One task that besets a debut author is: how can I make my novel different? Writing outstanding characters is hard work, developed over the course of long hours of trial by error. Devising a devilishly twisty plot requires its own load of head scratching, figuring how to plan what chess piece moves when. Writing clear descriptions provides an outlet for those gifted in creating word pictures. If, after all these avenues are tried and found wanting, for lack of the author’s time and/or skill, how can the book be given its own flavor?
For the deep thinkers among us, the answer is to give the lead character a philosophy in life. This attempt is different from writing from inside the head of a character, because the narrative style still remains more distant. Rather, the character, while still engaged in the book’s main plot, pursues detours that prompt more profound opinions.
I have no objection to philosophy in novels. One of my favorite authors is Thomas Mann, and one of my favorite characters is Pierre Bezukhov of War and Peace. Who can ever forget his musings during the Battle of Borodino? When I think of it, I still believe Tolstoy’s theory of history—from the bottom up—is correct.
Attempting such a difficult course, however, is rarely a good idea for a debut novelist. The main reason is the context in which such thoughts are placed. Most beginning writers are just trying to get an entertaining story down on paper. They wrestle with how to make the protagonist interesting. They advance the plot via steps that seem to fit the overall design, even when the characters make it go in unexpected directions. These are practical, and usually low-level, decisions. Harriet is determined to leave her old life behind . . . and so she attracts madcap Dennis . . . and she’ll kill the mobster Guido by mistake . . . oh, and I want to reflect on how a variant of the Mob has existed throughout history.
There lies the problem. The fledgling author is juggling different imperatives. Character and plot are extremely important, so they have to be tackled. Philosophy, on the other hand, means to tell us how a life is lived. That’s deep and all-pervasive. Occasional ruminations prompted by plot events, or places the character happens to be, can sound like armchair quarterbacking. Worse, they can slow down a book that otherwise seems pretty gripping. You might be better off letting us judge your character by what they can do.
Exercise: If you have pieces of philosophy scattered among the manuscript, take a look at each of them in isolation. What is each one saying? Can you think of a way that your lead character could carry out that piece of philosophy in action? Can you make the plot events line up so they show the different facets of the life problem that must be resolved?
“There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.” —Albert Camus
Copyright @ 2023, John Paine
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