Babel Clash

Rather than just respond to the alarmingly cogent posts of Matt and James, I thought I’d attempt taking the conversation in a new direction and talk just a bit about the collaboration between writer and reader. Now this partnership is vital with any story, but particularly so in the fantasy and science fiction genres, where so much new construction is required. Even in a fantasy world such as Matt has just described in his last post (there I go again, taking my cue from their discussions), where reality of culture, technology and setting is the default whenever possible, a lot of new creation is required — much more so than, say, a non-fantastical tale set in modern day San Francisco, where the entire construction of the setting and culture(s) has already taken place, by virtue of actually existing.

When I first encountered a mention of “the collaboration between writer and reader” (I believe it was something Orson Scott Card wrote about in one of his instructional texts, but don’t hold me to that), I am embarrassed to admit that my first response was: “What collaboration? What does the reader bring to the story, other than, y’know… reading it? Maybe he enjoys the story and maybe he doesn’t, but screw any notion that he’s actually helping to tell the story.” In my own defense, I was much younger then, more naive, and still in the pre-dawn of my own storytelling career. That was then and this is now. I’ve since had years worth of opportunity to ponder the idea and I’ve come to a complete turnaround of opinion. I now believe (and finally this is an informed opinion) that not only does the reader bear a share of the responsibility in telling the story, he bears the majority of the responsibility.

How so? Let’s try an imaginary look at the ongoing conversation between the writer of a new fantasy novel and one of his readers:

Writer: In the land of Bloom there was a great city.

Reader: Got it. One great city coming up. There — whew! — it took a bit of building, but there you go. A great city.

Writer: And this city was in the midst of a dark and blasted plain, where naught could grow or thrive.

Reader: Okay, a blasted plain. Calling it the land of Bloom threw me off. Give me a second while I tear down all of the nice trees I’d planted surrounding the city, and dig up all of the nice green lawns, orange groves and cultivated fields. There. All done. Dark badlands all around. Ready to carry on.

Writer: And the great city in the midst of the blasted plain was at the apex of the world, which rested on the back of a giant turtle.

Reader: What the hell? It’s on a what?

Writer: A giant turtle. This world is on the back of a giant turtle.

Reader: Seriously?

Writer: Of course I’m serious. I’m an award winning writer of great dignity and gravitas, and this is an important work of serious fantasy.

Reader (resigned): Alright, don’t get snippy. You’re the one driving this bus. If you want it all on the back of a turtle, I’ll build you a turtle. Can I ask one question though?

Writer: If you must.

Reader: What’s the turtle on?

Writer: I don’t understand.

Reader: What’s the big turtle on? Is he just floating in the void, or is his standing on something, and if he is, what is he standing on?

Writer: Uhm… is that important?

Reader: I don’t know. It’s important if it’s going to come up later in the story. But just in case it does, I’d like to take care of it now, so I don’t have to quit in the middle of some other construction job to come back here and fill in details.

Writer: Well, the turtle’s on the back of another turtle. Happy now?

Reader: I’m overjoyed. And what’s that turtle standing on?

Writer: It’s turtles all the way down! Now quit distracting me. We need to get back to the city.

Reader: Sorry. Do please go on.

Writer: Now, starting with the southern end of the city, a street called Juniper Street proceeds north from the gate for four blocks, intersected by Yarrow Street, then Wolmer Street, then Gatsburger Street, each of which runs east to west in a grid pattern. Paralleling Juniper Street on the west is –

Reader: Hey, is all of this going to be important?

Writer: Well, I want you to know where my hero comes from.

Reader: And so you plan to describe every street in the city? What’s next, every house and building on every street? Every shop? Every restaurant? Every damned person?

Writer: I want you to get a thorough picture of the place. I’m doing a writer’s due diligence, creating a rich and detailed tapestry of –

Reader: No, sorry, buddy, but what you’re creating is a good reason to quit reading. This is boring. You don’t need to describe every detail of every street corner. That’s my job. I’ve already built it. I’ve done the heavy lifting. Trying to step in and do it for me just gets in my way and bogs things down. Move on. Tell me what’s essential to your plot and leave the rest to me. Trust me, I’m an old pro at this. I built a thousand cities in a hundred fantasy worlds. I put up the cluster of marble watchtowers in Minas Tirith, based on a tour I took once of San Gimignano. I put the intricately-carved German Renaissance style cupolas in Gormenghast. Give me a few key phrases to go on and I can fill a world with myriad towns and villages, or put an empire of ten thousand worlds in space, with vast armadas plying the void between them. I can do my job, so you stick to your own responsibilities and leave me to mine. Move on.

And move on we shall, since I think you’ve gotten the point by now. Not only does a vital collaboration between writer and reader exist, it’s clearly the reader who does most of the work. This isn’t a bad thing. You can’t try to do a bigger share of the labor and still hope to have a compelling tale. A story only works when this is the case. And the great part is, as Card also pointed out to one of his students, the reader is steadfastly on your side. He wants you to succeed, or he never would have picked up the book. You don’t need to win over the reader because that’s his default setting. You can only lose him. And one way of losing him is to try to meddle too much in his part of your collaboration.

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  Reading Bill Willingham’s post from a couple days ago, I was reminded of some of my own thoughts about the act of reading. Bill talks about the collaboration between the writer and the reader, and how the reader actually does most of the heavy lifting in that process. I agree,...