Writing as Architecture
What nonlinear fiction—and one difficult novel—taught me about constructing a story
As you may recall, in my last post I began talking about my earliest influences as a writer, and I hope you’ve taken the opportunity to check out “By the Waters of Babylon” if you hadn’t already read it.
I mentioned at the end of that essay another book that had a profound influence on me: John Hawkes’s Second Skin. It was through this book that I was first exposed to nonlinear, stream-of-consciousness storytelling, and I’ll tell you this: it was a confusing introduction. It may just be me, but Hawkes is not for the faint of heart; he will, in a phrase I’ve come to adopt as my own, make you work for your reading pleasure.
Now, I can’t say that I enjoyed reading Second Skin, or that I even fully understand it today. I’m not even going to try to explain it here; there are perfectly good synopses online if you’re curious. But I still have my copy, nearly fifty years after I bought it for a college literature class, and the reason I’ve never given it away is that I keep it as a reminder of what an author can accomplish when he approaches fiction as something constructed rather than simply written. I’ve come to believe that only someone who thinks like an architect can successfully build a nonlinear, stream-of-consciousness narrative.
That may sound strange, given that architects work with precision and structure, while stream-of-consciousness writing can appear, at first glance, to have none at all. But that’s not really the case. Beneath the surface, there is structure — often very deliberate, very logical structure. It simply requires the reader to pay closer attention.
That brings me to a discussion I saw recently in one of my online writers’ groups. Someone expressed frustration that writers are often expected to simplify their work in order to make it more accessible to readers. (Those are my words, not his; I don’t want him blamed for my bluntness.) It’s a frustration I share, based on some of the so-called “rules” one encounters online:
• Don’t use flashbacks.
• Stay away from prologues.
• Don’t write long chapters.
• Don’t use first person. Or second person. Or third person.
• Don’t use an omniscient narrator, or an unreliable one. Unless you do.
• Don’t use words your readers might not understand.
• Unless they mean exactly what you want to say.
I’m being a bit facetious here, but only slightly. When it comes to rules for writing, I’m inclined to fall back on something the great Duke Ellington once said about music: “Music is as good as it sounds. Music is an oral art. Until you hear it, it is not music, and if it sounds good, it is good.”
Apply that to writing. Until you actually read something, you have no idea whether it works. Just as music is experienced through listening, writing is experienced through reading. And if it works for the reader — if it resonates — then it works.
That’s a broad statement, of course. There are plenty of popular books that, in my opinion, don’t work at all. But they weren’t written for me. And like Second Skin, they still have something to teach, because clearly they connect with readers in a way that matters.
I don’t pretend that my own writing is always easy to follow. In my upcoming novel, The Book of Revelations, the chapters are long. Much of the story unfolds through flashbacks. It moves between first, second, and third person, and shifts between past and present tense. It won’t be for everyone. But if you’re reading this, there’s a good chance it might be for you.
And more importantly, it works. My editors responded to it. Early readers have responded to it. People who respond to the way I write tend to respond to the book.
That, ultimately, is the point. Second Skin had a lasting impact on how I think about fiction. I don’t write like John Hawkes, and I rarely attempt anything close to his style. But I learned from him — a hell of a lot more than I did by reading Balzac. He showed me that there are countless ways to tell a story, and just as many ways to construct one. You don’t have to follow every rule — or any of them — if what you’re doing works.
And if it sounds good, it is good.
Next time, I’ll be writing about some of the authors who shaped me most directly: Paul Auster, Don DeLillo, and Joyce Carol Oates. Their influence runs deep; without them, I doubt I would be writing at all, and I certainly wouldn’t be writing the way I do. If that sounds interesting, stay tuned.
Have you ever learned something important from a book you didn’t particularly enjoy? If so, I’d be interested to hear about it.
I’ll have a limited number of early ARC copies of The Book of Revelations available next month. If you’re interested, feel free to get in touch in the comments or on X or Facebook.