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The other night at my critique group, I was thinking about
what we writers are trying to accomplish when we withhold information.
On more than one occasion, when our group has discussed the
opening section of a story or an early chapter, there’ll be a general consensus
that it isn’t working. Either there seems to be a piece of critical information
that is alluded to but never revealed or, less specifically, it’s just not
engaging. In the later example, usually the characters are motivated, but we
don’t know why or the conditions of their motivations seem trivial.
When these problems come up in discussion, the answer from
the writer is almost always along the lines of, “Oh, there’s this shatteringly brilliant
piece of information that will be revealed in the NEXT section or chapter or
whatever.” So, you know, just hang on because it’s going to be AMAZING! The
problem is, no matter how cool the world of your story is or how fascinating
your characters, people won’t keep reading on the good faith that something great
is going to happen somewhere down the line.
Now, for a certain kind of story the withholding and
revelation of a crucial bit of information is what it is all about. Let’s call
it a “twist story.” For me, twist stories are more closely related to jokes and
riddles. These can be fantastic stories and they have a long history in the
genre. The Twilight Zone made a cottage industry of producing them. But, writer
beware, their success in the past, make them tricky to pull off today. TheTurkey City Lexicon even has a bullet point on the topic, titled “The Jar of
Tang,” referencing a Twilight Zone episode. Check it out to see the Lexicon’s explanation
of the difference between a story conceit and an idea.
More often with the stories I’ve read and critiqued, it’s
clear that the writer is not attempting to write a twist story. If you're not
writing a twist story, then it’s worth your time to think about how to use the
facts of your story to best effect. *
Suspense and
revelation
Many good stories often (more often than you might think,
once you go looking) tell you right at the beginning what’s going to happen.
Turns out revealing information is often just the thing we need to get them
emotionally hooked into the story.
I’ll let Hitchcock, the master of suspense, lay it out for
you:
"There is a distinct difference between suspense and surprise,
and yet many pictures continually confuse the two. I'll explain what I mean. We
are now having a very innocent little chat. Let's suppose that there is a bomb
underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, Boom! There is an explosion. The public
is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary
scene, of no special consequence. "Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is
underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen
the anarchist place it there. The public is aware the bomb is going to explode
at one o'clock and there is a clock in the decor. The public can see that it is
a quarter to one. In these conditions, the same innocuous conversation becomes
fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is
longing to warn the characters on the screen: "You shouldn't be talking
about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to
explode! "In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds
of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them
with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the
public must be informed."
What Hitchcock is talking about here is dramatic irony. This is when the audience or the reader is privy to
information that the characters don’t have. Writers from the ancient Greek
playwrights to Stephen King have used this tool, because it is such a great way
to generate tension and emotion.
It’s true that readers read on because they want to know
more. This can be a trap when a writer thinks that they can build suspense by
withholding crucial facts relating to the plot and characters. When I’m reading
stories (that are not “twist” stories), it’s not the WHAT that holds my
attention, but the HOW and the WHY.
Revelation and Epiphany
To take things a step further, there is also the idea of revelation
and what James Joyce called epiphany.
Joyce recorded surprising moments that,
"[S]eemed to have heightened
significance and to be surrounded with a kind of magical aura."
To me, epiphany in writing is a kind of alchemy where an
unexpected moment or image creates an emotional response. These are the stories
that take the idea of revelation beyond the surface facts of the plot to
engineer a shift in perception for the reader. These rare gems make me see the
world a little differently after I’ve read them.
"He did not want to play. He wanted to
meet in the real world the unsubstantial image which his soul so constantly
beheld. He did not know where to seek it or how, but a premonition which led
him on told him that this image would, without any overt act of his, encounter
him. They would meet quietly as if they had known each other and had made their
tryst, perhaps at one of the gates or in some more secret place. They would be
alone, surrounded by darkness and silence: and in that moment of supreme
tenderness he would be transfigured."
– James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artistas a Young Man
