The
Perfect Blend of Spices
By
David
Xu
The way I read
is really similar to the way I eat. When I find a book that I really like, I
will continue to consume it with a voracious hunger until it is finished. And
even after I am done, I still crave to have more, just to relish the taste again.
But how is this taste created? Chefs and writers alike build it around a
central theme, some core idea that the book/dish is supposed to embody. With
this idea, they then add certain raw ingredients, such as vegetables, meats,
settings, and characters. These general aspects create the body and are
generally similar from one writer to the next. To differentiate themselves and
form a completely new story, the author will add “classic” elements, blending
them in new and unique ways. These inherently simple spices are amalgamated,
creating an incredible depth of flavor.
When such a piece
is presented, how much would you expect young readers to emphasize the
“classic” elements individually? I’d expect the same amount of emphasis a diner
would give to specific spices in a dish. So fairly little. Very rarely would a
person exclaim “YES THEY ADDED SAFFRON” when eating a dish. In general, we
wouldn’t put too much emphasis on the particular element, but rather the blend
of elements and the way in which they’re used.
For example, I
was entranced by Ray Bradbury’s The
Martian Chronicles. But while reading, I didn’t really take note that the
story focused on Martians and space travel, two stereotypical elements of SF,
or that it emphasized the consequences of human expansion, a common theme in
soft SF. They are essential parts of the novel (or sequence of individual
recollections if you prefer) that give the novel its distinct style, but that
wasn’t why I enjoyed it. Rather, it was Bradbury’s masterful use of
interplanetary interaction to denounce human inconsideration towards foreign
beings that really stood out to me. Bradbury really set his sights on
vituperating Hernán Córtes and now even I can’t forgive him for what he’s done.
Conversely, a
story that I can’t say I loved as much is Neil Gaiman’s Stardust. Actually, that’s not quite true. I really enjoyed the
beginning. Gaiman had beautifully combined the historical setting of Hadrian’s
Wall with the fantastical elements of medieval magic. Like a trio of strings
coiling together to form a strong rope, he tied the stories of Tristran,
Stormhold, and the Witch Sisterhood to make an exhilarating and cohesive race to
find Yvaine. It was a brilliant blend of classically fantastic element and
historical references. All until the end. The ending, in my opinion, really
ruined the story because the denouement resolved too neatly too quickly. The
novel’s sudden change in tempo threw me off, giving me a jarring and
unsatisfied feeling at the end. It seemed almost as if Gaiman had a deadline,
so he carelessly rushed to put on a clean, bowtie ending.
For me, the
most valuable aspect in a classic work is an untarnished theme. Earlier, I
mentioned a core idea from which every dish and every story stems from. That to
me is the key. I couldn’t care less about what particular elements that the
authors use. They can write using specifically fantasy elements like the Lord of the Rings trilogy or take
elements across the SFF spectrum like in Lord
of Light. Hell, they could even give the story a strange, funky twist like
in Pretty Boy Crossover. As long as
the elements help advance the plot and clearly portray the central idea of the
story, I’d be happy.
Of course other readers may think differently. It’s difficult
to find a style that will entice every reader, young and old. But evidently,
the actual “classic” elements of SFF that are used don’t really matter. I may
be wrong to generalize for everybody, but I believe that we, as young readers,
put more emphasis on how elements are used rather than the elements themselves.
You can use whatever you want as long as you can find that perfect blend of
literary spices.
David,
ReplyDeleteI really like this metaphor of narrative elements being like well-used ingredients in a recipe. If you can tell too easily that something is there a dish, suddenly it's all you can taste. I think this very metaphor could account for easily half the reasons I find some stories disappointing. It's not so much that I didn't get the story I wanted or expected, but that the author didn't use the elements at hand in a way that really served the reader (oh, hell -- I'm being selfish; me, that served me) or the story. Your counterpoints of The Martian Chronicles and Stardust capture that idea very well.
Best,
TT