Close Read: The Sweetness of Water

a first novel by Nathan Harris

I find it fascinating to discuss a book with a book club group in which there are no writers, only readers.

Although everyone in the group appreciated this read, when we first began to discuss, there were words about sentences that weren’t whole and vocabulary that had to be looked up (“Does anyone speak like this?”) I know I tend to write in fragments, so this first comment made me pause.

But this is altogether a resonant first novel. (It’s both an Oprah pick as well as Obama—but is surely more than “best-seller” material. I must say Obama’s list is usually so generic that it hurts.)

The story is set post-civil war, with freedmen trying to go about reforming their lives. It is set in the south, with a real mix of characters, of people aware and trying to make a difference, and others who just want old ways to stay, and are willing to do horrific acts to make that happen. But it’s a story with the word “hope” in the closing line.

Nathan Harris is a young man living in Austin TX, one of my favourite cities, a place filled with working artists. There are a number of elements he handles so well here, and I have to note them.

Know that in the following there are so-called spoilers! But we are doing this as working writers willing to dissect to learn. When a book is well-written the experience is in the read—even when you think you know what is going to happen. And to learn from a book, it must be read a second time. So read on, then read the book.

Timing — of information and being allowed “in”

When do you let readers know certain things? The thinking is “as/when they need to know.” It’s compelling to want to share with readers off the top, but for how long will they remember what you/narrator have shared with them? Wait too long, and the knowledge will have disappeared as their mental images are filled and released. I think we do this as we read—this releasing. Especially with the sheer length of a novel.

There are two particular characters to note here—pivotal characters. (All the characters are necessary to this story, as they should be. Check: are all of your characters needed for your story? for “their” story?) But in this case, one is the murdered character, and the other is the murderer. So fair to say “pivotal.”

Here is what is noteworthy: not long before the moment of tension and climax between them occurs, Harris takes us into the heads of both of them, each in turn, and we learn keys pieces of their backgrounds, their desires and hopes.

This knowledge is significant. The traumatic scene takes place on page 162, the close of chapter 12, in a book of 358 pages and 30 chapters. (To give you a sense of pacing.)

It’s 20-30 pages before this that Harris draws us into the head of the man who will be murdered, a man who is almost unable to speak—so “hearing” his words feels to be particularly intimate, a gift even. We see what water means to him, and what is significant in his life. His mother; his beatings and injuries from living on plantation. Chapter 11 are his words, his life, and we see something of his soul. This choice of placing this 20-30 pages before the point of loss and horror feels to be just right for pacing; from that point on the reader has a new connection with the character of Landry. (Note that this story is told in third person, moving from one characters POV to another’s.)

Pages 86-92 we see more of the interior of the murderer. While this knowledge in no way condones his actions, it does leave the reader with deeper knowledge of what this person is about. Without these pages, the later act would be less resonant. This is approximately the half way mark to what comes; deeply enough into the story to have a solid grounding in so much else, and then this piece is added. But note, not in early pages; it would be half forgotten.

This type of work—thinking through pacing—is not first draft work! Please note that. For first draft, spit out everything that comes to mind. You can organize it later. Later, though, ask yourself where is the optimal place to share knowledge with your reader? Avoid dropping a piece into a place that doesn’t leave enough time to ingest, before the reader “uses” the information.

If it helps, draw out a diagram using 10 page increments, and sketch in the rhythm of events and “rising action.” Such a visual can give you a sense of timing. Don’t hesitate to shift scenes to allow this to build. Give knowledge. Give time to let it sit and grow. Then give the significant scene.

Anthropomorphism

I have to share this element of the book, because it is a noticeable facet.

The shadows, the night… in conversation:

“There was no light except the candle on the windowsill. She found the shadows of the house, each specific slant of darkness, intensely familiar: they fell upon the living room like patterned echoes of the furniture, as if the night, in conversation with her designs, was offering its own interpretation.” (181)

Note that this moment above follows shortly after the tragic death. It leaves a sense of being less alone.

“She walked back to the house, which was still at peace, and sat alone in the parlour with her knitting…” (186-7)

“All four of them stood silent beneath the canopy of sunlight that had begun to close like a lid, encircled by the limbs of the trees reaching toward one another in the slanting wind.” (203)

This, after burying the body.

“The wind was so violent… It quit for a spell before it kicked up one last time and took off in the direction of town.” (315)

And throughout, there is the delightful Ridley, a donkey, humble and loving and quite personified. As well as some mysterious “beast” in the nearby forest, a force for “belief” and question…

All these pieces layer the story. If you read the novel, please post thoughts, and let’s discuss.

Understanding Human Beings

Surely this is one of the greatest strengths of strong writers: understanding how to get to the essence of a person/character, or a relationship, and how to describe.

“Part of him was amused by Ezra’s deceit, for in it he saw the glimmer of respect that had been at the root of their entire relationship. The old man would not change his ways on account of his client’s grieving, and George would never have wanted him to.” (40)

“Of course he wished to help her face the injustices wreaked upon them both. But what they shared had limits. It was a mutual passion for independence that had brought them together in the first place, the ability to go through vast segments of the day in silence, with only a glance, a touch on the back, to affirm their feelings. In doing so the bond between them had strengthened over time, and although it was not prone to bending, its single weak point lay in the quiet embarrassment that it existed in the first place—that two individuals who resolutely dismissed the idea of needing anyone else were now helpless without each other.” (41)

We haul out the “show don’t tell” adage. But there are times to “tell” in this way. It is analogous to life: we articulate, or struggle to articulate, the workings and inter-workings of people. Sometimes, characters do this work of articulation, and they are not correct in their thinking—they might be delusional or simply off (or misled) about someone they think they understand. The POV here is close third—these are the beliefs the characters hold about self and others.

A narrator’s voice would be more objective, more “accurate”—a reader would not want to have to second-guess a narrator. Unless the narrator is a character—an unreliable character/narrator.

Descriptions

Ah, I cannot help but note Great Descriptions when I do these close reads. So a couple here, just for the sheer joy of reading:

“Hackstedde was perhaps a decade George’s junior, a robust man with a cluster of hairy moles adorning his chin like a pile of racoon droppings in miniature.” (189)

“A boy appeared from the shop, youthful, his hair so fair it was clear it would darken as he got older and it drew color from the world.” (229)

Thoughts?