What Matters

In this poisonous season of American politics, the temptation for a novelist is to capture that lightning in a bottle. Yet when I try to remember any political novel that succeeded, only a stray few, such as All the King’s Men, come to mind. Given all the hatred flying everywhere, how can that possibly be? 

The first, gigantic obstacle facing a writer is freshness. In our 24-hour news cycle, any American who would read a book already knows the issues. Nor do new wrinkles in these long-standing causes tend to develop. When characters spout off the arguments of the religious right, say, a novel reader’s interest immediately dims. Oh, right, that stuff. Aren’t I reading a novel to get away from that stuff? 

The second is politics’ inherent immorality. If a novel has to make sense of our world, how can that be reconciled with a group of individuals whose worth is measured by the opinions of others? Good luck creating a character whose moral fiber waxes and wanes with the circumstances. How much do you think the reader is going to care about that character? 

The third is the problem that fiction in general has in aping real life. The right to an abortion, for example, really matters to women. The course of their life may depend on it. Yet when that issue is raised in a novel, the plot inevitably depends on the personal nature of the decision. That’s because fiction is terrific at laying bare what is in our hearts. What a pregnant character tells her mother will impact me more deeply than what she argues, for all women, on a soapbox. 

In that observation lies the crux of the matter. Why does Robert Penn Warren’s novel succeed? One reason is the venality of Huey Long, to be sure. Far more energy is directed, however, in uncovering what makes him venal. That suggests that politics succeeds in novels only when it is made personal. My advice? Turn on the TV and shout to your heart’s content. But when you sit down to write, enter your own sphere.

Exercise: The core of a good political novel, as with any novel, is formed of a small cast of characters whose actions impinge on each other personally. If the president and his wife have a long-running battle that is featured every fifth scene, the reader will be moved because of the personal acrimony. When laying out a plot, start there: what can two characters fight about?

“If voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal.” —Emma Goldman

Copyright @ 2025 John Paine. All rights reserved.