By John
Copenhaver
Revelation
in fiction comes in many forms: In a murder mystery, the curtain is pulled back
on the identity of the culprit. In other narratives, the curtain is pulled back
on the true nature of a character. For a revelation to work in fiction, it must
feel surprising and inevitable to the reader. These qualities seem
contradictory but in the hands of a skilled writer, the tension between the
inevitable and the surprising is always present; it is the only way a
revelation is fairly earned.
So,
how do we craft our stories to produce this effect? You embed enough
“significant detail” about character, setting, and action prior to the
revelation to suggest an emotional shape of the story without divulging the
revelation, whether it’s a plot twist or an epiphany or both.
What
are “significant details”? In her book, Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft, Janet Burroway explains that “a detail
is concrete if it appeals to one of the five senses; it is significant if it also conveys an idea or a judgment of both.”
Significant details, then, are details that are colored with a character’s (or
narrator’s) point-of-view.
Here’s
a description devoid of significance:
Roxy,
my chihuahua-mix, is short-haired, taupe-colored,
22-inches long with erect ears and a straight tail.
Yawn.
To
me, however, she’s the color of lightly toasted Wonder Bread, and her alert
ears are soft and silky, and her small nose damp, reassuring.
Better.
To
my friend who hates dogs, she’s a slippery beige shark, weaving between legs, patiently
searching for a tender ankle maul.
Best.
The
last two descriptions are significant because they employ details that reveal
character; they suggest a relationship between the thing described and the
describer. Of course, when that relationship has tension—Rozy as a small tan
land-shark—it’s even more engaging for the reader.
Whether
or not readers are aware of it, significant details urge them to search for a
pattern. It’s like standing close to a pointillist masterpiece and then backing
slowly away. Eventually, the pattern coalesces, and you see the image in full.
These types of details accrue and converge to predict the emotional outcome of
the narrative. Readers don’t know what the characters will do, but when they do
it, it should feel appropriate to their psychology. It’s irritating when
characters behave in a way that's not in keeping with what we know about them.
However, when we have a rich supply of significant details but haven’t
predicted what actions those details foreshadow, it’s exhilarating and
convincing when a character makes a surprising choice. Each significant detail
is a building block of character, giving the narrative an emotional topography
without drawing a map for the reader: the result is surprising and inevitable.
John Copenhaver’s
historical crime novel, Dodging and Burning (Pegasus,
2018), received a Publishers Weekly starred review, and Library Journal
starred review and Debut of the Month. The Associated Press calls it “a
riveting debut,” and BOLO Books: “A masterwork of tone and voice … a
beacon for voices too often stifled.” Copenhaver writes a crime
fiction review column for Lambda Literary called “Blacklight,” and he is
the five-time recipient of Artist Fellowships from the D.C. Commission on
the Arts and Humanities. He’s a Lambda Fellow, and he has completed
residencies at VCCA, VSC, and Ragdale. He’s a Larry Neal awardee, and his
work has appeared in CrimeReads, Electric Lit, Glitterwolf, PANK, New York
Journal of Books, Washington Independent Review of Books, and others.
He grew up in the mountains of southwestern Virginia and currently lives
in DC where he chairs the 7-12 grade English department at Flint Hill
School. Website: www.jcopenhaver.com Facebook: John CopenhaverTwitter: @johncopenhaver
Instagram: @johncope74
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