Writers

Review: The Hobbit

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I had never read any J R R Tolkien, because I had the impression it is trendy, other worldly. But I decided that I had to give him a try when he made the One Hundred Best Writers’ list, and I bought a copy of The Hobbit, his first novel. I’m glad I did.

J R R Tolkien

The Tolkien Society says,”John Ronald Reuel Tolkien (1892–1973) was a major scholar of the English language, specialising in Old and Middle English. Twice Professor of Anglo-Saxon (Old English) at the University of Oxford, he also wrote a number of stories, including most famously The Hobbit (1937) and The Lord of the Rings (1954–1955), which are set in a pre-historic era in an invented version of our world which he called by the Middle English name of Middle-earth. This was peopled by Men (and women), Elves, Dwarves, Trolls, Orcs (or Goblins) and of course Hobbits. He has regularly been condemned by the Eng. Lit. establishment, with honourable exceptions, but loved by literally millions of readers worldwide”.

The Hobbit was written to entertain his children. Incidentally, Tolkien defined ‘hobbit’ as ‘little people, about half our height, and smaller than the bearded Dwarves…. There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along…. are inclined to be fat and have good-natured faces, and deep fruity laughs (especially after dinner).’ They also live in comfortable accommodation underground.

The Hobbit begins with Mr Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit, being called upon unexpectedly in his home by Gandalf, the magician, who invites him to go on a profitable adventure. Baggins declines, but the next day he finds himself serving tea to Gandalf and thirteen dwarves, who have a plan to kill a distant evil dragon and take his immense riches which had been stolen from the king of the dwarves and others. Gandalf identifies Baggins as the burglar of the group. They set off across dense forests, rivers and mountains, experiencing many exciting events, including attacks by wolves, giant spiders, hostile elves, goblins. During these adventures, Bilbo finds a magic ring which makes him invisible when he wears it. The ring is very useful as he sneaks into the dragon’s den and spots its fatal vulnerability. The dragon is killed by a human archer as it flies over a village setting fire to the thatched roofs with its flaming breath. A great war is fought over the dragon’s immense wealth between the goblins and wolves on one side and the dwarves, men, elves and eagles on the other. The latter prevail. Bilbo, having been given a chest of gold and another of silver for his services returns to his home in the company of Gandalf.

This is a thoroughly engaging and remarkable story. It is set a long time ago in an environment we would recognise: nothing strange about rivers, mountains, forest and lakes. We know about magicians, goblins, elves and dragons. and we know about dwarves, wolves, eagles and spiders, but perhaps not really giant spiders. The only new character is the hobbit, but his endearing character soon makes him our hero. The story is not fantasy and does not struggle with credibility. The principal characters, good and evil, each has his own quirky identity which builds his stature. The mishaps that befall the dwarves and hobbit are real, credible emergencies, and each is unique. The level of tension is constantly high. Even the narrator (Tolkien) does not remain anonymous. He comments, occasionally on the characters and their situations.

The Hobbit is a masterful piece of story telling!

Dealing with Adversity

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On the Novelry website, Dr Stephany Carty has a post dated October 22, 2023 in which she, a psychologist and a novelist, talks about how to write characters’ responses to adversity that are interesting, credible and define the character by showing, rather than telling.

Dr Stephanie Carty is a published writer, as well as a Consultant Clinical Psychologist and NHS Head of Psychology in the UK. Her fiction has been shortlisted for many competitions, and her writers’ craft book, Inside Fictional Minds: Tips from Psychology for Creating Characters, has been an invaluable source of inspiration and education.

Dr Stephany Carty

Dr Carty says, “At some point in all of our novels, our characters – be they protagonists, villains, or even the person holding up the queue in the coffee shop – are going to have to deal with some sort of adversity. Adversity is what propels our characters to change, as they stand in the face of their demons, or are given the wrong Starbucks order.

And how our characters react to that adversity can tell our readers a whole lot about who they are as people. In fact, it’s a great tool for showing (and not telling) your reader, what your characters are truly like.

But how do you decide on their reaction? Where will it come from? And how can you be sure it’s psychologically sound?

Survival mode: characters dealing with adversity

When we hurl difficult situations at our characters, they react in ways that match their history. Some will have picked up methods that focus on how to survive whereas others are able to thrive.

You can either work backwards from how you need your character to react, then figure out a backstory that matches; or you can take what you know about them already and discover their reaction by digging deeper into their survival mechanisms.

Decide on their worldview

In their early years and beyond, what did your character learn about how safe other people are?

If they were mistreated, bullied, surrounded by anger or fear, then they learned from a young age that the world is a dangerous place and that other people are potentially harmful.

This leads them to developing hypervigilance for danger and learning which responses help them to survive: fight back, withdraw, be charming, feign illness, make allies with the aggressor, blame someone else, and so on.

These early strategies reoccur in times that are (or are perceived to be) threatening. Their focus under real or anticipated danger is to go into survival mode.

Now consider a different trajectory for your character: they were cherished and nurtured in childhood. They were allowed to take steps to independence safe in the knowledge there would be back-up if needed. They learned that the world is a relatively safe place, and that other people help you when things get tough.

So their response to a challenge as an adult is to trust in their capacity to cope, to seek help and to help others, to believe that there is a way forward which facilitates problem-solving. They have a potential to thrive in difficult circumstances.

As you can see, the worldview informs what behaviour occurs. These can differ widely according to what has been learned to be effective.

Distinguish the root cause

What looks like the same behaviour on the surface could be either a sign of thriving or a sign of surviving.

Let’s take the example of a character who is cheerful at the harshest time, focusing their efforts on helping others.

This could be an example of thriving in someone who genuinely believes in themselves and that the future will be positive. However, it could also be a mask that has been learned as a survival strategy – that to act happy instead of scared and put other people first keeps them safe from the anger of others.

Your task is to show the reader the difference between the two by writing through the eyes of the character.

Choose some subtle signs of survival

Your reader can absorb clues about your character all the way through your novel without even realising. What little details could you choose to pay attention to that give more information than would appear at first glance?

Ideas for how you can ‘show’ a character’s survival pattern:

  • Environment – if your character tends to be in survival mode, then in scenes from their point of view, use what seems like background description of a room or street to show the reader what is foremost in the character’s attention. For example, you could mention that the exit is to their left (without needing to state this is someone who automatically checks for an escape route due to being in high threat mode), or that the second streetlight is flickering as if it could switch off any moment (they are hypervigilant to threat outdoors as well as inside).
  • Self-monitoring – show the focus that a character in survival mode may have on their own body. For example, someone who has learned to act passive in order to stay safe might sit on their hands or grip a chair to hide their anger; whilst a character who has been conditioned to act tough, and never show weakness to avoid being harmed, may be very aware if they are sweating or flushed.
  • Appearance – has your character learned to keep themselves looking drab and folded over to avoid unwanted attention, or are they immaculately turned out in popular brand name clothes as a survival strategy of fitting in to avoid bullying? You don’t need to explain this or make it stand out too much, you can simply name drop a label or the particular shade of nail polish in mint condition for example.

Differentiate

It’s really important to remember that survival mode has developed in a certain set of circumstances. This means that survival responses differ for each character.

Let’s say you have a section of the novel where your three characters are reacting to a threatening note that has been delivered to their flat.

Milly is fearful of coming to harm, just like her mum who was attacked in her twenties. This triggers her to panic and want to leave the area.

Jamie is fearful of being seen to be scared. He was bullied at school and learned to mask his fear to avoid being beaten up – or worse. He makes jokes about the letter but inside is scared that he’ll not be able to protect his friends.

Daniella’s survival strategy means she doesn’t notice her fear and goes straight into anger. She learned in her teens that the only way to stop her dad from hurting her mum was to fight back. She grabs a knife and sits by the door, ready for action.

Outside of this clear threat, you could find that Milly often stays home and does a lot of her social life online, Jamie is focused on how he looks in public and lifts weights at the gym for hours on end, whereas Daniella goads people to test them out and prove she’s the most capable.

You want the small scenes to add up to the same picture as the behaviour found towards the main threat.

You can plan this out for your characters by answering the following statements for each:

  • My survival mode is triggered by… (type of threat)
  • I keep myself safe by… (action)
  • I get my needs met by… (action)

A final point to remember is that your characters don’t have to fit neatly into one box or another. They may go into survival mode in some contexts and thrive in others, or you can have an arc that moves them out of threat mode across time.”

Review: Someone Else’s Shoes

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My wife and I listened to this novel on the road from London to Sicily. At a length of 12 hours, 21 minutes, it entertained us for about half of our journey. It is written by Jojo Moyes and follows her formula: good women in trouble caused, at least partially by thoughtless men, plenty of action and emotion.

Jojo Moyes

Wikipedia says: ‘Pauline Sara Jo Moyes (born 4 August 1969), known professionally as Jojo Moyes, is an English journalist and, since 2002, an award-winning romance novelist, #1 New York Times best selling author and screenwriter. She is one of only a few authors to have twice won the Romantic Novel of the Year Award by the Romantic Novelists’ Association. Her works have been translated into twenty-eight languages and have sold over 40 million copies worldwide.’

There are two female protagonists in this novel. Sam Kemp works as sales manager for a printing company run by a despicable man who harasses her constantly for negligible failings. Her parents treat her like a handyman/servant; her husband has lost his job, his father died, and he is in a blue funk, watching TV all day. Nisha Cantor is the trophy wife of a super rich, totally selfish business man. She travels the world, staying in the best hotels, and her clothes are her identity, but she discovers that she is to be replaced by a younger trophy wife, and left without access to any money in London. Making it worse for her is that somebody has stolen her designer gym bag which held her six-inch high Christian Louboutin red crocodile shoes. Sam’s knock-off designer gym bag contains a pair of her comfortable flat shoes, but in her hurry to attend a meeting with a client, she picks the wrong gym bag. Left without her own shoes, Sam puts on the six-inch red crocks, and is amazed at the awe she strikes in workmates and clients. Her own confidence skyrockets. From that point, the story solves the following dilemmas with the help of hotel staff, Sam’s colleagues, her daughter, and a friend:

  • Should Sam resurrect a dead relationship with her husband, or go for the juicy colleague at work?
  • Is Sam going to be fired, and if so, who’s going to hire her?
  • How can Nisha get her shoes, her clothes from the hotel, some money, a decent settlement from her husband and a new love interest?

The women answer these questions with great skill and ingenuity. They also manage to extract revenge from the uncaring husband and boss.

The theme ‘Someone Else’s Shoes’ is played out very well in the circumstances and characters of Sam and Misha, different as they are. The conclusion, where Sam and Misha work together, and respect each other fits nicely. But Jojo isn’t a moralizer, she’s in it for the tension, the dilemmas, and the high-tension emotion, where she really excels. Her particular skill is creating characters who are unique, credible and very real bundles of emotion. OK, some of the props (the shoes, for example) and the settings stretch reality a little bit, but who cares. We’re in this with Jojo for the fun, and there’s plenty of it!

Book Fair Disaster

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In last Monday’s Daily Telegraph, there is an article by David Millward about a rather unpleasant book fair in the States.

“A four-day event that was supposed to be a bookworm’s dream has been dubbed the ‘Fyre Festival of Books’ after it descended into chaos and left one person with a black eye.

Led by Rebecca Yarros, a best-selling author, the Readers Take Denver festival at the Gaylord Rockies Resort and Convention Centre was billed as the ultimate event for book lovers.

However, as the day unfolded, the event fell apart, leading one disillusioned visitor to compare it to Fyre, the fraudulent 2017 music festival held on the Bahamian island of Great Exuma.

Attendees paid $300 to $375 (£239 to £299) for a ticket to an event where they were promised they could have books signed by best-selling authors who turned up in force to promote their writing. Many paid hundreds of dollars to travel to the event.

A timed ticketing system was supposed to ensure that readers had plenty of time to go from one booth to another to meet authors.

Instead, they spent hours queuing to have time with the writers, food ran out and pre-ordered books never arrived.

‘All we did was stand in line. It was worse than Disney, and there wasn’t even a ride at the end.’ Kelli Meyer, a self-described ‘RTD survivor’, told the Denver Post.

Security staff who were supposed to marshal the crowd failed to do so. One woman took to TikTok to describe how she sustained a black eye after being knocked over in a melee.

Another complained of being verbally abused by staff after she suffered a medical emergency. She claimed: ‘I was having a hypoglycaemic moment and was screamed at by staff to; ‘get the f—- up off the floor!’ She added: ‘there were so many horrific experiences between readers, vendors, authors, Pas, and volunteers alike. This was not just a breakdown in communication, it was a systematic issue with this program.’

Yarros, author of the best-sellers Fourth Wing and Iron Flame, vented her anger in a 2,436 word Facebook post apologising to guests who felt ‘frazzled’ and ‘overwhelmed’ by their experiences at the event. She wrote: ‘Readers, on behalf of every author at the event, I’m sorry. Sorry it was disorganised, sorry you did not get to bask in the overwhelming joy that spending three days in the book world should give you.’

Renee Jones, and event organiser, admitted the event suffered ‘bumpy bumps’. She said there had been ‘concerns’ about lack of security and unprofessional behaviour by volunteers.”

Review: Purpose

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This is a non-fiction book by Samuel T Wilkinson with the sub-title: What Evolution and Human Nature Imply About the Meaning of Our Existence. The leading blurb on the back cover says, “If you struggle to reconcile faith and reason, Sam Wilkinson’s profound book Purpose was written for you. You will be left with and understanding of the guiding forces behind human evolution and behaviour,” Arthur C Brooks, professor Harvard Kennedy School and Harvard Business School and #1 New York Times bestselling author.

Samuel T Wilkinson

Sam Wilkinson is an associate professor of psychiatry at Yale University, where he also as associate director of the Yale Depression Research Program. He received his MD from Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. His articles have been featured in the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Wall Street Journal. He has been the recipient of many awards.

The book begins with a discussion of the ‘Scopes Monkey Trial’ in Tennessee in 1925. John Scopes, a twenty-four year old substitute teacher and football coach was charged with violation of the recently passed Butler Act, which made it a crime to teach any theory which contradicted the Bible. Scopes had taught evolution which claimed that human beings had evolved from apes (in contradiction of the Bible). Scopes, himself, had very little role in the trial. The key players were William Jennings Bryan, a three-time presidential candidate and outspoken apologist for religious fundamentalism, for the prosecution, and Clarence Darrow, the most prominent defense attorney in the US at the time, for the defense. During the trial, Darrow called Bryan as a witness, and that interrogation resulted in a painful and cruel renunciation of biblical literalism. The jury, however, accepted that Scopes was guilty and fined him $100. The Scopes Monkey Trial, says the author, epitomises the science vs religion debate.

Wilkinson next attacks the doctrine of randomness associated with the concept of evolution: that every change in the struggle for survival was accidental and random, without any guidance or control. If one believes that human beings are a random construction, what are we here for? If we are here for no reason, it suggests that there is no God. But the author shows that evolution was far from a random process. That, for example, very different species have developed the same eye technology in entirely different environments at different times. The same point can be made about wings and lungs. The evolution of bacteria can be predicted.

Wilkinson then turns to the various selection processes that determine which variant is the one most likely to survive: is it done on an individual basis, amongst kin, or groups or at multiple levels. Selection can take place at different levels depending on the context, with very different results. Based on theses observations, it is not difficult to see that given the same starting point and the same inputs, living things would evolve exactly as they did if the process were to start over.

Wilkinson points out that human beings have two different sets of behaviours: kind, gentile, thoughtful, cooperative and forgiving vs. selfish, aggressive, emotive, combative and irrational. These two sets of behaviour have evolved consistently with us and are present in each of us to some extent. It is noted that even the ‘negative set’ have survival benefits in some circumstances. Wilkinson presents evidence that as human beings we are happiest when we have good relationships with others. On this basis, the author argues that life is meant as a test for us: how can we use our skills to maximise our good relations with others? He says there is certainly space to believe in a God who has given us free will and the opportunity to use our lives to benefit others.

Wilkinson presents well thought out arguments very clearly with a host of factual data. One cannot say he is wrong. He admits to a belief in God, but his belief is not part of his argument. He leaves it to the reader to draw her own conclusions, but don’t miss this read!

The Redemption Arc

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There is a post on the Reedsy Blog dated 12 April 2024 which can be informative to those of us who write. I quote from it below:

“A redemption arc is when a previously morally gray (or even downright evil) character turns over a new leaf. But what, exactly, does this redemption look like? 

Something to keep in mind is that one good deed does not make a redemption arc. The character you’re trying to redeem needs to develop some maturity, not just act positively once after a lifetime of villainy. Readers want to see someone grappling with their past and ultimately coming to terms with it through reflection and intentional behaviour as opposed to a quick and sudden change — in other words, it has to feel realistic. 

As a character recognizes the flaws in their past actions, their arc typically culminates in a pivotal redemptive moment where they selflessly sacrifice their desires — or sometimes even their life — for the greater good or for others. Importantly, this gesture must be significant enough to convincingly atone for all their past misdeeds.   

Audiences are drawn to these kinds of stories because we, as humans, are flawed and make mistakes. Seeing characters move past their misdeeds, make amends, and be forgiven by others gives us hope that we too can be offered that same grace. 

To get an idea of what that looks like, and to understand the power a redemptive arc can have for a character, let’s look at three popular examples. 

Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol

Ebenezer Scrooge’s story is a classic example of a redemption arc. From the moment we meet him on a bleak Christmas Eve, we know he’s not a good guy. He’s callous with his overworked, underpaid employee and with the poor who come asking for donations. 

Michael Caine as Scrooge in a Muppets Christmas Carol
Michael Caine makes a pretty good Scrooge, right alongside some Muppets in A Muppets Christmas Carol. (Source: Walt Disney Pictures)

While his solitary, penny-pinching ways make his life — and the lives of those around him — miserable, he doesn’t seem like he’s going to change. That is, until the appearance of some ghosts, and a little bit of time travel, challenge Scrooge to re-examine his ways. 

The ghost of his old business partner, Marley, and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future force Scrooge to re-examine his life. They remind him of the better man he used to be, what he’s missing out on now, and the way his life will end if he continues on his current path. Deeply affected by what he’s seen, Scrooge vows to change his ways.

Once he returns to waking life, he immediately donates a huge sum of money to the previously-rejected charity, raises his employee’s pay, and goes to his nephew’s Christmas party. Scrooge even becomes a father figure to Bob Cratchit’s sickly son, further cementing his new commitment to doing good.

Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender

After being exiled from the Fire Nation by his cruel and demanding father, Prince Zuko has only one goal: capture the Avatar in order to regain his honour. The audience is first introduced to him as he does everything in his power to apprehend the main character, Aang. In other words, he starts the series as a fairly typical antagonist: hard, spiteful, and constantly doing whatever he can to stop the good Aang is trying to do.

But as we quickly learn, there’s far more to Zuko than meets the eye. He struggles with the expectations placed upon him by his father, a man who permanently scarred him (both physically and emotionally) for daring to speak up, and then sent him on a fool’s errand to get him out of the way. Zuko isn’t always sure he’s doing the right thing and constantly struggles to balance his father’s expectations with what he wants for himself — which is to be seen and respected for his achievements, without necessarily doing wicked things. 

Prince Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender
Prince Zuko eventually becomes Fire Lord Zuko, earning his redemption and restoring his honor. (Source: Nickelodeon)

Eventually, he is allowed to return to the Fire Nation with his honour restored, with the Avatar supposedly dead because of him. But his doubts never go away and he remains uncertain of his decision to “kill” Aang and return home. 

When he learns of his father’s plan to burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground, and of his own connection to the Avatar before Aang, Zuko decides he’s had enough. He confronts his father about his abusive treatment and imperialistic plans and declares his intentions to teach Aang firebending so the Avatar can stop him once and for all. Zuko sacrifices the one thing he’s always wanted, his father’s approval, in the name of the greater good — and, in the end, proves himself to be an honourable man. 

Boromir in The Lord of the Rings

On the surface, Boromir doesn’t seem like the kind of character who would need a redemption arc. A noble son of the kingdom of Gondor, he joins the Fellowship in their quest to destroy the One Ring with only the best intentions.

However, even he isn’t immune to the Ring’s corruptive powers, and as they continue on their journey, he becomes more and more aggressive in trying to convince Frodo to hand over the Ring to him so he can use it to defeat Sauron once and for all.

Sean Bean as Boromir in The Lord of the Rings
No one is immune to the temptation of the Ring, not even Boromir. (Source: New Line Cinema)

This comes to a head when Boromir attacks Frodo in the hopes of gaining the Ring. He doesn’t succeed, but this does break Frodo’s trust in the Fellowship and ultimately causes him to run away to complete the quest on his own. Boromir is consumed by guilt and, though unable to admit to his part in Frodo’s flight, he helps the rest of the hobbits search for them and fights to protect them from orcs — though he ultimately fails. However, he then manages to alert the rest of the company to the hobbits capture and admits how he failed Frodo with his dying breath. 

Boromir recognizes where he went wrong, and though he can’t make it up to Frodo, he proves himself a decent man in the end by defending his friends and giving the remaining members of the Fellowship a chance to save themselves.

There’s no one correct way to craft a redemption arc. Every character is different and so is their journey. But there are some key elements you should include to successfully convince your reader of a character’s change of heart. 

4 tips to write a redemption arc

1. Show them at their worst

First impressions make or break character. If you want the reader to root for them, you typically paint them in a good light from the start, perhaps by having them be generous to strangers or kind to children.

But when your character is in need of redemption, they likely won’t start off in such a good place. In fact, you want to show how terribly they’re doing, the evil deeds they’re committing, the way they’re being callous or pushing others too hard. 

For example, when we first meet Prince Zuko, he’s clearly positioned as the antagonist. He’s hunting Aang and attacks a defenseless village in an attempt to capture him, leaving a wake of destruction behind him as he goes. 

Showing your character at at their worst provides a stark contrast and sets the foundation for their redemptive journey, making the reader ask 一 will they ever change? And if so, how? 

2. Hint at why they are the way they are

Nobody exists in a vacuum, and past circumstances influence who a character is now. Perhaps the death of a loved one pushed them down a dark path, or the rejection of a parental figure altered the way they look at the world. Whatever it is, show the reader the motivation behind a character’s actions. 

This is important no matter what kind of character you’re writing — whether villain, hero, anti-hero, or soon-to-be-redeemed villain — but it’s especially important when dealing with a character you want the reader to give a second chance.

When we can understand a character’s motivations, we’ll be more likely to see their redeeming qualities and want them to do better. It doesn’t excuse what they do, but it offers an explanation, which allows a reader to sympathize, or even empathize, with them. 

3. Give them a moment of realization

As your character moves along their journey, they’ll learn new things about themself, achieve new perspectives, and perhaps have their morals and ideals challenged. These many small moments and thoughts will chip away at a character’s set ways until eventually, it crescendos into a defining moment. This is when they finally see the error of their ways and choose to set out on a different path — if not towards outright good, then at least to something better.

4. Let them atone through sacrifice

Demonstrating the character’s commitment to their new way of being is an essential aspect of the redemption arc. Actions speak louder than words, after all. To prove to both the audience and their companions how serious they are about changing, and to make up for their previous mistakes, a sacrifice will show their commitment. 

Many classic redemption stories will have a character heroically lay down their life for a new cause. While this is the ultimate form of sacrifice, and can be an impactful way to conclude a character arc, it’s also become something of a cliché. As an alternative, consider what else your character might sacrifice. Perhaps it’s their wealth, a prestigious position, or even a relationship that they give up in the name of the greater good. 

Whatever the sacrifice is, it should be big and important enough to your character that it would’ve been unthinkable for them to cast it aside when we first met them. With that, their redemption will be solidified and they will emerge a new person.”

Review: Origins

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This book, by Lewis Dartnell and subtitled ‘How the Earth Shaped Human History’ caught my attention because it deals with the intersection of science, history and human evolution.

Lewis Dartnell is professor of science communication at the University of Westminster. He has won several awards for his science writing and contributes to the Guardian, The Times and New Scientist. He has also written for television and appeared on the BBC’s Horizon, Sky News, Wonders of the Universe, Stargazing Live and The Sky at Night.

Lewis Dartnell

This book is rich in its recounting of the history of humanity from its evolution in Africa to its spread across the land masses of the world. It then covers the development of the flora and fauna put to different uses by peoples in various parts of the world. This was our early agrarian existence. What we build with, from mud to marble is accounted for in a chapter which describes how these substances originated. Man entered the Iron Age with the smelting of iron ore, but there was also tin, copper, gold and more modern metals. We learn how these metals were formed, where they are found and why. Depending on the places where they settled, people became migrant herdsmen, settled farmers, or traders. The earth is a great ‘wind machine’ whose dependable winds are capable of carrying sailors to particular destinations of interest around the world. This led to exploration and the establishment of global trade. Finally, the discovery of coal and oil led to the industrial revolution, and we learn how these fuels were formed millions of years ago. Along this journey covering millions of years we discover why particular current facts were pre-ordained million of years ago. For example, one can trace the pockets of historic Democratic voting in regions of the American South, to the prevalence of large slave populations to cotton plantations, to particular soil which was left by an ancient receding sea. It is this kind of linkage of human culture and behaviour to geography which provides fascinating insights. Throughout the book there are references to the drifting and collisions of land masses, the resulting mountains and volcanoes, earth’s temperature changes, and the resulting lakes, seas and ice caps.

The book is well worth reading, even if one feels that one has a good sense of the geographic history of the world. It is the relating of the outcomes of that ancient history to specific present-day economic, political and cultural situations, with names, dates and places, which makes it so memorable and interesting.

Setting Can Define the Story

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There is an article dated 15 February 2024 by Amanda Cassidy, on the Write.ie website, which makes some good points about how a location can help develop the story.

Amanda Cassidy

Amanda Cassidy is a freelance journalist, commissioning editor, former Sky News reporter and author. She has been shortlisted for the Irish Journalist of the Year Awards, the Headline Media writing awards and more recently the CWA John Creasey New Blood Dagger for her debut, Breaking.

She says, “I came up with the idea for my debut novel Breaking while sitting on the beach in Spain watching my children playing in the waves. From my perch on a bar stool with a notebook, I imagined the horror of how it might play out if something happened to one of them on my watch. The story of missing eight-year-old Alanna Fitzpatrick and her strangely composed mother, Mirren began.  The setting was absolutely key for what I wanted to achieve in the story. I needed a beach, but I also wanted the Fitzpatrick family to be far from home. It would make things harder and create more tension if they were abroad when the worst possible thing happened – their daughter went missing on holidays.

But I also wanted the family to speak the same language as the police, who would be investigating the case, so I transplanted the story to the US. The destination, in this case, Florida often represents a type of paradise, especially for the Irish (or me, growing up at least). As I wrote through the novel, I realised the soft white sandy beaches and turquoise setting of the beach was in delicious contrast to the craggy Connemara coast where the Fitzpatrick’s lived.

The setting of every story can evolve like this. But there are a few things to keep in mind when you decide to metaphorically pin your flag to the sand.

  1. The devil is in the detail

This might sound obvious, but if you have played things right, your readers will be hanging onto your every word. Not only do you have to get the location descriptions right if it’s an actual place, but this also feeds into your characterisation. (Actually, it feeds into the entire novel, but let’s stick with the characters for now) My lead detective, Antonio Rolle is a Miami cop, sent to Kite Island to try to find out exactly why little Alannah disappeared without trace. He refers to things like a ‘car trunk’ or money as ‘bucks’ while Mirren, the Irish mother of the young girl, stays true to her original destination. In her dialogue, she talks about the ‘boot of the car’. People always pick up on these small differences, so wherever you choose to set your novel, make sure you ‘know the lingo,’ as my late father would have said.

  1. It doesn’t have to really exist

Currolough is the setting for my second novel The Returned.  Detective Ally Fields returns to her hometown to investigate a house fire and ends up unearthing all sorts of demons. This fictional town is a mosh-up of some of my summer holidays spent in Dingle, Co. Kerry, Clifden, Co. Galway and Cobh, in Cork. The thrill of world-building for me is making up every last detail and the greatest part of this strategy that you can’t be wrong! I had so much fun conjuring up this extremely touristy town with whale-watching tours and fish and chip shops with picnic benches outside. I even imagined a bronze statue at the centre of the town that probably lived at the back of my imagination somewhere for many years.

The words in a story paint a picture, but the fun you can have deciding where a roundabout goes or how long it takes to walk to the fictional bus station, sparks joy too! The isolation of this particular town is another reason why I decided to dedicate my storyline here. There are lots of references to the bruise-coloured hills, and the clouds shadows being reflected on the lake where Ally grew up to (hopefully) add an injection of menace and pace.

  1. Use setting as character

What new writers often don’t realise is that your setting, when crafted with passion and attention to detail, informs the rest of your novel. Think about it. In real life, the places we grew up surrounded by or the cultures we are exposed to has a huge impact on the choices we make. It’s no different in fiction.

Whether you’re looking at a short story setting or the setting of a novel, the characters who populate your writing will be largely formed and informed by setting—the influences and mechanics of their everyday world. I decided to set my third novel, The Perfect Place, in the South of France. The destination meant something to me, I’d spent time going to school there when I was just sixteen and I’d worked in France on and off for years afterwards. What if my character, in this case, influencer Elle Littlewood, bought a French Chateau and charted her renovations across her social media channels. What if the previous owner of the chateau remained living there because of the nature of the deal she’d struck. In this case, the creaky old chateau becomes more than just a setting, it’s walls almost seem to breathe as Elle desperately tries to paper over the cracks of the walls (and her own crumbling life). Again, this was a lot of fun to write but it really invites the reader to get a sense of atmosphere from a place.

  1. Have a grá for the spot you choose

You are going to be spending an awful lot of time in the place you set your novel. At least a year, for some people, longer, so you might as well enjoy popping your head into the setting of your choice. I’m watching the latest True Detective series with Jodie Foster which is set in Alaska where even the day time is night-time during its ‘polar night’ and I have to admit, I’m finding it quite claustrophobic. Of course, the plot sits so well against that backdrop but writing a novel in the complete dark, with snowstorms swirling constantly might not be for everyone. I’m hoping to set my next book in the Maldives. I look forward to writing about palm trees and snorkelling trips. With murder of course. I better also do a recce!”

Review: Peacebuilding Expertise

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I bought the book Assembling Exclusive Expertise: Knowledge, Ignorance and Conflict Resolution in the Global South because I wanted to learn more about peacebuilding. (I am a chairman of a peacebuilding charity.) The book is edited by Anna Leander and Ole Waever. Ms Leander is a Professor at the Department of International Relations and Political Science, Graduate Institute Geneva; Institute of International Relations, PUC Rio de Janeiro/ Department of Management, Politics and Philosophy, Copenhagen Business School. Mr Waever is a Professor at the Department of Political Science, and Director of the Centre for Resolution of International Conflicts, University of Copenhagen. These guys know a lot more about peacebuilding than I do, but the book isn’t about peacebuilding, per se. It is more about how peacebuilding expertise is acquired and considered to be expertise. It discussess academic expertise vs. practical hands on expertise; the ivory tower vs boots on the ground. It delves also into the politics of acquiring peacebuilding expertise. Given that I have a lot of respect for peacebuilders – particular those who’ve learned their trade both on the classroom and in the field and who are dedicated to practicing the trade, I have also come to have respect for the eloquent experts who can tell how they got there.

This book is part of a series on international relations called “Worlding Beyond the West”. ‘Worlding’ implies the post-colonial redefinition of the colony by the coloniser. While much of the global conflict arises in colonised spaces, there is conflict within the West as well, and I’m no sure it is intellectually helpful to focus on conflict resolution expertise in colonised spaces. In fact, the book covers peacebuilding expertise acquired in Ukraine, which is not in the Global South, and was ‘colonised’ by the USSR.

There are three chapters on experts. The first on who knows Nigeria. The second on acquiring expertise on Somali piracy and the third on negotiations in South Africa. The second section deals with institutions. There is a chapter dealing largely with the Brazilian-based Global South Unit on Mediation, a chapter on how the NATO Defence College acquired expertise in Libya and Ukraine, and the ‘Singapore School’s’ contested expertise on terrorism. The third section covers databases: the techniques and politics of body counts, the UN’s SanctionsApp, and the use of Big Data in conflict knowledge. The fourth section covers Syrian art and artists as contributing to conflict resolution. While it is clear that art and artists can affect the perceptions of violent conflict, it seems to me that social media, generally, have more leverage.

I would not recommend this particular book for someone who wants to understand the many levers – social, psychological, economic, political, sensory, philosophical and physical that can be pulled in conflict resolution. This book is written by academics who may have some experience in conflict resolution, but their intention is not to clarify what they have done, can do and why it does or does not work, but their intention is it explain how they came to be considered experts.

Slow Writers

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Lauren Alwan has an article on The Millions website dated two days ago in which she discusses the virtues of being a slow writer.

Lauren’s fiction and essays have appeared in The O. Henry Prize Stories, The Southern Review, ZYZZYVA, The Bellevue Literary Review, Story Quarterly, Alaska Quarterly Review, Catapult, The Millions, World Literature Today, Alta Journal, and other publications. Her work is included in the anthology AMap Is Only One Story: Twenty Writers on Immigration, Family and the Meaning of Home (ed. Nicole Chung and Mensah Demary). She is the recipient of a First Pages Prize from the de Groot Foundation, the Bellevue Literary Review’s Goldenberg Prize for Fiction, and a citation of Notable in Best American Essays.

Lauren Alwan

“As a writer at work on a book that’s taken far longer than expected—a story collection begun in 2008 now a novel in-progress—I’m interested in how, in a world that values speed, the slow writer learns to tolerate the uncertainty that comes with the long project. Is it possible to tune out the noise of doubt and the proverbial ticking clock when writing goes into overtime? Having lost count of my revisions, and in need of advice, I went looking for other slow writers and discovered that more often than not, a book’s gestation takes place over years, frequently decades. I found too that the slow writer embraces the protracted and unpredictable timeline, seeing it not as fraught or frustrating but an opportunity for openness and discovery. As J.R.R Tolkien said to W. H. Auden, on the 12 years he spent writing Lord of the Rings, “I met a lot of things on the way that astonished me.”

The world can be impatient with slow writers. Nearly a decade after Jeffrey Eugenides published Middlesex, Dwight Garner wrote in The New York Times, “It has been a long, lonely vigil. We’d nearly forgotten he was out there.” Garner’s2011 article, “Dear Important Novelists: Be Less Like Moses and More Like Howard Cosell,” argues the “long gestation period” among the period’s young writers (Middlesex was written over nine) marks “a desalinating tidal change in the place novelists occupy in our culturre.” The writer, hidden away in monkish solitude, is no longer a commentator on events of the moment in the vein of, say, Saul Bellow. Bellow wrote four massive books in 11 years, and in doing so, Garner says, “snatched control, with piratical confidence and a throbbing id, of American literature’s hive mind.” Comparing Eugenides’s books, he notes, “So much time elapses between them that his image in dust-jacket photographs can change alarmingly.” Write slowly and not only do you risk being forgotten, you may no longer be recognizable.

Books known for their protracted writing time—10, 20 years or more—span genre, length, and era. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, 10 years. Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, 28 years—and 11 for her debut, I Free Food for Millionaires Edward P. Jones imagined The Known World in his head for over a decade before writing it out in seven months, and John Steinbeck made notes for East of Eden for 11 years before writing it in a year of continual work.

Still, there are those writers who seem to work best at a clip. Anne Rice wrote Interview with a Vampire  in five weeks and Muriel Spark The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie in less than four. Kazuo Ishiguro drafted The Remains of the Day in four weeks—achieved, he’s said, by implementing a process he calls The Crash: “do nothing but write from 9am to 10.30pm, Monday through Saturday. […] One hour off for lunch and two for dinner. I’d not see, let alone answer, any mail, and would not go near the phone.”

Donna Tartt, known for long intervals between books, gets through on faith in the process. The Secret History was written over a decade, and The Little Friend appeared 10 years later. Of the 11 years Tartt spent on The Goldfinch (Garner describes the author during this time as “vanished”), she’s said, “Things will come to you and you’re not going to know exactly how they fit in. You have to trust in the way they all fit together, that your subconscious knows what you’re doing.”

Min Jin Lee has described the 28 years spent writing Pachinko—beginning with the novel’s inception during her student days at Yale to publication in 2017—as “far too long.” It wasn’t until years into the novel’s writing that the project took a turn. During a four-year stay in Japan, after interviewing Japanese Koreans in Osaka, Lee came to realize she’d “been wrong about everything,” and soon after rewrote the manuscript from the beginning. “I was so impressed by the breadth and complexity of the people I met in Japan,” she said, “that I had to start the book again in 2008, and I continued to write it and revise it until the sale of the manuscript in 2015.”

The writer engaged in the long project hopes for such turns of luck, and wanting to know firsthand how luck and persistence inform the long project, I turned to writers I know, hoping for advice on how to tune out my own questioning and cultivate a next-level order of patience.

John Huddleston, photographer and professor emeritus at Middlebury College, is the author of four books—hybrid works of text and image that examine time, history, and place. Killing Ground: The Civil War and the Changing American Landscape (2003), is the product of 15 years of travel and research, and pairs historical photographs of Civil War battle sites with contemporary photos of the same locations. Healing Ground: Walking the Farms if Vermont (2011), and At Home in the Northern Forest: Photographs of the Changing Vermont Landscape (2020) each took a decade, as Huddleston says, “to better understand what I was seeing.” His current project, an interrogation of Mexico’s religious sites and his own Catholicism—has run nearly 50 years. How does he pace himself? “I think the long periods of constructing my books have engendered a maturity in the editing and printing of images,” he says. “A more nuanced and interesting perspective develops with time.”

Drue Heinz prizewinner Leslie Pietrzyk, the author of This Angel on My Chest (2015), believes in staying open to change: “My advice is to remain flexible. Perhaps my greatest ‘being flexible’ moment was working on what I imagined was a novel about a political family for two and a half years, abandoning it, and picking it up again four years later.” She repurposed much of that material, including random and forgotten prompt pieces, into her most recent collection, Admit This to No One (2021), linked stories about power in Washington, DC.

Poet, essayist, and Fulbright fellow Natasha Saje’s five books include The Future Will Call You Something Else (2023), a book of criticism, Windows and Doors: A Poet Reads Literary Theory (2014), and a memoir-in-essays, Terroir (2020). Windows and Doors was written over 16 years, and Terroir, 10. A self-professed feedback junkie, she seeks out frank, even harsh readers. “There’s always some truth in what they don’t like,” she says, and then revises extensively, as she puts it, “like a maniac.”

Thaïs Miller wrote her first two books in less than a year and published both before she was 21. The author of Our Machinery (2008) and The Subconscious Mutiny and Other Stories (2009), Miller says of those early quicksilver efforts, “Beginner’s luck is an understatement.” Currently a PhD candidate in Creative Writing, her dissertation includes a novel begun in 2009, one that’s still finding its shape. These days, Samuel Beckett’s words, “Fail better,” are pinned on a board above her desk, a reminder that “writers are always failing to achieve a perfectionist ideal. […] These words let me off the hook and enable me to experiment and play with my work, to try out new things.”

How, amid doubt, does a writer keep focus, and pace herself over years, even decades? Saje says, “I write and then get pieces published, which gives me confidence that there will be readers for the book.” Pietryzk writes prompts around her novel’s characters and settings and the material often becomes short stories she publishes in literary journals. For Huddleston, over time the work “integrates into the self, into one’s life. I generally work intensely until I can’t stand it anymore, let the work sit, then repeat. If I have a particular problem I’ll often hold it in mind without actively thinking about it.”

This immersion over years, or decades, what George Saunders calls “rigorous, iterative engagement,” can be fruitful, but it can also make a book’s endpoint more difficult to see. Huddleston’s 50-year project, which is nearing completion, has in the end surprised him. “I’ve returned to the project many times after feeling it was done,” he says, and in doing so, encountered an unexpected complication: wishing the work could go on. Similarly, Vauhini Vara, author of The Immortal King Rao (2022), says of the 13 years it took to write her debut novel, “On some level I wanted to keep spending time with it, finding its unexplored corners, tunneling into its wormholes. I didn’t want to let it go.”

So—know when to let go, keep faith in the process, be flexible, fail better, and whenever possible, stay astonished. Though perhaps most importantly, recognize the value that comes with the passing of time itself. In The Art of Slow Writing: Reflections of Time, Craft and Creativity, essayist Louise DeSalvo writes, “We’ve internalized the idea that that the only actions worth taking are those that can be accomplished quickly, […] that if our writing takes so long, we might not be cut out for the writing life.” The Art of Slow Writing is a manifesto for giving a book the time it needs, for cultivating patience and connection. DeSalvo describes, among other things, the challenge of “not knowing how long a book will take, and being comfortable with not knowing.”

Of Jeffrey Eugenides’s slow pace, DeSalvo writes that he “works with rather than against the fact that his books take long to write.” The years writing Middlesex, she notes, saw both the death of his father and the birth of his daughter, and over time these significant life events led to preoccupations with family history and genetic discourse that found their way into the book: “He wanted the novel to respond to those changes as he worked.” This synergy can blur the line between life and art and make completing a long project its own challenge. But as DeSalvo observes, finishing isn’t really the end if “we see our writing life as a continuum,” a larger process that connects each project, whether short or long, within the learned experience of the writer’s practice.

And as DeSalvo notes, there’s always the next book.”