What we can learn from Gene Wolfe: make the reader work for it.
Over the last week I have continued reading Gene Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun. I am somewhere in book three now and what I believed to be true after book one is now a firm truth in my mind. This isn’t the work of a one-off. This is the dedicated deliverance of a master at his craft. He is a weaver of dreams. And the trance only grows stronger with each volume. We jump, skip, and trip through the various stories and plots like a dream changing its contents from one moment to the next. And when we find ourselves waking for a brief moment, and able to divine what is going on, we are baffled and amused nigh on amazed.
Therefore, this week I want to discuss world-building yet again. Or in this context, how we might reveal the world to our reader without “info-dumping” swarms of it upon them.
I might not be the most observant reader at times, but somewhere around the fifth time I read that The Book of the New Sun played out on “Urth”, something clicked. Urth and Earth do sound similar don’t they?
It is such a simple difference between the phonetic and symbolic spelling that it makes no real difference. And yet it signposts a difference which is quite telling.
Why do we call Earth, Earth anyway? Phonetically we might as well call it Urth, right?
So, what does it tells us as readers when the people of a fictional world have forgotten the rote spelling of a word and changed it to the phonetic spelling? And what does it tell us when this word is the name of the planet itself? It is such a small detail, but it communicates so much about the world the book is based it.
Naturally, Wolfe is “translating” the text for our benefit but the point is clear. These people have no conception of Earth as we know it. For them it is a strange and foreign place as confusing as the idea that Urth should be spelled as Earth for “reasons”.
And this is only one example. Consider — spoilers incoming — the “ships” that sail the stars. Why does Wolfe take pains in describing them as ships — so that the reader might confuse them with galleys — rather than space craft?
Primarily, this is because the protagonist sees them as ships. Secondly, it serves to disorient the reader. Not for the strict purpose of disorienting them, but to allow them to see these things from a new perspective. When familiarity is removed, awe returns.
Moreover, I think it quite clever of Wolfe to make use of Latin as it is a dead language to us and therefor can serve as a place holder for their dead language. It gives a sense of how old their world must be if Latin is to us what a future language is to them.
One of the biggest the mistakes a writer can make is assuming their readers are fucking stupid. Chances are — if they’re reading — they’re clued in on how 2+2=4. (Not all of them though mind you… some of them still think representation equals acceptance.)
As of such, one of the ways a writer can show respect to their reader is to appreciate them as intelligent and observant people. A way to do this is to allow the reader to work out for themselves what sort of world it is the story takes place in.
It is a hell of a lot more interesting to try and divine what is going on than have someone straight out tell you everything. So it is with most of life, we would rather participate than have our work done for us.
Alas, my point is simple. Don’t be too simple in delivering the world you’ve carefully crafted over many nights and days to your reader. Allow them the possibility to work some things out form themselves.
But give them the chance! Don’t conceal so much that the hieroglyphics of your text are nigh on impossible for anyone apart from yourself to read. This is just eccentric self-aggrandizement.
Some of the best books I have read have managed to walk this line well and so if we wish to aspire to some standard, this is where we should aim.
