I have finished reading the carbon-copy MS of the novel I wrote fifty years ago, first mentioned in my earlier post The Past Revisited 1. And I’m astounded. Bowled over. Bouleversé, as the French say.
But is anyone likely to believe me?
Back in the mid-seventies the MS was submitted to my agent. He didn’t like it. Perhaps he circulated it to publishers, perhaps not. I got on with writing other stuff. The weighty folder was shelved and forgotten. A half century elapsed. Two weeks ago I decided to re-read it
Most people would expect I’d forgotten many details. Fact is, I’d forgotten everything. Absolutely. The name of the central character (Ormerod). His previous job and his new one. His difficulties. His affairs with the daughter of a wealthy family and a complex “other woman”. The point where his education informed his new life. Where morality mingled with commercial imperatives. Plus the differences between the “haves” and “have nots” in a northern British city.
All gone.
Stylistically the story starts badly, over-wordy and inert. Then it gets tighter, the language more vivid. More factually interesting. A story, yes, but proof I was improving. Growing up. All just my opinion, of course
The final fifty pages were – I speak advisedly – terrific. An intricately clashing contrast between two people working for a living. With hard, well-reasoned technology at the centre. I have never subsequently written any plotline as complex or as well controlled. Or as thrilling. The background being the city’s abattoir; the doomed animals playing their part.
The agent was right. The story is unpublishable. And I lack the time or the good health to rectify its faults. Like reading a tombstone inscription before the funeral.
Of course, you’ve only my word for it.
"Like reading a tombstone inscription before the funeral." I love that sentence. I have a very long list of saved quotes, poems, and favorite sentences. I'm adding that to my list. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteNewRobin13: Sometimes such things arrive unbidden and it's like magic. But you can't force them.
DeleteThere is something inherently wonderful that you can read this novel after all these years and in an apparently dispassionate fashion offer both valid critique and high praise. I am not sure how many could do this, and there would perhaps be those embittered by the publisher’s rejection to cloud their judgement. As New Robin above has stated above, I too am very taken with the phrase “Like reading a tombstone inscription before the funeral.” I have known you for such a short time, but following along with you is turning out to be a real pleasure. Long may it continue.
ReplyDeleteDMG: Thank you for that understanding - and well composed - comment on how you see my work.
ReplyDeleteYou have put your finger on a basic requirement of self-assessment - not just in writing fiction but in any form of human endeavour. Being truthful, which is not an easy matter, is essential. Without truth, criticism, in the original meaning of the word, is simply expended air. Funnily enough it's harder to write about what's good than about what's bad. The vocabulary and the expressions associated with compliments are mostly shop-worn and over-familiar, clichés in fact. The language of spite, malice and destruction is much more attractive.
I describe the initial part of my story as "over-wordy and inert" and could easily give you chapter and verse. And with a certain amount of relish. Saying what I like about the last fifty pages is much more difficult, and is hampered by my self-imposed role of limiting posts to 300 words. The "goodness" (See! I'm becoming self-conscious, hence the quotes.) is much harder to grasp. For one thing it is inter-dependent, the plot fits the (already established) characters, the irony grows like a blossoming flower, and there's a certain satisfaction about the way events prove to be unexpected. All part of the stew. And there we have it, a clumsy sentence to frame a compliment.
There's also the matter of authority. You have it yourself as a result of the hard work you've put into your chosen passion.
Enough. Enough.
The last fifty pages made it all worthwhile I suspect, providing a point in time where you could see yourself grow and change. Very exciting!
ReplyDeleteColette: The irony is one isn't aware of these changes at the time; the half- century's perspective was essential. And, hey! Just suppose I hadn't decide to do the re-read.
Deletewell, I was going to suggest you rewrite it and resubmit but I see you've already rejected that idea.
ReplyDeleteEllen Abbott: A rewrite (and that's what it would have to be) would have to proceed backwards; the final fifty pages could be tweaked but what came previously would need to be re-shaped almost from scratch, treated almost as if the material was in note form. From past experience it would take at least a year and I can't be sure that would be available.
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