The other day I was reading a story in the New Yorker that had what I consider the now-standard pattern of starting the reader with no information about the key characters so that it takes awhile to figure out who the narrator is and how he relates to the scene. (After a few pages I got the sense that he was a well-off doctor in his fifties or sixties on a vacation with his wife and some friends.)
Anyway, here's my beef. I've always found this sort of style annoying, in comparison to the more traditional opening ("Once upon a time there was a well-off doctor in his sixties named James. One day he went on a vacation with his wife and some friends . . ."). At the same time, I've been conditioned to think that the "New Yorker"-style opening is better, more true to life--after all, in real life, people aren't generally introduced to you with a "Once upon a time"!
But then I was thinking that maybe this New Yorker style isn't so natural. These stories are generally told from one character's perspective--and, from that perspective, you would actually know someone's name, age, etc. It's not so natural at all to have to spend the first part of a story figuring out who's talking to whom.
My new take on this is that this style is a cheat, a way of creating a feeling of mystery and suspense without doing the work to create actual mystery and suspense. Actual mystery is when there's a situation you should be able to understand, but you don't, there are some missing pieces that you're trying to figure out. Actual suspense is when you want to know what happens next. Fake mystery and suspense is when you're just confused and don't know what's happening.
For example, the movie North by Northwest is actually mysterious and suspenseful. But not because it's a cheat and everyone's in a fog and you don't know who's who; it's because you're in the position of a character who knows who he is, but he doesn't know what's going on around him. That's a little different, in my opinion. Similarly with, say, John Le Carre: there's lots of things that, as a reader, you don't understand, but you're clear right away on who's saying what.
Or, for that matter, Mister New Yorker, John Updike, who begins a story with, "The Maples had moved just the day before to West Thirteenth Street, and that evening they had Rebecca Cune over, because now they were so close." Lots of hidden meaning there, but none of this artificial confusion where you're basically thrown into someone's brain at a random moment and not given any background. Following John Updike (or, for that matter, John O'Hara), I think the real challenge is giving the right amount of background--not too much, and not too little. Zero is not usually a serious option, in my opinion.
But, if you're writing a story that really has no mystery and no suspense, then starting by giving the reader no information can be a good way to give the illusion of depth.
P.S. Just to be clear, I'm not complaining about the "start in the middle" approach where the story begins and then you use flashbacks or other revelations to give a sense of how things all got started. That makes a lot of sense to me. What I'm bothered by is the particular trick of not identifying anything explicitly about the main characters so that the first part of the story involves the reader having to figure out the basics.
P.P.S. Sorry for ranting again. Yes, I know, I know, nobody's forcing me to read this story. But these questions of style interest me.
P.P.P.S. These issues also arise when writing statistics books.
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