There's one character who is in every novel...
but who is never written about. Perhaps this is the kind of thing they would say were they to pen the foreword to my next novel...
I am a book.
Or more precisely, I am this book. I am not the last book you read, nor a future one; I am the one you’re reading now.
Is that a boast? I don’t know. But I do know the characters who live inside these pages, their stories, the narratives of their lives. Is that enough, you might ask. Are their histories worth sharing in exchange for just a small slice of what you might choose to call ‘real time’?
I would say so. Obviously. Partly because that is my function. Without the retelling I have no purpose. Without the retelling I cease to exist. I am no longer a book, this book. I am nothing. So you can be my saviour; imagine that!
My characters’ stories are also worth the telling because you are embodied in them — or they are embodied in you. There will be echoes and incidents in these lives which will resonate with your own, with experiences you have had. When you read about them, you recreate them, make them real. Make yourself real. So it’s not just about saving me… Who knows, in some way it could be about saving yourself.
But perhaps that’s taking my argument too far…
Anyway, in simple terms, isn’t there something positive to be said about sharing?
I realise I have the upper-hand in our intimate relationship. I am in the dominant position. I know what is going to happen — what actually happened — before you even turn to the first page (though some pedants might suggest that you’ve already done that!). Well aware of that, I will try to compromise you as little as possible as you journey with these characters, as you unravel their lives, watch them as they settle on actions which may or not be the ones they anticipated - or which you hoped for them. This story is a dissection of variegated pasts and futures. Some will turn out better than others. Inevitably. Perhaps like your own.
All well and good.
Except…
Look. You need to know that I can be a little bit intrusive at times. I like to show off; to draw threads between things, between people. I’m only trying to help, obviously… Well. How can I not? And if I can’t help myself from providing a little ‘steering’, a little ‘colour’ from time to time, will you forgive me? Please? Even if I go a little too far…?
In a way, I am a character too. Perhaps that is the best way to think of me; like a guide on a tour bus who occasionally points out the sights as you drive by them. Give me a name if you’d like to. Something exotic, like ‘Maurice de Tableau’; or mysterious like ‘Charles E.’; or perhaps the everyday, like ‘George’ or ‘Tony’. You might decide later, after a few dozen pages or so.
If you do, then my name needs to be worthwhile, appropriate. After all, I’m more than a glossary. In some respects I suppose I’m closer to a collection of footnotes — though don’t you hate the way footnotes intrude, divert the eye? All those little numbers! The too-small font at the bottom of the page! They tell you want you need to know, but interrupt the flow of your reading. Which is heinous, really.
So that’s why — with your permission — I’ll ‘insert myself’ along the way, weave myself in, embellish the narrative, perhaps provide the segue between one scene and the next; to draw threads, like I said. And I’ll try to do so as subtly as possible.
And can I also apologise in advance just in case what I say is — I don’t know — offensive in any way, or didactic, or reductive, or trite, or obvious, or merely simple generalisation. Let’s face it, I’m not going to be perfect. But wouldn’t you prefer to have a book confess as much up-front? To be honest about things?
I know you’re too smart to be conned, so I won’t try.
You’ll make up your own minds, of course; decide on the characters you like or don’t like; those you approve or disprove of; wish well for, or the opposite. And you might be right to do so — if ‘right’ comes into it. Perhaps sometimes you’ll see what’s coming. Or not.
I suppose all that depends on me, doesn’t it? What I’m prepared to reveal. The clues I may or may not drop along the way…
Oh, and hopefully you’ll like me too.
Well. There’s only one way to find out isn’t there?