Afrikaans
Akan
Albanian
Amharic
Arabic
Armenian
Azerbaijani
Basque
Belarusian
Bemba
Bengali
Bihari
Bosnian
Breton
Bulgarian
Cambodian
Catalan
Cebuano
Cherokee
Chichewa
Chinese (Simplified)
Chinese (Traditional)
Corsican
Croatian
Czech
Danish
Dutch
Esperanto
Estonian
Ewe
Faroese
Filipino
Finnish
Frisian
Ga
Galician
Georgian
German
Greek
Guarani
Gujarati
Haitian Creole
Hausa
Hawaiian
Hebrew
Hindi
Hmong
Hungarian
Icelandic
Igbo
Indonesian
Interlingua
Irish
Japanese
Javanese
Kannada
Kazakh
Kinyarwanda
Kirundi
Kongo
Korean
Krio (Sierra Leone)
Kurdish
Kurdish (Soranรฎ)
Kyrgyz
Laothian
Latin
Latvian
Lingala
Lithuanian
Lozi
Luganda
Luo
Luxembourgish
Macedonian
Malagasy
Malay
Malayalam
Maltese
Maori
Marathi
Mauritian Creole
Moldavian
Mongolian
Myanmar (Burmese)
Montenegrin
Nepali
Nigerian Pidgin
Northern Sotho
Norwegian
Norwegian (Nynorsk)
Occitan
Oriya
Oromo
Pashto
Persian
Polish
Portuguese (Brazil)
Portuguese (Portugal)
Punjabi
Quechua
Romanian
Romansh
Runyakitara
Russian
Samoan
Scots Gaelic
Serbian
Serbo-Croatian
Sesotho
Setswana
Seychellois Creole
Shona
Sindhi
Sinhalese
Slovak
Slovenian
Somali
Spanish
Spanish (Latin American)
Sundanese
Swahili
Swedish
Tajik
Tamil
Tatar
Telugu
Thai
Tigrinya
Tonga
Tshiluba
Tumbuka
Turkish
Turkmen
Twi
Uighur
Ukrainian
Urdu
Uzbek
Vietnamese
Welsh
Wolof
Xhosa
Yiddish
Yoruba
Zulu
[MUSIC PLAYING]
The novel is about time.
You cannot write a novel that does not involve time in some
way.
So Leon Edel, the biographer of Henry James,
said, if it's a novel, there's going to be a clock in it.
Time passes.
In a lyric poem, maybe not.
In a lyric poem, maybe not.
That could be about a timeless moment.
But in a novel, time happens.
People change.
The clock hands move, or least the digital ticks happen.
But there are two ways of viewing time.
One is circular, and one is linear.
So the circular kind of time revolves,
and that's where we get analog clocks.
and that's where we get analog clocks.
That's where we get sundials.
That's where we get the idea that there are seasons.
They keep moving around.
Lunar cycles-- they're circular.
The other way of viewing time is that it's linear.
It begins at the beginning, garden of Eden.
It ends at the end, Book of Revelations.
And you go from here to there.
And that's where we get people talking
And that's where we get people talking
about the wrong side of history, et cetera, et cetera.
Actually, there is no wrong side of history or right
side of history because history is always changing.
It's the wheel of fortune.
And in the wheel of fortune, characters
rise up on one side of it.
They may achieve a moment of having a crown at the top.
Then they're thrown off the other side, and some of them
are crushed underneath.
There's nothing about human history that is inevitable.
What kind of time, however, are you
What kind of time, however, are you
going to have in your novel?
Are you going to have a kind of time in which things come round
at the end to something like what
they were at the beginning?
Is it going to be "The Mayor of Casterbridge"?
Is it going to be from rags to riches to rags?
That would be a circular motion.
Or are you going to take as your model
a kind of inevitable progress in which everything
a kind of inevitable progress in which everything
is going to get better and better until you reach
the city of God, the classless society, whatever that goal may
be?
You probably have some kind of idea in your head about time,
whether time, as Robertson Davies said,
wounds all heels, whether time brings a just resolution,
whether hidden things come to light, whether a balance is
whether hidden things come to light, whether a balance is
achieved, or whether you're going
to have an ironic end in which bad people triumph
and good people are crushed.
Your choice.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
How do you indicate to the reader
when you're moving from the present
to the past and vice versa?
Well, there's a number of pretty obvious devices.
You can certainly put the time.
A lot of people do that.
A lot of people do that.
So May, 1940, April, 1977--
you can do that.
You can put in some indicators.
Clothing is always a pretty good clue.
Lulabelle adjusted her bustle.
The simplest way if it's a time-sensitive structure
is simply to put the date.
is simply to put the date.
That's not hard.
Just as if you're changing person, put their name.
And don't make everybody a redhead.
That's very confusing.
And don't have them all have names that begin
with M or any other letter.
Make the names different so we can actually
remember who these people are.
Thank you very much.
And I'm keen on maps if it's an historical drama that requires
And I'm keen on maps if it's an historical drama that requires
a lot of moving around.
So where would we be in Lord of the Rings without those maps?
We like to know where things are.
And that, too, is a very old device, most noteworthily
in "Gulliver's Travels."
[MUSIC PLAYING]
The problem with flashbacks is that you can't
make them too long or tedious.
make them too long or tedious.
So too much exposition explanation, then we kind of
nod off.
Remember that time when, and he was married
to her, but before that--
do we really need to know that?
So tell us what we really need to know in
as engaging a way as you can so that we don't nod off.
But unless you begin with something
that's going to hold our attention,
that's going to hold our attention,
we may not stay with you.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
I think it depends what sort of story you're telling.
And sometimes you're jumping around in the space and time.
So it's the "meanwhile" device, which
Charles Dickens used a lot.
So meanwhile, unbeknownst to Oliver Twist, his evil brother
So meanwhile, unbeknownst to Oliver Twist, his evil brother
was plotting to demolish him.
Neither group knows what the other ones are up to.
And then the beauty of it is watching it all converge.
Some of these devices were very explored
in the 19th century novel.
So "Wuthering Heights," for instance,
begins with somebody unrelated to the people in the story.
begins with somebody unrelated to the people in the story.
It's this gentleman who for his health
wants to rent a house in the countryside.
And that's how he gets into the Heathcliff story.
So the frame device is this unrelated man
being told about the Heathcliff story
by the old housekeeper who has known
the family all of this time.
We never hear the story told from within either Heathcliff
We never hear the story told from within either Heathcliff
or Catherine Earnshaw because to do
that would diminish their stature
as larger-than-life romantic figures.
We see them through the eyes of others.
We observe them through the eyes of lesser mortals commenting
upon them.
upon them.
But we do cut back in time.
We start in the present.
We cut back in time.
We hear the story.
And then we go forward in time to see how it works out.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Leaping around in time--
well, I think you're going to have to ask yourself
why you want to do that.
It's the same as any of these things.
Is it going to work with your story to do that with the story
Is it going to work with your story to do that with the story
that you are telling?
So there aren't any abstract tips as such.
I think, again, it's a matter of try it this way.
See if it works for your story.
And if it doesn't, the wastepaper basket
is your friend.
Try it another way.
You have infinite freedom within your world
You have infinite freedom within your world
that you're creating until you send it
out into the rest of the world, at which point
you lose control over it.
So it is a megalomaniac's dream, writing a novel.
You can do anything.
But then you have to ask yourself
is this working for my book that I'm writing right now.
So don't move from the abstract into the concrete.
Move from the concrete.
Move from the concrete.
Work with your hands, as it were.
Trees don't grow out of air.
They grow out of dirt.
Can't find what you're looking for?
Get subtitles in any language from opensubtitles.com, and translate them here.