Let me know what you enjoyed about it!

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Rarely Used Methods That Fit the Genre

Last time, we looked at some of the most common methods of murder in Gothic writing. Since the genre features a murder more often than not, we had numerous options from which to choose, including the most prevalent one—vampirism. In case you missed it, you can find the post here: Murder in Gothic Writing [Pt. 1]. Perhaps surprisingly though, there aren’t as many different means of murder as you might expect, at least in well-known works. Therefore, this week we’ll examine three relatively unique choices for a Gothic murder and why they would work well in this genre. I also touch on three methods that would be much harder to use.

Fire/ Immolation

Fire isn’t unheard of in Gothic writing. Fire (especially via sunlight) is used to destroy vampires in numerous works. However, non-vampiric murders via fire are less common. In the last post I mentioned Bertha’s attempt [twice] to murder Mr. Rochester via fire in Jane Eyre. Mrs. Danvers kills herself [not really murder] via fire in Rebecca. And there’s an attempted murder via fire in The Woman in White. It’s likely the most common option on my list of uncommon methods. However, murder via fire is still relatively rare in Gothic writing and it’s a good choice.

The reason for its fit in the genre is that burning something down tends to be inherently symbolic of so many themes that suit this style of writing. For example, consider the following types of themes:

• The desire to completely eradicate the past symbolized by a person, but perhaps also a place
• Purifying someone/ something, even oneself in order to be reborn in some way

Strangulation/ Suffocation

I can’t think of a single use of strangulation or suffocation in Gothic writing although I’m sure it’s there and I’m either forgetting it or just plain unaware. That said, it’s definitely rare and also fitting. In either case, a person’s voice and/or lungs are directly targeted. That’s oh so useful in so many ways. It would work with any theme that ties into the suppression of a person’s [figurative] voice/ expression, or in cases in which a character has no freedom (no room to breathe). For example:

• A child (or spouse) strangles an oppressive parent (or lover) as a symbol of her constant struggle for freedom
• A serial killer who for any number of possible reasons, feels unheard and strangles his victims as a means of finding his own voice

Hunting/ Game Playing

This last suggestion is the type of thing you may have seen in movies more often than on the page. Dan Simmons utilized it well in Carrion Comfort. In the book, Nazi leaders play a deadly form of human chess with their Jewish prisoners. As the colonels battle one another on the life-size chess board, any time one man takes another’s “piece” he kills the prisoner standing in that place.

This type of murder could also involve intentionally freeing a captive solely for the sport of hunting him or her. I think you can instantly see why this is fitting, but consider the following themes:

• A monarch or political leader who, with his elite class of nobles, hunts the common people rather than deer as a symbol of their view of commoners as either expendable or even worthless
• A nurse who resents her inability to be a doctor and to control other’s lives. Each day she plays a form of Russian roulette with her patients, choosing one to die

Methods that Wouldn’t Work As Well?

Let’s briefly touch on three types of methods that would be harder to use.

First, and most obviously, any form of raw brutality – beating, bludgeoning, dismemberment – will be tricky because it tends to take the focus away from the subtle, unseen Gothic theme. At the very least, these won’t parallel this sort of theme and therefore will likely feel out of proportion with the rest of the work.

Second, most on-the-nose methods of murder such as shooting or stabbing are too lacking in nuance to work well with Gothic writing in which the truth is deliberately hidden behind symbolic tropes and loads of atmospheric subtext. However, there is always an exception. We looked at an exception of each of these in the last post: one from Child of God by Cormac McCarthy (shooting) and one from My Soul to Keep by Tananarive Due (stabbing) and why they are successful.

Third, more modern hands-off methods such as cutting someone’s break line in her car, or using an assassin will be challenging. The farther the murderer is removed from the crime, the less closely it ties into the psychological or spiritual state of the perpetrator. That will almost always undermine it’s effectiveness in Gothic writing in which those things are the most essential.

Conclusion

I think you can see the intent here. There may be many other options that would work just as well or better than these, but they need to mirror a Gothic theme’s subtlety and they need its symbolic intent. The choice of a character’s murder isn’t an arbitrary one. It’s a matter of choosing what fits your theme most adeptly.

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Part I: How It’s Done & Why

Murder finds a place in most literary genres. After all, it’s a great means of demonstrating the lengths that people will go to to have what they want and to stop anyone who stands in their way. In Gothic literature, murder plays an especially prominent role. That’s for a good reason, not because Gothic writers have dark predilections (though that may be true as well….mwahahaha… we’ll never tell). In this post, we examine murder in Gothic writing — how it tends to be committed and why these methods work so well.

I’ve included attempted murder in this list because success or a lack thereof doesn’t detract from how apt a given method may be for the genre. Also, note that many of these may be plot spoilers as it’s almost impossible to discuss the subject without giving something away.

If you’re not a regular around here and/or are less familiar with the genre, it will help to read this short article explaining the use of irrational themes in Gothic writing: What is Gothic Literature. All that we’ll discuss below follows from an understanding of the purpose of the genre.

Vampires

Let’s just get the cloaked villain in the room out of the way. The most prevalent source of murder in Gothic literature is undoubtedly vampirism. That fatal kiss that seals one’s fate as either dinner or newly-undead-diner shows up more often than any other source of death. We see it in Dracula, Salem’s Lot, The Passage trilogy, Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, Let the Right One In, Fevre Dream, The Moth Diaries, Black Ambrosia, etc.

Gothic writers use vampirism so often because it works oh so perfectly. It’s steeped in symbolism. To drink another’s blood is always, always, always a reference to something else. It could be a desperate desire to assimilate another’s identity; to control someone so that that person is never able to leave the relationship; to battle against one’s own darkness; to give into temptation; to mix one’s culture with another’s; etc. You name it, a writer has probably done it.

These types of desires become tangible in the act of the vampire, making it a perfect fit with the genre’s use of visible tropes to elucidate unseen themes.

Poisoning

Poisoning is unfortunately much less common. It shows up in We Have Always Lived in the Castle and Count Fosco’s obsession in The Woman in White. It also featured very dominantly in the Robin Hobb’s dark fantasy Farseer trilogy and in the dark fantasy Nevernight trilogy, but neither of those are Gothic examples. In the past I’ve written about the dearth of this type of murder in Gothic writing: Where’s the Poison in Gothic Literature.

It surprises me that poison doesn’t feature more strongly in the genre. It’s a perfect fit. If there’s one thing that poison is, it’s underhanded. Secretive. Sly. It’s the tool of those who like to remain detached from their crime, who want to remain in the shadows, who pride themselves in leaving no trace of their fingerprints.

That fits so snugly with the genre’s exploration of irrational themes. For example, in Shirley Jackson’s novella, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Merricat battles the poisonous influence of the collective on the individual. Thus, her choice of poison is an apt one—she fights poison with poison.

Drowning…plus some

Drowning is by far the most complicated of all of these. I say that because the cause of death is rarely drowning despite the fact that drowning plays a significant role. It shows up in an attempted murder in The Gates of Evangeline. However, in other cases such as in Rebecca, Malcolm first shoots Rebecca and then drowns her body. In Daughters of the Lake, the murderer stabs Addie and afterwards leaves her body in the lake.

[Note that I’m using the word drowning/ drowned to include being lost at sea/ underwater regardless of whether or not it was the cause of death.]

Even if it isn’t the principle cause of death, the drowning is important. For instance, in Rebecca, leavning her body at the bottom of the sea wasn’t strictly a matter of hiding the crime. Rather, it parallels the sea of false ideas that the second Mrs. de Winter holds about her husband’s first marriage.

The truth about Rebecca is a deep and dark journey below the surface of what appears to be the case to what really is. Thus this means of murder highlights and manifests the theme that a person who compares herself to someone else and lives under that shadow is living on the surface of an unfathomable sea of knowledge to which she may only have the most superficial access.

Stabbing or shooting alone wouldn’t necessarily carry the same weight as drowning does although next we’ll look at a couple of examples of the former.

Shootings/ Stabbings

In Child of God by Cormac McCarthy, Lester Ballard tends to murder by shooting people with a rifle. From a distance. I emphasize that because that’s the point. In the novel, McCarthy presents readers with a man who’s treated as an outcast and excluded from society. And it’s true that Ballard becomes a vile, monstrous man, but McCarthy’s point is that Ballard is what all of us have the potential to be under the right (meaning: wrong) circumstances. McCarthy tells us that Lester is “a child of God much like yourself perhaps.” The greatest crime is that the rest of the people see themselves as something better, something at a great distance from someone like Lester. That is why shooting works in this case [and often wouldn’t].

There’s a stabbing in My Soul to Keep, which reads as striking since it’s [sort of] a vampire novel. However, rather than killing in a typical, vampiric manner, the vampire stabs the character in the back. I’m sure Tananarive Due did this on purpose. It’s jarring to readers as it conflicts with her presentation of this undead man as a loving, doting husband and father. It foreshadows a significant truth about him that the main character (his wife) doesn’t see yet. And, again, it mirrors the theme about the ones to whom we entrust our souls when we don’t know who they truly are. [There’s a strong spiritual component to this book.]

Other

There are many other cases of murder in Gothic writing. There’s the supernatural carriage accident in The Woman in Black, Bertha’s attempt to murder Mr. Rochester by burning down the house in Jane Eyre, and unknown means of murder such as those in The Turn of the Screw and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. We don’t have the time to look at every one of them.

However, the key takeaway is that each of these works because it parallels the Gothic theme’s work to bring an irrational concept to light. I can picture other types of murder such as suffocation or immolation working just as well given the right theme.

We’ll take a look at those next time!

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What to Read

2023 may have been the Year of the Vampire, but the calendar has turned. Now it’s 2024 and I’m calling it the Year of the Apocalypse. That’s right—a year of destruction and death. [Don’t blame me. I just call it like it is.] However, never fear! If your apocalyptic toolbelt is a bit rusty I’m here to help. In the spirit of preparedness, here are 10 apocalyptic books to get you into the right mindset and give you the mental tools that you need to face whatever firestorms come your way.

The added beauty of so many of these is that most of them are the first in a trilogy or series of books. That means that there’s that much more apocalyptic/ post-apocalyptic training in store for you!

The Stand by Stephen King

The Passage Trilogy by Justin Cronin

Swan Song by Robert McCammon

The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins

Wool (The Silo Trilogy) by Hugh Howey

One Second After (the John Matherson Trilogy) by William R. Forstchen

World War Z by Max Brooks

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Alas Babylon by Pat Frank

Edge of Collapse (Book 1 of 7) by Kyla Stone

Conclusion

There you go: 10 apocalyptic/ post-apocalyptic books to enjoy over 2024. Hopefully none of these scenarios will actually play out in the coming year(s), but you’ll be all the more prepared regardless.

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A Review of Grady Hendrix’s Kirkus-Starred Novel

Summary

Grady Hendrix said that in this story he wanted to pit Dracula against his mom. The novel takes place in the late 1980s in an upper-class area of Charleston in which the homes bear the history of the region and the women work at home, keeping their families, the region and the country running smoothly on the backs of their unseen labor. It’s a story of housewives pitted against evil.

The main character, Patricia, attends a true-crime book club in which the women read about serial killers and discuss how murders were and should have been accomplished. But when a newcomer, James, comes to town, the book club faces the kind of evil they never expected off the page. Worse, this man tests their loyalties to each other and the strength of their families. In the end, there’s blood. Lots of blood.

Kirkus

For his work, Hendrix earned a positive Kirkus review, one of the most prestigious reviews in the world. Not only that. He received a starred review, the highest Kirkus honor.

It’s a gold stamp in the literary world. It tells everyone in the industry that this is a stellar novel. We might expect that from any number of literary works, but this is solidly genre fiction, something to which you and I can aspire.

Genre-Consistent

The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires falls within the Southern Gothic subgenre, a category with a long history and certain reader expectations. For a refresher on this genre, check out my post, The Southern Gothic Subgenre. That’s not to say that there isn’t room for genre-bending…we’ll get to Hendrix’s unique approach below. However, a genre writer should aim to deliver at least some of the things that the genre’s readers want to see.

Hendrix included a number of classic Southern Gothic references in very subtle ways such as the following.

• Old South vs. New South – the contrast between the the demure, old homes of the Charleston residents and the new monstrosity that James builds (and between those residents and James himself)
• Repression – the clear differences between the white and black characters’ lives whether they be resources or the response times and involvement (even interest) of law enforcement
• Violence – the American obsession with violence in the book club’s focus on the worst crimes and the most heinous offenders

In all of these things, the book rings true to the genre.

Unique & Socially Relevant

And yet Hendrix approaches Southern Gothic writing in a fresh and relevant way. For instance, he uses dark humor, which is relatively unheard of in Gothic writing. At times it’s laugh-out-loud funny, but still maintains an atmosphere of anxiety.

He also features a vampire, as the title suggests, but alters the manner in which the vampire hunts from his literary predecessors. In a sense the vampire doesn’t bite his victims (although he certainly does something that I’ll leave for you to find). He also doesn’t technically kill them, although they die.

Through his unique approach, Hendrix raises questions about many social issues such as pedophilia, racial oppression and the nature of suicide.

Tension & Pacing

Hendrix also masterfully evokes moments of extreme tension. He lays on the heat…raises it…raises it some more…and raises it further. When another author would quit, he continues on and it works. At some points in the book, readers will be entirely convinced that there is absolutely no way out.

And yet the novel features a number of very interesting character moments. He leaves space for those and works them into the plot in such a way that the pacing is flawless and the balance of plot and character is perfectly executed.

Character Voices

Many of these moments come out through his use of dialogue. For a fairly typical size book (400 pages or so) chock-full of action, there are many character voices and they’re each startlingly unique. When I started reading it, one of the first things I noticed is that he writes his characters so well that he could omit the dialogue tags and the reader would still know whether James, or Patricia, or Grace, or Carter is speaking.

He uses those voices. Within them, he says so much about the generation of 1980s housewives who bridged the past full of southern history and the borderless global future which threatens to blur the definition of every culture.

My favorite character is Grace Cavanaugh, the most rigidly southern of all of the women. Her manners are flawless, her speech artfully laced with subtext, and her home impeccably kept. She’s the one who, in one of Patricia’s moments of extreme duress, not knowing how to face down the monster, tells her:

“Vacuum your curtains,” Grace said. “No one ever does it enough. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

P. 156

As simplistic and humorous as this seems, it speaks volumes about the southern tendency to maintain appearances over all else. Of course much in Grace’s life isn’t what it appears to be. This parallels southern Gothic writing in which the romanticized south is pitted against its troubling history.

Conclusion

This book has it all: relevant themes, a a unique approach to a genre-specific style, fantastic pacing and tension, and larger-than-life characters. It’s no wonder that Kirkus gave him a starred review.

It may seem like a stretch to you or I, but Hendrix is a wonderful reminder that those of us who write genre fiction can still do so in such a way that it’s worthy of the highest honors.

Let me know if you’ve read The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires and what you liked about it!

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Magical Realism vs. Gothic Writing

It’s December. This is the season I wish I could freeze and hold forever, but alas, the winter is always so short, especially where I live. This year I chose a number of books – some Gothic, many not – that I’d like to read before the end of February. First on the list was The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey. It’s a beautiful tale and, despite it being a retelling, is a unique approach to the Magical Realism genre. Since I’ve already finished it, I thought I’d give you a review of The Snow Child along with a summary of the purpose that Magical Realism serves and how it’s different from the Gothic genre.

Spoiler-Free Summary

The story is a retelling of a Russian fairytale, Snegurka (“The Snow Maiden”). In Ivey’s version, a middle-aged couple moves to Alaska after suffering from the stillbirth of their child. There they hope to build a homestead far from the pain of the past. Instead, they find themselves alone with each other and the memories they had tried to bury. Until one winter evening when the snow begins to fall. In the magic of the moment, they craft a child out of snow. The next day, their snow child is gone, but they begin to see a young girl running through the snowy forest. Before long she enters their lives and brings them a new beginning.

This story is Magical Realism because it’s set in a real-word setting and features a magical element—the snow child—throughout. But what purpose does this serve? Could Ivey have thrown a magical child into any winter story and called it Magical Realism? No.

Magical Realism – The Purpose

In Magical Realism, the magical elements always illustrate an internal reality. They make something readers might struggle to see or understand more accessible. Over a year ago, I wrote an article about the genres of Gothic vs Magical Realism. In the article I stated that:

“…in Magical Realism, the magical elements are symbolic of an internal reality for the protagonist.”

This is certainly true in The Snow Child. The child, Faina, shows readers what the main characters, especially the woman, Mabel, are feeling. Imagine that Ivey had wanted to convey the sadness and sense of loss that comes with both childlessness and the death of a child, but had done so without any fantastical elements.

She would have told us about Mabel and Jack’s backstory, about the silent newborn that he buried and she regrets never holding. The story might have shown their passage of time without the joys of childhood glee at Christmas or the pleasure of having a young one to provide for. But it wouldn’t have been the same.

In Mabel’s interactions with Faina we see Mabel’s inability to touch anyone, her reluctance to hope, her desperate need to be occupied with caring for a child and her stilted approach to life. We see it in those moments that are grasped but lost, or hollow, or filled with fear. Readers follow her journey to trust and find joy in life as we watch Mabel re-learn how to laugh and dance and play in the snow. I could say similar things about Jack.

Without Faina and the magic that she brings to their lives, we would struggle to understand what it feels like to be Jack and Mabel. But with her, their inner reality becomes something tangible that we can experience.

That’s the magic in Magical Realism.

Versus Gothic

This is where Magical Realism and the Gothic genre overlap. Both tend to be set in the real world and both use various elements—magic in Magical Realism and gothic tropes in the Gothic genre—to make an unseen reality more tangible to readers. However, these tend to be used in very different ways and to very different ends.

For example, in Magical Realism the fantastical components of the story usually speak to a political reality. This isn’t the case in The Snow Child, in which the magic illuminates the characters’ internal state. However, notice that whether it’s the lives of a select group of people (childless or grieving parents) or a national/ political situation, the themes in Magical Realism tend to be somewhat localized. They’re important and hard-hitting, but not usually universal.

In contrast, in the Gothic genre the tropes and any fantastical components such as vampires and ghosts serve to make an irrational universal truth—spiritual or psychological—tangible. We can see this in works such as The Turn of the Screw by Henry James in which the ghosts of Miss Jessel and Peter Quint symbolize the corrupting influence that adults, wittingly or not, exert in the lives of children.

The Review…Also Spoiler-Free

But what did I think of The Snow Child???

In short, the story is captivating, filled with wonder and yet deeply emotional. As I suggested earlier, Ivey brings Mabel and Jack’s emotional journey to life through Faina. I took a look at some of the negative reviews on Amazon (there aren’t many; most people loved the book as much as I did) and there seem to be two common complaints:

Animal Deaths

There are the people who disliked the hunting and trapping and corresponding depictions of animal deaths in the story. I get it. I’m an animal lover too. But first, these things are very realistic for those who live in a homestead environment.

And second, the more graphic instances were deeply symbolic and very important to the story purpose. For example, there’s an animal death that triggers an extreme change in the characters. It acts as a bridge between the world of magic and wonder that’s filled with joy and hope but can’t truly be grasped and the cold harsh reality of life that can be held. This event was heartbreaking but absolutely crucial to the book.

Plot Shift Midway

There were a number of readers who didn’t like the events that transpired after the midpoint in the book. They loved the wonder and magic at the beginning but commented on the shift that transpired later in the story. As I implied in number one, this wasn’t an accident. Ivey is bringing Jack and Mabel back to healthy, functioning reality by taking them through a period of wonder in which they have the capacity to heal.

Ultimately though, they have to emerge into the world in which things aren’t as magical. They have to be ready to live with pain and loss without shutting down as they’ve done in the past. That’s what happens in the second half of the book. I understand why some readers wanted the book to remain solidly in the world of wonder, but that’s not the point of Magical Realism. These readers would most likely prefer Fantasy stories instead.

To Summarize

I can empathize with these concerns, but I can also see why Ivey did what she did. In the end, she tells a story about loss and recovery and she tells it well. She doesn’t give us a story about a couple who retreat from reality (even solely when they’re away from others) and remain in a magical world of wonder, as intriguing as that would be. Nor does she remove Jack and Mabel from the harsh truths of life. Faina’s ability to live in the real world came at a cost. It came on the heels of tragedy, as did Jack and Mabel’s.

Ivey writes with such a captivating sense of wonder and beauty, but she also writes about the deep inner world of a person and how loss affects us. This was a shockingly brilliant debut.

I highly recommend it.

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