The Re-re-read: Craft Talks on Classic Literature

What makes a good ending--in a mystery story, or in any story? A combination of the unexpected and the inevitable, of course. But there's also something to be said for one final twist (or trick, depending on how you see it), plus a few moral loose ends. Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

In this week's episode, Conan Doyle shows us how to make reason and logic--in other words, detective work--not only enchanting, but downright spooky.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

You know that old saw: genre fiction is about plot, literary about character. But in The Hound of the Baskervilles--and, I suspect, in most satisfying mystery stories--the complexities of character drive the plot forward. Also, an update on the progress of my literary mystery novel. Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

In Sherlock Holmes's world, and perhaps in ours as well, you can never be certain that you know what you know, at least until the end of the story. Conan Doyle balances the need to preserve mystery with the equal need to provide information that moves the story forward. Once again, the key to the balancing act is Watson.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

In this extra-short episode, we take another look at how Conan Doyle establishes character through dialog--this time focusing not on what characters say, but how they say it. Also, you can hear me attempt to say "dolichocephalic," a word I have never said before in my life.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

In our first foray into Conan Doyle's creepy classic "The Hound of the Baskervilles," we examine the subtly cruel dynamic between Watson and Holmes, as revealed by their seemingly playful opening conversation. By showing these two as much more than a genius and his humble admirer, Conan Doyle helps us invest in the mystery emotionally as well as intellectually.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Probably not. But as I constantly struggle with endings to my own stories, I wonder...did Conrad force a change in Winnie's character in order to wrap the plot up? What do you think?Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Plots should be fast-paced, with plenty of action and well-timed jolts, right? In The Secret Agent, however, Conrad sidelines the big events and makes the revelation of those events the real story. This is no more true than near the end, when Winnie, almost in real time, processes what has happened to her brother, as her boorish husband tries to cajole her.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

The Secret Agent is not an action-packed novel. Yes, it includes a grisly bombing, but that central event occurs too early according to Freitag's Triangle--and it's reported, not even presented directly. Yet TSA is an exceptionally suspenseful novel because of the way Conrad intertwines structure and point-of-view through a series of hand-offs.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Even a squeamish reader like me has to admit that there are certain times, in certain stories, when depicting horror is necessary. In this episode, Conrad shows us how to do it, relatively subtly but still very distressingly. (CW: gore, violence)Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Is it OK for an author to hate their characters, even the most evil among them? If you don't offer just a little sympathy, won't they turn out to be cardboard villains? Learn from Joseph Conrad how to dispense with sympathy while crafting a villain who is interesting and memorable. Of course you'll need the omniscient point of view to do it, but why not try? Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

In this week's short craft talk, we begin a new series on Joseph Conrad's The Secret Agent. This compact but deeply disturbing novel oozes evil, and Conrad makes sure we get a good look at all of it right from the start--by literally ringing a bell to set the awfulness in motion.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Are you still mad about the last episode of Lost, even though it happened almost twelve years ago? Would you like Dostoevsky to show you how not to write such an infuriating ending--while still preserving your favorite metaphysical/religious tropes? You're in luck--if not in writer heaven.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Last time Dostoevsky showed us how to make children interesting. Now let's learn how to do the same for the devil--by way of Ivan's helpful attack of "brain fever."Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Kolya Krassotkin is a pompous, imperfectly self-aware, but ultimately well-intentioned thirteen-year-old who attracts our hero Alyosha's attention. He deserves ours as well--for through  him, we learn how to keep child characters from becoming clichés, and to make our readers root for these darn kids.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

In this short craft talk, we learn why it's sometimes good to have your characters do senseless things--especially if your book is about human senselessness.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Do your characters stub out cigarettes or twist their hair while conversing? Do you wish you could think of more interesting and revealing physical gestures that break up dialog or other scenes? Dostoevsky shows us how, through a surprisingly sweet moment with Dmitri.Ann Gelder on Mastodon: @annbgelder@zirk.us

Just as The Brothers Karamazov is becoming a truly exciting psychological mystery, Dostoevsky takes us on a long detour into the life of a seemingly minor character. Did Dostoevsky really need an editor? Or does this digression turn out to enlarge the story in multiple ways? (Hint: the latter.)Ann Gelder on Twitter (but for how long?): @AnnBGelderAnn Gelder on Mastodon: @abgelder@mastodon.sdf.org

Are you depressed about the progress of your novel? Take a lesson from Dostoevsky and his author insert, Ivan Karamazov, on how depression can move your story forward.Ann Gelder on Twitter (but for how long?): @AnnBGelderAnn Gelder on Mastodon: @abgelder@mastodon.sdf.org

The Grand Inquisitor, perhaps the greatest set piece in all of (classic) literature, is also a lesson creating a story-within-a-story. The whole novel grinds to a halt while one character narrates a twenty-page philosophical treatise, and yet it's spellbinding. How does Dostoevsky do it? And how might we?Ann Gelder on Twitter: @AnnBGelder

Do you believe humans are masters of their own destinies? Or that an all-powerful creative force controls identity? In this week's episode, we'll see how the way we answer these questions shapes our stories and characters. Also, Alyosha gets his finger chomped.

Having trouble portraying your characters as complex beings? Want to reveal their many layers over time, instead of in a boring info dump? Learn how Dostoevsky characterizes several people at once by having one character consider and reconsider another--just like real people do.

How does money work in fiction? Must it always *really* mean something else, like power or virtue or the lack thereof? In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky shows how a specific amount of money can be just what it is--pure cash--while serving to drive the plot and reveal character.

Are you looking for a new emotion to explore in your fiction? Are you tired of suburban ennui, unrequited love, and anger? Consider shame. Shame can jump-start your plot and enliven your characters by generating layers of morbid self-consciousness, leading to unpredictable, exciting, and cringe-making behavior. 

So you want to write a Big Philosophical Novel, but don't want to create pages of dry dialog representing various positions. Like Dostoevsky, you can lay out the human stakes of these viewpoints by staging a cringeworthy Simpsons episode in a monastery.

No one likes a main character who's too good, right? That's because perfection (in the author's eyes, anyway) quickly leads to blandness. Adding a flaw or two really helps draw our interest. However, in the case of Dostoevsky's beloved hero, Alyosha Karamazov, the author isn't willing to give him any flaws. He just won't do it. But he does create interest in other ways, particularly through an astonishing childhood memory.

Here we go, into the novel that, if pressed, I will say is the greatest of all time. And the very first sentence is...misleading? We quickly find that we're in the hands of a narrator who can't seem to concentrate, much less serve as a reliable guide to the events of the story. Instead of creating an intellectual puzzle, however, this narrator shows he's going to offer us something more important--insight into the fallibility and greatness of human beings.

In our last lesson from Henry James, we consider the ending, which, according to An Eminent Practitioner of Literary Analysis Many Years Ago, no one understands. But we do! Because not understanding is the point, and it's what makes TOTS so very disturbing.

Just like Henry James's sentences, fear is complex. Here's a close look at how James depicts the many shades of fear in a single sentence.

Would "The Turn of the Screw" be better if James had embraced minimalism? Why does the narrator depict scary events in such convoluted prose? Or is the writing itself part of the story?

If you are spatially and directionally challenged like me, you may be especially impressed (and also a little annoyed) by how specifically James renders the three-dimensional spaces in this story. But it's worth making the effort to literally map out exactly where your characters are at all times.

Did you just catch yourself writing "palpable silence" or "heavy sorrow"? Don't delete that cliché. Learn from Henry James, and turn (see what I did there?) it into something entirely new and wonderful.

Do you want to write a scene with a shadowy apparition that seems fully grounded and hallucinatory at the same time? Watch and learn from Henry James, as the governess first encounters the visitant.

We all know dialog has to do more than one thing. But if one of the things it does is exposition, how do we keep it from becoming a boring Q and A session? Henry James knows how. Here's how important information about the governess's "charming" charges becomes more like a battle and a hunt.

In the first episode on Henry James's "The Turn of the Screw," we look at the very complicated way in which James sets up the storytelling before even getting to the story itself. What's the deal with all these delays, with these layers of narrators telling stories others have told them, in the distant past, right before dying? With a guest appearance by H. G. Wells.

In our final podcast on Moby-Dick, we look at the novel's two distinct endings, the big one and the small one, and consider why you might want such an ending for your own story.

With so much buildup, the first appearance of the white whale has to do much more than meet expectations. Here's how Melville handles the big reveal, by acknowledging and then brilliantly upending conventional monster entrances.

Ahab's crew knows he's insane and leading them all to certain death. So why don't they just kill him? The answer may surprise you...and help you with pivotal moments in your own fiction.

As Ahab screams at God during a thunderstorm, we learn not only how to create memorable characters, but vivid, embodied life.

Point of view is hard enough for us merely mortal writers to wrestle with. But what if, like Melville, we decide to make it even more confusing? Might making the problem worse actually solve it? Call this episode Fun with Ishmael.

In the chapter called "The Castaway," beautiful language intersects with astonishing if not entirely intentional cruelty. Does the beauty make up for the cruelty? Also, how to depict God in a few easy steps.

Melville's griping about the terrible state of whale-painting in the 19th century prompts some thoughts on "Show, don't tell" and readers' expectations of visual imagery. 

Through the peculiar exhortations of Stubb to his whale-boat crew, Melville weaves a complex web of relationships, creating a complex and realistic fictional world. With a special appearance by the Office Space boss.

In this week's extra-short lesson, we remember the importance of sound and rhythm in our writing. And we mention Bigfoot.

Ahab is a goldmine of terrific characterization techniques. In this episode, he loses control of his own soul, which runs amok in the night and gives us some new ways to think and write about this very old concept.

How a patch of pedantry raises the stakes in the whale hunt, or when tone is more important than plot.

Even if you haven't read Moby-Dick, it's highly likely you know who Ahab is, what he looks like, and what his very serious problem is. What can we learn from Melville about creating a larger-than-life character? The way we first meet the character is very important.

In the first of a series of talks on Moby-Dick, we discover how--and why--Ishmael's introduction to Queequeg sounds like Monty Python's parrot sketch. 

In our last episode on Dracula (before we begin a new series on Moby-Dick), we ruminate on Dracula's strangely anticlimactic death scene. Is Stoker just tired of all the drama and rushing to get to the end? Or is there another, possibly quite interesting twist here?

In which the host speculates on what might happen if Dostoevsky wrote Dracula, focusing on the theological dilemma posed by vampire-hunting. A fun thought exercise for Novelists of Ideas.

I know Stoker never set out to write a deeply probing psychological horror novel, but the thing is...he almost did. As the novel progresses, his requirements for "heroic" male characters collide with the requirements of the plot, making his heroes look worse than they otherwise would. This brief episode ends with a call for redefining male heroism in particular.