Flogging point of view, part two

Mad Max Perkins, executive editor and BookAngst 101 blogger extraordinaire, and other publishing pros contribute comments on the practice of unexpectedly shifting point of view while in a close third-person narrative (RR: in case you missed the last post, I’m agin’ ‘em).

Mad Max responded to my survey this way:

I have a fairly liberal view of what's acceptable in terms of p.o.v.--that is, I'm not so much concerned about it as a theoretical issue so much as I am with the extent to which the shift A) is handled expertly, and B) is used in such a way as to provide nuance and depth that might not otherwise be achieved. In the first case I mean that the author has to be in complete control of the shift, has to understand how the new set of rules apply to the new perspective, and remain true to them for the duration of that p.o.v.

I'll be publishing a literary novel next fall that was begun as stories centered around the same cast of characters; and so it was that (as stories) they had a variety of points of view. But when I read the material it was clear to me that, whether she knew/intended this or not, the author had in fact written a novel the marvel of which (one of them, anyway) was the shifting points of view, and the way it allowed us to see the protagonist A. from a variety of perspectives. The portrait of A. would be less evocative and less dramatic had the author limited herself to a single point of view. Indeed, when I first read the material and suggested that I saw it as a novel rather than as a collection of stories--and that certain connective tissue would need to be added to provide a more substantial foundation for the larger, central narrative arc--she was terrified that I meant she'd have to re-write it from a single point of view. That wasn't what I wanted, though; and the result is an extraordinary novel that breaks quite a few of the "rules" of narrative continuity without ever sacrificing the integrity of the larger work. Indeed, I'd argue that this variety contributes significantly to what makes it extraordinary.

There's a more comfortable tradition, I think, in switching "heads" in certain genres--thrillers, for instance, quite frequently take the opportunity to show, on occasion, the p.o.v. of the killer; and often--again, depending on the quality of the execution--this can add considerably to the dramatic tension. But I've published quite a few literary novels that took license in this regard and (in my somewhat subjective opinion) were much the richer as result.

I have to agree with Mad Max on theory versus what works. If a gifted writer makes writing backwards work, it’s okay with me. Same goes for changing point of view from chapter to chapter or scene to scene. As the Outback Steak House theme goes, “No rules, just right.”

A top New York literary agent wrote to say...

I am in absolute agreement with you. People do it, but, for the most part, it doesn't work (I'm not going to say never, because this is fiction we're talking about, not algebra). "Hopping," as you've put it, distances the reader from the close emotional connection with the central point-of-view character in the scene, it draws attention to the fact that writing is an artifice (destroying the "suspension of disbelief" that reading a novel usually though not always entails), and it generally just plain sounds awkward. Unless it's masterfully pulled off, it usually signals a lack of control of authorial voice, to my mind.

On the other hand, an editor at a major New York imprint opines...

I am not overly troubled by rotating POV if the writer can sustain the variety of voices and allow the reader to maintain clarity in his/her mind about who is whom. Singular POV is not sacrosanct, in my opinion.

Here’s something on the subject I found on English teacher and author Crawford Kilian’s the Fiction Writer’s Page that describes "episodically limited third-person omniscient pov,” a viable alternative to a single close third-person narrator.

Whoever is the point of view for a particular scene determines the persona. An archbishop sees and describes events from his particular point of view, while a pickpocket does so quite differently. So the narrator, in a scene from the archbishop's point of view, has a persona quite different from that of the pickpocket: a different vocabulary, a different set of values, a different set of priorities. As a general rule, point of view should not change during a scene. (RR: italics mine) So if an archbishop is the point of view in a scene involving him and a pickpocket, we shouldn't suddenly switch to the pickpocket's point of view until we've resolved the scene and moved on to another scene.

Bottom line: I think these comments tell you that maintaining a consistent point of view within a scene is the best craft, but that a novelist can change point of view from scene to clearly differentiated scene if well done. The novel Mad Max mentions has discrete sections where the point of view differed and it worked well. Like many authors, I use different points of view from chapter to chapter and sometimes within chapters in my novels. I don’t believe that a novel must have only one point of view—my ire only rises over caroming from skull to skull within a scene or a moment.

Many thanks to all the contributors to this series. You have been extremely helpful.

Next post: I reveal my secret method for improving a writer’s chances of finding an agent for either fiction and non-fiction books.

RR

If I can help with a question about writing, email me and I’ll apply a beady eye. Tell me if I can share it in a post or if you want a private consultation.

© Ray Rhamey 2004

Comments

[Thomas]

Here's an interesting case of what you're talking about, mainly interesting because it's a jarring example found in a book where you wouldn't expect it. It's also the only example in it that I've found.

"Levin got up on the landing, took as much of a run as he could, and raced down, balancing himself with his arms in this unpractised movement. On the last step he caught on something, but, barely touching the ice with his hand, he made a strong movement, righted himself, and, laughing, skated on.

"'A nice man, a dear man,' Kitty thought just then, coming out of the shed with Mlle Linon and looking at him with a smile of gentle tenderness, as at a beloved brother. 'And can it be I'm to blame, can it be I did something bad? Coquettishness, they say. I know it's not him I love; but even so, it's fun to be with him, and he's so nice. Only why did he say that?...' she thought.

"When he saw Kitty leaving and her mother meeting her on the steps, Levin, flushed after such quick movement, stopped and considered. He took off his skates and caught up with the mother and daughter at the exit from the garden."

Anna Karenina, Part One, Chapter IX

[Genuine]

Just stopping in to say hello and to congratulate you on your recent nomination at the BoB Weblog Awards 2004.

www.blogmechanics.com/bob