Tag: Lee Martin

Jessica Kapp’s BODY PARTS and the Audience/Reader Awareness Conundrum

How’s this for an appealing story?  It’s about a young woman whose body will be a vessel that will save untold numbers of lives.  Unfortunately, a powerful company wants to take her out if they can’t control her, so they assign someone to do the former.  Fortunately, a dark and handsome man is ready, able, and willing to protect the young woman, no matter the cost.

What story am I talking about?

The Terminator, of course.

Why do I bring up James Cameron’s 1984 classic?  Because Body Parts operates in a manner that is similar and dissimilar in interesting ways.  (And if you haven’t seen The Terminator or Terminator 2: Judgment Day, do yourself a favor and go see them now, whether or not you like action movies.  They are marvelous examples of storytelling.)

Body Parts, a novel by Jessica Kapp, tells the story of Tabitha, a young woman who begins the novel as the ward of a seemingly perfect orphanage.  Everyone in the Center is extremely healthy and well cared-for.  Tabitha herself, with her long, red hair, is perfect…aside from a slight issue that affects her heart.  The Act One 15 Minutes In Turning Point of the novel occurs when Ms. Preen takes Tabitha for a ride to meet her new foster parents.  Yay!  Everything is fantastic!  Until Ms. Preen gives her a knockout drug.  When Tabitha wakes up, she discovers that there never was a foster family.  The Center, you see, carves up these incredibly healthy young people to get their…body parts.  (I liked the book a lot!  Purchase it from your local indie store!  Or Kobo.  Or Barnes & Noble.  Or Amazon.)

Don’t worry; divulging that much of the plot doesn’t ruin anything.  After all, here’s some of the description from the book jacket:

Raised in an elite foster center off the California coast, sixteen-year-old Tabitha has been protected from the outside world. Her trainers at the center have told her she’ll need to be in top physical condition to be matched with a loving family. So she swims laps and shaves seconds off her mile time, dreaming of the day when she’ll meet her adoptive parents.

But when Tabitha’s told she’s been paired, instead of being taken to her new home, she wakes up immobile on a hospital bed. Moments before she’s sliced open, a group of renegade teenagers rescues her, and she learns the real reason she’s been kept in shape: PharmPerfect, a local pharmaceutical giant, is using her foster program as a replacement factory for their pill-addicted clients’ failing organs.

So, unless a friend blindfolded you and put the book in your hands and forced you to start at the first page, you knew the basic thrust of the first several chapters of the story.  You knew the big reveal that changes Tabitha’s life forever.

Same thing with The Terminator or Terminator 2.  Unfortunately, the surprises from the films are no longer surprises.  Everyone is fully aware that Arnold Schwarzenegger is the bad-guy Terminator who wants to terminate the nice waitress woman named Sarah Connor.  Everyone knows he’s a cyborg.  In 1984, you may have been lucky enough to see the film without knowing a single detail other than the title.  Every twist and turn would be a revelation!  In Terminator 2, James Cameron took great pains to conceal the fact that Arnold was the good guy.  Alas, in Body Parts and in The Terminator, the audience knows much more about the protagonist’s life than she does for quite some time.  (Think about it; Body Parts is “that book about the teens who are sold for parts, but one of them escapes, etc.”  The Terminator is “that movie about that woman who will give birth to the guy who will save humanity, so robot Arnold Schwarzenegger wants to kill her, etc.”)

I thought it would be interesting to discuss these two works in conjunction with each other because they approach their conceits so differently.  In The Terminator, you’ll recall, Arnold uses the phone book to track down all of the Sarah Connors in L.A.  The important one, of course, has a fortunate middle name that makes her last on the list.  Sarah sees this creepy-looking dude scoping her, so she ducks into Tech-Noir, a cheekily named disco.  Shootout.  Then it turns out that the creepy, sweaty guy was actually protecting her.  Now, Sarah is no fool.  She (and the audience) need some exposition.  What the heck is going on?  Kyle Reese hotwires a car and tells her about the Future War, that her son will one day be the savior of all mankind.

Then more car chases and action interspersed with some romantic scenes and powerfully drawn characters.

Chapter 5 of Body Parts is the equivalent to the above exposition-in-the-car scene.  Tabitha has woken from her pharmaceutical slumber and meets Gavin and the other members of the team dedicated to liberating young people from the grip of the Center.  Gavin lays it all out in some healthy paragraphs set in the group’s “headquarters” and Tabitha accepts her new reality.  “Parts,” she says.  “I was being raised for parts.”

As I read the novel, I was wondering why Tabitha believed so easily and quickly.  Now, to some extent, I am perfectly happy to just go with it.  It’s a book.  Sarah Connor believes Kyle Reese’s insane time travel/all-powerful computers narrative because she just had a giant Austrian man shooting at her.  Ms. Kapp does something smart that forces Tabitha to deliberate more.  After Gavin’s explanation, Tabitha (on her own) meets Mary, a much younger girl who was rescued–but not before the bad guys took her cornea and kidney.  Writers must give the audience a reason to believe, just as much as characters must convince each other what is really happening to them.

The narrative of Body Parts is far looser than those of the Terminator films, which is both good and bad.  On one hand, those movies are awesome.  On the other hand, Body Parts doesn’t want to be a non-stop, pulse-pounding action story…and that’s okay.  Instead, Ms. Kapp has other freedom and responsibilities.  The looser story just means that she’s not as high on the scale with respect to plot.  That’s perfectly fine, so long as she kicks up some other elements of her book.  Here’s another way to think of it.  This is a chart I made for Lee Martin’s wonderful Late One Night.  That book is not at all a plot-heavy Tom Clancy book.  Instead, Mr. Martin focused more time and attention on character and style than plot.  It’s okay to go easy on some elements of our work so long as we compensate in another way.  

lee martin late one night chartBody Parts is an entertaining near-future science fiction novel that will entertain its YA audience, but will also appeal to those who are not very Y.  Tabitha is a compelling character, and Ms. Kapp ensures there is a lot going on around her.  Tabitha experiences her first love triangle!  Her first…love feelings!  Her first escape from people who want to cut her up and sell her organs!  Ms. Kapp juggles her plot and its subplots in a felicitous manner and wraps things up in a way that I’ll just say that I wasn’t expecting.

Lee Martin’s Late One Night and the Power of Characterization

There are couples like Ronnie and Della Black in every small town; this one happens to be Goldengate.  A young man and young woman fall in love or something like it and create children who become a happy burden.  Husband and wife do the best they know how, but they are increasingly alienated by time and worries about money and the increasing feeling that they determined the course of their lives too early.  In Late One Night, Lee Martin turns his perceptive and empathetic eye on such a couple and the fire that ends and changes the lives of countless denizens of Goldengate.

Mr. Martin, whose excellent 2006 novel The Bright Forever earned him a Pulitzer Prize nomination, once again offers the reader a generous look into the hearts and minds of people who are often overlooked or whose perspectives are ignored outright.  It’s not a spoiler to reveal that what happened late one night is a fatal fire that claimed the life of Della Black and three of the seven Black children.  Wayne Best, Laverne Ott and the other townspeople were already dubious about Ronnie…did you hear?  He left his wife and all those children to take up with young Brandi Tate, who’s already carrying his baby.  Ronnie receives even less sympathy when it becomes clear that his car was seen was speeding away from the scene just as the fire started to burn.

Late One Night is not as much a procedural mystery about a possible arson as it is a deep exploration of the aftermath of a great and permanent sadness and the flawed person who may have been responsible.  Like his other works, the book draws upon one of Mr. Martin’s strengths as a writer: the ability to humanize characters who may otherwise be granted little mercy.

We would all do well to take this lesson to heart.  Whether you’re writing about a man who may have killed his wife and most of his children, or may have inappropriate feelings (as in The Bright Forever), or an old man who may be responsible for the death of his best friend fifty years ago (as in River of Heaven), stigmatized characters deserve to be humanized, not dehumanized.  The general population is often reductive and simplistic with regard to society’s outliers, but writers do not have that right.  Have we all committed the kind of sins that inspire Mr. Martin’s novels?  Of course not.  We are, however, not the same in the dark as we are in the light and we seek out people who are kind enough to see us for who we are on the whole.

How much should you tell the reader, and when should you tell them?  It’s never easy to say, but Late One Night offers powerful lessons to help writers solve this dilemma.  Mr. Martin begins this novel with a brief interrogation scene.  In Chapter 1, Sheriff Ray Biggs asks Ronnie to unravel the mystery that has been on countless lips across Illinois since the news of the fire broke: “You better start talking…you better tell me something I’ll believe.”  So we know that something truly awful has happened.  In Chapter 2, Mr. Martin takes us back to the trailer fire.  In Chapter 3, Mr. Martin goes back even further in time to introduce us to Della and the kids.  The author continues this trend, filling his precious page space with the details of the life that Della and Ronnie shared.  What do we know almost immediately?  Della and at least a few of the kids are dead or at least very, very seriously injured.  Do we need any more information at this point?  No.  Perhaps the biggest reason is that we don’t yet care about Della and the kids on anything more than a surface level.  Mr. Martin tells us the story of the dissolution of the Black marriage so we will be emotionally invested in their fates and the way what happened Late One Night reverberates through Goldengate.  Mr. Martin is telling us, in effect, that a character’s death is not as important as the life that he or she led.

Everyone who has ever lived has death in common.  Someday, we will each breathe our last, speeding our reversion to dust.  What is much more important?  Much more interesting?  What happened between birth and death, not the circumstances of either.  Mr. Martin ensures that his focus is properly placed.

Speaking of focus, Late One Night is also contrived to play to another of the author’s strengths: character development.  Now, the plot of the book chugs along at a pleasing pace and I was always curious what would happen next, but it seemed to me that the book’s plot was, in a way, released through character.  Because Mr. Martin devotes so much time to immersing us alongside the people of Goldengate, the reader begins to wonder about characters in the same manner they usually do about plot.  In this way, the inherent questions we have about the plot are placed alongside those we have about character.  For example:

PLOT: How did the fire start?  Was it an accident?  The baby inside Brandi Tate is growing full speed ahead; how will the new child complicate matters?

CHARACTER: Will Captain and Shooter ever reach the kind of understanding about each other that fathers and sons deserve?  Laverne Ott seems like such a decent person…how will she feel about what happens to the remaining Black children?  Gosh, Ronnie and Della had such an unhealthy relationship and now the latter is gone; is Ronnie a terrible human being, or is he just a product of his circumstances?  She may have been a teensy bit of a homewrecker, but is Brandi all that bad?

See how these separate and equal qualities of writing drive the reader forward?  The overall point is that the writer has an obligation to give the reader reasons to continue.  We can fulfill this obligation in a number of ways.  If the setting of our story is not very compelling, then we must make the other elements of fiction more compelling.  Here’s a wholly unscientific chart gauging how much Mr. Martin privileged each element of fiction:

lee martin late one night chart

Of course, I liked the plot very much and advise you to pick up the book, but Late One Night is not a whiz-bang action thriller like Transformers 11: Tin Man’s Revenge.  That film, in turn, will have put very little emphasis on character, setting and theme…which makes sense; do you watch a Transformers film to see where Shia LaBeouf or Mark Wahlberg are on their life journeys?  Nope.  The writers and directors of those films pack the screen full of style and plot to maintain your attention in the same way a clicker attracts the attention of your puppy.  Mr. Martin uses the right tools in the right stories to please his audience.

Having just finished my own far inferior novel, I’ve devoted a great deal of thought as to how I should begin each of the brief chapters that tell my character’s story.  But gosh, isn’t it hard to begin and end each chapter with a powerful and true statement about human existence that also keeps your narrative humming?  Let’s take a look at the opening sentences of the seven chapters of the book:

1: Ronnie swore it was talk and nothing more.

2: Della and the kids–the oldest fourteen, the youngest still a baby–lived in a trailer just south of the Bethlehem corner.

3: Earlier that evening she’d scooped the hot ashes from the Franklin stove into a cardboard box.

4: Della, nor anyone else for that matter, had any way of knowing that a few weeks before the fire, Shooter had forced himself to go through more of his wife’s things, a task he’d been doing a little at a time since she died back in the spring.

5: The trouble between Ronnie and Della came to a head one evening in early September when she showed up at a Kiwanis Club pancake supper with her long blond hair hacked off and ragged, tufts of it sticking out from her head and hanks hanging down along her slender neck.

6: In his heart Ronnie often felt all scraped out and empty over the way his life with Della was–too much want, too much lack, too much desire running up against the no-way-in-hell of it all.

7: By Thanksgiving, Della’s hair was growing back.

Will you excuse me if I pat my own back?  Look how strong the focus on character is in each of these lines.  It’s very clear that Mr. Martin wants us to get to know his subjects very well.  Just as importantly, these first lines slam us into the “mystery” about the fire (1, 2, 3, 4) and inform us about the crucial relationship between Ronnie and Della (5, 6, 7) and immerse us in the Goldengate community (1, 2, 4, 5, 7).  I think the important lesson here is that first lines should not be mere throat clearing that delays the narrative.  Even if your creative work is bigger on setting than plot, you need to give the reader some reason to continue, something that Mr. Martin does with expertise.

If you haven’t yet read Late One Night, you have my assurance that I have not ruined any of the beauty or big surprises in the work.  Mr. Martin’s restrained and gorgeous prose is a joy in itself.  Like much of the author’s work, this book makes you think about the people around you in a different way.  Instead of serving as mere extras in your own life, those people sharing the diner counter with you, walking beside you in the park…they are real human beings who invariably lead complicated lives and we do well to embrace the depth of the humanity found in others instead of making the easier choice to languish in a dark realm filled with shallow stereotypes.

Note: In addition to being a great writer, Lee Martin is also a very generous teacher.   If you are also a wordsmith, please consider following his Facebook group.  In addition to informing you about his own work, he links to his very useful blog posts.  He also has the Twitter (@LeeMartinAuthor).  Don’t we live in fascinating times?

What Can We Steal From Lee Martin’s River of Heaven?

Title of Work and its Form: River of Heaven, novel
Author: Lee Martin (on Twitter @LeeMartinAuthor)
Date of Work: 2009
Where the Work Can Be Found:  The book was published by Three Rivers Press and can be found at fine bookstores everywhere and in e-book format.  Here‘s a link to Mr. Martin’s “Buy the Book” page.

Bonuses: You really should join Mr. Martin’s Facebook group: The Lee Martin Appreciation Society.  Lee frequently uses the page to interact with fans and friends, offering a priceless glimpse into his writing and his process.  Here‘s a nonfiction piece that Mr. Martin published in Brevity.  Mr. Martin created a music playlist for River of Heaven for the Largehearted Boy blog.  Here is a nonfiction piece Mr. Martin published in the Superstition Review.

River of Heaven was also the subject of the very first GWS video.  Check it out:

Element of Craft We’re Stealing: EVERYTHING!

Sam Brady is a lifelong bachelor who allowed his homosexuality to keep him lonely.  (After  reading his story, you understand his complicated relationship with himself.)  Sam’s neighbor, Arthur the widower, helps Sam build a ship-shaped doghouse for his dog, Stump.  This is the inciting incident that kicks off the events of River of Heaven.  Long ago, Sam was friends with Dewey Finn and the shadow of Dewey’s death has cast a pall over the whole of Sam’s life.  Throughout the book, the reader learns the truth about what happened on the railroad tracks just before Dewey met his fate.  That darn ship-shaped doghouse has a ripple effect in Sam’s life.  A young man from the newspaper comes around to do a profile, which attracts the attention of Sam’s estranged brother, Cal.  Yes, a family is slowly congealing around a man who went so long without one.  Unfortunately, acquiring a family also means that Sam attracts attention from a person or two with whom he would rather not interact.  Mr. Martin’s plot unfurls inexorably and with a sense of inevitability.  This is a novel about broken people who, at long last, endure the pain necessary to grow and to forgive themselves and to find the happiness they deserve.

Mr. Martin is a world-class writer and teacher, but those who are fortunate enough to have met him have learned something more: Mr. Martin is a very decent man.  Sure, I’m betting that he’s shouted some cross words at someone who has cut him off.  He’s a human being.  But the important thing is that he recognizes the humanity in everyone he meets; sometimes a Herculean task.  His characters often have desires that most people would find unpleasant or strange.  Instead of dismissing people who are on the margins, Mr. Martin seeks to understand them and represent them faithfully on the page.  In River of Heaven, Mr. Martin seeks to understand a man who has spent time in a right-wing militia group.  Can those kinds of folks be written as extremist caricatures?  Sure, but Mr. Martin makes these characters more complicated and more human than others might have.  Mr. Martin is not at all an elderly retired homosexual who never had a long-term romantic relationship, but his willingness to understand others allows him to imagine what Sam has endured.

Further, some writers have a tendency to focus on the same characters and situations and themes.  (This was certainly the case for me!  I spent many years only writing about unrequited love.  Now, I just live it.)  You never know what you’re going to get from Mr. Martin, but you know it will be good.  A writer will always have common themes.  John Irving will always have his bears, wrestling and younger man sleeping with an older woman.  Sure.  But someone like Mr. Irving explores different situations.  Mr. Martin has written great memoir and novels set decades apart about a wide range of characters.  I suppose it’s really a matter of personal taste, but isn’t being a writer a little bit like being a performer?  What fun would it be to have Whitney Houston’s voice if “I Will Always Love You” is the ONLY SONG YOU EVER SING?

In River of Heaven and his other books, Mr. Martin confronts human problems in a complicated and realistic manner.  Let’s say you meet an elderly man who confesses he’s never been in a real romantic relationship.  If you ask why, should you be satisfied with a one-word answer?  Of course not.  There are a lot of complicated issues involved in the situation.  For good and bad, those complicated situations require a lot of time and attention.  Consider melodrama.  Think Trapped in the Closet or a Tyler Perry film or a terrible romantic comedy.  Those works often require you to gasp at relatively normal things.  Sam reveals that he’s “a closet auntie, a fag, a queer—you know all the words.”  Mr. Martin reveals this on page 3.  Why?  Because simply being homosexual is not a big deal and it’s not really a shock.  (In Trapped in the Closet, Mr. Kelly expects the audience to gasp because of the simple fact that a character is gay or is a little person or that a little person who pooped in his pants.)  Mr. Martin wrings tremendous drama and feeling from how Sam’s sexual orientation shaped his life.

River of Heaven is very much a “literary” novel, for whatever that means.  “Literary” work is like vanilla ice cream: it’s delicious and will please a crowd, but it can be a little pedestrian.  Mr. Martin’s book is not at all pedestrian because he has several different threads to keep your attention and they’re each a little bit different.

  • What will happen to Maddie, the beautiful young woman whose parents didn’t do a very good job?
  • What will happen to Cal?  Boyoboy, he shouldn’t have gotten so wrapped up in some kind of bombing plot in some manner I won’t reveal.
  • Will Sam make the temporary family he’s accruing permanent?

And most of all…

  • What the heck happened to Dewey Finn all those years ago?

There’s a little bit of a crime novel here, a little bit of romance novel, even!  And why not?  Mr. Martin makes it impossible for you to put down the book because you want to know how these different stories are resolved.

I think that the most valuable lesson in the book comes from the way Mr. Martin releases the megaton of exposition for which he is responsible.  I suppose, by and large, Mr. Martin got his shy and defensive narrator to talk by bringing in a cast of other characters who forced him to talk.  The unfortunately named Duncan Hines is a young reporter who (in my view) gets more and more dangerous.  As a reporter, it’s literally his job to ask questions and pull exposition out of Sam.  Brother Cal returns, allowing Sam to remember and describe important events from their youth.  Vera, an old family friend is a reminder of those days gone by.  Sam was introspective for so long because he had no one else around.  Now that he’s surrounded by a family, he can’t help but get his story out.  Mr. Martin’s narrator is the kind of guy who likes to keep secrets, which can be a real problem in a first person novel.  Thankfully, Sam’s new friends won’t let him button his lips anymore.

No GWS write-up could do justice to what a writer can learn from Mr. Martin.  I am forever grateful that I was lucky enough to have worked with him on a fairly close basis.  Mr. Martin maintains an extensive teaching schedule, both at Ohio State and elsewhere.  If the opportunity to meet him at a signing or to attend one of his workshops presents itself, take advantage!

What Should We Steal?

  • Understand as many kinds of people as you can and cast them as the stars of your work.  Writing about the same characters and situations all the time is a little bit like eating the same meal every day.  Salisbury steak is good, but don’t you want something different once in a while?
  • Subvert tendencies toward melodrama by digging deeper into your characters.  Character traits are not drama in and of themselves.  Drama and comedy arise FROM your characters and what the traits mean about their lives.
  • Layer in qualities from other genres to add depth and attract more attention.  The Godfather is a gangster movie…but it’s also a romance.  The Incredibles is a kid’s movie, but it’s also a sad meditation on our society’s rejection of healthy competition.
  • Employ a character’s support network to coax exposition from your protagonist.  When in doubt, drop in a confidante!  A cast of different characters allows you to fill in what happened, as different characters will care about different things.