Year of Mysteries, Part 9: The Name of the Rose

I’m honestly a bit shocked at how resistant I’ve been to this book the whole year. I knew it would be “hard,” so I kept putting it off. But I love Infinite Jest and Gravity’s Rainbow and a bunch of hard books.

This book has a reputation it doesn’t deserve. I didn’t think it was hard at all in the same way those other ones are. It’s actually written in a very similar way to the way I write. There are so many interesting layers to this book that it will be hard to discuss the “mystery novel” aspect, because that was only one piece (and kind of the least interesting).

Early on, we get one of my favorite characters. He can’t speak any known language, but he’s lived in so many places that he’s developed his own. It takes from all the common languages and merges into a strange thing anyone can understand.

Eco doesn’t do this in the abstract, either. The speech is written out fully. This character is a synechdoche for the book itself. The Name of the Rose isn’t a historical work or pure fiction or a mystery novel or postmodernist metafiction or theology. It draws on a bunch of sources and amalgamates them to a strange hybrid a reader from any of these backgrounds could appreciate on a different level.

Eco doesn’t hide the pieces. They are all in plain sight through the characters. We have Jorge de Burgos representing Jorge Luis Borges. We get William of Baskerville representing Sherlock Holmes. And the title itself is obviously a reference to Romeo and Juliet.

…Or is it? Eco actually tells us the true inspiration is a Latin verse by a Benedictine monk named Bernard of Cluny. Since Eco was a semiotician, I have to believe he also had Wittgenstein in the back of his head, too.

What is the mystery?

The narrator travels to a monastery, and upon arrival there is a mysterious death of one of the monks. He appears to have thrown himself from the window of a library. Over the next few days, many more deaths occur.

This occupies the main narrative momentum, but I basically want to not discuss this further. Anyone who reads this book for the mystery is in for a shock. Let’s get back to the references.

Everyone sees some of the obvious Borges references here from his famous stories. But if you’ve read Labyrinths, you might start to think every single story in the collection gets referenced.

Much of the early part of The Name of the Rose has to do with navigating a complicated labyrinth (Labyrinths, The Garden of Forking Paths) to get to the library (The Library of Babel). They must crack a code (Death and the Compass, The God’s Script). They speak theology to each other (The Theologeans, The Three Versions of Judas). Issues of authorship with the narrator (Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote). Strange language spoken by the characters (Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius).

I think I’ve made my point. It’s not just “The Library of Babel,” like many people believe. It’s almost a transformation of the themes of the full collection of stories into a novel.

Another fascinating, easy to overlook aspect of the book is the chapter summary at the start of each chapter. At first, I thought they were mere summaries. But they got long and weird and pretty humorous as they went on.

Most people probably skip them thinking they offer nothing but a summary. Here’s one:

In which, though the chapter is short, old Alinardo says very interesting things about the labyrinth and about the way to enter it.

It doesn’t say much, but it teaches you something important: these summaries will provide commentary in addition to the summary. Here’s another:

In which the labyrinth is finally broached, and the intruders have strange visions and, as happens in labyrinths, lose their way.

If these were just summaries it shouldn’t provide commentary on the length of the chapter or how “interesting” a certain conversation is or remark “as happens in labyrinths.” I grew to love these summaries as much as the chapters themselves.

I’m not sure what else to say. I’m excited to re-read this. I think it will be as exciting as the first time through as I catch more and more references and understand the themes better.

I must caution that this is absolutely not for everyone, but if you find any of this post interesting, I can’t recommend this book enough. It is brilliant and well-deserved of the praise it has received over the years.

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Let’s Get Experimental

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Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com

I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do on this blog. I’m not thrilled about “book reviews,” not that I do those often, because there are a million reviews out there for every single book. No matter how good mine are, they won’t add much to that noise.

I’m also not thrilled with the “writing advice” type of posts. Again, there’s a million articles saying exactly the same types of things I say.

Back in July, I wrote something called Maybe Infinite Jest is About Addiction. It was an experimental piece of writing. It was part essay, part narrative, part literary criticism, part fiction, part nonfiction, part writing exercise in imitating DFW’s style, part philosophy, etc.

It’s not very easy to describe. The point was to have each piece reinforce the other bits.

It took everything I had to bite my tongue when people seemed to think it was just an essay trying to make the straightforward argument that Infinite Jest is about addiction. I still don’t want to overly describe it, but I think it’s fair to say, pretty much everyone missed the point.

(Like, did people really think I was consuming Infinite Jest everyday just like an addict and obsessing over its meaning just like the characters did with The Entertainment, and even waking up with withdrawal symptoms in an increasingly frantic narrative voice despite it being a written essay?)

Anyway, that was partly my own fault. I haven’t really done stuff like that on this blog. It’s also the type of thing I like doing more than the other stuff. It feels valuable and creative in a way the other stuff doesn’t. It adds something to the blogosphere you can’t find in a million other places.

It also feels somewhat particular to this medium in the sense that book reviews and writing advice is so much easier to digest through a Youtube video or podcast. Video and audio have cornered the book review/writing advice market.

Experimental essays that dive into social commentary and philosophy and literary criticism are better suited to the written word, in my opinion. Being, you know, essays.

What I’m trying to say is that I want to cut back on writing a post every X days by riffing on a poorly constructed sentence just because that’s all I could come up with. Instead, I want to focus more on these harder to produce, more creative posts that are unique to me.

I will keep doing the “Year of …” series, because I’m pretty excited for the one I have planned next year (and The Name of the Rose is pretty great). I also expect to keep doing some book reviews and writing advice things and random things that pop up. I’m just not going to force it.

Good luck!

Are the Self-Publishing Gurus Out of Touch?

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Let me start by saying that I appreciate all the free content people in the self-publishing world put out. It’s quite generous and high quality. There must be ten or more hours of podcasts each week that come to my phone, not to mention blog posts and youtube and e-mails. That’s just me, meaning it’s only a small fraction of what’s actually produced.

If you wanted to be a student of this stuff, you’d have more class time than a full-time college student with no breaks for summer or winter. And there’s so much to learn that it could probably fill an entire major for a college student.

So, thank you to all those content providers.

That being said, I have two theories I’d like to present.

I’m going to call these people “gurus.” You either know who they are or don’t, but I don’t want to name names (google “podcasts for writers” or something if you really don’t know).

Every person I have in mind left their job at some point to be a full-time self-published writer. I think each of them makes at least six figures. This happened years ago for each of them.

Also, each of them has a “thing” they attribute it to: cover design that perfectly fits the genre, great copywriting on the product description, Amazon keywords and categories, Amazon marketing, Facebook marketing, writing to market, price surging, box sets, e-mail auto-responders, mailing list magnets, promotion services, etc.

Note, I’m not saying they push a well-rounded approach to improving each of the above; I’m saying their entire shtick is that once you get that one thing right, you will take off and have huge success.

This seems weird and crazy, so why would they, at least nominally, believe this? The cynical theory would be that they wanted to corner a niche in the market, so they figured this one thing out and pushed it hard as the expert.

I don’t believe this. I think there’s a much more obvious explanation. Like almost all successful authors, they started to gain traction, little by little. They were experimenting with all the above techniques to see if anything could get them a little edge.

As Gladwell explains in The Tipping Point, they just hit a critical mass of followers and readers at some point. This caused them to shoot from obscurity into prominence.

Human brains being what they are, these writers then attributed their success to the most recent major change they made rather than a natural progression to a tipping point. This is how we get people who are convinced you only need to get that one thing right to get success.

And this is fine as long as you don’t take that claim seriously when listening to them. The advice they give on that one thing is going to be pretty solid and useful. It will help keep you crawling upward toward your own tipping point.

I do think some people get frustrated when they work really hard at that one thing, and they only see marginal gains despite doing everything right.

Here’s my second theory based on the first theory. The gurus out there with the biggest platform have been wildly successful for years, and this actually makes them a bit out of touch with how things really are.

My theory is that they could launch a book to number one in their category by doing none of the advice they give: no ads, no pre-release, no notification of the mailing list, a sloppy and vague product description, a less-than-stellar cover, etc.

They have so many followers that news would spread of their release, and it would make thousands of dollars in the first month and be an Amazon bestseller.

If I’m correct about this, that means they actually have no idea if the advice they’re giving is correct. Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not saying their advice is incorrect (quite the opposite)—but it’s just a fact of their prominence that they can’t know how much of an effect their advice has anymore.

I’m not sure if there’s much of a point to this post. I guess it’s that you shouldn’t put too much stock in any one thing you hear about self-publishing. Success is going to be a slow growth attributed to hundreds of things.

Writing a better product description might get you five more sales. Improving the cover: five more. An experiment with AMS ads: five more. Suddenly, these have added up to enough that you snatch a true fan that leaves a glowing review.

This review converts to twenty more sales, and the new fan starts you one person further along on the next book.

So it’s all interconnected and not traceable to any one thing. After a bunch of books of doing this, you find yourself starting with a hundred fans buying it on launch day getting you to bestseller status and days of free advertising in your genre. These “organic” sales translate to new fans, etc.

That’s the tipping point. It can look like a sudden spike in success, but it’s not the most recent marketing trick you tried. It’s dozens of things synergizing to create the effect.

So, most of all, take everything the gurus say with a grain of salt and don’t be afraid to experiment with your own ideas. What worked for these gurus several years ago may not be working in today’s market or your genre. Or they might. You’ll have to be the judge of that.

The Character/Caricature Balance

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One of the most important things we can do as writers is to acknowledge our weaknesses and then work on them. I think too often we get comfortable with “our thing” and then try to hide our weaknesses by going all in on our strength.

I’ve spent an enormous amount of time over the past five years or so really studying and working on prose style and story structure. I write a book according to something like the Story Grid method. Then I see what works and what doesn’t for me, and then move on to another technique like John Truby‘s method. Iterating this process a dozen times has brought me a rich understanding of structure.

I think there’s no doubt that characterization is my weakest point. I’ve had a philosophy for a long time that characters should be “real.” This means my characters often act in contradictory or paradoxical ways. They have subtle and complicated reasons for doing things that only come out in subtext.

You might be thinking: wow, that sounds great! But then you actually read it and every character sounds the same and has no interesting characteristics. I tend to write an “everyman,” and they all sound boring and similar.

This is especially problematic in fantasy writing. There is a general trend in fantasy to create caricatures instead of characters. This means one feature is exaggerated to the point of becoming a one-dimensional defining feature. These flat characters can be boring and predictable.

For example, a book might have one character’s defining trait as loyalty, the bad guy as greed, the sidekick as humor, etc. I don’t have to tell you why this is a bad thing, but I will make an argument for how it can be good if done properly.

When writing caricatures, it is very clear how the character changes over the course of a novel. The one subplot has the cowardly character, and they have to learn to be braver. Their arc will culminate in a test of bravery, and yay, they succeed! It’s exhilarating and emotional to read these things.

Another reason caricatures can be good is that they create very clear differences in stories with many characters. It’s easy to keep track: that one’s the trickster, that one’s the nerdy one, etc.

Unfortunately, I see a bunch of positive reviews of books that take this too far with claims like “I loved the variety of characters.” Or worse, that the characterization is great. Caricatures can create an illusion of depth by keeping the motivations clear and consistent.

As I’ve started exaggerating certain traits of my characters toward the caricature breaking point, I’ve seen reviews get more and more positive. So people obviously like this.

I’m still struggling with this balance. It’s bad to have no defining traits, because then the character will be boring and spastic. It’s bad to be all caricature, even if you trick some of your audience. So it’s a balance, and one that’s far trickier than I initially thought.

So far, the best method I’ve come across is to have a fleshed out backstory that is the cause of a character flaw. The flaw gives the character a clear sense of growth as they learn to overcome the flaw.

Then, if you use the backstory to inform character actions, the character will have a consistent demeanor without being focused on a single trait. This will allow the character to still have some unpredictable behavior, and since the backstory isn’t explicitly spelled out, it allows you to keep some of the motivation as subtext.

This balance brings out some of the positives of the caricature while maintaining the depth and richness of a true character.

Of course, the main thing I’ve learned over the years is that everyone seems to have a different method for everything. What one person thinks is the only method could not work at all for another person. That’s why I’ll keep reading and exploring to find my own way.

 

Year of Mysteries, Part 7: The Intuitionist

This was a somewhat enjoyable, quick read, but I had a lot of problems with it.

The Intuitionist takes place in a strange alternate world. It’s presumably alternate history, because much of the politics has to do with integration and Lila being the first female, black elevator inspector.

But it’s not quite our world, because there’s a huge bureaucracy of elevator inspectors, including a training institute (Institute for Vertical Transport), professional society, and even textbooks on philosophical schools of thought on proper inspection techniques.

The setup of the novel is that Lila Mae Watson is an “Intuitionist” inspector with an impeccable record. She inspects elevators by riding them and “intuiting” any problems. This is opposed to the school called the “Empiricists,” which inspect the old fashioned way: getting into the innards with their hands and eyes.

One of Watson’s elevators goes down, and she suspects it was sabotaged to make it look like the Intuitionists are untrustworthy. There’s also other political motivation going on with it being an election year.

So far, so good. This is quite a great premise setting up a way to discuss serious issues surrounding theory of mind, epistemology, etc.

What were my problems with it?

Well, there’s this idea in art that if you treat something as serious, no matter how unbelievable and silly it is, you can get it to come across as believable. But this takes really committing to the idea.

Whitehead commits.

This world is full of tons of details from what such a society would look like, yet I just never really bought the concept. I think part of the problem was that it tried to do too much, especially with the race aspect, which I haven’t even brought up yet.

I think the book would work better if she was set up because she was black or if she was set up because she was an Intuitionist. Trying to have it both ways created a lot of unnecessary awkwardness, and it softened the force of truly committing to one theme. By splitting the difference, neither came across as particularly compelling.

I’ll try to explain this a bit more.

The novel works on a speculative fiction level without bringing race into it at all. The Empiricists want to get rid of the Intuitionists. They are looked down upon both within the world of inspectors and in the world at large.

It makes sense that someone would set up the main character to have one of her elevators fall. Then the world can blame her for not “properly” examining the elevator, and the whole Intuitionist school of thought takes a hit for more “reliable” methods (though, statistically intuitionists do better, a clever twist Whitehead put into the world).

It would work brilliantly as both a mystery plot and as a work of speculative fiction in which Intuitionists play the role of a scapegoated, marginalized population.

In fact, when race gets brought up, it’s almost like an afterthought and thrown in because that’s Whitehead’s “thing” rather than working naturally in the novel. The book will be in the middle of something else, and then it kind of pops up randomly: oh, yeah, and you’re black! So it’s probably that, too!

So, as astute readers, we’ve noticed this is what Whitehead wants to do, and we’re a little annoyed that characters keep implying this conflation of race and Intuitionists. But then Whitehead commits the ultimate writing sin, and he decides he doesn’t trust readers to figure this out (though it’s sooo obvious).

A character says:

“So I don’t know what the official story is, but you get the gist from his speech. He’s making it into a political thing because you’re an Intuitionist. And colored, but he’s being clever about it.”

No. Just no.

I mean, is it still an allegory if the writer flat out tells us what the pieces mean?

If, as a writer, you’re ever tempted to talk directly to a reader like this through a character because you’re afraid they haven’t caught on, then you’ve done something wrong. If you’re that worried, make it clearer through subtext some other way. Or, as I’ve proposed, maybe just clarify what the themes and metaphors are instead of trying to conflate a bunch of stuff.

After such on-the-nose dialogue, I kept expecting our main character to blurt out at some point: I chose the elevator profession because it raises and lowers people to different social strata with the rich bankers having parties on the roof and the lowly doorman at the bottom. The elevator is the great equalizer. Anyone can move to any position in an instant as long as good inspectors keep them working.

Yikes. I wish I could say such a moment never came, but it did. It was a much pithier and eloquent formulation:

…horizontal thinking in a vertical world is the race’s curse.

As I said, it definitely kept my attention with a unique premise and fully fleshed out speculative world, but it could have used a lot more focus and subtlety. Not to be mean, but it reads like a first novel, and that’s what it is. The flashes of the more confident Whitehead we see in his later The Underground Railroad are in here, and they are brilliant when they happen.

I’ve seen this book compared to The Crying of Lot 49 and Invisible Man. Both are apt comparisons, but I’d rather read the former for political conspiracy theory paranoia and the latter for its excellent racial commentary than something that tries to do both at the same time, just worse.

The Three-Body Problem is Awesome

If you’ve been around this blog this year, then you know I fell into a bit of a slump. I was reading things, but nothing seemed to connect. In fact, it all seemed derivative, flat, and downright bad.

I’ve gotten out of that somehow, and I seem to have hit a period where most things I read (or movies I see) draw me in immediately and seem imaginative and fresh. I’m not planning on making a bunch of “…is Awesome” posts, but that’s where I’m at right now.

The Three-Body Problem by Liu Cixin is unlike anything I’ve read before. It’s pretty difficult to explain why, because I don’t want to spoil anything. Part of the fun of this trilogy is that there are M. Night Shyamalan type twists (things that make you rethink everything that happened before and make it all make sense).

When these types of plot twists happen once at the end of a book or movie, it feels like a cheap gimmick and can be off-putting. When they happened dozens of times across this book trilogy, they left me in awe of the structure of the narrative.

You’ll think you’ve finally got a grasp on things near the end of Book 2, and then you learn that you had no idea what was really going on. Like I said, there are dozens of these, and each time you think it can’t happen again, it somehow does.

The books are also filled with lots of neat ideas (even if not scientific). I can describe one that happens in the first book that won’t ruin any plot points.

The first idea is to notice what happens if you “unfold” a two-dimensional object into one dimension. Here’s an example of a solid square being pulled into a string:


Now, convince yourself this is the case whenever you take a higher dimensional object and “unfold” it into lower dimensions. You’ll always get an arbitrarily large new thing.

Next, he takes the concept of string theory seriously and says: what if a proton is actually a six-dimensional string curled up into compactified dimensions? Well, with super good technology and a full understanding of the physics, maybe the proton could be unfolded into an arbitrarily large three dimensional object.

In that case, we could store infinite amounts of information in it. We could even make it the best supercomputer AI ever made. Then we could fold it back up, and it would be roughly the size of a proton again. Just imagine what that could do!

The trilogy is truly an “ideas” book. It’s kind of fascinating how strong the ideas alone were to keep me wanting to read. The plot definitely waned at points and character motivations were weak, but I didn’t really care.

To me, this book was essentially the opposite of Seveneves. Seveneves was a bunch of cool ideas that got tedious to read, because none of them served the plot. They were just Neal Stephenson spewing every idea he ever had into a plotless mess.

In contrast, every single cool idea in The Three-Body Problem series advances the plot in a meaningful way, and wow, there’s a ton of them.

I can’t recommend this trilogy enough if you’re into hard sci-fi (and my warning about character/dragging plot doesn’t turn completely alienate you).

New Site and Future Plans

We’re closing in on September, and since my brain still thinks of Sept-Sept as “the proper year” from all that time in academia, I got to thinking about my plans for this upcoming year.

I decided it no longer made sense to have my internet presence so spread out. I originally created “matthewwardbooks.com” as the professional site containing the information about my writing and career. That way I could spew an unprofessional mess of random thoughts at this blog without worrying about how that would look.

I’ve now migrated that site over to this blog (it redirects). I’ll probably keep experimenting with the look, themes, sidebar, menus, and those things for a few weeks. I’ve gone to a cleaner theme and removed the header image, since that seemed to do nothing but clutter things.

Nothing should change for regular blog readers, but I’m considering changing the name of the site in general. It’s a bit hard to do this without it changing the name of the blog in RSS aggregates and social media, etc, which could be confusing to longtime readers, but I’ll keep thinking about it.

So, why did I do this?

The main reason is that I’m basically killing off my name as a writer. I currently write under three names: my real name, a romance genre pseudonym, and a LitRPG/GameLit pseudonym.

The two pseudonyms were chosen to keep genres separate for advertising and “clean also boughts” (if you don’t know that phrase, don’t worry about it; it would take too long to explain here).

But they were also carefully chosen to be searchable and identifiable. One thing people don’t really think about when they start writing is if their name is “usable.” Well, it turns out my name is not usable at all. It’s about as bad as possible.

Matthew Ward writes the Fantastic Family Whipple series. Another Matthew Ward is a translator of French literature. Another is a dead child whose mother channels him and writes his stories from beyond the grave in his name. Another is a self-published fantasy writer (who isn’t me!!). Another writes cookbooks and diet books. And so on.

Yeah. Not good from a branding standpoint or Google or even just trying to figure out which other books are mine if you like them. Using my real name was an epic mistake.

My real name books are somewhat “arty” and not all that marketable. The books under my pseudonyms are in line with genre conventions and are doing reasonably well. So, it only makes sense from a professional standpoint to stop writing books under this name. Hence, paying for a separate professional webpage for a writer who is going to cease to exist doesn’t make sense, either.

I’ll bring up one more point as a word of caution for people considering self-publishing under their real name.

People know me from this blog, and this has led to some pretty questionable behavior from someone who wants to sabotage me for some reason. I assume they asked for help with something in the comments section, and I didn’t do their homework for them. So they retaliated out of anger by leaving me 1 star reviews.

If that was you, I would greatly appreciate it if you would delete that now that you’ve had time to cool down. It’s easy to forget that this is my livelihood now. I’m a real person. You think that leaving a fake 1 star review is just going to “troll” or “anger” me, but it actually hurts my business. It’s a very serious thing to do.

Anyway, because I have ten years of content on this blog plus people who know me in real life with various opinions on my life choices, things like this are bound to happen again in the future.

So I have to take that into account from a business standpoint. It’s just not worth the risk of spending 1.5 years working on a single work of art to have it get trashed by someone who hasn’t even read it merely because they don’t like that I left math (or whatever their reason was).

Undoubtedly, I’m going to have the itch to produce something strange and important that defies genre conventions within the next year or two. So I’ll have to figure out what to do about that, because I’ll definitely write it. That might mean using a new name that I advertise here, or I might keep it secret. Or maybe after a few years, I decide it’s not that bad to use my real name again.

I’m going to keep blogging here as usual. Nothing about that will change.

I’d love to hear any thoughts on the new setup. Likes? Dislikes?