Donn Taylor
In our most
basic instruction on fiction writing we were taught to keep the story moving forward.
A codicil to that principle is to maintain the reader's interest on every page.
This is usually done by introducing new developments in the plot—an unexpected
twist for the reader, or a major character's reaction to encountering something
unexpected. These are good rules that should be followed. But in these comments
I will argue for the effectiveness of another means of gratifying the reader.
I first noticed it in an old sci-fi novel by Robert Heinlein. He advanced the plot as he should, of course, but in the middle of the action he made a passing reference to a famous zoologist named Dr. Tiergarten. I found myself laughing because Tiergarten is the German word for zoo. The effect was momentary, but it definitely gratified me as a reader.
These
momentary comic effects in the midst of drama were standard in the classic
movies. No one would question the increasing tension in the movie Casablanca. But as it builds, the C.Z.
Sakall character turns around and suddenly bumps into a character we already
know as a pickpocket. Sakall's hurriedly checking his pockets provides a moment
of hilarity in the midst of the growing tension. In the Western My Darling Clementine, as tension builds
toward the climactic gunfight at the OK Corral, the Ward Bond character
whinnies like a horse at the beautiful Linda Darnell as she carries a washtub
of water past him. She responds by dousing him with the water. Neither of these
incidents adds to development of the plot, but both gratify the audience with
momentary laughter in the midst of the tension.
I've tried
to make discreet use of this technique a standard element of my fiction, though
I tend to keep mine understated in the manner of Heinlein. The hero of The Lazarus File finds himself in a
corrupt town run by a thoroughly corrupt sheriff, and in need of escaping town
before members of a drug ring can capture him. During the escape he sees a
billboard that flaunts the town's corruption by advertising exotic dancers from
Germany, one of whom is named Kirsten Keinekleider. (The German keine kleider means "no
clothing.") The effect is momentary, yet several readers have remembered
it and reminded me of it.
One scene
in that novel involves an elaborate hoax perpetrated on one of the villains.
The hoax takes place in the Red Herring Bar, and the leading temptress tells
the villain she comes from a village named Mirage which, she says, is very close
to where they are sitting. Similarly, an incident in my Preston Barclay
mysteries has two people mention a rumor that an incompetent psychologist
thinks the hippocampus is a zoo. Other incidents of the same kind appear here
and there.
I've used
that same technique in my current novel, Lightning
on a Quiet Night.
Needless to
say, this kind of thing can be overdone. But, used judiciously, an author can
gratify his reader in unexpected ways without detracting from the forward
movement of the plot.
