What is weighty fiction? I would argue that it is, almost unto itself, the definition for stories that matter. It’s the opposite of fluffy fiction (which isn’t to say there’s anything wrong with fluff–we all enjoy a fair share of that as well).
Most authors want to write something that matters. Even if we’re never going to win the Pulitzer or be canonized alongside Dickens and Dostoevsky, we still want to know the stories we’re spinning are more than just stories. We want them to touch people’s lives, make them think, make them question, make them believe. The chief ingredient in any story with that capability is always going to be truth in the form of verisimilitude and a strong thematic premise.
But there’s more.
Writing Your Story’s Theme (Amazon affiliate link)
You can create a story seeping with truth and framed upon an excellent premise, and yet it can still fail to be weighty. When a thematically rich story comes up short in the “weight” department, it just has a feel of… flabbiness. Is feels as if it failed to take full advantage of its potential. But feelings–however important in a writer–are ultimately a little difficult to quantify. So let us examine the subject logically in order to identify the five most important factors in creating weight and substance in stories that matter.
Factor #1 for Stories That Matter: Subtext
This is the biggie. No subtext = no depth = no weight.
I talked recently about how I realized that the magic ingredient in every single one of my favorite stories was subtext–the sense of the “untold” in a story–the sense that there is more beneath the surface. But beyond just that sense, the story also needs to offer solid hints, solid questions that can guide readers to using their own imaginations to fill in some of those blanks. In short, you have to create depth–and then take advantage of it.
The Right Way to Create Subtext
Ridley Scott’s Gladiator does a marvelous job of this. The weight of the backstory is evident from the very beginning, thanks to the skillful and telling interactions between characters who have known each other all their lives. We sense immediately the baggage present in Maximus’s relationships with Marcus Aurelius, Lucilla, and Commodus–as well as amongst the emperor and his children. That subtext is then paid off throughout the story with just enough deft revelations to explain away our most salient questions without condescending to explain everything to us.
The Wrong Way to Create Subtext
By contrast, Kevin Reynolds’s Tristan & Isolde is a story that brims with the potential for subtext in the characters’ relationships and motivations. Tristan’s Ghost (being saved by Lord Marke, who loses his hand in the process and then adopts Tristan) offers potential, but his true feelings about this incident are never satisfactorily developed. As a result, the conflict at the center of the story–between his love for Isolde and his loyalty to Marke–end up lacking both depth and weight.
Factor #2 for Stories That Matter: Passage of Time
Not that you can’t tell a powerful story in a very short amount of time, but as a general rule, the more time in which you have to develop the plot, the more significant the character development will seem. Although it’s possible for people to be transformed quickly, most evolutions are the process of much time, if only because we need more than one catalyst to prompt the change. Consider how much more weight you gain from sticking a character in prison for a year versus imprisoning him for only a week or two.
The Right Way to Utilize Passage of Time
Gladiator covers a significant amount of time as Maximus journeys from war in Germania to his devastated home in Spain to slavery in Zuccabar to the gladiatorial games in Rome. The passage of time is handled artfully so that it never slows the story’s pacing, but it creates the understanding within us that the character’s sufferings are not the fleeting pains of a moment. Thanks to that alone, what he undergoes seems much more important.
The Wrong Way to Utilize Passage of Time
Aside from the ten or so years that pass between the prologue and the main story, the passage of time in Tristan & Isolde is never made clear. Tristan’s wound seems to heal overnight. The journey from Cornwall to Ireland and back again is performed in a twinkling many times, and we’re never given any kind of idea how much time passes after Isolde arrives in England. As a result, the story feels rushed, and the characters’ reactions never gain the weight they might otherwise have done.
Factor #3 for Stories That Matter: Multiple Settings
Again: it’s totally possible to tell a powerful and meaningful story that remains primarily in just one setting (John Sturges’s Great Escape and Yimou Zhang’s Flowers of War are two of my favorite examples). But you can often create a more impressive sense of depth and importance by making sure your plot will affect your characters in more than just one place.
The Right Way to Use Multiple Settings
In self-respecting epic fashion, Gladiator manages to traverse almost the entirety of the Roman Empire. Doing so allows us to gain a sense of the world in which Maximus lives, the imperial power he faces, and the scope of the population that will be affected by his actions. It also works hand in hand with the passage of time to evoke the sense that the character has journeyed far, seen much, and endured many things in his pursuit of his goal. Most importantly, the extensive use of settings in this story is never extraneous. The settings are never present simply for the sake of creating epic scope; they always serve the plot in a sensible and necessary way.
The Wrong Way to Use Multiple Settings
Tristan & Isolde showcases two countries: England and Ireland. But both countries are reduced to two seemingly tiny settings. The lords from all over England frequently gather in Cornwall as if the country were small enough to make their journeys insignificant. The uniting of England is a major theme, but the size of that problem is reduced significantly in our minds simply because we never get a sense of a country rather than a handful of small neighboring villages.
Factor #4 for Stories That Matter: Subplots
Big stories are just that: big. As such, they’re about more than just one thing. The character’s primary conflict will be supported and contrasted by other concerns–just as our own major problems in real life usually spawn smaller problems. When we reduce a story to a single issue, we eliminate its context–and therefore its subtext. Subplots allow us to explore multiple facets of our characters’ lives and struggles. Every subplot needs to be pertinent to the main plot, but don’t feel that a small amount of divergence, for the sake of thematic exploration, is something to be avoided.
The Right Way to Include Subplots
Gladiator is an extremely focused story. But it is still able to offer many layers. The primary conflict is ultimately that of saving Rome. But Maximus’s personal journey to vengeance fuels most of the plot. The relationships between Maximus and Lucilla, Maximus and Proximo, Maximus and the other gladiators, Lucilla and Commodus, even Commodus and his nephew Lucius—all work together to weave a tapestry of rich contrast and color that would otherwise have been lost if the story had been reduced to nothing more than a quest for revenge.
The Wrong Way to Include Subplots
Tristan & Isolde offers the opportunity for exceedingly juicy subplots via the relationships of Tristan with pretty much every character in the story. But none are taken advantage of. All the focus is on his relationship with Isolde. Even his crucial relationship with Lord Marke is sadly undeveloped. In crafting your subplots, remember that even just a single small conversation between characters, exploring their motivations in relation to one another, can transform your story.
Factor #5 for Stories That Matter: Emotional and Intellectual Sequel Scenes
Every scene in your story is made of two halves: scene (action) and sequel (reaction). The action in the scene is what moves the plot. But the reaction in the sequel is where the character development and the thematic depth will almost always be found. Never neglect your sequels. For every important event in your story, you must take the time to demonstrate your character’s reactions–both intellectually and emotionally. If readers don’t know how your characters feel about events, they won’t be able to properly draw their own conclusions about what to think.
The Right Way to Create Sequels
Gladiator didn’t win awards because it was an action story. It won critical acclaim because it perfectly balanced its action with strong sequel scenes showing the characters’ reactions and emotional processes. When Maximus reacts to his identity being revealed at the Midpoint (in the scene in which Lucilla visits his cell), he shows his anger, his frustration, his determination, and his sense of betrayal even in regard to her. Without this scene and others like it, his emotional process could only be guessed at.
The Wrong Way to Create Sequels
On a technical level, Tristan & Isolde structures its scenes and sequels properly. But the sequels are almost uniformly disappointing. With few exceptions, the characters–and especially Tristan–never really discuss the intricacies and complexities of their reactions. This is a story that centers around Tristan’s conflicted loyalty to a man to whom he owes everything. But that is never touched upon in a satisfactorily direct way. Excellent subtext can only exist when the text itself offers enough meat for readers to chew on.
If you can implement just these five factors in your story–whatever your theme or subject–you’ll be able to bring instant weight to your plot. The result will be a story that is much more likely to matter to your readers than the vast majority of what they read.
Tell me your opinion: What do you think is the most important factor in writing stories that matter?
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