DAVID BARRIE
Thursday, 14th October 2010. On facts, and when to acquire them.
Write first; research later. Not a common dictum, I grant you, but one that seems to work for me. More to the point, the opposite does not, as I learned from my unsuccessful attempts at writing a Ph.D. thesis – that research begets research and before you know it you’re knee-deep in notes and wrestling with a hydra-headed host of hypotheses.
Far better I have found (albeit I’m talking about fiction here, not seeking scholarly truth) is to write what you think to be true and then correct it afterwards. That way, at least, you have done the bulk of the work before you allow yourself to lose endless time in squirreling away at the details. For facts rarely lie at the heart of a murder mystery. They are what lend it credibility (think of Michael Connelly’s grasp of LAPD bureaucratic formalities) or a sense of place (think of James Lee Burke’s descriptions of the Louisiana countryside, not to mention its culinary specialities), but they almost never underpin the intrigue. Indeed, a mystery in which the plot did turn upon a little-known fact or technicality would probably do little more than frustrate, since the reader would have no chance of solving the case for himself.
Well, I’ve finally reached the point with the new Franck Guerin novel that I can hide myself away in the library of the Cité de l’Architecture and pore over books and articles dealing with the architecture and construction of the Opera Garnier. It feels like being on holiday, after all these weeks of bolting together plot and sub-plots and carving out the contours of new characters. Thus, even though I know exactly what I need to know (where I’ve left things blank), and what I need to confirm (where what I’ve written is based on my recollection of past visits), I’m allowing myself to range about in undisciplined fashion, just for the fun of it. Thus I have discovered that the architect Charles Garnier wrote a book about the design and construction of the Opera which is both revealing and entertaining (Le Nouvel Opera de Paris – which is actually available online). It feels like an illicit pleasure – spending a few days turning pages without the obligation to write a single one. Little wonder I never got to be Dr. Barrie.
Write first; research later. Not a common dictum, I grant you, but one that seems to work for me. More to the point, the opposite does not, as I learned from my unsuccessful attempts at writing a Ph.D. thesis – that research begets research and before you know it you’re knee-deep in notes and wrestling with a hydra-headed host of hypotheses.
Far better I have found (albeit I’m talking about fiction here, not seeking scholarly truth) is to write what you think to be true and then correct it afterwards. That way, at least, you have done the bulk of the work before you allow yourself to lose endless time in squirreling away at the details. For facts rarely lie at the heart of a murder mystery. They are what lend it credibility (think of Michael Connelly’s grasp of LAPD bureaucratic formalities) or a sense of place (think of James Lee Burke’s descriptions of the Louisiana countryside, not to mention its culinary specialities), but they almost never underpin the intrigue. Indeed, a mystery in which the plot did turn upon a little-known fact or technicality would probably do little more than frustrate, since the reader would have no chance of solving the case for himself.
Well, I’ve finally reached the point with the new Franck Guerin novel that I can hide myself away in the library of the Cité de l’Architecture and pore over books and articles dealing with the architecture and construction of the Opera Garnier. It feels like being on holiday, after all these weeks of bolting together plot and sub-plots and carving out the contours of new characters. Thus, even though I know exactly what I need to know (where I’ve left things blank), and what I need to confirm (where what I’ve written is based on my recollection of past visits), I’m allowing myself to range about in undisciplined fashion, just for the fun of it. Thus I have discovered that the architect Charles Garnier wrote a book about the design and construction of the Opera which is both revealing and entertaining (Le Nouvel Opera de Paris – which is actually available online). It feels like an illicit pleasure – spending a few days turning pages without the obligation to write a single one. Little wonder I never got to be Dr. Barrie.