It’s been said that most people spend the first half of their life making the last half miserable.
This adage seems equally applicable to the writers I know. In this way: We spend the second half of our writing life unlearning the rules we learned in the first half.
One such rule that I’ve had a hard time breaking regards POV (Point of View). Some writing instructors consider POV one of the most important of all the writing rules in that it is the lens through which a story is told. Not only has that rule found root in the fertile soil of my legalistic brain, it is now bearing fruit. Shriveled, stinky fruit.
In each of the three novels I’ve written (one currently unpublished), I’ve approached POV differently. This was done intentionally. In The Resurrection, I employed third person and only two POVs, a man and a woman’s. In The Telling, I used third person again but doubled that with four POVs, one of them being a bad guy. In The Ghost Box, I tried first person POV.
But apparently, like a hidden chamber in Nanny Highverse’s estate, I’ve stumbled upon another level of POV. A secret level. One for the (clears throat) advanced.
By way of example. The following POV is told through Nanny’s:
Nanny opened the chamber door and peeked inside. She smelled mold and wrinkled her nose. As she scanned the dusty shelves, she noticed the pickle jar had been overturned. Nanny gasped. She feared that she would never find her pet tarantula, Samantha, again.
Okay, forget that Nanny has a pet tarantula named Samantha. This paragraph breaks an important POV rule. Sure, it’s probably not unlike any number of paragraphs, in any number of books, on any number of bestseller lists. It’s descriptive, grammatically correct, and probably passable from a publisher’s perspective. But this sentence is not true to POV. And herein lies my peeve, er, new discovery.
Allow me to demonstrate by tweaking this paragraph:
Nanny opened the chamber door and peeked inside. She wrinkled her nose at the odor of mold. Dust blanketed the shelves, and the pickle jar lay overturned. She gasped. Would Nanny ever find her pet tarantula, Samantha, again?
You see, if I’m “in” Nanny’s POV, I don’t need to be told “she smelled” anything. Just describe “the odor of mold.” And if “the pickle jar had been overturned” on “the dusty shelves,” I don’t need to tell you that “she scanned the dusty shelves” or that “she noticed” the toppled jar. All I need to do is show you the overturned jar on the dusty shelves. Remember, I’m in her head. And finally, if I’m living the story through Nanny’s POV, I don’t need to tell you “she feared” anything. I need to show her fearing, wondering, and worrying.
This is the “correct” use of POV.
Or so I thought.
Upon sharing this revelation with some other writers, I was informed that what I was talking about was not POV but… “deep POV.”
This bothered me.
So have I been writing “shallow POV” all this time? And if “shallow POV” is permissible, what the heck am I doing worrying about it? Who cares if Nanny “wrinkled her nose at the odor of mold” or just “smelled mold”?! Apparently, readers and publishers don’t.
So, thanks to Nanny Highverse, I have discovered another writing rule that, apparently, needs unlearned.
Where are Jill and Katherine????? We just had this discussion a couple of weeks ago.
I totally get that the rules are always broken in best-sellers and publishers probably don’t care about deep POV vs. other POV. But I’ll tell you this: You constantly use saw, heard, felt, knew, smelled, noticed, etc in a book and you’ve added about 10,000 unnecessary words.
And it gets tiresome. From your example:
Nanny opened…
She smelled…
She scanned…
She noticed…
Nanny gasped…
She feared….
The sentences are all structured the same. She/Nanny (insert filter word)…. The passage has no flow, no variety. THAT is my issue with those kids of words. Deep POV–pffft. That’s not it. It’s clogging the story flow.
Are those words necessary sometimes? Yes. Sometimes characters really to “realize” things or “notice” things–and if the realizing or noticing is what needs to be stressed, then fine.
A great example was used in the comments on Katherine Coble’s blog recently, and you can see the difference:
Celia watched as they killed her parents.
They killed Celia’s parents.
In the first version, the focus is on Celia, and actually keeps you more in her head even WITH the “watched” (which is a variation of “saw”). So which of these is considered deep POV??? See?
But if the whole dang novel is Celia watching this and feeling that and hearing whatever, then it creates friction in the flow and slows the story down.
My two cents.
Lol! Here! Mike’s all up on the filter words now, too. And exchanging them for the silly thought questions.
I feel like I’m being haunted by the filter words….
LOL–at least you properly used the one in that statement :).
I’m actually reading two different books right now. One has “deep POV” and the other has standard third person POV. I’m doing this as an exercise (I picked them for this reason.)
I’m finding that at times I enjoy one more than the other. I also feel like the standard third person POV feels more like a traditional story while the other feels more conversational.
So have I been writing “shallow POV” all this time? And if “shallow POV” is permissible, what the heck am I doing worrying about it? Who cares if Nanny “wrinkled her nose at the odor of mold” or just “smelled mold”?!
LOL
For what it’s worth, I like the second one better, with the exception of the question on the end. I think there’s a better way to do that. Sometimes in “deep” POV I state the reader’s thoughts, but still indirectly, without italics. I don’t know what that’s called or if it’s “legal” or whatever, and I don’t really care unless, like Kat said above, it disrupts the melodious flow of the sentence.
And, a somewhat unrelated point, all those “filter” words as we are now apparently calling them 😉 (I thought they were verbs) create a certain melodrama that becomes annoying, especially when overdone. If done just right, however, they can add a refreshing innocence to a story. My opinions.
“..all those “filter” words as we are now apparently calling them (I thought they were verbs)…”
LOL. Yes, verbs. I think the problem is there ends up two sets of verbs: the actual action and the process of the POV character sensing the action. Seems a bit redundant, eh? 🙂
I agree with you that they can add a sense of innocence in the right places if used the right way.
p.s. Who the heck is Nanny Highverse? Should I know her? Is she related to that fellow in the picture? For a second there I thought his name was Nanny Highverse. 🙂
For me, it’s less a matter of which is correct (though certainly that’s the attitude, especially in Christian fiction) and more of knowing what tool should be used to get the job done. Like Kat said above, deep POV moves the story along. But that doesn’t mean it’s always the perfect choice.
There are some seriously violent bits in my YA fantasy. I felt some of it might be too intense for the age group in this market, so I used a few select filter words to “zoom out” from the POV character’s head. Still allows the story to proceed, but it gives some psychic distance for the reader.
You’ll also occasionally see POV tweaks in love scenes when the author wants to shift the focus back onto the characters and slow down the “action.”
But yes, being a wordy writer myself, I’m happy with a technique that can instantly cut a couple thousand words from my manuscript.
I learned deep Pov, rewrote an entire novel in it–and then went back and reread stuff I’d written for fun years ago. I discovered that I naturally vary between shallow and deep Pov as a way of staggering the tension. Deep is tense, shallow is not. Shallow also let’s you get narrative distance and skip boring stuff. “The train slogged onward for hours, and her mind wandered.”
It’s a good tool, but don’t lt it become a straitjacket, as it became for me.
I agree with most of what has been said so far. All elements of writing craft are basically just the vehicle through which the story is delivered. To paraphrase a famous pirate I see the “Code of Writing Craft” as more like guidelines than actual rules. And to be honest, I think we get hung up on them more than we should. As writers, we should always be seeking to improve our writing, but that improvement doesn’t always mean that we must hone our style to become just like every other writer (which would be the case if we all followed the rules exactly).
In any case, the average reader would probably come away from both of these paragraphs with the exact same thought:
“Where the eff is that tarantula?”
I don’t know if that’s maddening or freeing.
I’m sure that no one level of POV for a whole story is right either. I expect a mix of deep and distant is probably most effective. But I have a question about your corrected “tweaked” paragraph. That last sentence … “Would Nanny ever find her pet tarantula, Samantha, again?” It seems jarring, doesn’t it? If we are inside Nanny’s head, why would Nanny suddenly refer to herself by name like that?
This question pulled me out of the deep POV. So, here’s the rhythm as I read it. You open with naming Nanny (distant 3rd person POV). Then we move inside Nanny’s thinking/observing and have the deep POV of smelling mold and seeing dust. All is well. Then at the end of paragraph, we are suddenly yanked out with a question that an observer or narrator might think about Nanny.
Maybe if you dropped that last question down to another paragraph (to get the reader to turn the page) this reverse into the distant POV would be smoother. Or better still, have Nanny start searching for her pet tarantula instead of telling us she may have lost it?
My own editors have often advised me about this “psychic distance” in POV and to watch out when you pull out of deep POV and create distance again. It can work as a literary device, but it has to be seamless to be effective. Your thoughts?
The uber analytical nerd in me is intrigued that you noticed the question was jarring also. It wasn’t the point of his post, so I’m not sure it really matters, but hints of another potential “rule” that might be fun to define only so we can have fun breaking it.
I mentioned up above that I jump into the reader’s head in 3rd person… I looked at one of my old manuscripts and came across this, which demonstrates what I’m talking about. (Hugh is her son, by the way, whom she is picking up from school, but he’s nowhere to be found.) The last line is not italicized to indicate it’s the POVs direct thought. Although, I bet an editor would make me italicize it… But I purposefully did not.):
‘Laine’s hands were shaking. She lifted them to her cheeks, stiffened her fingers into claws, imagined tearing the skin. Instead she ripped open the console and grabbed her pills. Three. Four. It didn’t matter. She threw them into her mouth, swallowed, thrust herself against the seat and waited.
Thirty seconds later her jaw unclenched. Warmth flushed through her arms and the shaking in her hands reduced to a tremble.
Hugh better be dead or missing.’
The question was jarring, I think, because she wouldn’t think “my pet tarantula, Samantha.” She’d know the tarantula’s name and wouldn’t need to clarify it for herself, so obviously that was for us, the readers. It broke the deep POV established in the other sentences.
But these aren’t rules. There any number of third person POV that are perfectly acceptable, including omniscient. It’s true, however, that deep third is more “visceral” and is the closest to first than any other.
Becky
I feel shallow. But I’m not worried about the rules–because there are none. We have standard practices, professional guidelines, and some very strong opinions. But there are no rules. If it works for the reader, it’s good, and only the reader can make that judgment (usually, but not always, expressed in book sales).
“If it works for the reader, it’s good, and only the reader can make that judgment (usually, but not always, expressed in book sales).”
I agree with this and disagree. I agree that ultimately what we’re doing is trying to write our books for readers to read, and readers read what they *like*. However…do you think that statement can be taken too far? I mean, you had to have picked up a book (or 2 or 100) that made you think, “This person cannot write themselves out of a paper bag.” Do you think it’s *all* personal taste, or is there some objective line *somewhere* between good and bad writing?
Yes, but it isn’t dependent on these rules. It’s dependant on grammar, clarity, lyricism, and profundity and how well the author knows which elements belong in the story.
I have a friend who is a really good nonfiction writer, and she decided to try writing some fiction. She was actually pretty darn good at it, too, BUT she wanted to use “heard” and “saw” pretty much *every single time* someone other than the pov character said or did something. It became distracting. She saw him turn his head….she heard him say….There is a big difference between that and something like: She was staring out the window and felt his hand slip into hers.
My point being (after I prematurely hit submit) is that I think this, to a degree, does fall into the “clarity” part at least.
As Kat suggested above, I wrote about this last week or the week before. I dissed the silly thought questions (as your second “correct” paragraph has). And then I went back and found a monkey tone of them in my own writing. 😛 All of these rules of POV, to me, are writers painting themselves into corners. Books are just words on pages; they aren’t really experienced as a character’s perspective at all. I don’t know why we must continue playing the game that the reader is actually experiencing a movie/real life scene as though through the character’s senses. It’s just silliness. The writing gets more and more perfunctory and hackish as we continue down this road. When I can pick up a Sherlock Holmes book (as I did last night) and be lost in the narrative in a second, I know that some of these rules are stripping language of its beauty and utility for needless pretense that the reader’s not actually reading a book.
Here’s how I’d describe deep POV–when I read my crit partner’s MS and I feel like it’s 1st person, only it’s 3rd. I’m so deep in the MC’s head, I forget I’m not seeing through her eyes. I guess you’d call it deep 3rd limited…anyway. It’s funny the things you learn/unlearn. When I landed in the CBA I realized I had to get rid of the “Get out of here,” he said, turning and kicking the dog VERSUS “Get out of here!” He turned and kicked the dog. Personally, I like the first better…and the ABA is RIFE with it (verb phrases…is that what they’re called? But for CBA, I had to resort to more action beats. Not my fave, but it’ll work. And don’t even get me started on adverbs, those lost descriptors of another era….sad loss.
Heather, imho these two say totally different things:
“Get out of here,” he said, turning and kicking the dog.
“Get out of here!” He turned and kicked the dog.
The first one implies he’s turning and kicking the dog AS he says the words, and the second says he spoke and THEN turned and kicked the dog. So which is right? The one the author is trying to say :).
That is something I find to be an issue with too many “rules.” Writers are losing (as Jill I think alludes to above) the ability to understand *nuance*. A slight change in wording can change the whole meaning, but too often we’re told “it can only be done this way.”
Another of my pet peeves: never, ever use “was.”
He was walking across the street and found the magic crystal.
He walked across the street and found the magic crystal.
First of all, the first sentence is NOT passive voice, even though I bet you a bazillion dollars I can find at least ten writers in the next minute who would say it is. Second, the first one says he found the crystal WHILE crossing, and the second one says he found it AFTER crossing…but the “rules” say no “was-ing” evereverever. Sigh.
See, even though filters (the overuse and improper use of them) bug me, I’m not a rule nazi, at all.
Yes, there is definitely a nuance to that example I gave, but you know what I mean! I hate to eliminate most sentences like that in my work, but I know it’s what’s required of me in the CBA…as well as eliminating those “was” or “is” verbs. I know I’ve pointed this out before, but CS Lewis used TONS of “is” verbs and his writing still seemed active to me. However, you have to do what will fly, to some extent. I might love classics, but if I throw in three-paragraph, adjective-laden descriptions of my landscape these days, no one’s going to keep reading for long.
It depends. I’m a big rules guy, but when it starts getting into stylistic decisions like this, it’s harder to say you should do one or the other. It’s good to be aware of it, but there are times when filter words make sense when you write. If you want to go into the character’s POV or remind the reader they are there, for example. All rules are good if only because they force you to be mindful of your writing. They are essentially the experience of past writers throughout the ages, and you disdain it completely at your peril. Again, break it as you choose, but at least understand why it doesn’t work for you. Don’t just dismiss it as writers enforcing standards.
So I’m still confused – “deep POV” is the one that’s more “show” not “tell” – right? That is, Mike’s second example. I’ve always thought the first example was more immature writing – what people think MG readers needed. Is this article correct, then? http://donyalynne.blogspot.it/2012/11/go-deep-deeper-yes-deep-pov-rules-in.html
Lyn, to me at least, deep POV is where the story is told solely from the character’s view. You are supposed to feel like you are inside their head. Whether it’s first person or third person, doesn’t matter. You see and hear and smell and feel and taste everything the character does. Nothing can be shown or told that’s outside their experience.
The reason those filter words and such inhibit deep POV is they add a step between the character and sensation. We’re not conscious of the fact that we are “seeing” something or “hearing” something, we just experience it.
And yes, I agree with the article. Not that I’m the one you asked :P. Just butting in today….
I was asking anyone who answered me! lol – Thanks. I guess I learned these as omniscient (which does a lot of telling, sort of an older style storytelling) and limited omniscience – but, like you said, staying close to the character so the reader doesn’t get thrown out by author intrusion. Thanks again.
Today was a good day to luck upon this thread. I have been berated to relearn everything I’ve learned. I am so tired of the conversation about POV. It has stunted my writing, made me cry, forced me to change perfectly good stories into sludge, and brings about severe anxiety almost daily.
Now…here’s the deal: If I wanted to read 1st person, I’d read 1st person. When I read or write in 3rd, that’s exactly what I want to read and write. So why is it that I am now forced to essentially write in a 1st person 3rd format?
This is what I have found in my reading…every 3rd deep POV I’ve read I have had to go back paragraphs, and sometimes to the beginning of the chapter, to remind myself who is thinking all this sh.. because I’m not lost in someone’s head, I’m just simply lost. And these are stories I have enjoyed. However when I go back and read some of my favorite oldies, who have done it alllllllll wrong, I not once had to wonder whose head I’m in or who just thought that thought or did that deed. GASP, even when the writer changes POV in the (oh my word!) middle of a paragraph.
If I hear or read one more review (done by writers no doubt) about how “dizzy” they are because someone “Whoa” just changed POV character, I’m going to hurl. Isn’t it odd that no one complained of all this dizziness before? DIZZY? Really?
I used to think writing was an art, but we have destroyed the form, by creating one template.
I’m sure no one will agree with me, but that’s my 2 cents.