Almost three years ago, in “Details, Details,” I noted, “Whether you write fiction or nonfiction, poetry or plays, details help bring your stories to life. (They can also weigh your story down. We can talk about that some other time.)”
“Some other time” has finally arrived, and strange but true, this is a book I’m reading for pleasure, not a manuscript I’m critiquing or editing. After its publication in 2008, it become a New York Times best-seller and an Oprah Book Club selection. All of which suggests that it was pretty well edited and very well liked, or at least that a lot of people bought it.
I’m actually liking it myself: I’m about two-thirds of the way through and I plan to keep going. But still — the details!
At first I was impressed. Truth to tell, I still am. A rain-washed street, the noises each stair in an old farmhouse makes as a boy walks down them, an old tractor engine rumbling to life — all these and many more sights and sounds are exquisitely observed and vividly described.
Especially impressive to me is the detail devoted to the raising and training of dogs. I know enough about dogs and dog training to recognize the author’s expertise. The title character is my novel in progress is a dog; his behavior and training play a significant role in the story. My own treatment of the subject suddenly seemed pale and rushed by comparison. Maybe I should put in more details?
At some point, though, the exquisitely observed and vividly described objects and interactions began to slow me down. Even the parts about dogs. Get on with it, I’d think. I can visualize in detail the peeling paint and the rusty latch — what’s happening on the other side of the door?
With an ebook or an old-fashioned print book, I could have skimmed past the in-depth descriptions and gotten on with the story, but I’m listening to this novel on CDs as I run errands in my car. With an audiobook you can’t skip ahead with any precision. So I listen even when I’m itching to fast-forward.
I wondered if the author was also a poet. In poetry image and detail are in the foreground. They’re meant to be savored. They’re important in fiction and memoir too, but if you spend too much time savoring the imagery and detail in a 580-page (or 18-CD) novel, you’ll never get through it. As far as I can tell, this author isn’t also a poet.
Interestingly enough, despite his minute attention to small details, the author skates right over some of the big ones, like how does a 14-year-old who’s never been away from home manage to survive for weeks in the very deep forest?
Naturally, being an editor by trade, I wonder what I would have said if this book had come to me as an unpublished manuscript for critiquing. I would have been impressed as hell by the writing, but I’m pretty sure I would have flagged numerous places where the narrative bogged down or where stitches got dropped and weren’t picked up again. Obviously the book did spectacularly well in its current form — and, as usual, I don’t know what it looked like, or how long it was, when it was first submitted to agent or publisher.
I intend to keep reading, or listening, to the end, so neither the wealth of detail nor the dropped stitches nor the long meandering detour away from (what I think is) the main narrative has stopped me. The importance of dogs to the story is a big motivator for me, and I’m intrigued by the brief glimpses of magical-realist techniques in the author’s style. When I finish, I’ll read some reviews and comments to see what other readers had to say.
The book, by the way, is The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, by David Wroblewski.
4 thoughts on “Bogged Down in Detail”
I tell my students the same thing as you–enrich your story with details. But yes, there’s the other side of the coin. a great meditation on that “other side.” Thanks.
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It’s comparable, I think, to the challenge facing writers of academic and journalistic nonfiction. In the course of their research, they learn more than they could ever pack into a readable narrative. This is one reason that PhD dissertations are rarely turned into successful books. The more clearly a fiction writer can visualize a place or a character’s backstory, the better — but not all that detail goes into the story.
As a reader I adore details, particularly sensory details. As a writer I must pay attention to limit myself because it’s true that too much narrative can slow down the pace and trigger readers’ boredom.
I’ve never read this book but it’s now on my list. And books with a dog or more is always a great plus 🙂
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This book is fascinating from the dog angle. Over three generations, the young protagonist’s family has been dedicated to developing and training its own breed, so there’s loads of detail about dogs. It’s one of the book’s central images. Another is that the protagonist is born mute and learns to do all his communicating — with dogs as well as people — in sign. This doesn’t come across as well in the audiobook, but in the print version signed speech is rendered without quote marks. I’m still waiting to see how these things tie back into the main story, and whether the various dropped stitches are picked up again.