A few weeks ago, I read a blog entry somewhere about the claim (phrased variously) that the setting in a given work “becomes like [or even is] a character itself.” It drove the blogger crazy, because setting and character (in his/her opinion) have so little in common. Whatever my other reactions to the rant, it got me thinking about setting. About whether I’d ever really paid much attention (due or otherwise) to place in my fiction.
I didn’t think I’d ignored setting; in fact I’d mentioned in a comment somewhere else, shortly before, that I knew of a brief passage in Merry-Go-Round in which I’d described an old hotel in a way which — yes — almost made it seem, in retrospect, like a character. But I couldn’t think of any examples where I’d done much more than (say) list the geographical features of a town, the layout of a room.
Eventually I filed the question away, and forgot about it.
I’ve mentioned before, here on RAMH, that I’ve been spending several weeks going back to look at the book which (as the cliche goes) I think I may be meant to write. The working title, which I’m not completely satisfied with but use because I’ve got to refer to it somehow for chrissake, is Grail. (Don’t be misled by that title, though. This isn’t a medieval romance or historical novel. Events for the most part occur in the mid-1980s.)
I’ve taken it through 2½ drafts so far (the first in 1991). In this pass, I’m just recording in a word-processing document certain key events and character traits from the drafted version(s), so I can look at Grail‘s whole structure with fresh eyes, away from the words in which it’s cast. This is based at least in part on the theory that I’ve learned a lot about writing in the last 17 years (more or less), and therefore will probably want not just to edit a fresh draft of the book but honest-to-God rewrite the thing, from scratch.
So anyway, I’m going through the text earlier today, transcribing information, and I came to a chapter whose events are described in flashback.
It’s a memory of a character named Albert (Al) Castle who is — to the extent anyone is — the central figure in the book. The time is May, 1945. Corporal Castle, Seventh Army, USA, is in Germany. And he goes out for a walk– a walk that will change his life.
And that’s when I came across the specific passage to which I link below. I don’t make any claims to this as an example of setting-as-character; but I’ve gotta say, I was surprised by how much attention I’d paid to setting here.
(By the way, the photos on that page are just meant to be illustrative. They don’t depict exactly where this action takes place — in one case, not even roughly the same time.)
[Link to Grail: Excerpt]
Jolie says
Ha, that was my rant you mentioned. I still feel that way, too.
Read through the scene you linked to, and overall I like it. There is indeed a lot of attention to the setting, and necessarily so, though it ain’t no character (broken record, I am)! I’d like to read more of this story sometime. Are you looking for constructive criticism?
marta says
I’ve read that character as setting stuff too–though can’t say I ever argued with or accepted it. If I think about it now though (and not having read Jolie’s rant about it) I’d say that if setting were a character, it wouldn’t be a very interesting one. I mean, setting can change because of events. Sure, you can bomb, flood, burn, pulverize, develop a setting into a suburban shopping mall, but it doesn’t think. It doesn’t feel. It doesn’t ever decide all on its own to be a different setting.
A setting can’t have intent. It can’t react.
So, I’d say that a setting is not a character. However, I’d also say that if that idea helps people write their settings, well, bully for them.
John says
@Jolie – Heh. I knew it was yours, just wasn’t sure if you still felt that way — or if you wanted even to be exposed as such a flagrant provocateur.
Ah well — too late now! :)
John says
@marta – I’m reading a sort-of and sort-of-not S/F novel at the moment, called Roderick (by a John Sladek). The title character is a robot who grows up during the course of the novel, and occasional passages are told from R’s POV. Since he’s a “realistic” robot, not one with a face, arms, and legs (he’s described as looking like a small tank), the sense of this POV is pretty much that it’s from an inanimate object.
I wouldn’t mind reading a story sometime in which a setting is THE protagonist and provides THE point of view. (One hopes it wouldn’t devolve into an eco-political tract — that’d be too easy. I’m thinking more along the lines of (say) a ravine born in a primordial storm, reaches adolescence as a canyon walked by dinosaurs, and matures as a broad valley.)
Note that the operative word there was “reading,” not “writing”!
John says
@Jolie – Oh, P.S., on the constructive criticism: no writer in his/her right mind ever turns that down! But no, I wasn’t actively seeking any. Like I said, I’m still just re-reading Draft 1 of a 15+-year-old MS. So I just can’t promise to act on it right away (ideally, in something less than another 15 years!).