How is a piece of fiction like an impressionist painting?
Answer: very.
In the picture here we don’t see much in the way of detail. In fact, tests show that even in real life, with our naked eyes to naked scene, we don’t really take in much of what’s there. Our brains can’t cope with it, so they do a processing job for us. Sometimes they leap to the most amazing conclusions and (as we know from courts of law) cause us to swear we’ve seen a blue cap when in fact we saw a red cap. Or no cap. Or in fact no person underneath the cap at all. Sometimes, though, those leapt-to conclusions are stunningly accurate. Sometimes we call that sort of conclusion a ‘sixth sense’.
Suppose a person stops you on the street to ask for directions. You don’t know anything about them but you’ll immediately start building an imaginary portfolio for them from their age, sex, clothing, accent, mannerisms – even their smell. The exchange might last no more than 15 seconds but by then you’ve jumped to all sorts of conclusions whether you intended to or not. It’s just what we do.
Why, then, do characters in stories have to be introduced like vintage cheeses, with a history of what milk they were made from and where the cows pastured, along with details of their storage facility and what their peak lifespan is likely to be?
I postulate, they do not. In the face of this I’m well aware that many readers crave this introduction, and have a sense of being ripped off if they don’t get it. Others are happier to watch and wait.
Which are you?
Answer: very.
In the picture here we don’t see much in the way of detail. In fact, tests show that even in real life, with our naked eyes to naked scene, we don’t really take in much of what’s there. Our brains can’t cope with it, so they do a processing job for us. Sometimes they leap to the most amazing conclusions and (as we know from courts of law) cause us to swear we’ve seen a blue cap when in fact we saw a red cap. Or no cap. Or in fact no person underneath the cap at all. Sometimes, though, those leapt-to conclusions are stunningly accurate. Sometimes we call that sort of conclusion a ‘sixth sense’.
Suppose a person stops you on the street to ask for directions. You don’t know anything about them but you’ll immediately start building an imaginary portfolio for them from their age, sex, clothing, accent, mannerisms – even their smell. The exchange might last no more than 15 seconds but by then you’ve jumped to all sorts of conclusions whether you intended to or not. It’s just what we do.
Why, then, do characters in stories have to be introduced like vintage cheeses, with a history of what milk they were made from and where the cows pastured, along with details of their storage facility and what their peak lifespan is likely to be?
I postulate, they do not. In the face of this I’m well aware that many readers crave this introduction, and have a sense of being ripped off if they don’t get it. Others are happier to watch and wait.
Which are you?