I give up.
Not the book (too much blood, sweat and tears so far).
I give up reading the hard copy. I got a little over half way through and I had to stop, because my penciled comments were overtaking the printed page.
I like the first part, the section where Lyra is in the First World, where she learns about the death of her family, where she learns about her super cells, where she learns about her value on the mission to rid the world of Simon Moto, the evil villain.
Then… then… Not so much.
The fundamental flaw is how quickly I have Lyra accept the Second World. Here is a girl who grew up in a culture without religion; all she’s been taught about religion is that it causes death and destruction. That her own boyfriend succumbs to the perils of religion in a violent and tragic way confirms everything she’s believes. It’s why she accompanies Annie to the Second World–to eradicate the threat religion poses to her world, to her world order.
But what do I have Lyra do? Oh, this is a cool market. Go to church with you? I won’t like it, but sure, why not? These are bad people who detain us, but of course I easily see how religion is only a pawn in this power game.
Ok, I oversimplify. I exaggerate. I don’t have Lyra accept the Second World, its religion and the attendant risks quite so easily. Still, I don’t have her resist as much as she should.
I’ve lost her voice.
“Voice” is that ephemeral, intangible something about literature that is essential to an audience’s emotional appeal. A character’s voice is more than her words and actions. It’s her world view, outlook, and philosophy encapsulated in the words the author chooses. It’s impossible to dissect–you know it or you don’t (to paraphrase U.S. Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart when he was describing his threshold for obscenity in a 1964 pornography case, “I know it when I see it”.) A reader knows it, feels it. It’s what makes the character believable and real–no matter the incredulous plot (like super cells). A character’s voice is what makes you fall in love with Anne Shirley or Scout Finch, what makes you distinguish Bilbo Baggins from Holden Caulfield.
So if I can’t define it, how do I know I’ve messed up with Lyra?
Because when I read it, I roll my eyes.
That’s the technical test. 🙂
If I roll my eyes as the creator, you can only assume what you’d do as my reader.
It’s not “back-to-the-drawing-board” (I’ve done that umpteen times as it is); but it does mean rewriting.
Rewriting more than I was hoping to rewrite.
It’s not a surprise from a logical perspective–good writing is rewriting–but it’s still frustrating, ’cause I just want to be done!
Still, I’d rather get Lyra’s voice right than submit a substandard piece of work to a literary agent or publisher. There is just too much competition out there. Agents and publishers, no doubt, are looking for easy reasons to eliminate a prospective manuscript; I don’t intend to hand them one.
So… I leave my thick binder aside (sorry, trees…) and go back to my electronic manuscript.
This time I’ll do a better job of listening to Lyra’s voice.
It’s her story, after all.