Narratology : A List of Definitions

While at Spalding University, I became fascinated with literary formalism. I enjoyed how it helped me analyze and evaluate a novel’s many features. My study and practice of literary techniques was amplified by my study of formalism and narratology.Beach shells coquina 400x400

After months of reading and discussions with my mentors, I complete my critical thesis on narrative, focusing on the structural qualities of a short story or novel. I am well aware of the changes in literature’s critical movements, and to focus only on the text is myopic. However, this journey has taught me so much more about literary techniques and why they are used.

There are many terms used to describe these qualities. When used in conjunction with good instruction and books on craft, the study of narratology can open up new dimensions of artistic endeavor. I’ve listed some of the major terms below and encourage every writer to at least become familiar with narratology.

Definitions

Sjuzet: Russian Formalists. “The events as they are told by a narrator who may not tell in the order of the happening.” (Keen, 74). Sjuzet are the words on the page placed there by the author, narrated by a specific narrator. This is how the reader learns of the events.

Fabula: Russian Formalists. “The events of a story as they occur (in a restored chronology)” (Keen, 74). The fabula is an umbrella term for the story all of the action and stasis, placed in chronological order after reading.

Story: “The events of a narrative as “they happened” in the imaginative chronological ordering of fictive time.” (Keen, 75). The events of a Story are reconstructed by the reader and placed into chronological order.

Discourse: “The words of the narrative in the order in which they appear in the text.” (Keen, 75) Simply, the words on the page, starting from page one all the way to the end. This is not the plot.

Discourse Level: “The textual level.” (Keen, 75) “A realm of narrated words-in-order.” (Keen, 109) Also, this can refer to the positioning of the words on the page. We usually use in text citations to point out the discourse level.

Plot: Through the discourse, a reader assembles narrated events (action), reconstituted, and “complete with causal relations and consequences (and a clear sense of what does not happen).” (Keen, 76). The significance of plot resides in the reader and their reaction with the discourse.

Mimesis: (Aristotle) Showing or imitation.

Diegesis: (Aristotle) Telling or narrating.

Story World: “Imaginative zone, projections of the text, which a reader constructs out of the information presented in the discourse.” (Keen, 75)

Story Level: “A realm of imagined agents and actions” (Keen, 109). “Projections of the text, which a reader constructs out of the information presented in the discourse.” (Keen, 75)

Story Time: “Time that transpires in the imaginary world projected by the text.” (Keen, 92). Dependent upon the length of the story, which can be a day or take place over generations.

Discourse Time: “Refers to the time implied by the quantity of discourse, in its linear arrangement of elements in the text (it is therefore sometimes called text time).” (Keen, 92). This is the number of pages, lines and words “given to the representation of narrative contents.” (Keen, 92).

Ellipses: A gap in story time and discourse time; “breaks in the temporal continuity” (Genette, 51). Typically, this occurs through authorial intrusion.

Analepses: “The narrated retrospective sections that fill in (temporal gaps), after the event, an earlier gap in the narrative.” (Genette, 51). Narrative back flash and allusions to past events, while the narrator is in present story time.

Prolepses: Anticipatory device, such as foreshadowing. According to Genette, “The ‘first-person’ narrative lends itself better than any other to anticipation, by the very fact of its avowedly retrospective character, which authorizes the narrator to allude to the future and in particular to the present situation.” (Genette, 67). The use of prolepses in other points-of-view is limited due to narrative suspense.

Anachronies: “The various types of discordance between the two orderings of story and narrative (discourse).” (Genette, 36). A combination of analepses and prolepses, which “includes a whole range of devices from flashbacks to flash-forwards and extreme disordering that resists reconstitution into a straight-ahead plot.” (Keen, 101)

Achrony: Events with no attribution of time, date, or age. “Events that cannot be placed in relation to the plot’s fundamental chronology.” (Keen, 102)

Duration: “The relationship between story time elapsed and discourse time expended.” (Keen, 92). This points out the amount of pages spent on particular events, some events taking a paragraph, while others consume whole chapters or more.

References

Aristotle. Poetics. Trans. Heath, Malcom. London: Penguin, 1996. Print.

Genette, G. Trans. Lewin, J. Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. New York: Cornell

Press. 1983. Print.

Keen, Suzanne. Narrative Form. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2003. Print

The Connection Between Sense of Place and Character Development In Russel Banks’ “The Sweet Hereafter”

Rachel Harper, one of my mentors at Spalding University, suggested that I read Russell Banks’ The Sweet Hereafter to understand alternating narrators and character development. I had been struggling to connect sense of place with my characters and avoid the pitfalls of being sentimental or a bombastic orator. This is something I feel necessary in writing, particularly with stories about society’s structures and awareness.

Banks’ uses four narrators, four very different perspectives, to shape the reader’s understanding of tragedy, loss, and hope. Each narrator is a character in the story living in the village of Sam Dent. They depict life before and after a bus accident in the village of Sam Dent, where over twenty children die in a terrible school bus accident. All of it coalesces into a greater understanding of small-town American life. Many small towns in America have experienced the loss of many children. They represent the future and people left behind to grieve.

20161213_171518

Delores Driscoll, the school bus driver and life-long resident of Sam Dent, takes the reader on a ride with her driving the children to the school. Her narration feels like she is reliving this memory, over and over again. She is going over every detail to try and make sense of that unfortunate day. Her detailed account delivers a sense of place with honesty through personal opinions of each child lost in the crash, elaborating on their family and home life, “Poverty and house trailers are not uncommon in Sam Dent” (Banks 9). Much like a tour guide, her nearly daily contact with the children of Sam Dent outside of their homes gives Delores direct insight into their personal lives and insight into herself.

Delores’ personal knowledge of Sam Dent comes from growing up on a dairy farm just outside of town on one of the original homesteads. Her knowledge of the people and surrounding community represents a social history of the village and rural life in the mountains. Along her bus route on Bartlett Hill, she has “three stops in short order” (Banks 15), where the families that live there have built on “lots out of a tract of land that had once belonged to my father and grandfather” (Banks 15). She sold them the land, and watched them build their homes “piecemeal”, but never regretted it:

I’d rather watch the little tatty Capes and ranches of local folks, people I’ve known since they were children themselves, going up on that land than the high-tech summer houses and A-frame ski lodges…built by rich yuppies from New York City who don’t give a damn for this town or the people in it. (Banks 15)

The community is her identity. Delores lets the reader know how Sam Dent is different than Lake Placid and other towns that tourist are attracted to. Tourists can never understand her point-of-view, because “Sam Dent is one of those towns that’s on the way to somewhere else, and when people get this far (from New York City), they usually keep going” (Banks 21).

Billy Ansel’s story follows Delores’. He has the only eyewitness account of the bus accident, because he was following the bus and saw it veer off the highway into a frozen lake. His two children died in that accident. Much of his narrative depicts his character through his view of Sam Dent. He understands how life in Sam Dent follows a certain natural order, unfettered by the fast pace and modern conveniences of big city life that seem unnatural, or outside the laws of nature. He believes in cause and effect, as each generation passes, another one comes up to replace them. For Billy the accident is, “so profoundly against the necessary order of things, that we cannot accept it. It’s almost beyond belief or comprehension that the children should die before the adults” (Banks 78). One of the most profound statements about a parent losing a child.

Billy’s sense of place continues to try and make sense of tragedy. “A town that loses its children loses its meaning” (Banks 78). The natural balance of life has been upset by the accident, and the future of Sam Dent is in jeopardy. This mirrors Delores’ sentiments earlier. The loss of a child is personally devastating, as well as catastrophic for a town, because without the children of a small town, no one will want to settle there and be a part of the community. We understand Billy’s trauma and the extent to which it reaches.

The next narrator is Mitchell Stephens, a big-shot lawyer from New York City. He has an outsider’s view of Sam Dent. This lawyer is familiar with small towns, due to the many lawsuits he pursues in rural communities. He believes his part in the tragedy is to redeem the people’s hope after such horrific circumstances. But, the reader knows he is there only to get a big payout from these children’s death.

Many of Mitchell’s ideas about Sam Dent are presented in the physical description of the upstate region, “It’s dark up there, closed in by mountains of shadow and a blanketing early nightfall” (Banks 93). He depicts a world dominated by massive trees, and a harsh inescapable weather, “It’s a landscape that controls you, sits you down and says, shut up pal, I’m in charge here” (Banks 93). His narration has the advantage of contrasting rural life with big city life; Sam Dent is entirely populated by trees with a few people and businesses living among them, and the only sound is from the constant howling of the wind through the empty boughs, not the jackhammers or traffic he is more accustomed, too.

His outsider’s view of Sam Dent is full of ignorance through statements such as, “Most of the people who live there year round are scattered in little villages in the valleys, living on food stamps and collecting unemployment, huddling close to their fires and waiting out the winter” (Banks 94). He compares the poor of New York City as living on reservations, “Not like Harlem or Bedford-Stuyvesant, where you feel that the poor are imprisoned… life long prisoners of the rich, who live and work in the high-rises outside” (Banks 95). Then, he portrays the poor of Sam Dent as ostracized, “Made to forage in the woods for their sustenance and shelter, grubbing nuts and berries” (Banks 95), living in the ancient fictitious world of Ultima Thule, a northern land that is beyond the civilized world. For Mitchell, the people of Sam Dent are to be pitied, and stirred to anger so that they can enact some form of revenge, which is exactly the opposite belief of Billy and Delores, who want to grieve and move on.

The fourth narrator is Nichole Burnell, a survivor of the crash and wheelchair bound for the rest of her life due to the injuries sustained in the crash. Her view of home life in Sam Dent gives the reader a better view of everyday life: her relationships with her parents and brothers and sister, and the babysitting of other kids in town, as well as her friends and boyfriend. Before the crash she was a cheerleader, academically gifted, and had a bright future for herself, yet plagued with the dark secret of incest. Aspects of her daily life, how she eats, where she goes to the bathroom, how she interacts with others, change dramatically after the accident. She reflects upon these changes within her life, looking at how her life was and how her life will be, which is unusual for a healthy teenager.

Nichole’s character comes through her sense of place. She shows it best when she writes about the founder of the village, Sam Dent. The paper is so well done, she is asked to use it for a salutatorian speech, only if she “Cut out all the bad things he (Sam Dent) had done, like cheating the Indians out of their land and buying his way out of the Civil War things that lots of people did in those days but that were just as bad then as they would be now” (Banks 188). There are wide swaths of history, positive and enlightening, that she keeps from the reader, and the brief historical account of the town the reader encounters contains negative aspects of Sam Dent. She has the intellect to comment on the teachers wanting her to edit the paper, and she feels these details need to remain, because without them the town will forget its past.

Russell Banks use of four very different narrators is a masterful way to develop his characters. Each narrator depicts a unique perspective of Sam Dent, and gives the reader a more complete sense of place. From the grand physical landscape, to the social connections of the people, Sam Dent becomes a character—more than a dot on a map. We embrace these characters through their loss and grief, and sense of place adds a critical layer of depth to their development.

David Mitchell’s “Cloud Atlas” and How Futuristic Words Create Authenticity

When I first began reading David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, I was transported to my days as an undergrad. The University of Iowa offered a class in 16th and 17th century English works written by Swift, Defoe, Johnson, Wordsworth, and many others. During that time, our class also read journals written by ship’s captains, traders, and other world travelers. Because I was transported, I renewed my love affair with the language of that time. Their language was undeniably highbrow, necessitating the use of a dictionary for unfamiliar words that are very different from the ones we use today. For example, this excerpt from Laurence Stern’s A Sentimental Journal; Through France and Italy:

I have something within me which cannot bear the shock of the least indecent insinuation; in the sportability of chit-chat I have often endeavored to conquer it, and with infinite pain have hazarded a thousand things to a dozen of the sex together – the least of which I could not venture to a single one, to gain heaven.

Sterne has just described his amazement and reaction over the remarks from Monsieur le Count. This is the speech of an educated person, trying to describe in great detail what could have been described as: “I was shocked when he asked if I had sex with a French woman. It wasn’t the first time I had this kind of conversation and to tell the truth all of the French women I have been with weren’t that great in bed.”

As I read Cloud Atlas, the changes in language from narrator-to-narrator became quite pronounced. A bit jarring at first. But, over time, I saw how it created character and place. Over the centuries, the English language has built a foundational code through Geek and Latin stems, onomatopoetic words describing actions and things, and anglo-saxon roots. These and many more constructs create the DNA of our language that evolves over time and unequivocally represent each period of writing.

Mitchell’s novel is a series stories, connected like nesting dolls resting within each other through tidbits of commonality. Mitchell develops temporal leaps through his use of language. His use of physical and sentient cues attaches his characters to future worlds. He begins with a journal written by a beleaguered American attorney that is found by a rascal musician and apprentice composer, who mentions finding it in letters to his lover. These letters are passed to a reporter decades later. After the reporter, Mitchell introduces Mr. Cavendish, a publisher on the lamb from underworld thugs. Cavendish is an educated man living in the present decade with a penchant for cussing and slang. The lives of these characters span over a hundred years. These narratives are realistic and indicative of written works during their time. Each speak English, and, as should be expected, a substantial difference in language between each one.

The next story, An Orison of Sonmi ~ 451, is about a clone set free only to be captured and terminated, is an oral history of her life that occurs in the distant future. Mitchell brings the reader into the future with this fifth chapter, because Sonmi – 451 is called a fabricant. Her orison, another word for prayer, takes the shape of a personal account of major historical events that are recorded by an Archivist. She is not talking to a priest or a historian or reporter. The Archivist explains right away that they (no gender specified) ask “prisoners to recall their earliest memories to provide a context for corporatic historians of the future.” (p. 185). The Archivist collects data to be sorted through at a later date by historians. Furthermore, the word corporatic appears and technically means nothing to the reader, yet. To come upon words like fabricant and corporatic makes a sudden break from the present day, slang-rich language coming from the Mr. Cavendish.

Other words appear in the text to denote a change in time. Stimulin is a chemical used to wake fabricants from resting periods. Logoman is a god to the fabricants, who recite catechisms to him every morning. Logoman and corpocratic are indications of purely capitalist society, which the reader is given textual facts of how the government functions as the narrative progresses. This society is very different from today’s, futuristic, one of many possible scenarios if corporations continue with their current growth.

Another interesting detail and fascinating construction of a future language is the exclusion of the letter e from its stem of ex, such as Xultation (p. 186) and xactly (p. 187). Logic seems to have excised the need for a silent letter at the beginning of a word. A good example of this is occurs when writing a series of numbers. The zero before the first number in the sequence is never written (as convention would dictate, but sometimes a zero precedes a series of numbers for PINs and passwords).

Today, there is substantial evidence for the evolution of the English language. These new words, made up words, bear the roots and stems of common words, yet appear to have evolved over time. These constructed language words are not as jarring to the mind, nor as obscure and unrelatable.

Following Sonmi’s orison, the evolution of the English language continues to shape characters, imagery, and settings. In Sloosha’s Crossin’ An’ Ev’rythin’ After, the reader is sent forward in time to Hawaii, but it is a very different place. Zachary, the narrator, gives an oral history of his people using English, as well as eye dialect and dramatic grammatical changes. It would seem that his speech patterns would put him in the distant past, taking place before the first story. His words are vulgar and guttural. Clearly seen in the title of this story, everything reads like dialog, heavy in slang, which is called eye dialect. The name, eye dialect, is a form of writing for the eyes, as opposed to writing for the ear. The spelling and grammar work together to show how a character’s speech is vulgar. The reader is given enough words and textual clues to discern what is being said, but is not sure exactly what it means until Meronym appears, a person from the cultured and educated future. She uses grammar and syntax. She also speaks in Zachary’s language, showing how Zachary’s people live an uneducated and primitive life in the future. Having a dramatic change in language at this point in the novel indicates a dramatic change in time. Through textual evidence, the reader is led to believe that this story takes place hundreds of years beyond Sonmi – 451’s time.

In a NBC News article written in 2014, an expert linguist had some issues with Mitchell’s evolution of language. The linguist pointed out some more logical and fact-based assessments, providing the world went through these fictional changes. Mitchell may have failed to take certain linguistic issues into consideration, but his work remains authentic. To write about a future world takes speculation and risks. I believe many writers forget the nuance of using eye dialect to portray characters. They also fail to take risks with creating new words. Because of these simple word choices, their stories lose depth and authenticity. Mitchell’s choices in language for each of the stories told in Cloud Atlas have the veracity and authenticity of character. That’s exactly what we as readers demand is to be transported into character and setting. We want to take part in the events—feel them happening—and Cloud Atlas performs brilliantly.

#cloudatlasbook

#howtoforwriters

Website Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑