Addressing the reader

[Island Writer]

I'm reading a book at the moment where the author often talks to the reader. I'm finding this off-putting and would be interested to hear others' thoughts.

Here's an example:
What gave graduates from Fallowfield the edge over other practitioners was the degree of competition they were exposed to during their studies. We have already seen an example of this competition with the tragic tale of Lawyer 1 and Lawyer 2. The scene described was a mock trial training exercise. Lawyer 1 and Lawyer 2 were students of Fallowfield University (on reflection maybe I should have called them Law Student 1 and Law Student 2, but that would have given the game away).

 

[Amber]

I'm reading a book at the moment where the author often talks to the reader. I'm finding this off-putting and would be interested to hear others' thoughts.

Here's an example:
What gave graduates from Fallowfield the edge over other practitioners was the degree of competition they were exposed to during their studies. We have already seen an example of this competition with the tragic tale of Lawyer 1 and Lawyer 2. The scene described was a mock trial training exercise. Lawyer 1 and Lawyer 2 were students of Fallowfield University (on reflection maybe I should have called them Law Student 1 and Law Student 2, but that would have given the game away).

I dunno. I call it breaking the fourth wall but I think that may be a movie term. Sometimes I like it. The paragraph you used as an example doesn't sparkle though does it? That may be the bigger problem ... dunno for sure.

 

[Marc Joan]

I think it can work well, in some books -- like that technique in some films where the actor looks directly at the camera -- it almost has shock value -- but if too many writers did it, it would get very tedious very quickly.

 

[Paul Whybrow]

The fourth wall is an expression that tends to be used in acting, in live theatre, television dramas and cinema films. I was once in the audience for an entirely improvised play, performed at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in 1982, starring a small cast that included Vanessa Redgrave and Michael Gambon. The actors had been given a basic framework for a plot that involved three bickering couples, but made up the lines as they went along—often asking the audience what they thought their character should do next—it was a fun mess, though delightfully disconcerting and almost like group therapy!

In movies, Mel Brooks and Woody Allen are famed for dragging the audience into the action, such as in this scene from Annie Hall:



With writing, there are several modern authors who take on a godlike role by becoming omniscient 3rd person narrators. Writers such as Hilary Mantel, Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams, Vikram Seth and John Irving practically turn to the reader, nudging them on the arm to say "Guess what this guy does next...." It's usually done in an ironic way but can feel very intrusive. For example, in A Widow for One Year John Irving glibly writes:

“And this is where Eddie, the unlucky young man with the inadequate lamp shade, enters the story.”

It almost feels like Irving has inserted part of his notes on how the novel's plot is structured. As Island Writer found, it's off-putting and makes me feel like shoving the author away from me—forcing him to be the storyteller again, and not my mate!

 

[Carol Rose]

I suppose breaking the fourth wall might work in some genres, but not so well in others. And it has been done before in books. I agree it would become tiresome if everyone started doing it.

 

[David Newrick]

That paragraph really does not read well Robinne. If it had wowed me then perhaps I would have been won over. Instead, I had to re-read it because it didn't quite seem to make sense and violently jerked the narrative flow.

 

[Luciferette]

I quite like the technique, but only when it's used by a skilful author -- as @Paul Whybrow says, Pratchett and Mantel do it wonderfully. The most striking example for me is The Crimson Petal and the White by Michel Faber. Now, that's skill! It adds a sinister layer of someone else watching over the characters; it's not intrusive for the reader, but those little asides really sparkle. If you haven't read it, do. It's a great doorstop of a book that's perfect for winter.

 

[Rich.]

I'm with @Luciferette. In the hands of a skilled author it can be wonderful. In Ursula Le Guin's short story The one's who walk away from Omelas, she begins with two pages of racing description:

With a clamour of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city of Omelas, bright towered by the sea. ...

And then breaks into this, like it's not even her story to tell:

Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How to describe the citizens of Omelas?

And two pages further on she invites us to make the story our own:

I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don't hesitate.

 

[AliG]

I find it can build a closeness between author and reader, but agree that sparingly is the key.

 

[Paul Whybrow]

But, what if the omniscient 3rd-person voice that was guiding the reader through the story was present from the first line—and, initially seemed to be a benign presence, like some amused god beaming down on the activities of earthlings—though, as the story progressed it becomes clear that the voice belongs to a satanic destroyer of worlds who's been misleading you and is about to kill all of the characters you've come to love. The ultimate unreliable narrator!

 

[AliG]

Then the twist is good. And I re-examine all my friendships...

 

[Andrew Okey]

I'm reading a book at the moment where the author often talks to the reader. I'm finding this off-putting and would be interested to hear others' thoughts.

Here's an example:
What gave graduates from Fallowfield the edge over other practitioners was the degree of competition they were exposed to during their studies. We have already seen an example of this competition with the tragic tale of Lawyer 1 and Lawyer 2. The scene described was a mock trial training exercise. Lawyer 1 and Lawyer 2 were students of Fallowfield University (on reflection maybe I should have called them Law Student 1 and Law Student 2, but that would have given the game away).

I think this is something that should be used sparingly (and, as others have said, this particular case is a bit grinding). But I can think of sparkling examples of its use - Tristram Shandy, say, or that disconcerting moment in The French Lieutenant's Woman when Fowles himself steps onto a train, looks his protagonist over, and asks out loud "What am I going to do with you?" And best of all is surely Spike Milligan's Puckoon, when Milligan (the author) continually promises Milligan (the protagonist) that his thin legs "will develop with the plot" (and so on).

This is a timely point, and I'm opening myself up here for advice from the collected Litopiati. I am just starting my second novel (am I allowed a fanfare for that?). The protagonist is a real historical figure - a renaissance painter, I'll just call him "J" for now.

The plot will focus on two crucial years in J's life, but will flash backwards to formative events and (very importantly) forward to his later years and the fulfilment of his ambitions. As a core theme of mine is immortality through art, I want to write instances where I, as author, speak directly to my readers, armed with my 500-year perspective on J's achievements and legacy. For example, in almost the first scene, J is being commissioned to paint a rich man. The rich man pleads with J to include his favourite hunting hound in the picture. J is a bit of a purist, he doesn't like this, but the dog limps over to J (who has a particular sympathy for the physically marred) and settles lovingly as his feet. J agrees to compromise on his usual standards. At that point I want to tell the reader how that same hound crops up again and again in J's paintings and name those paintings, and maybe even where they hang [the incident, and the hunting hound, are my fictions, but the paintings are real and they all do feature a particular type of dog]. I'll do this several (but not many) times across the length of the book, pointing the reader to real works of art in this way.

So, this is your chance to all tell me this is the worst idea you've ever heard (which is how I view it myself, roughly every other day - the rest of the time I think its great).

Cheers, A.