Sexton Blake starred in thousands of pulp stories published (or produced) in the UK between 1893 and 1978. The World-Shakers dates to 1960, when Blake's main competitor for readers was James Bond.
What did I think?
Sexton Blake is to James Bond as James Bond is to War and Peace.
Recommended for manly men with square jaws and for those whose sense of irony is stronger than their feelings for literature. 10/10 for having a villain who resides in a secret volcano lair.
Why do folks who write "how to" books insist that they have "the one true way" and feel compelled to dismiss every other technique? Do they really think this makes what they have to say more convincing? And are there folks for whom this kind of dismissal makes an argument more compelling?
Also, why do "plotters" hate "pantsers" so much?
For those of you who know something about the writing world, the oversimplified generalization about writers is that they come in two varieties. "Plotters" plan out an entire story scene by scene before they start writing. "Pantsers" fly by the seat of their pants: that is, they start writing and see where the story takes them.
Which technique is better? Well, plotters tend to view 'pansters' as time-wasters, but Stephen King, Margaret Atwood, and Diana Galbadon (author of the Outlander series) have written and sold an awful lot of books. To be fair, plotters J.K. Rowling and John Grisham have too, so I personally think that the only fair conclusion to draw is that whichever technique works for you works for you. (To those in the know, me saying 'what works for you works for you' outs me as a pantser, because no plotter seems capable of admitting that pantsing is a valid way of writing.)
All of this is prelude to saying that Story Genius is a book about how to write a novel, and there are things about it that really really annoy me.
But I'm here to write a book review, so I'll leave behind my irritation. What does Story Genius have to say? Unlike most books about planning a novel that talk about the three act story structure for plot, Story Genius puts character, character arc, and story theme at the heart of writing.
How does that work? Basically Cron argues that it is far more effective to begin planning a novel by asking 'what is my novel going to be about?' rather than 'what's going to happen?' In other words, no matter what genre of novel you write, your book will fundamentally illustrate some universal theme like 'you can't have love without pain' or 'kindness matters most' or 'failure is the best teacher'. So you should start planning your novel by deciding what you want to say about life. Of course, novels are about people, so the next step after that is to decide who your protagonist will be. How will their life will illustrate your theme through their story arc? (Perhaps your protagonist will be someone who is a jerk to everyone because it means that they get what they want?). Once you have those two elements in place, your job as a writer is to think of a backstory for the character that makes their current attitude make sense and be relatable (for example, as a child they were crushed for being too nice). Finally you need to imagine a sequence of emotional events that will force them to confront their misbelief about the world (only jerks get ahead) and change. Only after all of that character work is done do you start to think about the specific events (the plot) that will force your protaganist through this emotional arc.
Why does Lisa Cron suggest this approach to novel development? This is where the 'brain science' part comes in. Recent fMRI studies of the brain show that when we experience fiction, our brain waves mirror those that the protagonist of a story would be going through. In other words, in some sense we experience what a protagonist is experiencing. Why is this important? Cron quotes Keith Oatley, a cognitive psychologist and author "Fiction is a simulation that runs on the software of our minds. And it is a particularly useful simulation because navigating the social world effectively is extremely tricky."
Story is how humans make sense of the world, especially the social world, where story can educate us about how to act and react to situations we have not yet encountered.
That means story is important. What humans relate to in story is humans. Therefore, all types of novel need to centre character and character arc. The most effective way to do that is to plan your entire novel around character arc.
What do I think of the thesis? Well, I'm only half-way through, but I see a lot of value here. It reinforces my growing understanding that my writing needs more interiority -- that is, I need to share more about how my characters experience the events that happen. What do they think and feel? Interiority makes characters real to readers, and helps readers engage with your story and your writing. There are a lot of other gems thrown in here and there too. For example, at the heart of your story, your character must face a situation where they they face great personal loss if they choose not to act. In other words, there should be compelling reasons for your characters actions, and your readers need to feel those reasons.
But overall? Well, as you might guess, I reject the overall thesis that there is only one 'correct' way to write a novel, let alone plan a novel. Her book also has a couple of big flaws. The first is that the example novel that she plans step-by-step as she explains her technique is as dull as ditchwater. The second is that she keeps claiming that her technique is valid for all types of fiction, but she doesn't include concrete examples of how a character focus for planning would work for plot-driven fiction like mysteries, thrillers, SF, fantasy, or horror (or for more abstract and intellectual genres like literary fiction).
So, is this a useful 'craft' book for writers? Well, I suppose I should have waited to finish reading it before writing this review. I'm only halfway through. :-) But yes, I think it is. I'm never going to create a scene-by-scene breakdown of my entire novel before I start writing, and it makes my heart shrivel when Cron brightly directs me to keep myself in check as I write to keep myself from deviating from that plan. But character truly is at the heart of story -- just as plot is essential to many types of fiction. So I can learn from a craft book that focuses on character even if I'm probably not going to finish reading it.
After finishing the first 100 pages or so of The Hands of the Emperor I mentioned to my partner that I'd just started a book where the private secretary to the God-Mage Emperor convinces the emperor to go on his very first vacation to a beautiful remote location with only his closest staff on hand. "Then everything goes wrong!" my partner said, with a smile, to complete my sentence.
Well, no. Not in this extraordinary book. That's not what happens at all. In fact, you could say that nothing much actually happens in the next 638 pages. And yet I was grabbed by this book in a way that I haven't been grabbed by the three most recent SFF novels that I've read (The Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson, The Terraformers by AnnaLee Newitz, The Angel of the Crows by Katherine Addison). I read for hours every day, stayed up late to finish chapters, kept reading when I should have been doing something else.
What gives? How on earth does that even work?
As a writer, you're told about the three act structure -- the bones of storytelling that apply to screenplays, novels, short stories. It's the basic structure of story that makes a narrative feel satisfying: Act 1 introduces us to our hero and the challenge that launches them into action. Act 2 exposes the true nature of the threat, forces the hero to make choices, and ends at a dark point. Act 3 is where the hero takes charge, makes sacrifices, and then triumphs (or fails). Formulaic? Yes and no. There are lots of templates, analyses, and formulas out there, but the best of them acknowledge that there are many ways to meet these milestones, and many ways to tell a story. Their point is that this basic structure is engrained into how stories are told in Western societies, and that by paying attention to this structure you can make your story better in the same way that getting the balance of salt, sweet, acid, and unami right in a recipe can make the food you cook more appealing.
However, The Hands of the Emperor does not follow three act structure. Neither do Becky Chambers' books. The Goblin Emperor (by Katherine Addison) doesn't so clearly set aside the three act structure, but definitely falls into the category of 'A book where nothing bad happens'.
What on earth gives?
Well, spoiler, it's Character. It comes down to character. Becky Chambers writes characters that people love in a society that people love, and despite the fact that her people live in a complicated ever-changing interstellar space opera universe, the challenges her people face are fundamentally personal. For example, in The Galaxy and the Ground Within, a group of travellers is temporarily stranded at what amounts to an interstellar truck stop, and the book is about discovering what personal challenges these odd assortment of characters are facing (and how they resolve them). The Goblin Emperor has a clearer narrative arc -- our exiled hero is called back to the palace to become emperor when his father and all four of his elder brothers are killed in an airship accident. But that's only the first chapter! The bulk of the book is about Maia overcoming the trauma of his isolated upbringing to become a good emperor by being true to himself (transforming his society in the process).
The Hands of the Emperor is about Cliofer (Kip) Mdang, who begins the novel as private secretary to the all-powerful, magical, and semi-divine emperor and ends as Viceroy to that emperor, just before the emperor leaves on his magical quest to find his successor. This isn't a startling transformation: Cliofer is the emperor's most trusted advisor and head of the imperial bureaucracy at the beginning of the novel, and takes on (vaguely defined) additional responsibilities as the book progresses. The actual events of the book simply explain how Kip has become who he is, explores his relationship with his emperor and with his family, and shows how Kip transforms his society through his steadfast adherence to the fundamentals of the culture of his isolated provincial home province.
Why is the book gripping-ish? Despite being too long, and despite some tedious repetition? In the end, because you care about Kip. He's both immensely competent and immensely modest, so modest that it takes you a long time to see how improbably much he's accomplished. Much like the Goblin Emperor, Kip is decent in every way, always does the right thing, and triumphs over his not-very-threatening adversaries.
I've heard books like this called "competence porn", and "hopecore". I believe they're popular because in this broken world of ours, who can resist a fantasy world where someone decent put things right?
Victoria Goddard is self-published (successfully!). Becky Chambers started self-published, and was so successful that she was picked up by a major and has since won a Hugo. Addison is traditionally published, at perhaps the cost of including more plot in her books.
I think the distinction is important. I don't think that any traditional publisher would take a book without (much) plot, particularly one as long as The Hands of the Emperor (738 pages in paperback, in case you aren't clear on the math). But I wonder if at some point that might change: Becky Chambers has sold a lot of books, and it seems that Victoria Goddard is doing well. If they do, in 10 or 15 years, will all those internet pages on novel structure look different than they do today?
