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narrative nonfiction WHAT
Nov. 18th, 2012 03:49 pmI'm reading, or considering reading, a book called The Wild Trees, by Richard Preston. In an AUTHOR'S NOTE, Preston says,
Okay. A note about not revealing the exact location of rare plants. Three maps: the California coast and a bit of Australia. This is appealing. Then the narrative begins. October 1987. A baby-blue Honda Civic. The Oregon Coast Highway. A solid-looking young man gets out of the car. We get his description, his name, his college, his major. "He walked off to the side of the parking lot and unzipped his fly. There was a splashing sound."
...What? Is it important that Marwood stopped to urinate? And if you decide to mention it, why would you describe it so coyly?
Two more young men get out of the car. We get their descriptions, their names, their colleges. They are brothers. "Scott handed the binoculars to his younger brother, and their hands touched for an instant. The Sillett brothers' hands had the same appearance -- fine and sensitive-looking, with deft movements."
What. I don't think you are hinting at incest RPF but, seriously, what are you doing?
Boring stuff about the car. Okay! Almost two pages about coast redwoods! More boring stuff about the young men. I start flipping ahead. Really interesting illustrations. Too much text about shaving off eyebrows and having sex in hammocks. Somebody falling out of a tree and dying. Somebody falling out of a tree and being horribly damaged but not dying. All of these details about eyebrows and catheters seem as inconsequential as Marwood's splashing sound or the Sillett brothers' hands. They don't add up to anything. They're just details.
Is this narrative nonfiction a thing now? Is it a thing people like? Is this what nature writing has come to?
This book is narrative nonfiction. The characters are real and the events are factual, told to the best of my understanding. Passages in which I narrate a person's thoughts and feelings and present dialogue have been built from interviews with the subjects and witnesses, and have been fact-checked. So many incredible things happen in our world that are never noticed, so many stories never get told. My goal is to reveal people and realms that nobody had ever imagined.
Okay. A note about not revealing the exact location of rare plants. Three maps: the California coast and a bit of Australia. This is appealing. Then the narrative begins. October 1987. A baby-blue Honda Civic. The Oregon Coast Highway. A solid-looking young man gets out of the car. We get his description, his name, his college, his major. "He walked off to the side of the parking lot and unzipped his fly. There was a splashing sound."
...What? Is it important that Marwood stopped to urinate? And if you decide to mention it, why would you describe it so coyly?
Two more young men get out of the car. We get their descriptions, their names, their colleges. They are brothers. "Scott handed the binoculars to his younger brother, and their hands touched for an instant. The Sillett brothers' hands had the same appearance -- fine and sensitive-looking, with deft movements."
What. I don't think you are hinting at incest RPF but, seriously, what are you doing?
Boring stuff about the car. Okay! Almost two pages about coast redwoods! More boring stuff about the young men. I start flipping ahead. Really interesting illustrations. Too much text about shaving off eyebrows and having sex in hammocks. Somebody falling out of a tree and dying. Somebody falling out of a tree and being horribly damaged but not dying. All of these details about eyebrows and catheters seem as inconsequential as Marwood's splashing sound or the Sillett brothers' hands. They don't add up to anything. They're just details.
Is this narrative nonfiction a thing now? Is it a thing people like? Is this what nature writing has come to?