Recently, I was reading an extremely long (quarter-of-a-million-words plus) book that shall remain nameless to avoid embarrassing the author. It held my interest enough to get me through to the end, but it left me curiously unsatisfied, with very little memory of the plot (which is quite unusual for me), and no impulse whatever to reread it. I mentioned it to one of my friends, along with the joking comment that I should really sit down in my copious free time and analyze the book to see what the author had done wrong.
Because something was wrong with that book. The characters were amusing, the writing style was fine, and there were plenty of subplots (as one would expect in a book of that length). It was, in some respects, a kitchen-sink book – there were elves, and people from the “real” world sent to an alternate magical world, a quest, a fated romance, a kidnapping, betrayal by a friend, a reformed enemy, discovery of new powers and abilities, rescues, a corrupt government, an Evil Overlord maneuvering behind the scenes for the throne, a ninja-like assassin’s guild, dragons, telepathic bonds to animals, shape-changing…it’s actually pretty impressive that the author got all that in, even with so very many words to work with. It should have been an interesting, even compelling, read…but it wasn’t.
This morning, I woke up and realized why. Actually, it wasn’t quite that fast – I woke up thinking about my workout for today, which is interval training. For those of you who don’t know, interval training means you alternate periods of running hard with shorter periods of walking in which you barely get your breath back before you have to start running hard again. I hate it, but it’s extremely effective in building cardiovascular fitness, much better than just jogging along at a steady pace for the same amount of time and distance.
So there I was, contemplating my upcoming workout, and this odd thought flashes across my mind – that’s what was wrong with that book I finished yesterday. The pacing was too even.
Now, a 250,000 word book is in many ways the equivalent of running a marathon. You have to pace yourself, or you’ll never make it to the finish line. If you run too hard, too early, you won’t have anything left at the end. But pacing yourself doesn’t necessarily mean settling into the same comfortable jog for the whole race. At the very least, most people slow down a little at the water stations, and nearly everyone makes a push when the finish line comes in sight.
The problem with this novel was that the author didn’t vary the pace. Once the story got up to speed, it settled into a comfortable jog. I didn’t notice at first because things kept happening – kidnapping, rescue, escape, discovery of new information, developing romance, and so on. But they happened at the same rate, with the same amount of endless hashing-over-after-the-fact. It became as predictable as a rocking chair; I may not have known exactly what plot twist was coming next, but I knew for sure when it was going to arrive. The author was pacing things so carefully that there wasn’t even a build-up at the end of the story; beating the Evil Overlord and claiming the throne felt like the same level of importance as every other plot line in the preceding 200K words.
Part of the reason for that was that the author was actually very, very good at balancing all the subplots. Too good. Whenever the characters were having a break from the main plot, one or another of the subplots popped up with a mini-crisis. It made the subplots and the main plotline flow along smoothly, but it also meant that there weren’t really any intense peaks of activity or tension, and there weren’t really any spots where the reader and the characters could slow down and catch their collective breath. After a while, you got used to being at a set level of tension; the assassins breaking in didn’t feel much more important than rescuing the dragon or finding and comforting the runaway child.
I suspect that the author was aiming for a more character-centered book than I’m making this sound. The plot had, obviously, plenty enough material for a slam-bang-action-adventure, and if the author had wanted that kind of book, a few tweaks would have done the trick. Slam-bang-action-adventure is usually paced like interval training – intense activity followed by not-quite-enough-time to catch your breath, then more intense activity. You don’t want that pattern for everything, but even a marathon-length contemplative character study needs some ebb and flow to be memorable.
Next, and obvious question: how do you create the right kind of pacing in a novel of this type? When you have a 1st/3rd linear novel the answer seems to (partly) lie in upping the stakes: solve small problem, find there’s a bigger problem behind it, get into more trouble, confrontation with Evil Overlord; with counternotes in the character’s internal journey so they’re basically at different places of the graph before coming together in the end game.
When you have a cast of dozens; many subplots, some of which are pretty encapsulated (eg problem turns up, gets solved, end of subthread), you have a different toolbox…. how do you use that? And how do you keep track of the main character/main problem? Shouldn’t that, for instance, be the person at or near the inciding incident, and at the climax?
Enid Blyton in her school stories does it by using an ensemble cast, but every time there needs to be a generic standin, it’s [main character] – she describes lots of girls at the train station, camera trained on on MC; girls having dinner, focus on MC etc. The plot is quite often given to other chars, but the MC gets screentime even when they’re not overly important, so you keep feeling that they _are_ the MC; but now that I think about it Frodo in LOTR seems to work in a similar way.
I was told once that this was one of my big problems, and that the way it showed itself was that all the scenes were the same length. (I think the real problem was that things tended to happen *to* my MC, and she spent most of her time being traumatized).
It seems that that had a couple issues, kitchen sink, endless hashing over, but where these things became visible as problems was when the pacing failed to support them. At the end you want that tight, everything happening at once feel, but if it’s not done well it can really bite you.
I just read a book that was incredible in every respect, except for the climax. Some important characters were entirely forgotten, and others were late to the party, and the real heroine was left at home while the adults sorted things out. The pacing was fine, but the story went wrong right when the author decided to up the stakes and pick up speed.
I just reread a book by Diana Wynne Jones, and realized that I had remembered the climax as one breathless scene, when the MC actually has time to fall asleep in the middle. And yet the pacing is good enough that the tension remains high even while the MC is asleep.
Both of those books were paced well, but one of them brought all of the plot threads together, tied them in a knot and set them on fire, and the other *didn’t*.
And I think one of the reasons my beloved subplot had to be cut was because it spoilt the pacing. I don’t have dozens of characters, but when you’re not writing a picaresque or episodic story like Enid Blyton, all of the subplots have to tie into the main plot, and that long breathless scene at the end can lead from revelation to revelation, solving all the mysteries and punishing all the baduns. Because that’s the payoff, and if you’re gambling, investing in the story, you don’t want a little trickle of quarters here and there, you want the big crashing cascade. It’s not satisfying otherwise.
hmm……. This post inspired me to analyze my very favorite novel. The books in “Top 100” list are closely tied and its hard to say exactly which one ranks where – but first place is CLEARLY decided. I first read it sixteen years ago and no book has ever threatened to replace it.
In the first chapter you meet the contradictory image of the MC and a tantalizing little puzzle that ……. doesn’t get solved. Gets abandoned actually as the MC is meeting new and interesting people in exotic locations. Then the main plot/problem slowly starts up like a runaway train, getting more and more unstoppable by the chapter. Just as the main plot is looking dire a romantic subplot heats up. Pity the MC is too busy to properly appreciate this new romance. *giggle* By the next-to-last chapter everything finally comes together in a wonderfully exciting climax. (including that first chapter puzzle)
Except.
Not all the loose ends can just tie off like that is real life. One subplot in particular can not and does not. You run through the last pages watching this *almost* happy ending wind down begging for that last subplot that resolves at the
Very. Last. Sentence.
I didn’t even you could do that in a story! The only other time I experience that rush of a stop is on roller coasters.
Book: A Skeleton in God’s Closet
Author: Paul L. Maier
*WARNING* Everyone I have recommend this book to has stayed up all night reading it. This includes people who are normally non-readers. I suggest all bibliophiles ensure they have sufficient have time to finish before starting.
I thought the point about varying the stakes was really well made- something to definitely think about.
One book I know that does a terrific job in building tension is Vivian Vande Velde’s `Changeling Prince’.
It’s about this young man/wolf who is slave to an evil sorceress. When the story begins, his whole goal is survival (which is a pretty high stake) As he begins to make friends his goal widens to protect them from his owner, and to even hope for escape.
His growth of character over the book -and the fact that you have more people to worry about as things go along- build the tension so by the end you’re left breathless and caring desperately.
You often talk about learning something with each book. Right now I’m working on pacing (as well as description – which really is another pacing issue).
I have a tendency to go to the extremes and have nothing happen or too much happen. The trick is to find a balance between the two without creating the same level throughout the book or creating too obvious a pattern.
Green_knight – Remember biorhythm charts? Pacing a long, complex, multi-viewpoint story is a lot like those – it’s not enough to make sure that each plotline has highs and lows and breathing spaces; you also have to pay attention to whether or not the highs and lows in one plotline cancel out or reinforce the highs and lows in another one. A lot of it is timing and positioning scenes.
Cara – I think I’d call that problem with the ending falling apart more of a structural problem than a pacing one, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. The two are so intertwined that if one falls apart, the other usually does, too, and it’s hard to tell where it started.
Esther – I’m going to have to read that; it sounds like a great example.
Chicory – You’re right – character growth and goals that evolve are both techniques for increasing tension (and thus the sense of pace).
Alex – OK, I’ll do another pacing post later this week! 🙂
Hm. This reminds me of one of the reasons why I never read all of HIS DARK MATERIALS. It seemed that every scene, no matter how it began, became action- or plot- related.
Refuge and rest in a deserted mansion — became a horrifying attack by a mob of children. Taking an hour off for calm grooming of an alien friend — led to the invention of a volume-title-worthy gimmick.