Partly in response to my current line of thought expressed in QUICK NUM NOTES, I re-examined the five essays I wrote about "the suspension of disbelief" as formulated by Samuel Coleridge and responded to by Stephen King. I concluded that quasi-series with the 2023 post STRENGTH TO ENGAGEMENT, but now I have some new refinements.
First of all, I failed to account for two different levels of engagement: one primary and "unearned," the other secondary and "earned." I pointed out in the course of the essays that a reader's receptiveness to the genres of fantasy does not depend exactly on "suspending disbelief." Some readers may be so invested in naive realism that they can never accept metaphenomenal subject matter in any way; they find it childish and would never, in line with Stephen King's dictum, even trouble to exert their mental muscles to engage. Yet I've encountered fans of the metaphenomenal who are just as naively realistic as any fantasy-hater, but who view their reading material as simple escapism from the rigors of real life. Other fantasy-readers may believe in one or more forms of the metaphenomenal in real life, ranging from psychic phenomena or the return of the Messiah, or they may be agnostic about such matters but open to real-world possibilities. Some may place credence in science fiction but not in magical fantasy, and so on. All of these forms of engagement proceed from individual taste, and so as far as the author of any given "meta" work is concerned, a given reader's willingness to engage is unearned, because the reader approaches the work with a certain degree of receptivity no matter how good or bad the work is.
The secondary level of engagement, though, is one that the author does have to earn. In QUICK NUM NOTES I asked the question, "how much crap did an author have to come up with to put across this involved a deception?" The question was directed to those Gothic authors who thought they were being more "realistic" by revealing that a purported ghost was just a guy in a bedsheet, when in truth there's not much (if any) real-world evidence for swindlers who dress up in bedsheets (and maybe more for real ghosts). A good storyteller like Conan Doyle can cobble together enough suggestive details as to make it seem logical that the villain of HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES would go through the trouble of painting a dog with phosphorescent paint to get across the effect of a ghost-hound. When an author manages to take the reader to the second level of engagement, the reader feels validated in investing in the far-fetched events of the narrative. A contrary example-- just to name the first that comes to mind-- is a dopey "weird western," HAUNTED RANCH, in which the plotters, as unimaginative as their creators, try to create the illusion of a haunting by simply projecting spooky sounds into the ranch-house.
The same basic rule pertains to marvelous phenomena. In this month's essay AMAZON ATROCITY, which offered an overview of Robert Kanigher's WONDER WOMAN tenure, I called attention to one story in which a fiery giant arises from the ground beneath Paradise Island-- yet the author neglects to give any rationale for the creature's appearance. I know that had I read this particular tale at age 10 I would have been offended by the author's implication that the kids reading this comic were too stupid to need explanations-- and I say this with a clear memory of another Kanigher story of the same period in which he pissed me off with his cavalier attitude toward storytelling.
Further, I gave a couple of examples of the barest justifications Kanigher might have employed to gain his readers' secondary engagement: "Is the Boiling Man a member of a subterranean race? An ancient Greek Titan confined to the underworld by the Olympians?" Both of these conceits could have been further expanded upon in line with either didactic or mythopoeic abstractions, and such abstractions might have made the story more interesting, thus encouraging readers to continue reading the heroine's adventures.
This idea of an author having to earn the reader's secondary engagement will play into a future essay on related matters.
2 comments:
In my own (admittedly limited) fiction writing, I've sometimes employed the "never-explained existence" - - a "Boiling Man" - - plot device to drive the story, but with the caveat of having developed its origin or explanation despite never revealing it to the reader. Sort of in a "Car-breaks-down-but-the-driver-never-knows-it-was-due-to-a-failed-fuel-pump, only-that-now-he's-marooned-to-face-the-peril-of-the-desert". My undisclosed origin/back-story provides me with not only the "why" but, perhaps more importantly, "the what" that ensures in-universe continuity and consistency.
I've long considered the "Star Wars'" "The Force" an example of how leaving the explanation undisclosed but definitively formulated might, sometimes, better serve a narrative.
"The Force" exists unexplained, in the original trilogy. That lack of explanation created mystery, intriguing and even captivating viewers, who, predictably and investingly, formulated their personal explanations for it.
The strength of "never disclosing" and the need for "but definitively formulating the explanation" became apparent to me in my repeat watchings of the trilogy and in my watchings of the prequels, sequels, and canon series.
The former, in the disappointment I and many others have felt when the Force was explained as "mitochlorians"; not only did that feel trivial but also lazy.
The latter, in what I and many others have judged to be inconsistencies if not contradictions in the depiction of the Force; it seems Lucas failed to have definitively formulated an origin and definition of the Force before scripting even the first movie, so subsequent depictions, being more "make-this-up-as-we-go", lacked the in-universe consistency and continuity of a "this is what the Force can and cannot do".
I've long felt the plot device of the Force would be more effective for "suspension of disbelief" and compelling to audiences if Lucas had carefully formulated its explanation and definition before scripting the first movie, and then never revealed that explanation and definition to the viewer.
But, yeah...explanation of a Boiling Man also has its literary and cinematic place. Especially for children? As another who was precocious at age seven (wasn't that as much a detriment as a benefit, Gene? - - to me, it seems at times that other kids' normal ignorance truly was bliss!), I would have criticized that Wonder Woman story similarly for lacking the explanation.
Yes, rhere are definitely situations where "less is more," and STAR WARS is a good example.
The first film, as I recall, gives us just a few sentences of explanation about the Force, which I assume I can find online-- let's see--
“The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.”
Now that was great for the purpose of the original trilogy, which was absorbed with the role that the Force played in Luke's evolution. Darth Vader has some lines about the Dark Side of the Force, but they're even MORE minimal. Those work too because there's JUST enough of a rationale that viewers can easily engage with these mini-explanations.
Ironically, some months before Kanigher published that Boiling Man story, he did "The Last Days of the Amazons," which ALSO showed some sort of fiery entity beneath Paradise Island. I praised that tale in part because Kanigher's explanation hung together despite being minimal: in that one, the fire-creature was said to be "the god of earthquakes." That's all I needed for that particular thing, it fit into the greater scheme of the doom Aphrodite arranged.
As for the Midichlorians, they're definitely an example of "more is less." My rough impression is that when Lucas started writing the prequels, he was for whatever reasons he was married to the idea of a sci-fi "immaculate conception" for Anakin. I don't know why, since that factor doesn't seem to have a lot of direct relevance to his psychology, or to the mistakes he makes. But he doesn't seem to have looked at even the minimal explanation of the first films, and all that stuff about the Force communicating through microscopic organisms seemed too reductive. He didn't allow for the viewers to have formed their own conception of the Force based on those short explanations.
There's definitely a good precedent for working out details about, as per your example, how a catastrophe comes out even if the info won't appear in the story. Supposedly Alan Moore used to write comics-scripts in which he worked out tons of backstory details that he knew the artists wouldn't literally draw, but he thought they might profit from "local color."
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