Narrative Voice.

In my short stories I’ve enjoyed playing around with narrative voice and structure. It’s interesting to consider what the choice of perspective, and the choice of narrator, has on a story. Sometimes the narrator’s voice comes naturally, at the same time as the idea forms. When a story grows out of my own experiences it generally forms as a first person narrative. This often feels more natural to write. Occasionally I change my mind later on and have to pick apart the narration, rethink it from another perspective. Other times the choice of narrator is a conscious decision, integral to the fabric of the story. The Watcher is told from the perspective of a cat observing comings and goings from a window. Although it is written in the third person, we only see glimpses of the action as if we, the reader, are the cat. We only know what the cat knows. We don’t truly see inside the cat’s mind, however, just as humans can never really understand the lives experience of an animal — I tried to resist giving the cat human traits and thought processes that aren’t really there, and so the narration is passive for the most part, merely reporting on what the cat sees.

My recent short story, The Void, begins in a small town with an intimate, third person narration, as if told by a friend or neighbour. The narrator feels familiar and knows the characters by name, including inconsequential details about their lives, while remaining “offscreen” and somewhat detached from the action. But as the void grows, encompassing first the neighbourhood, then the town, then the world, the narration zooms out, becoming omniscient, just like the expanding, unstoppable void, before closing in once again on the other side of the world, ending with a deeply personal first person narration. I am pleased with how closely the change in narrative voice mirrors the theme of the story.

Tense is important too. The Void switches from past tense to present, something I find useful in revealing different perspectives within a restricted format. It is a clear way of showing how events that happened then have consequences now. Another story I have written (yet to be published) is mostly told in the past tense, this time from the first person perspective. The action takes place within a very narrow window of time and place, and the first person narration allows the drama to play out in the main character’s head. This perspective is also useful for fleshing out the character’s backstory, as they look back on the circumstances that have brought them to this moment. Additionally, this first person narration means I can avoid assigning a particular gender to the character — especially as they don’t interact with anyone else directly in the story — and hopefully help the reader more readily imagine themselves in the position the character finds themselves in. At the end, the story jumps forward in time to the present tense, with a third person narrations that may or may not be the voice of the first main character.

First person present tense is highly effective for invoking feelings of immediacy and intimacy. This is the perspective I mostly employ in the story I am currently writing, which deals with themes of loneliness and isolation. I want the reader to feel the sense of loss, imagine their footsteps echoing in a vast, empty room and hear their heart thumping in their chest. This narrative voice allows time to pause on the details of everyday occurrences, so that seemingly mundane moments connect with the reader and take on a new significance. It gives the narrator freedom to transport the reader into the past through memory, or into an imagined future with their hopes, dreams and fears. The story mostly takes place in the present, but it periodically switches to past tense as the reader is offered glimpses of the character’s history. Perhaps it is no coincidence that the story is set by the sea, and the ebb and flow of the tide have a part to play. I recently read Searoad by Ursula Le Guin, which flows back and forth through time and through different interconnected narratives, much like the waves lapping at the shore that form the backdrop.

The novel I am currently reading, The Parasites by Daphne Du Maurier, plays with perspective in an interesting way. Variously following each of the main characters in the third person, the story occasionally switches to first person, referring to the three siblings collectively as “we”, while never making it clear to the reader which of the three is the narrator. In this way we are led to think of them as a unit, a single, inseparable entity, perhaps.

Second person narrative is not one I encounter very often, but this point of view felt natural for Stage Fright, a recent piece of creative writing inspired by getting up on stage with my band. I wanted to place the reader in the heart of the action, and in this case I feel it is very effective in conveying immediacy — there is no need of the context or internal monologue you might otherwise call upon with first person narrative.

As an amateur author, I am enjoying the freedom of exploring different narrative voices and perspectives, and the way they can transform a story. Everything I’ve written above is merely my own observation and not an academic reading — I’m sure the role of the narrator is a well-studied one in literature. However, I feel noticing and writing down these things helps me attain a clearer picture in my head of what I’m trying to achieve in my own writing.