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Chiaroscuro: What Edward Hopper, Film Noir & Interwar American Literature Have in Common

5 May Hopper-1942-Nighthawks3

Nighthawks.  Edward Hopper, 1942.

Gee, I’m just on an art kick this week!  (Sorry, no post yesterday.  Busy day.)

I’ve been looking at some more art and remembered an American artist I learned about in school a few years ago: Edward Hopper.  And then a million thoughts started floating around in my head, which happens a lot when I’m browsing the internet.  Though, a couple of words and phrases kept popping up: black and white, stark, depression, momentary blindness, and chiaroscuro.

In order for me to make sense of the word soups my brain sometimes generates I either have to (a) talk myself through it, or (b) write myself through it.

Today, I feel like I’ve got to write my way through it.  Let’s see if I can’t make sense of this.

First, let’s define a term that may or may not be widely understood.

Chiaroscuro

Etymology: From Italian, from chiaro (clear, light) + oscuro (obscure, dark).  From Answers.com.

Chiaroscuro is an artistic technique in which the artist uses a stark contrast of bright lighting effects in combination with areas of deep shades.  It makes for an interestingly bold effect and lends itself well to both photography and cinematography (B&W especially) and other mediums, to be sure.  Depression-era photographer Dorothea Lange is famous for her “stark” photographs (though not necessarily chiaroscuro):

 Here’s a famous example of chiaroscuro in a B&W film:

I think Edward Hopper used it fairly often in his work, as well–like in Nighthawks above.  Here are some other examples:

 Okay, now on to why I’m writing about any of this. Stark Opposition: Understanding the World through a “Black & White Lens”…So to Speak The world is clearly not black and white, but I find it difficult to understand without at first filtering it through this approach.  I think of the story of Adam and Eve and have wondered what it might have been like to never known sin, or that which was not deemed “good.” Complete innocence and ignorance.  (In their case, ignorance was bliss…until they sought out knowledge, right?) To understand the value and meaning of good, you must first be exposed to that which is not, and I don’t think Adam or Eve understood this so clearly as the moment they ate from the Tree. It moments like this that are so stark in the human experience, so clear in one’s memory, that they forever define the way a person looks at the world. You are almost blinded by the contrast between what you once knew and what you know now.  They are particularly powerful experiences. In a flash of a bright light you are momentarily blinded; it is impossible to perceive shades of grey during that time. I think this is what chiaroscuro is all about: capturing moments of stark (first) impressions–truths in their most naked forms.  Only, as a viewer, when you experience it in a painting as opposed to real-time media you actually get a still snapshot of the moment and therefore have ample time to really process it and consider any “grey” aspects in the artwork, as with Hopper’s Nighthawks (why does it seem so empty there?)–though, you do still experience that “momentary blindness” at first sight because you can’t take everything in all at once (and this is true with any complex, multi-layered piece). I happened to write most of these thoughts up to this point in a moment of ”stark impressions,” but as it settles in (and as I edit this) I find I want to explore those shades of grey as it pertains to fiction. Can Chiaroscuro Be Achieved in Literature? I think so. The Great Depression (or even just depressing themes) made an excellent backdrop for the practice of chiaroscuro in literature, thematically especially.  Two novels that inevitably come to mind, here, are The Great Gatsby and The Grapes of Wrath.  At one moment in The Great Gatsby Nick Carraway was looking forward to life in the big city; look how that turned out.  (Edit: I should acknowledge that this book wasn’t set during the Great Depression, but you still got this feeling of something rotten and corrupt happening in the city, a feeling of ruin and grit with references to ash, etc.  It was depressing, in a way.)  Similarly, in The Grapes of Wrath it started out as, ”We’re going to California–yahoo!”  Though, that excitement soon dissipated once they arrived and took in the reality of the “opportunities” out west. Blind, or perhaps just innocent, optimism (chiaro), met with stark reality (oscuro)…followed by disillusionment (grey–or grigio, as it is in Italian, according to Wiktionary, haha). I think another way to apply “chiaroscuro” in literature is using foils.  What better way to show the difference between good and evil than to have characters which personify both in complementary ways?  You can also have a chiaroscuro of setting versus context, where the setting reflects an opposite atmosphere or mood to what is actually happening in the story (a happy couple out on the town, having a pleasant stroll when two violent thugs come out of nowhere–an experience they’ll always remember afterwards); or a chiaroscuro of character (an ongoing internal struggle between two desires met with a moment in which the character is forced out of their “grey” understanding and expected to take a decisive stand). Of course, it could be executed literally, narrating how certain objects or persons are in shade and how others are illuminated in bright or harsh light.  (A nefarious interrogation room, anyone?)  It could also be accomplished with the clashing of themes: life versus death, hope versus despair, sanity versus insanity, truth versus lies… In the end, it’s about dichotomies: exploring the relationship between opposites and their effects on everything they touch.  It’s just one way to look at conflicts in stories. In any case, I do think chiaroscuro works best when darker, more serious themes are being used, but it doesn’t necessarily have to end on a negative note.  You could have a story that focuses mostly on despair and ends on an up-note, for example.  Switch things around. Why I’m Drawn to These Things As I mentioned, sometimes I have trouble understanding certain things unless I can compare them to their exact opposites.  “This is a boy; this is a girl.” “Ah…” Not that I’ve ever had trouble understanding the difference there, though if I were, say, a sexless alien I might have trouble grasping this simple concept until I saw it with my own eyes. I think as children we learn a lot this way.  “This is good; this is bad.”  Only difference is now that I’m older I don’t always say “okay” but sometimes, “Why?” *sighs* Yeah.  Life was much simpler as a kid.  There wasn’t a whole lot of room for greys.  Though, I’m pretty sure life would be boring if it were all black and white. So anyways… No writing prompt.  Not sure what I’d ask, to be honest.  Comments are still welcome, though, if you have any.

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Style in Literary & Genre Fiction

23 Mar

For the love of brevity, why can’t I ever blog about something that can be addressed in under 500 words?  Maybe I should just blog about comic books and YouTube videos, heh.

In any case, I think today’s post was partly inspired by one of T.S. Bazelli’s.

Literary Technique & Snobbery

I’d like some perspective on this because I think it directly affects my work and has been on my mind recently.

I have this notion in my head that literary fiction is still somewhat regarded as “snob” fiction today, and also that the use of literary techniques such as metaphor, allusion, alliteration, etc. is something that’s paid more attention to in literary fiction than it is in genre.

Is this true?

Admittedly, I don’t read a whole lot of literary fiction these days.  I still cherish certain classics I had to read in high school and have come to appreciate them way more than I could have at that age, but really I haven’t read much more of that stuff since then.  Though, I distinctly recall that the literary techniques used in those novels were a distinguishing feature in what made them so special (along with their characters’ stories).  But maybe this is only because that’s what we focused on in class!

It’s strange…ever since it’s been suggested to me that I’m working on a character-driven story, I’ve been thinking more about what, exactly, makes literary fiction literary (and genre fiction genre).  I’ve been wondering if my own perception of it is skewed.  I’ve also wondered whether I’m writing something that straddles the border between genre and literary because character-driven stories and literary fiction are so often linked together, and plot also gets some prominent stage time in my WIP, mostly in the second half.

Didn’t you just write a couple of posts on the difference between genre and literary fiction when you talked about plot- and character-driven stories?  I thought we’ve been over this before.

Yes, I have, but I still feel the need to contemplate on this.  I originally wrote those posts because I wasn’t sure which one I was writing.  To be honest, I feel like I may be writing both.  (Of course, it’s hard for someone else gauge these things if you’ve only shown your work to one person, heh.)  I like to focus on character and use literary techniques–not because it’s been ingrained in our brains in school to look out for these things but because that is naturally what I do.  The more I edit and get past plot inconsistencies, the more I seem to pay attention to my writing style.

At first, it was all about getting the story right–the plot and characters and whatnot; now, I feel it’s more about getting the execution of that story right aesthetically–paying attention to things like rhythm and cadence (sometimes I will switch out a word simply because it doesn’t fit the “rhythm” of a line as I hear it in my head).

Anyway, all of this makes me wonder whether my developing writing style is more fitting to genre or literary fiction.

What does it matter whether your work is more “genre-ish” or “literary?”

It doesn’t really, per se; I’m just not sure where I stand.

Naturally, I don’t like to pigeonhole myself into categories, but you kind of have to know how to explain your work to other people if you plan on selling it eventually, right?  If you tell people you’re writing fantasy and you give them something that reads like The Puttermesser Papers (not comparing myself here, just pulling out a crazy example), then is “fantasy” really an appropriate genre description?  (The same goes for the flip side, too.)

Essentially, I’m writing fantasy because there’s a fantastical element.  I just wonder why it seems like mostly literary fiction uses literary devices more prominently than genre fiction does.  I’m not saying this is good or bad, but when I read something like Grimspace by Ann Aguirre, or Sun of Suns by Karl Schroeder, the use of literary techniques doesn’t exactly pop out at me.  They may be in there every now and then, but they don’t really stand out (which, to me, seems is what happens in literary fiction).  I don’t remember these books because of their literary style but rather the plot/adventure and worldbuilding.

Which is fine.

I guess I just want to learn to write fiction that has both sides to it–memorable worlds and adventures as well as a distinctive style (and memorable characters.)  Maybe that’s why it’s taking me longer to finish my WIP?  Heh.

I know there’s more and more crossover fiction being written these days that traverses genre and literary, and I really should read more of them.  I think this would give me a better idea of what I’m trying to explore/understand.  (I suspect Neil Gaiman fits this bill, though I haven’t read him yet–don’t stone me!–and I’m currently reading Susanna Clarke now.  After reading Windup Girl, I think Paolo Bacigalupi might fit into this category, too, but I’m not all that sure.)

Am I making any sense today?

I find all of this hard to sort out and express clearly.  I just feel like there’s a lot of greyness in my understanding of these things.  (And maybe that writer’s/blogger’s “identity crisis”  I mentioned the other day has something to do with this.)

So…am I asking a question here?  Hm, I don’t know.  Let me see…

All right, so here’s my question to you: What do you make of the role of style in genre and literary fiction?  Does that matter to you?  Also, would you say your style seems to be a better fit for genre or literary fiction?  How come?

I’ve read plenty of articles on the old genre vs. literary fiction debate, but really I’m more interested in the general public’s perception of this issue.  I wonder how well that perception lines up with everything that’s been written about it.  Sometimes, I wonder why the distinction is even necessary, and if people even care.  (And by the way, I don’t want to seem like I’m getting overly caught-up on this stuff.  I’m just trying to get some perspective.)

Okay, break time’s over for me.  Back to work. ~

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The Imaginary War: Plot- vs. Character-Driven Story Development (Part I)

23 Feb

On the matter of plot-driven vs. character-driven stories, I am a little conflicted.  The novel I’m currently working on has taken on a more character-driven orientation since I’ve decided to stick with my latest draft.  However, I did start off on the plot-driven route but then decided to switch gears after my sixth-and-a-half (failed) attempt.

Why?

Well, that’s what I plan on talking about this week.  There are reasons to approach stories from either angle at first, but once the story is underway does it have to remain that way?  Should it remain that way?

The PvC Issue

For those who may not know what the PvC (plot vs. character, not polyvinyl chloride!) issue pertains to, I’ll try to summarize it.

Basically, there are two schools of thought out there that favor either a more plot-driven story or a character-driven one.  I imagine you already gathered that much, though, being the bright folks that you are, so let’s just get into the deeper aspects of the issue.

Often, the term “plot-driven” is associated with genre fiction (science fiction, fantasy, mystery, romance, etc.).  The focus, when you read a plot-driven story, tends to be on the plot itself.  When you close a plot-driven novel, what you remember most–the most poignant element–is the journey, the events that took place and/or the settings you were taken to.  Not necessarily the characters who were in it.

Its aftertaste is something like, “Yeah, I’ll remember going on that ride.”  (Star Wars, anyone?)  And actually, with an excessively plot-driven story, you may find that the characters are lacking development.  They are either cliché or boring.  Or worse, both.

A science fiction example might be Karl Schroeder’s Sun of Suns, or Cherie Priest’s Dreadnought.  Philip Pullman’s fantasy trilogy His Dark Materials is definitely plot-driven, in my opinion, particularly in the two last novels.  I’d like to point out that all three of these are more-or-less known for their detailed or unique worldbuilding, as well.

On the other hand, character-driven stories are, well, most memorable for their characters (go figure), and the plot takes secondary priority in the grand scheme of things.  Your literary classics tend to fall into this group.  The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald is certainly one of them, as is Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre.  (Daisy and Rochester were some of the characters that especially stood out for me.)  I’d like to point out that these novels are heavy on themes surrounding human nature, as well–shallowness amongst the upper class, for example, in The Great Gatsby and bigamous love and differences in social class in Jane Eyre.  Symbolism and motifs, which are especially characteristic of literary novels, were also important in these two stories.  (Remember the green light in The Great Gatsby?)

The literary novel’s aftertaste might be something like, “Huh, I need to think on that one.”  Or even, “What the f#@! did I just read?”  (And if you read it back in junior high or high school, like I did with The Puttermesser Papers, then you still may be wondering the answer to that question.)

The character-driven story really, really makes you think about the characters’ choices and the implications of said choices because they are typically implied and not spelled out for the reader.  And if that wasn’t enough, you might also have trouble remembering what, exactly, happened in the novel (aka the plot) because the emotional experience of it all was so strong by comparison.  In contrast with the plot-driven story, I think with the excessively character-driven novel you may find that it is the author’s plot that is lacking development–i.e. rottenly cliché and/or boring.  Or just non-present/-evident.

At least, that’s how I understand it.

Take a look at what other people have to say on this topic, if you’re interested:

I think I’ve said enough about that.  Now, on to the actual issue.

What is the issue, really?

I don’t think that the real plot- vs. character-driven debate has anything to do with whether or not your story should include plot or character.  Any sensible writer knows that a good story should include both, so there is no versus, no actual war between those two concepts.  Not really.

As I see it, the PvC issue is a matter of approach and story orientation.  It is usually discussed as a matter of end result, but I think it starts earlier in the writing process, before an author even begins to write, and it might even shift for an author in the middle of the writing process.

I’ve got a few more thoughts on this, so I’ll be splitting this topic up into two posts again (Part II).

In the meantime, what are your thoughts on plot- and character-driven stories?  What type of story do you find yourself currently working on, or perhaps reading?  Is it difficult to tell?  Also, do you have experience writing both types?

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