Hi, friends.
The days here are waning, the sun going down earlier and earlier. It’s cool in the mornings and in the evenings and I feel the shift in seasons. The desire to curl up and slow down. I have been teaching Emerson and Thoreau these last few weeks and need to heed their advice of seeing the beauty in every season, to spend more time in nature, and make the most of my time. It is something I am working on. I’m trying to enjoy the fall, the here and now without worrying about what comes next. And when winter does come, I need to find a way to enjoy it too.
Story.
This week’s story is The Erlking by Sarah Shun-lien Bynum. It’s a great piece that juxtaposes the anxiety of motherhood and the imagination of childhood through fairytale tropes.
Craft tidbits.
One of the things that’s most interesting in this piece is the shifting POVs. Bynum makes it look effortless, though I have read (and I’m sure you have too) head-hopping stories that undercut themselves either by hopping too frequently so that the reader never gets attached to one character, or hopping at the wrong time so that the momentum is cut.
Here, I think these shifts add to the anxiety of the piece. They work to confuse us and make us wonder exactly what is real and what’s not. (Even after I’ve read the piece a few times, I’m not entirely sure.)
We learn that appearances are very important to Kate, the mother. She places more emphasis on what could be than what actually is. Specifically, who Ruthie (who seems to reject her given name of Ondine) could be if only she attended the right school. At the Elf Fair:
everything is exactly as it should be, every small elvish detail attended to, but, as Kate’s heart fills with the pleasure of it all, she is made uneasy by the realization that she could have but did not secure this for her child, and therein lies a misjudgment, a possibly grave mistake.
The Waldorf school! She hadn’t known about it when she was trying to find the perfect school for Ruthie. She had her heart set on the Montessori school and takes their rejection personally, asking:
What flaw or lack did she see in them that they couldn’t yet see in themselves?
And here in lies the rub. Kate believes she would be able to see a flaw or lack in herself or in her daughter. And yet. She does not. Can not. Will not.
And so, Ruthie attends a bland, prefab school thrown down in a parkinglot behind a Korean church instead of the enchanted Montessori school or the Waldorf or any number of life changing institutions. You can practically hear her wonder how any child is supposed to build an imagination in a parkinglot when they could be treated to such delightful Elf Fairs on the regular. (Capitalism certainly is given the Fairy Godmother treatment here. Though she grouses about how expensive everything is, Kate firmly believes that she can buy her way into happiness - the schools, the parenting books, the doll.)
But Ruthie does have an imagination. When she dances, she imagines she’s a snowflake from the Nutcracker. And, the man with the cape. It’s not entirely clear if he is real or someone she imagines. Kate doesn’t seem to see him, though one could argue that she would choose not to see things that are unpleasant. Whether the man with the cape is real or not, he’s real to Ruthie. She can intuit what he wants.
The man wearing the cape is the leader, and he wants them to come to the bottom of the hill. She can tell by the way he’s looking at her—kind, but also as if he could get a little angry. They have to come quickly. Spit-spot! No getting distracted. These are the rules. They walk down the big lawn, past the face-painting table and some jugglers and the honeybees dancing behind glass, and Ruthie sees on the man’s face that her mother doesn’t really have to come at all. Just her.
Ah. Well. If that’s not unsettling enough, he has a present under his nighttime colored cape, something that’s moving around, like a mouse. (!) And here, dread begins to build with the reader because we know, even if Ruthie does not, that no good thing comes from an odd little man trying to give presents to little kids.
Meanwhile, Kate thinks she sees John C. Reilly and is jealous that she doesn’t get to attend PTA meetings with him. Bynum shows the disconnect between these two characters and their wants, both of them living in their heads, oblivious to the wants of the other. One imagines that this is supposed to be a special, mother-daughter outing. A day for bonding. But, alas. Hand holding is the only bonding that is happening here.
Ruthie worries that some other little girl is going to get the surprise because her mother can’t see the man in the midnight cape:
He liked her so much before, but he’s changed his mind. Her mother didn’t see him—she saw only who she wanted to see—and now everything is so damaged and ruined. It’s not going to work. “You’re making me really angry,” Ruthie tells her. “You did it on purpose! I’m going to kick you.”
Ah. Okay. Now we get to see one of Ruthie’s fits. Is it just a fit or is something more? Is this one of the reasons for the rejections from the other schools? Bynum’s not entirely clear here either. Kate fears that something might be wrong with Ruthie. But knowing. Well, that would be uncomfortable for Kate, and so she reads the parenting books but isn’t quite able to follow the advice because. Well, she doesn’t really want to know if something is wrong, does she?
And then we get to the doll room where Kate begins frantically searching for a doll, not just any doll, but a brown doll, a special doll,
something she can give her child to cherish, something her child will love and prefer, instead of settle for.
Something she’s been searching for since Ruthie was born. But we’re not really talking about dolls anymore but belonging. Kate wants this doll to sit on a shelf in Ruthie’s room and “cast a spell of protection.” Ostensibly from all the things in the world that can harm us - men in midnight capes, yes, and the rejection from schools that probably will not change the trajectory of our lives, but might!
There is a great deal of loneliness in this story. Especially when you consider how full of children and other parents this fair must be. How it must be bustling with teachers dressed as fairies. And yet. They are outside of all of this. There is only Kate and Ruthie talking past each other, and two men who may or may not be there. The absence of interaction with the very people that Kate so desperately wants acceptance from is heartbreaking.
Sparks.
Have you tried to write a story from alternating points of view? Why not give it a try. It need not be in third person. There’s a great Larry Brown story Leaving Town told from alternating first person POVs about a desperate affair.
Or. Dolls. It’s still the spooky season and there’s a lot of different ways you can use dolls to create a creepy, unsettling read. Especially a doll made to cast a spell of protection as Kate wants. What could go wrong???
Revision. My novel in progress has more than one point of view and it’s such a bear to get the seams lined up just right I would not suggest this for anyone who isn’t already knee deep in it. But I did see a revision suggestion by Masie Cochran at Tin House this week. She suggests instead of revising with a pen, revise with a highlighter. That is, highlight all the things that are working. And see if you don’t see some new connections this way instead of looking at things that are wrong. (To paraphrase Emerson, when we change our perspective, even by looking at the world upside down through our legs, we change our whole view.)
Other tidbits.
There was a great essay last week about the benefits of being a slow writer. It’s okay to take your time. To process things. To see the connections. It is not a race. There is much handwringing in the writing world about productivity and getting those words down. To the point where people will attempt to write a whole novel (or damn near) next month, a form of torture I admit I do not understand. Here’s the thing: It takes as long as it takes. Say it with me. It takes as long as it takes (and sometimes more).
Beginning Nov. 10th, Longleaf Review will be open for pieces on Joy. Fictive Dream is seeking flash pieces for their Flash Fiction February.
Jane Friedman live tweeted from a panel re: mistakes agents see in queries. Some good advice there if you are querying.
That’s it from here scribblers. Pencils up. Let us write into the dread, whatever it might be.
Until next time~
Marsha
Shifting Points of View
Hey Marsha! I'm so glad to have been referred to your newsletter by Andrea Firth (via Diablo). Really enjoyed this edition, and resonate a lot with the message to slow down. I published a letter yesterday with frame in mind, and also shared the lovely piece from Lithub on "Slow Writing".
Also appreciated the resource on querying mistakes. It's something I will be jumping into very soon, as I'm now editing a book of fables I've been working on. Looking forward to more of your writing!