Let There Be Light
By Jennifer Ziegler
“Easy reading is damn hard writing.” —Nathaniel Hawthorne
After years of resistance, I have come to embrace my reputation as a writer of “light” fiction.
My initial struggle stemmed from the term’s various implications. What did they mean by light, I wondered. Were they calling my writing insubstantial? Easy? Bright and sunny? Eventually I settled upon the following definition: a light composition is one that coaxes you into its world through the use of humor or with promises of romance and other feel-good emotions.
Such a label can still be misleading because most writing is both light and dark. A taxonomy of written work wouldn’t be an either-or system of classification but rather a scale, perhaps a bell curve. And while I read and cherish books that fall at various points along this graph, my own published writing would be found along the downhill slope of the “light” side, a few inches before it turns into the hat brim. Why? Because people describe my novels as “zany” or “witty,” and I get mail from readers accusing me of making them spit coffee on friends or electronic devices when a scene in my book made them laugh out loud. (Luckily I haven’t been sent any dry cleaning or computer repair bills—at least, not yet.)
I never set out to be branded as light. My voice is my voice. I suppose it springs from the slightly off-kilter, irreverent way I view the world. In my family, nearly everything can be joked about. We like to laugh and make each other laugh. But even though we don’t take life too seriously, we don’t exist in denial either. Similarly, I want my characters to be funny, yet also realistic and relatable.
Humor is a powerful thing. It can be a stealth weapon in the form of biting satire, or it can be a shield to hide behind when you don’t want to face a difficult situation. Mostly, though, it disarms. This is how I like to use it. I’m not saying that my readers need to be frisked and neutralized, but they do need to freely enter the world I’ve created and follow my protagonist wherever he or she decides to go. And, as we know, teenagers won’t go anyplace they don’t want to. A quirky tone can let them know that I want them to have some fun on this journey I’m taking them on.
Don’t misunderstand: tackling a serious subject in a humorous way doesn’t necessarily “make light” of it. It can, however, lighten it enough so that you can more easily find your way—so that you don’t feel overwhelmed or hampered. I am not a preachy writer. I ask questions instead of answering them. For some readers, a lighter tone might encourage them to explore subjects and themes that are otherwise too scary, confusing, or off-putting. Again, I must stress that this is not my goal, but if my books can be the life-lesson equivalent of sneaking vegetables into brownies, good. So be it.
My new novel, Sass & Serendipity (Delacorte, July 2011), is loosely based on Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. As we all know, Austen is an author often categorized as light. But even though her novels aren’t as dramatic as those of the Victorian writers, or as gloomy as those of the Gothics, they did address real predicaments that people, particularly women, had to cope with in her day.
My guess is that it wasn’t her examinations of social class struggles that allowed Austen’s novels to endure for two centuries, so much as her wry tone and sense of folly. The woman is funny—very funny. And yet her use of humor doesn’t undermine the true-to-life quality of her stories. Readers can find her style amusing and yet still attest to her characters’ “realness.”
Writing funny is a sobering task. It is harder to make someone laugh than it is to make them cry. Ask any experienced actor worth his pancake make-up the same question and you’ll probably get a similar answer. There are universal topics and themes that can evoke a tragic response. For instance, losing a loved one is universally sad. However, what makes people laugh differs from individual to individual. Not only is common subject matter tough to pin down, but the amount and intensity of the humor have to be just right, too. Comedy is a combination of timing with just the right amount of punch— too heavy and you’ll knock people out of your story; too soft and it will fall flat. And novelists especially have to find a good balance. Effective humor is great, but you don’t want it to detract from the story. If it’s too funny, the tale will lose emotional resonance. As Austen herself wrote in a letter to her sister Cassandra, “I … am always half afraid of finding a clever novel too clever.”
One thing Austen does so brilliantly is to highlight—in a loving way—her characters’ foibles through the use of dialogue, description, and a mildly ironic tone. Consider, for example, a scene in Chapter Twenty Four of Pride and Prejudice when Mr. Bennett speaks to his daughter Elizabeth about her older sister, Jane:
Your sister is crossed in love I find. I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country…
The author accomplishes several things with this quote. First of all, she underscores Mr. Bennett’s dry wit and aloof style of fathering. She also furthers the plot point of Elizabeth’s having a lack of suitors and, therefore, very little prospects for the future. Amid all this, she points out an alleged quirk about young women in general: their enjoyment of drama and extreme emotion, even if that emotion could be considered negative.
I’ve attempted to replicate a similar tone in my own books. Take, for example, this passage from Chapter Four of Sass & Serendipity:
Daphne lay sprawled on the green and beige striped couch … Her eyes were raw and crusted from her big cryfest the day before, which had lasted late into the evening. She felt as she usually did after these bouts of sobbing: purged, weary, and noble in her sadness. She imagined herself as a tragic character in an epic miniseries, the kind who wore beautiful dresses while staring pensively out rain-streaked windows. Lonely and misunderstood, but not too far gone to forget to brush her hair and apply a light coating of Tawny Mountain lipstick…
In this scene I depict Daphne, the younger and more impetuous of two sisters, as she recovers from a disappointment. It is early in the novel and I am still introducing readers to her flighty, whimsical nature. I am hoping that the use of a gently ironic tone in this passage will help it contrast with later scenes when she is suffering from a real blow.
Another marvel of Jane Austen’s writing is her ability to capture the absurd twists and turns of courtship and heartbreak without making them seem contrived or dousing any of the passion. (Need evidence? Say “Mr. Darcy” to a random assemblage of women and you’ll witness some genuine swooning.) Yet romance, despite its categorization as a light genre, can be serious stuff. In Jane Austen’s time, a young girl’s hope for a secure future rested upon her finding a suitable match. In our day women have many more opportunities available to them. Does this make things easier, or more complicated, or simply different? The answer to that belongs in other articles and books. But the topics of courtship, marriage, and breakups are still being explored in literature.And we all know that love—especially the first-ever love explored in young adult books—is fraught with as many perils and as much emotional distress as any thriller.
A few of us (let’s hope very few) will be victims of crimes or suffer debilitating injuries or diseases in our lifetimes. Even fewer, if any, will encounter aliens or vampires. But all of us will long to feel connected to another human being, will embarrass ourselves in our efforts to win over the people we desire, and will have our hearts broken. So why are stories about love often considered trivial?
Let’s not confuse “lighter” with “lesser.” Stories less serious in tone shouldn’t be taken less seriously. A light piece can have real depth and complexity of craft. It can even be revelatory.
As the Danish comedian and musician Victor Borge put it: “Humor is something that thrives between man’s aspirations and his limitations. There is more logic in humor than in anything else. Because, you see, humor is truth.”
Writing is a reflection of life, and life is rarely pure darkness or pure light—it is the interplay of both. However, if I have to choose a side to lean toward, it would be the warm, radiant side. Because it’s my comfort zone; but also because, at least in my hands, it is potentially more powerful.
After all, it’s the sunshine that creates the shadows—not the other way around.
{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
A friend sent me a link to this post – and I’m SO glad she did! I’ve recently come to a similar epiphany: that if I try to write serious, it comes across as sluggish. My personality finds humor in every situation, and my writing NEEDS to reflect that, or it just isn’t right. And hey, I’d handle being compared to Jane Austen any day!
Love especially the line at the bottom – yes, the sunshine does create the shadows. We need that beautiful interplay between light and dark, because if everything is dark, well, who can see?
Jenny,
There is nothing “light” or “slight” about your books or writing. i love vegetables in brownies.
Varsha
Enjoyed your post. (I came via Jennifer Bertman’s blog.) Your book sounds really good, and I love humor — as do teens and younger.
Jenny, I have to say that humor stumps me. I think it takes a brave writer to flip the life on its belly and tickle its undersides.
Very well-thought out post. With the whole ‘dark YA’ conversation going on, I couldn’t put my finger on why I didn’t completely agree with either side.
My YAs would be considered ‘light’ as well, though they cover some heavy topics. I’m glad there are more of us out there!
~Debbie
Let there be light, indeed. I agree with Lindsey that humor is hard to write well, yet you pull it off masterfully. Your work is worth studying.
I’m sure Jane Austen would be as proud of you as we are.