Category: Learning from Novels

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Learning from Novels

Learning from Novels: Agatha Christie’s “The Seven Dials Mystery”

There’s a reason Christie is such a big name in murder mysteries. I wouldn’t describe myself as a huge whodunit junkie, but her work stands out brilliantly from all that I’ve read. The Seven Dials Mystery follows the mysterious deaths of two young men on the grounds of Chimneys, a huge estate being rented out be the protagonist’s father. The clues are a missing alarm clock, an unfinished letter, and the last words of one of the victims as he dies.
  Christie’s red-herrings are particularly good. She knows all about playing on a reader’s assumptions. The main character is engaging, and well-developed. I would never name a character “Bundle”, but, to each their own.
  There are an awful lot of characters introduced in the first couple of chapters of the book. It’s a good thing when a mystery has a lot of suspects, but I would complain that they were dealt a little fast, and there are a few that blend together. Most of her characters, though not described extensively, were given one or two distinguishing marks that made it possible to file them, mentally. The story starts with a prank involving eight young people, and I found myself juggling their names and faces for a while, worried that I would be expected to remember every one. Actually, only one or two of them were important to the story.
  Another thing that I found confusing was the fact that the main character wasn’t introduced until after all that. She wasn’t even one of the people present at the beginning. For a while, I didn’t know who I was supposed to follow around.
  I would rant on about the plot developments being flat out unfair to the reader, but, looking back, it was all quite clever. The worst of it was Bundle was barking up the wrong tree the whole time. You naturally assume that the main character is pretty close to getting it write near the end of the novel—but how it all turned out was nothing like what she thought.
  I really enjoyed reading the book. I’ll be reading more Agatha Christie as soon as I get my hands on it.
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Learning from Novels

Learning From Novels: Marie d’Agoult’s Nelida

Nelida is a romance novel, published in 1846. So why in the world would I be reading it? Therein lies a story. I’m not just a writer, but also a classical music geek. My official celebrity crush is Franz Liszt, a Hungarian pianist/composer. If you are well-read in music history, you know that Liszt was not just famous for being an unprecedented piano virtuoso, but also one of the most scandalous figures of his time as far as his love-life went.
  This novel was written by his mistress of ten years, the mother of his three children, around the time they finally broke up. It was a bestseller in its day, but probably not because it was a great book.
  So, first, I’ll discuss the novel’s problems. One of the most glaring problems is the main character. Not a good problem to have. Nelida, is impossible for me to connect with. I’ll give you a quick run-down of the plot so you know. Nelida is a ridiculously sweet, ridiculously innocent girl who befriends, in her childhood, a gypsy boy named Geurmann. (And everyone reading the book at the time knew who these two characters represented.) After a little incident with trespassing and cherry-stealing, Nelida is no longer permitted to associate with the low-bred Geurmann.
  Years later, Geurmann re-enters Nelida’s life as a successful artist, who has been preoccupied with Nelida’s portrait for the better part of his career. And, of course, they fall in love, but unfortunately Geurmann, despite his outward appearance of graciousness, is no less an uncultured peasant than he was back in the cherry orchard.
  So, here’s the issue: Nelida has no obligation, or reason to accept any of the catastrophes that proceed to befall her. She simply lacks character to stand against any of the injustice and immorality that she is crushed by. In this sense, she isn’t even as good a character as the author, who was a strong-minded individual, if somewhat nasty at times.
  Here’s the thing—your character has to have a motivation that binds them to their circumstances. For Nelida, it really isn’t love for Geurmann—in fact, until the end, you can’t really be sure that she cares for him at all. I certainly didn’t find him at all likable. Even if your love-interest does turn out to be your villain, your main character must have a reason to like them. Nelida proceeds to be walked over by Geurmann and everybody else, not because she’s trapped in any way, but because d’Agoult wants to be sure we all feel good and sorry for her, and know also, that there’s nothing good in Geurmann (Liszt).
  I was disappointed that neither she, nor Liszt’s personalities were portrayed in the novel. Even with the messy, unrealistic plot, it would have been that much more believable if Nelida had the willpower and fierce pride of Marie, and Geurmann had the magnetism and fiery spirit of Franz.
  Actually, I have to admit, in the last few chapters, she did develop Geurmann more strongly, and he was, at that point, recognizable as Liszt’s more irritating side. Also, he was away from Nelida in those last couple of chapters, which was good, because I really just can’t enjoy reading about her.
  I think separating him from Nelida also did something good for d’Agoult’s portrayal of him. Without her cherubic contrast, the author was able to depict him sympathetically. It shows when an author has some feeling for a character as a person. Even an antagonist is a person. If you have respect for their humanity, they’ll be more real.
  Finally, there were two clichés that d’Agoult impressed me by eluding. First off, Geurmann dies in the end. This is a twist, because, if d’Agoult were going to hold to stereotypes, Nelida would have been the one to go. Killing off Geurmann nicely gets rid of the problem, while not doing what we were all expecting.
  The other thing was, Geurmann didn’t actually die in Nelida’s arms. He went into a coma for a day or two. More realistic, less melodramatic.
  Overall, I wasn’t impressed. But I’ve got to say, it was an interesting read in the historical context.     
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Learning from Novels

Learning From Novels: Leah Good’s Counted Worthy

 

For the first of hopefully several novel discussion posts, I’ve chosen a novel I got for Christmas last year. Leah Good is a young, self-published, Christian novelist. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. I was convinced to put Counted Worthy on my Christmas list because there was some excitement over the book on The Rebelution.

  First, before I go on, let me say that I am almost literally impossible to please when it comes to novels. (And I use ‘literally’ in the literal sense.) Modern novels have even less of a chance. I don’t like the typically scanty atmosphere they are barely able to muster. Nonetheless, I decided to try to stay positive, and read Counted Worthy.

  There are a lot of different little things I could say about this book, but I’ve narrowed it down to a major good point, and a major bad point. Bad news first:

  In a word, worldbuilding. The term “worldbuilding” is commonly thrown around in the realms of speculative fiction writers, but really, it applies across the board. You must build your world. Counted Worthy is a futuristic dystopian novel. One of the essentials of the dystopian genre is to give a very strong sense of cultural decay by vivid, imaginative worldbuilding.

  Good slacked a little bit here, in my opinion. No, she did try a bit. You have the typical banned-book list and incinerator combo, the neglected city slums, the hyperactive corrupt police force…but she stopped there.

  Frankly, what she needed was either more imagination or more ability to express it. We have here, the framework of a dystopian culture—the bare essentials. We need some specific details.

  For example, she metions briefly that the clothes people where in the inner city are extravagant. But she never describes a single outfit that would typify these fashions. So, the reader is left wondering if it’s really okay if they’re imagining Hunger Games style mock 17thcentury garb.

  Likewise, you hear next to nothing about architecture, technology, or transportation. Okay, so we know people have these things called ‘pocket screens’ which are essentially no different than today’s iPhones. For whatever reason, we just call them pocket screens now. (Think about this: do names for technology usually become more bland and literal, or more trendy and brand-based as time goes on? Television is called TV now.) Also, she does avoid the problem of creating futuristic means of transportation by saying that cars are too expensive for non-government people to drive, therefore they stick to old-fashioned bicycles.

  In my opinion, this makes some of the action scenes a little bit humorous to imagine visually, but for some reason I’ve never been able to take cyclists seriously.

  On the other hand, the main thing I observed about the book was a good thing. There are a ton of Christian writers at work today, but barely a handful actually write Christian fiction.

  In saying this, I’m not judging Christian authors as writing immoral or un-Christian novels, what I’m saying is what they’re really doing is pumping out a lot of ‘clean’ romances. If you took the occasional prayer, or church service, or scripture-quoting out of the manuscript, not much would change. Not so with Counted Worthy.

  The subject matter of Good’s novel is what makes it good. It’s not just a mediocre story with some good things in it and, most importantly, some bad things not in it. The essence of the story is Christian. What’s more, it’s a very non-rosy, non-happily-ever-after story about gritting your teeth and hanging on when things look hopeless. For that reason, I hope it starts a trend.

  But keep in mind, if you intend to write a dystopian novel, you will need to invest in your setting. Hone your worldbuilding skills. Have fun with it. Your readers will thank you.

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