In the story In the American Society, Gish Jen glosses over the family’s backstory and skips to their success. I think this is why, for me, the beginning felt rushed and the narrator’s initial tone seemed braggy. It was like Jen jumped to the successful part without showing the struggle first. Looking back, I needed to see the struggle.

I had trouble relating to the family from the start. Going back to Prose and the chapter on narration I analyzed in my last post, it may be that Jen wasn’t writing this to me. I certainly don’t consider junior high too soon to start saving for college. If anything that feels too late. Things like this made the family’s struggle fall flat for me.

Regarding dialogue, the term “you people” didn’t feel sincere or authentic either. While I get what Jen was trying to show, I just don’t believe that Mrs. Lardner would use it like this: “Why, I’d be honored and delighted to write you people a letter.” I’m just not buying it. It felt contrived and over the top. Then when the family mocks her in private it made me dislike them, not Mrs. Lardner.

But as I read further, I started to think that may have been her intention. Perhaps the narrator wasn’t trying to get me to like or even feel for the father and his family but, rather, maybe she was trying to get me to feel even more sympathy for the workers. If that was indeed her intention, it worked. When Booker enters the story on page 666 was the first time I felt any emotional connection whatsoever. His arrival, for me, also made the father feel real to me but only briefly. But then it all fell apart again with the way he treated his workers and then again later with talk of bribing the judge. In the back and forth between Jeremy and the father in the final pages, I felt like I was being strong-armed into feeling pity. The only thing I felt badly about was the fact that I felt no sympathy whatsoever for this man.

If this was a much longer story, I think I might have been able to grow more with the characters and my feelings would have had the chance to flow organically but, again, it felt rushed from the start.  This is the lesson I’m taking away for my own writing. Don’t rush the important stuff! 

Prose says if you know who you’re speaking to then it’s okay to “skip over slow parts” or even “hurry the narration along.” But I had trouble connecting to this story. In fact, I think it’s a prime example of how as Prose puts it: “The truly problematic question is: Who is listening?”

I tried to “listen” but I just didn’t get it. To use Prose’ words again, Jen “tossed this heartfelt confession out into the ozone” for all to experience but the tone simply wasn’t for everyone.  It didn’t work for me. 

At the start of chapter five in the book Reading Like a Writer, Prose says, “The truly problematic question is: Who is listening? On what occasion is the story being told, and why? Is the protagonist projecting this heartfelt confession out into the ozone, and, if so, what is the proper tone to assume when the ozone is one’s audience?”

These questions set my brain ablaze. I wondered: How often do I take the time to think about my potential reader when I sit down to write? Or do I just write? I hate to admit it but I’m fairly certain that more often than not I just write. Of course, there’s a point when I think about who might read my work but this revelation rarely comes with the inspiration to write. During that stage, I’m absorbed in the writing and, perhaps more so, in myself.

Then I thought, how often do we write without ever taking our audience into consideration? Do we write for ourselves and leave it to our potential readers to decide whether or not we’re speaking to them and how they feel, or don’t feel, about our words? Then why so we get sensitive or insulted when they don’t feel anything? Why do we take it so personally when we didn’t try to connect?

When I read the work of other writers, I rarely feel like they wrote for me or tried to connect to me specifically but, rather, I just happened to like or dislike whatever was written. Usually it feels more coincidental like, to use Prose airplane analogy, sitting down beside a complete stranger on an airplane and (instead of ignoring them) striking up a conversation and finding a new friend.

Every once in a while, in reading, like in life, a rare moment occurs when I truly feel the words were meant specifically for me as though it was (cliché alert) meant to be. What’s exceptional about those meant-to-be moments is that they feel magical. Don’t they? Whether they happen in life or in art, when we stumble upon that kind of deep connection, we feel satisfied and whole.

It seems to me that we, as writers, should strive to create more of those moments.

Who we are speaking to is at least equally if not more important that what we are saying. But let’s face it we don’t always get to pick our readers. We certainly cannot control what they like or dislike. But, still, when it comes to reading and writing it’s all about the connection. The words hardly matter if the person reading the words isn’t feeling them. Good writers don’t just write. They inspire emotion.

At the end of chapter five, Prose says, “What I hope I’ve managed to show is how much room there is, how much variation exists, how many possibilities there are to consider as we choose how to narrate our stories and novels. Deciding on a narrator’s identity, and personality, is an important step. But it’s only a step. What really matters is what happens after that—the language that the writer uses to interest and engage us in the vision and the version of events that we know as fiction.”

This paragraph not only summarizes Chapter 5 but it also summarizes what I’ve learned, so far, in my experience as a writer. All of the pieces are important but it’s the whole that is most important and even though no one topic will speak to everyone since we are each unique and so are our tastes and experiences, one thing we have in common is that we all feel. That said, writers should strive to provoke feeling and write so that the beauty and depth of our words and the artistry and passion in our sentences connects, engages and touches those who read them.