Category Archives: Literary Criticism
Informal Criticism of Literary Works
People often react to a literary work quite differently. Their reactions and opinions may vary even if they enjoy reading the same story. These reactions may also depend on whether or not they have knowledge of literature and literary criticism. But that notwithstanding, people will naturally want to say something about a story after reading it. Such a reaction is instinctive and indicates that literary criticism is a natural response to any literary work.
A critique of a literary work may be done either formally or informally. Formal criticism has a definite objective and direction. This kind of analysis adheres to the established standards of literary criticism and is anchored on a certain literary theory. This may be done in the classroom as a course requirement, in a journal or magazine for publication, or on a website.
Conversely, the informal version is a simple discussion of the merits and demerits of a certain work in prose or poetry, perhaps done by friends in a cafeteria while sipping coffee or even while riding on public transport or in a private vehicle. If two people have read the same story or watched the same movie, expect a discussion to ensue.
Technological advances have allowed writers to reach their audience and increase their readership. The invention of social networking sites, blogs, and websites has provided writers more platforms to post their stories, essays, and poems. Most writers have their own websites and accounts on Facebook where they promote their literary works.
This has also given literary criticism a new dimension from which to operate. Friends and followers of certain writers can easily turn into critics or supporters and have the opportunity to say something about their writings. Such comments are considered informal criticism of such work. Whatever may be said about a story or a poem is essentially an evaluation of those written materials.
But we tend to think that an informal analysis of a literary work is only a personal expression of views bereft of any academic worth, for literary theories are not used to guide a reader in developing well-informed arguments. We dismiss informal analysis of a story or a poem, especially if it’s made by people unfamiliar with the nitty-gritty details of literary criticism, as being purely misguided opinions, which are basically subjective and disorganized.
However, when we carefully scrutinize people’s comments and expressed opinions related to literary works, they are actually, but perhaps unknowingly, toeing the line of the established literary theories just the same.
For instance, if an author pens a story or a poem about “sadness,” his readers, especially those who know him personally, would readily think he has a problem. If it’s about “separation,” the presumption would be made that the creator just “called it quits” with someone. If such a write-up were posted on any social network, we would expect that it would generate a thread of comments asking what had happened or expressing sympathy in some way.
The assertions in the previous paragraph are a case of “analyzing the author through his work.” This in literary criticism is called “Psychoanalytic theory.” The theory maintains that a story or poem gives insight into the author’s mental processes. Things read in a writer’s work are believed to reveal his feelings and thoughts. Those who subscribe to this theory maintain that separating the author from his work is difficult. This means that any literary work is said to be a mirror of the author’s state of mind and emotions.
In reality, only the creator of the sad story or a separation poem knows if his emotions and thoughts are being discussed in the piece.
Other readers would say, “It is a good story (or poem) but sad.” In the foregoing remark, the focus was on the work or text itself. The author was not part of the equation.
This approach to literary criticism is called Formalism. The theory of Formalism tells us that a literary work has its own intrinsic value. The words weaved together to form meaning divorced from the author’s and reader’s state of mind and emotions. The poem or story should be scrutinized from within, not consider socio-cultural influences, authorship, or historical background. The focus of the analysis should be on the words in the literary work and not related to its author. The things considered should be the story’s or poem’s structural elements, including linguistic devices, literary devices, style, imagery, tone, and genre.
I have essays, stories, and poems posted on Facebook (and other socials), eliciting varied comments from friends and random netizens. Such comments include “That’s what you call irony!” and “Enchanting words woven together to almost perfection to which every poet can relate.” These are examples of “formalistic” reactions.
A surprising comment one of my works received was, “I like green thoughts sleep furiously.” This is about CHOMSKY’s Syntactic Structure. Obviously, the one who commented has a solid background in linguistics. Such goes beyond “Formalism” but touches the outskirts of “Structuralism.” But a reader who has a limited background (or none at all) in literature, much less literary criticism, will find it difficult to use these lenses (“Formalism” and “Structuralism”) when critiquing a literary work. Rare are the informal criticisms that focus on a poem or story’s linguistic and literary structures.
Normally, readers’ reactions to informal criticism would be based on their schema (prior knowledge) activated as they interact with the writer’s words. Each person has a wealth of knowledge and experiences that control their thoughts and decisions. It can also be assumed that the schema enables a reader to give the text its meaning or the author’s own meaning.
There’s also a theory that holds that readers are the ones who give meaning to the literary work. The body of words the author has created is meaningless until the readers read and interpret it. This theory is called the Reader-Response theory.
The proponents of this theory contend that both poems and stories are not considered finished until they’re read and interpreted. And the meaning of the literary piece is what the reader brings to it. This means that a reader interprets literary works as his schema dictates.
If the reader has it, the role of a background theory or philosophy is to moderate his interpretation. But even without a background in literary criticism, whatever a reader says about a literary work will always have philosophical underpinnings that may be connected to a literary theory.
Ultimately, how to react to a literary work is always a matter of choice (and a matter of whim) for the reader. The reader can be any of the following: psychoanalytic, judging the author through his work; formalist, accepting that words put together have a meaning divorced from the author and the environment; or a subjective reader, giving the work his personal meaning.
Furthermore, a reader can be a Feminist or a Marxist in his informal criticism. A reader with a strong grounding in literature and linguistics may opt to be a Structuralist. There are also other hats in literary theory that can be worn if one wishes to. But even if readers may not be bridled by any theory when responding to a literary work, it doesn’t matter, for literary criticism is more of a natural human response to literature than an intellectual undertaking.
As it has always been, readers respond naturally to literary works and express opinions evoked by their knowledge and experiences, sometimes informed by their biases and prejudices. Objectively or subjectively crafted, their opinions are their own. However, readers should never cross the line of propriety and decency when crafting their criticism.
Reunion
(A Short Story in Filipino)
Dalawampu’t limang taon bago muling nagkita-kita ang magkakaybigang sina Jay, Chris, Mario at Mon. Masaya sila sa dahilang muli silang nagkasama-sama. Sila’y buong sabik na nagkumustahan at nagkuwentuhan.
Katulad ng dati ay nandoon ang kantiyawan at tawanan. At siyempre, hindi naiwasan na mapag-usapan din nila ang mga seryosong bagay – ang mga pagsubok at mga alalahanin, ang kanilang mga kabiguan at tagumpay, at ang kinahinatnan ng kanilang mga pangarap sa buhay.
At kadalasang pagkatapos ng reunion o pagkikita ng mga magkakaybigan o magka-klase ay malalaman kung sino sa kanila ang totoong nagtagumpay. At papaano ba susukatin ang tunay na tagumpay? Ano ang batayang gagamitin mo para sabihing nagtagumpay sa buhay ang mga kaybigan at mga kaklase mo?
If love… then what? (3)
(A Movie Review – last of 3 parts)
The primary conflict – Will Ben and Phillip succeed in diminishing the role of James in the creation of the OED and in striking out William as a contributor? – is categorized as “man against man.” Conversely, what I consider as the secondary conflict – Will Eliza forgive William? – is classified as “man against himself.” This conflict gives the movie a semblance of drama and romance.
While the challenges James and William had to overcome stem from the selfish motives of two members of the OED project’s oversight committee, Eliza’s struggle comes from within her. She had to choose to forgive the man who killed her husband or not.
Anyone seeking forgiveness needs to show repentance and a willingness to make amends, even when not asked to do so. William did both.
William could have just disregarded the crime he committed and hidden his guilt under the rug of his condition, declared by the judicial and health authorities as insanity. But he did not. Guilt pricked his conscience to no end, knowing fully well the severity of his crime – killing the husband of a wife and the father of 6 children. Already tormented by flashbacks to the American Civil War (in which he served as a surgeon in the Union Army), William also had to bear that guilt.
Thus, he asked that his army pension be given to Eliza. Deep inside, William is a good man with a brilliant mind (when lucid). Such goodness and brilliance were ruined by a mental disorder.
Mr. Muncie, a guard at the psychiatric hospital, recognizes the goodness in William. Eventually, a friendship developed between them. Same with William and James, they became very good friends too.
The story exemplifies what people are willing to do for their friends. Mr. Muncie tried to defend William against the abuses of Dr. Brayne, and James did everything he could to secure his release from the psychiatric hospital. James had a very good friend in Freddie, too. How remarkable are Freddie’s attempts to save James from getting booted out of the OED project by lying to the oversight committee that he was responsible for the missing words that were supposedly included in volume 1 of the dictionary? Freddie went as far as using his connections to secure the royal seal of patronage for James, acknowledging him as the primary mover of the OED, rendering moot and academic all of the efforts of Ben and Phillip “to ease the gentle Scotsman off his little perch.” And that is the resolution of the main conflict.
What about the secondary conflict – Will Eliza forgive William?
Mr. Muncie, upon William’s bidding, visits Eliza to discuss the financial assistance William proposes to give. Eliza, at first, refuses. After a while, seeing how difficult life has been for her and her children, Eliza tells Muncie, who visited them again one Christmas Eve, that she will accept William’s offer, but that is only after seeing the killer of her husband in person to find out if she could stomach accepting the money.
The meeting between Eliza and William happened. Eliza finally agrees to accept the money, but at the end of that encounter with her husband’s murderer, she says that her accepting William’s offer doesn’t make things right. William may not have received the forgiveness he was hoping for. Still, somehow, a certain portion of his guilt went away when Eliza accepted the financial assistance he offered.
Eliza visited William a second time, brought him a book, and thanked him for the money. He also informed William that things were better for her and her children. In that conversation, Eliza said that it wasn’t right for her to continue receiving William’s money, to which the latter replied that his life belongs to Eliza and what is his is hers too… and all that started the night he killed her husband.
Those words perhaps melted Eliza’s heart and vaporized whatever hatred she had for William.
That visit led to more, and when William discovered that Eliza could not read, he begged her to allow him to teach her how to… if only so she could teach her children to read as well.
William explained to Eliza the importance of reading this way – “ [Reading] is freedom. I can fly out of this place on the backs of books. I’ve gone to the ends of the world on the wings of words. When I read, no one is after me. When I read, I’m the one chasing. Chasing after God.”
Eliza accepted William’s offer. Each time she visited, William would teach her how to read. The way she looks at Eliza betrays how he feels towards the widow of the man he murdered.
Eventually, Eliza learned to read the words written in the pages of books. There’s something else she learned to read – the innate goodness of William. Eliza came to know who and what William really was.
On the day Eliza brought her children to the psychiatric hospital for them to meet William for the first time, Claire, Eliza’s firstborn, couldn’t refrain from expressing her anger towards her father’s killer. Eliza apologized to William for her daughter’s outburst, and after kissing him, she told him that she had already forgiven him.
Eliza’s forgiveness paved the way for William’s redemption. At that point, the question – Will Eliza forgive William? – was answered. But instead of the “falling action” (at least for that subplot) following that, there was a heightening (rising) of the action instead. Eliza, aside from forgiveness, gave William something else… love.
On one of James’ visits, he saw the portrait of a woman that William had painted. When asked who that woman is, William replied, “The impossible.”
Indeed, it is seemingly impossible for Eliza to forgive William, her husband’s killer. And what is more, it is impossible for Eliza to end up loving William.
But as James said when William referred to her as “the impossible” – “the more impossible, the greater the love.”
And what happened to the note Eliza gave William – “If love, then what?”
William, with that unstable mind that he had, responded to it unexpectedly. It brought back the guilt that he felt after killing Eliza’s husband. Eliza falling in love with him is like killing her husband for the second time. To Eliza’s question, “If love, then what?” William responded, “There’s no chance of redemption.” That guilt worsened William’s paranoid delusions, prompting him to “punish” himself.
That day, Eliza gave William that note and asked him to open it when she was gone. William said, “I’m sorry, Eliza.” Eliza responded, “But what if I’m not?” Then they kissed.
That, for me, is the most beautiful part of the movie. What followed thereafter are the darkest parts of the story – particularly William “punishing” himself and the monsters – Ben, Phillip, and Dr. Bryne – rearing their ugly heads.
The ending may be formulaic – the good triumphs over evil – but what I would like to remember the movie by is Eliza’s answer to her own question.
“If love, then what?” L O V E.
If you are in love, just love… no ifs… no buts.
If love… then what? (2)
(A Movie Review – 2nd of 3 parts)
It might be surprising to some that a review of a movie about how a dictionary was created would be subtitled, “If love… then what?”
No… It’s not an attempt to romanticize the love for words of the lexicographers who dedicated their lives to creating a comprehensive compilation of all known English words. I chose that title because of the biopic’s interesting twist involving Eliza and William.
The Professor and the Madman is based on a book with the same title featuring the true story of Sir James Murray, a Scottish lexicographer and first editor of what is now known as The Oxford English Dictionary (OED), and Dr. William Chester Minor, an American surgeon and lexicographer researcher who contributed significantly to the creation of the said dictionary. The latter suffered from paranoid delusions and he killed a man (Eliza’s husband in the story) whom he accused of breaking into his room. He was committed to a psychiatric hospital, and while undergoing treatment, he (reportedly) made contributions to the OED.
Given all the aforementioned, you wouldn’t think this would be an interesting movie. How in the world would a movie about creating a dictionary generate excitement?
Well… I trust in the imagination and creativity of the scriptwriters.
While obviously, the main plot revolves around the events that led to the creation of the OED, as I expected, the creative minds behind the movie injected subplots to make the flick more literary and cinematic.
Those subplots were stitched together using the literary themes of friendship, redemption, forgiveness, and love as threads.
The main plot is centered upon diligence as the source of its theme. Ada, James’ wife, defined diligence to the members of the Oxford University Press. She said the following to the gentlemen deliberating her husband’s ouster from the OED project – “Diligence. I looked it up in your dictionary. A constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is undertaken. Persistence. Application. But also, toil… and pain.”
Those words encapsulate James and William’s efforts to create the OED. The persistence they have shown in the pursuit of such a daunting endeavor is worthy of emulation, and it is perhaps the most important value viewers could learn from the movie.
But as expected, James and Williams should meet an opposition to satisfy one very important requirement in story writing – conflict. Without it, the movie would turn into just a plain documentary. That opposition came from Ben and Phillip, the one whom Ada addressed as Mr. Gell when she gatecrashed into that meeting of the OED project’s oversight committee to speak on behalf (and in defense) of William and her husband.
Ben and Phillip, along with Dr. Richard Brayne (supervisor of the psychiatric hospital where William was undergoing treatment… or is it where he was incarcerated), are the story’s villains.
The maneuverings Ben and Phillip do to make things hard for James and William represent what I think is the story’s main conflict – Will Ben and Phillip succeed in diminishing the role of James in the creation of the OED and in striking out William as a contributor?
The main plot revolves around the aforementioned conflict. But the story has another conflict that, in my opinion, overshadows the main conflict. It is the one that involves William and Eliza.
As previously mentioned, Eliza is the wife of the man whom William killed while having a fit of delusion. This represents the other conflict in the story – Will Eliza forgive William?
On Stories and Storytelling (3)
(Last of 3 Parts)
One subject that I miss teaching is Creative Writing. As an English and literature teacher, I consider it an ultimate challenge to teach the subject. It is quite challenging to lead a study of the different forms of discourse to develop the student’s ability to write narrative, descriptive, expository, and argumentative compositions. What adds to the challenge is making the students understand the principles of stylistics, literary criticism, and linguistic and literary devices. As course requirements, I required them to submit a movie review, a short story analysis, two essays, and a short story.
When I created the syllabus for the course, I intentionally did not include poetry. It wasn’t just possible for me to cover both prose and poetry in one semester. It would be difficult for them had I included a poem among those they should submit at the end of the term.
My students had struggles with writing stories. It was easier for them to produce essays. They just toyed with the movie review and short story analysis. Yes, it was easy for them to deconstruct a story and break it into its different parts – the so-called elements of fiction. But most of them had difficulty putting those component parts to construct their own stories.
I told them that I had the same struggles when I began writing. My first stories then were terrible (I hope they are better now.) Writing a story is a skill that would require time to develop. I explained to them that the most famous and talented writers had to hone their craft over a period of many years. I didn’t have statistical data to support that statement, but it was (and still is) safe to assume that the literary greats had “burned oil in many midnights” before they attained their greatness.
I did not mention Gladwell’s 10,000-hour rule, for it might instantly extinguish any flickering hope of any of them to become a writer. Perhaps some of them may have bumped into that idea later on. If, during those times, I had already known about Kaufman’s 20 hour-rule, I would not be mentioning it either, for I don’t like to give them false hope that it would take that so short a time to become good at writing stories.
To become good at writing stories, you have to attain a certain degree of fluency or proficiency in the language you are using to write your stories. If saying that your sentences should be syntactically correct is a mouthful, then let me just say that they (your sentences) should be correct and comprehensible.
You already have an advantage if the language you intend to use to write your stories is your native language. You very well know how important vocabulary is in writing. Consider this: Native-level fluency (this is from Wikipedia) is estimated to require a lexicon between 20,000 to 40,000 words.
But it doesn’t mean that being a native speaker of that language automatically makes one a good writer. If so, we could have had lots of Shakespeares, Hemmingways, Tolstoys, Hugos, Tagores, Xuns, and Rizals. Many native speakers of their own languages could not write a simple story or a poem.
Proficiency in a language is only one of the many skills you have to develop. There are other skills necessary to write well, including choosing the right words to develop related ideas, organizing those ideas into a cohesive whole, and creatively combining and contrasting those ideas. And as I reiterated in part 1 of this 3-part series… “Writing stories require that you should be able to knit together the elements of fiction within the frame of the plot, to make sure that the most important element of fiction – conflict – is laid down clearly and passes through exposition, complication, crisis, falling action, and resolution.”
In short, writing stories is an art, and I doubt anybody could learn it in just 20 hours. Just developing proficiency in a language, if you are not a native speaker of that language, is not achievable in 20 hours. However, you might think spending 10,000 hours to develop a specific skill would probably be too much – unless you want to acquire true expertise in a specific field. If you do it for 5 days a week, because you might need a 2-day break, that’s 4 hours a day in nine years.
You probably would like to start developing your writing skills for at least one hour each day. That’s what I have been doing. It works for me.
Before writing the short story, I would require my students to submit a 10-sentence storyline of the story they plan to write. One time, when I was giving them examples of storylines off the top of my head, one of them asked me where am I getting ideas for my stories.
Before answering that question, I asked them to, again, define literature. Then one of them gave exactly the definition upon which I intended to anchor my answer to the question one of them asked – “Literature is a faithful reproduction of life executed in an artistic pattern.”
I explained that what we read in stories mirrors the things happening in real life. Writers draw ideas for their stories from the experiences of people around them and from theirs as well. That’s how I do it.
“Literature,” I added, “is an artistic expression of significant human experiences.” (I can’t recall anymore who said that.) That’s why when we read stories or watch movies, we feel like it’s our personal story being told.
I told my students I rarely borrow someone’s experience to write a story because my life is a fountain of many storylines.
As I wrote the last part of this article, I could hear Fortunato saying, “For the love of God, Montressor.” Fortunato hoped those words would stop his friend from slowly walling up the niche where he was being buried alive.
On Stories and Storytelling (2)
(Second of 3 Parts)
Obviously, the conflict is the problem to be resolved in a story. If you are familiar with the literature, you know that there are three categories of conflict – man vs. man, man vs. nature, and man vs. himself. Janet Burroway proposed that the following should be included – man vs. society, man vs. God, and man vs. machine. We may also refer to them as sources of conflict.
In one of my literature classes in the Philippines, I told my students to watch the movie “Titanic.” That was when our topic was “elements of fiction.” Students would prefer watching movies over reading short stories or novels when dissecting stories.
When I asked them to identify the story’s central conflict, most answered “man vs nature.” You would understand why that was the answer they gave –Jack and Rose (and all the rest of the passengers) have to survive the ship’s sinking. They were surprised when I told them that there was a dual conflict in the story. There are two sources – “man vs nature” and “man vs man.” While the star-crossed lovers try to figure out how to stay away from the icy water of the ocean, they also have to contend with an extremely angry Cal and his loyal minion Lovejoy.
That’s how clever some writers are. They push their readers or audience closer to the edge of their seats – to the edge of the cliff of excitement – by inserting a conflict within a conflict. With that, they make the “rising action” more intense. When a writer uses multiple sources of conflict, with all the conflicts equally significant, I call it “layered conflict.” (I am not sure if I was the first to call it this way.)
What if the one who wrote the script for The “Titanic” added an extra layer of conflict? Let’s say somebody steals the necklace (“Heart of the Ocean”), and Rose asks Jack if they have to do everything to return it. Let’s say that the thief is a hardened criminal who is willing to kill just to keep what he has stolen. Would the story be more exciting if, while the lovers are trying to survive the unfolding sea tragedy, they have to pursue the one who took the expensive jewel and at the same time hide from Cal and Lovejoy?
I told my students that it would be easier to explain a story’s conflict by starting with a guide question. In the case of the dual conflict in The Titanic, the questions should be: Will Jack and Rose survive the anger of Cal? Will they (also) survive the sinking of the ship?
In another class – Literary Criticism – I taught my students how to trace symbolism in stories. I also used the movie Titanic for the activity. It was easy for them to pick the necklace and explain its symbolism – that the jewel symbolizes Rose’s heart and her love for Jack. They gave nothing more about symbolism after the necklace.
So, I told them that they should not focus only on objects for symbolism. The story – the writer – may try to convey meaning through events in the story. For example, I asked them if they could see any meaning beyond the band continuing to play while the ship was sinking. What about the sinking of the Titanic? What does it convey?
I told them that the decision of the band to continue playing while the ship sinks conveys two things. Firstly, it shows the resilience of the human spirit in the face of tragedy. Secondly, there are people who when confronted by whatever is inevitable, could face it courageously.
And what does the sinking of the mighty “Titanic” symbolize? It shows how helpless mankind is against the forces of nature.
On Stories and Storytelling (1)
(First of 3 Parts)
Do you really know what a story is?
Answer the question before sliding your eyes down to the next line.
Done?
Okay, read on.
Just like you, I know what a story is. I can assure you of that.
Let me begin by saying that I love stories. I am so fascinated by them. Very likely that my having earned the degree Bachelor of Arts in English and my having completed the academic requirements for the degree Master of Arts in English contributed to that. The two main fields of studies (major) in both degrees are English language and literature, but more on literature. We studied, among other things, the different forms of literature – prose and poetry, the body of literature of selected countries, literary criticism, philosophy of literature, and creative writing. Just imagine how many stories I had to read when I was enrolled for subjects like Short Story, Novel, Drama, and Shakespeare. To enhance my understanding of the stories I was reading then, I had to watch their screen adaptation (especially of Shakespeare’s famous plays) if they happened to be available. In short, I became interested with stories, not as a hobby. I studied them. I taught Literature and Literary Criticism when I was teaching in the Philippines. By the way, I worked so hard to become a writer as well. I write dramatic monologues, short stories, novels, and plays. Check my website for some of my works – madligaya.com.
I am so fascinated by the art of knitting together the elements of fiction within the frame of a plot – of how to make sure that the most important element of fiction – conflict – is laid down clearly and passes through exposition, complication, crisis (commonly known as climax), falling action, and resolution. Gustav Freitag, a nineteenth-century German critic, laid this down in what came to be known as the Freitag Pyramid. Crisis – or climax – is at the top of the pyramid. The exposition and complication constitute the rising action which ultimately leads to the crisis. Thereafter is the falling action which leads ultimately to the resolution or the denouement. There are stories (movies) that abruptly ends when the climax is reached. In cases like this the crisis implies the resolution. The resolution is left for the readers to deduce.
When a series of events is not laid down in the conflict-crisis-resolution arc, they are but just that – series of events, not a story. Conflict, crisis, and resolution (call them together as plot) are the necessary features of a story. A narrative, to be classified as a story, requires more than setting, character, theme, point-of-view, tone, and style. No matter how short or long a story is, there should be a conflict, conflict that progresses from the time it is revealed (exposition), becomes complicated, reaches a climax (referred to as crisis earlier), slows down to a falling action, and makes a full stop at the juncture called resolution. Am I right? A writer, as I articulated earlier, may stop raising the action right after reaching the climax to let readers imagine how it ends or create the kind of ending they desire.
In movies (or films), cliffhanger endings have become so popular. In cliffhangers, it can be argued that the story does not immediately end after the climax but somewhere between the falling action and the resolution. There was no clear resolution. It can be argued also that cliffhanger endings are applicable only in the case of standalone movies, not of the serialized ones like the Star Wars, Avengers, and the like. When for example Thanos (in Avengers: Infinity War) snapped his fingers and some of the Avengers were reduced to dust, we were like left hanging and wondering why all those heroes we used to seeing alive and victorious in previous Marvel movies died or disappeared. But it’s not a cliffhanger ending per se because we know that that movie is the 3rd part of the main 4-part Avengers series. We know that the last part of the series is forthcoming. All the Avenger movies, together with all the other standalone Marvel hero movies in previous years, are all part of one whole story.
You might ask, “Where are the events in Avengers 3 located in the Freitag (plot) Pyramid?” It’s in the complication (or rising action part), far away yet from the climax. Your next question might be – “Which part of Avengers 4 is the climax?” It started the moment Tony Starks snapped his fingers and said “I am Iron Man” and culminated at the moment Thanos slowly turned to dust. All the events that followed are parts of a very clear falling action and resolution.
What do you think, am I right not to consider the endings of serialized stories as cliffhanger endings (because of the imaginary “To be continued”)?
An example of a movie that had a climax and a falling action but the resolution was not clear and the audience need to decide what to think about it is the way the movie “Don’t Breathe” ends. (I hope you have watched that movie too… and in case you haven’t, I am sorry if this part of my article will now serve as a spoiler. Just skip reading the rest of this paragraph and proceed to the next one instead in case you’re planning to watch the movie.) The climax of that movie came at exactly the 1:20:43 mark. The blind man, after Rocky hits him repeatedly in the head with a crowbar, falls from the 1st floor of the house to the basement. Part of the falling action shows Rocky coming out of the house alive with the blind man’s money. Later she could be seen with her sister leaving Detroit for California. The movie ends showing that the blind man alive. He survived. And I was left formulating my own resolution… or is a sequel (or a prequel) being planned?
I used to teach Literature, Creative Writing and Literary Criticism in the Philippines. One of my students once asked this question: Should all stories have conflict?
If you were me then, how would you answer?
Do you think a series of events stitched up together in any form can be considered a story without a central conflict?
From Janet Burroway’s “Writing Fiction: A Guide To Narrative Craft”:
“And story is a form of literature. Like a face, it has necessary features in a necessary harmony… Every face has two eyes, a nose between them, a mouth below; a forehead, two cheeks, two ears, and a jaw. If a face is missing one of these features, you may say, ‘I love this face in spite of its lacking nose’, but you must acknowledge the in spite of. You can’t simply say, ‘This is a wonderful face.’
The same is true of a story. You might say, ‘I love this piece even though there’s no crisis action in it.’ You can’t say, ‘This is a wonderful story.’
Fortunately, the necessary features of the story form are fewer than those of a face. They are conflict, crisis, and resolution.
Conflict is the first encountered and the fundamental element of fiction, necessary because in literature, only trouble is interesting.”
Let the foregoing paragraphs be my answer to the question “Should all stories have conflict?”
If a narrative has no conflict, don’t call it a story. Call it a face without any part that should be there – eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks, or forehead.
M.A.D. LIGAYA
M.A.D. L I G A Y A 