Mixing narrative and dialogue…
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If you’re an avid reader (I read more than I write, if you can believe it), you know there are certain things that slow you down. One is what a prospective agent of mine long ago labeled in a critique of my MS (after sitting on it for many months) “too much narrative.” I wrote and asked her to define that, but received no response—not surprising, because it required more than a form letter, so she couldn’t bother. I was left to figure out what she meant, naively giving her the benefit of the doubt instead of thinking it was a lame excuse pulled from a list of similar lame excuses she maintained (you’ve already concluded what I think of the phrase now). The novel, a long sci-fi tome, later became “The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy.” Back then I figured she was complaining about the world-building—it tends to lengthen hard sci-fi, but needs to be done—and also that there wasn’t enough dialogue.
Lots of narrative—lengthy description or back story about characters and situations, or world-building in sci-fi—can slow a reader down. I’ll admit that. One of the worst examples is Melville’s classic Moby Dick. You’re reading speed slows down from whatever a normal fiction rate is for you to one comparable to a snail crawling uphill in a molasses spill. The book is partly a how-to book—How to Hunt Whales Unmercifully and Turn Their Blubber into Lamp Oil should be the subtitle (today it’s for Asians who feel sexually inadequate—they need to complement the ground rhinoceros horns and tiger gonads). If that’s not boring enough, you have endless pages of description and very little dialogue. I’m not sure Melville knew anything about dialogue—many 19th century writers didn’t. These literary wunderkind wouldn’t have a chance in today’s competitive publishing arena. (And Einstein wouldn’t have ever left the patent office, let alone have a paper accepted by Physical Review—but that’s another story.)
I suppose if I were interested in whaling, I’d love Moby Dick. Arthur C. Clarke’s Rendezvous with Rama is a similar story. Moby Dick is Rama and Rama can be a killer too. In the last book of the series, the Ramans represent Clarke’s vision that God is an engineer. (I believe that Clarke always was thinking in terms of a series—“…the Ramans do everything in threes.”—but the other books aren’t nearly as good.) In any case, I loved Clarke’s book, even though it has lots of description and little dialogue too, because the subject was interesting—communication with ETs, or lack thereof. That and Ender’s Game (also describing a communication problem between us and ETs) directly influenced the first contact story contained in my Sing a Samba Galactica, the second book in “The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy.” Moreover, Clarke has extensive world-building—good thing he didn’t run across my agent from hell.
I’ll admit that I like to write dialogue. I also think the Goldilocks Principle applies here. As a reader, I like to see a mix—you probably do too. Finding the right mix is difficult because it’s subjective—every reader is Goldilocks, and he or she wants just enough of both. The narrative (I’ll use the hellish agent’s terminology) allows the reader to slow down and savor the descriptive prose while the dialogue can speed us through the story and often give us a better insight into the author’s characters than pure description can, even if the author is describing action.
We know how narrative slows us down. Too much verbosity with long, involved descriptive sentences often seems like Heartbreak Hill in the Boston Marathon (never ran, but others have told me it’s a killer). You, the author, don’t want to kill your story. You the writer can take only so much of the slow-down. Even the description of action can slow the reader down, especially if the author is overly descriptive (replacing “Bud broke Sam’s nose” with “Bud’s powerful right cross smashed Sam between the nose, sending mixed blood and snot spray all over Bud’s one hundred dollar shirt” seems a bit much). Dialogue often sparks interest in the humanity of your characters (in Sing a Samba Galactica, the ETs become true friends only after communication is established). It also allows you to add dimensions to their personality.
But dialogue can slow me down as a reader too. Here are some rules for dialogue: (1) Don’t be clever and try to look for different words to substitute for the simple “said.” “I can’t get my head around that,” Peter groaned. The reader will have to pause longer on the groaned. Besides, try groaning and saying something at the same time! Replace groaned with said and let the reader skip right through to what comes next. If you must, use “Peter said with a groan.” Even better: express the groan with body language: “Peter said, shaking his head and wringing his hands.” (That’s a bit verbose, but it’s your novel not mine.)
(2) Don’t use –ly adverbs in your dialogue. “I can’t get my head around that,” Peter said angrily. Maybe if he’s angry you should write: “I can’t get my head around your damn concept,” Peter said. That also shows where the anger is directed. (-ly adverbs should be minimized everywhere in your prose, but especially in dialogue.)
(3) Be careful with dialect. Maybe start with a bit of it, but don’t overuse it. Even if your reader tends to use the same dialect, he might not read that way. And, by all means, use dialect corresponding to each character. Sure, your Detective Higgenbottom can be a master of dialect like a male Meryl Streep, but readers can become tired of it. Similar comments go for using foreign language phrases or even prose. Maybe a bit for color, but be careful. “Diablo,” Papa said, “you sprayed water all over me!” works because most people know what “diablo” means in Spanish. Anything beyond that would require something like: “<foreign bla-bla>,” Papa said, meaning “English bla-bla.” (I’ve become more careful with this over the years, for various reasons.)
(4) Be natural. When we talk to someone, we don’t say his or her name with every spoken sentence. In fact, if Peter and Martha are speaking (the same Peter as above) and you’re alternating between what Peter and Martha are saying, you don’t need to repeat “Peter said” or “Martha said.” An occasional reminder suffices—your reader is intelligent and will figure it out. It’s trickier with three speaking—more reminders are required, at least.
(5) Don’t be natural. Human beings, in natural speech, say many superfluous things. “How are you?” “I’m fine. How are you?” “OK. Think it will rain?” “I don’t know. I didn’t see a weather report.” That conversation might actually occur between two colleagues who meet each other at work. It’s boring to the nth degree in prose, though. You should write something like: After the usual workday greetings, Ben started to tell me about the new project. Or, you start off a new section with: “I found some anomalies in this new project,” Ben said when we saw each other. Concise and to the point—minimalist writing.
(6) Break up the dialogue. Use description of body language to do this. It can reinforce what the person is saying and make things more interesting for the reader. You can even do this between pieces of dialogue, especially if you’re adding some body language to help the reader with the emotional content of the dialogue (words can’t express all the emotions, but body language, and other sensory responses beyond vision, can add tremendously to your prose). Writers who practice this will find readers who appreciate it—eventually (in today’s competitive market, the low-stakes lottery of best sellers sometimes chooses inferior products, with the Fifty Shades trilogy being the most egregious example so far).
The bottom line: Whether writing narrative or dialogue, try to avoid slowing the reader down. There are readers, of course, that will relish every word and turn of phrase. Avid readers tend to gulp up large bites of prose—they’re into the story and want to get on with it. Again, it’s a compromise—that Goldilocks Principle again. Perhaps reading is a bit like eating ice cream. You want the treat to be tasty and even often something different or new to savor, but you don’t want the customer to have a brain freeze. Moreover, it’s the customer who knows his tolerance and preferences—somehow you have to try to please them all. There’s no right reading speed. I love the tortoises as well as the hares…and hope they love me too.
In libris libertas….
