I was recently reading objections to Ian McEwan’s On Chesil Beach shortlisting for the prestigious Man Booker prize.
The criticism didn’t have to do with the writing — although reviews have been mixed (The New York Times was less than flattering, while Entertainment Weekly took an entirely opposite view on almost every point) — no, the big complaint had to do with the length of the book.
In case you’re wondering, On Chesil Beach weighs in at a respectable 203 pages. Not exactly a short story. Not even a novella (which would typically be about half that length). But some critics feel the book is too short to qualify for the $101,720 prize.
And while we’re considering facts and figures, what’s with that amount of prize money? What’s with the extra $1720.? Not that I would object to it, it’s almost exactly my mortgage payment, but why not 101,700? Or 100,100? That’s nice and symmetrical. What about throwing some loose change in there, or would anything under a dollar be too paltry to consider?
Now I haven’t read On Chesil Beach, frankly it sounds like the kind of thing I loathe, but I’m troubled by the notion that to be serious and important, a book has to be looooooong. Whatever happened to that brevity being the soul of wit school of thought? Since when does it take A LOT of words to get your point across? Wouldn’t you think that would be a bad sign in a writer? Isn’t the best writing about quality versus quantity? The objections to On Chesil Beach — the ones based purely on length — seem to be a kind of literary supersizing; it only counts if it’s BIG. And how silly is that?
To tell you the truth, I frequently think many of the books I read could do with a severe edit. Everything from chick lit to hardboiled crime fictions seems padded these days. Why? Do readers feel cheated if they don’t have four hundred pages to read — even if eighty of those pages are sheer fluff?
You know what I love? Those lean, literate crime novels from the 30s and 40s. I love the fact that writers back then could tell a tight and compelling story in forty-thousand words. That’s not easy to do. It takes skill and clarity of thought. Luckily it’s not a skill that’s apparently in demand these days.
What do you think? Should we be judging the quality of our littrachure by yardsticks and scales, or is there some point I’m missing here?
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Maybe the amount is based on how much money the endowment or trust that established the prize earned last year? I dunno, it does seem strange.
And I’m with you on the padding issue. I occasionally worry that I’m writing “too short,” when I find myself nearing the end at about 60,000 words.
But if I try to write like I see so many other people doing–with long descriptions, multiple subplots, digressions–I find myself getting bored with my own book. So out they go.
But I have heard a lady in a bookstore pick up a slim book and say “I’m not paying 25 bucks for THAT! Look how little it is!” So apparently some people want to feel like they’re getting something hefty for their hardback price.
OTOH, the enormously successful THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY was practically a pamphlet, which was good because it didn’t damage the wall so badly when I threw it.
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I find it funny to watch a writer of genre fiction (Thrillers/Suspense/Mysteries) evolve. A friend turned me on to Vince Flynn who writes political thrillers. I thought I’d start with the first book, I think it was “Term Limits”. It was lean and terrific, but I realized at the end, I knew little about the protagonist. Then the second book. A higher page count and it all seemed descriptive. I knew a bit more about the protag. His latest book is a larger format and HUGE. I’m almost too intimidated to pick it up.
When I find myself skimming over details in a book, I know, at least in my mind, that the writer could have trimmed words. Unless its pertinent to the plot, I don’t need to know how many drawers are in the Protag’s desk.
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JD, so interesting that you mention 60,000 words because that is exactly the number I naturally hit on my first draft. It’s like the perfect length for a crisp, clean novel — all the essentials and no filler.
I do think you’re right. Given the price of hardbacks, some readers feel gypped if they don’t get something that can also double as a weapon or a doorstop in a tornado.
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When I find myself skimming over details in a book, I know, at least in my mind, that the writer could have trimmed words. Unless its pertinent to the plot, I don’t need to know how many drawers are in the Protag’s desk.
Will, I’m in total agreement. So much of the padding in these books — thrillers in particular (it’s not thrilling if it’s not long???) is trivial, not even interesting stuff, just…stuff. Because more words were needed.
I notice I’m not a big fan of subplots that diverge too far from the main plot.
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Small works for me! But I wonder how many authors get pushed by their publisher to lengthen a piece? Imagine “the Great Gatsby” getting edited today.
When I read Bessie Head’s “Maru” for the first time, I thought it was so fabulous I read it straight through TWICE before getting out of my chair.
by Cynthia
on October 15th, 2007 at 12:07 pm
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I had an agent critique the first 50 pages of my manuscript. My thriller is almost 100,000 word on the nose. She told me I should consider adding up to 20,000 words to it to round out my settings and characters.
Well, since its setting on my editor’s desk, that was advice I didn’t take.
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Wish I could write short. My first draft usually comes in somewhere around 95,000 words. The one I finished yesterday (yay!) came it at 98,000. I’m trimming right now. The book is due in two weeks, and the contract specifies 70,000-80,000 words, so I’ve got some work to do…
by JennieB
on October 15th, 2007 at 4:00 pm
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Um, why is all of our writing in italics?
by Laura
on October 15th, 2007 at 4:26 pm
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That’s weird, Laura. I don’t know!
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Halloween is coming.
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The italics could be a missing end tag. I stuck one in my post, just in case.
I think a book should be the number of words it takes to tell the story. No more, no less. My first book is a biggie (at 114K), but only because it tells an epic story. I could cut it down more, but then I’d lose some of the elements I think are necessary. The rest of my books are hitting between 80 and 95K, so far, but this new one I’m working on will probably top the scales over 100K again. *shrug*
As a reader, I’m the same way. If 1168 pages are needed to tell the story (like Atlas Shrugged), I’m happy to heft the weight around. =o)
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Great things come in small packages, Cynthia! Yes, I deplore the idea that bigger is necessarily better — if the story calls for bigger, that’s fine. There are big canvas stories and small canvas stories.
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Will, one thing you quickly learn about this businss is how subjective it is! It really is startling.
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Hey, JennieB, congrats on finishing the first draft! Now that’s a feeling I’ll never be jaded with. It’s like…woooohooo, my homework is finished!!!!
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Sp-p-p-ooooooooky! I thought, like B.E., that I’d left an end tag off, but doesn’t seem to be the case. Our blog is p-p-p-p-ossessed!
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Hey, B.E., I agree. Some stories simply take longer to tell well. It’s the idea that only a long, epic story could be worth telling that troubles me. There are essays that carry more punch than some entire novels; it all depends.
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Hi - The Man Booker Prize is 50,000 pounds, so the odd dollar amount is due to the currency exchange (and helps you see why, sadly, it’s so expensive to go visit the UK right now).
And I agree with all the other posters - too many books have too much padding, and could use some severe editiing. But I’m sure it’s hard for some writers, and editors, to know when they need to do so, and when they’ve got the one book that not only needs, but benefits from, the added verbiage.
by Kate
on October 26th, 2007 at 4:01 pm
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Ah, the EXCHANGE RATE. That makes sense, Kate.
Yes, it’s certainly hard to know when contracting an unyet unwritten book whether it can go long or lean, but once the book is written, it just requires an experienced eye — whether editor or author. Granted it takes most authors a few books before they’ve developed that eye.
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