13 September 2004
Belief
As writers, we have to give our readers enough of a framework for our imagined world to make it stick in their minds. It must be memorable and convincing. The image of that imaginary world must withstand interruption, putting the book down for a day or more. When the reader returns to the text, the way back inside the story must be easy to find.
So we tap into ideas that have currency. And some of our ideas chime so closely with what people already thought - or what people like to imagine - that they become accepted as truth, as gospel.
And if we can, we introduce shocks - reversals of the expected - to stimulate and entertain. We do this by getting our readers to tune in to our 'sequence of imaginary events' and live them alongside our characters. Then we can use their expectations ... even manipulate their expectations.
That makes it interesting to think about what people believe in and why.
Take, for example, the myth that we only use 10% of our brains. Many exponents of the paranormal maintain that accessing the extra 90% allows us to experience the supernatural - or to be supernatural ourselves. But it isn't true. We use our brains very fully - even when watching television or doing very little. Even when sleeping.
But a story about someone who accesses a supposedly hidden power from the supposedly dormant part of their brain can be a great story.
The PR for ancient Chinese civilisation has been extraordinary. I expect the majority of people, when asked where medicine first developed, would say China. But although Chinese herbalists started to write down their preparations and experiences around 2000 years before the birth of Christ, the Egyptians had a head start of at least 1000 years.
But a story about someone who becomes immersed in Chinese culture, language and civilisation and learns long-forgotten truths from supposedly the world's earliest doctors can be a fantastic story.
Many people believe that there was once a golden age. Some consider that this golden age reached its acme in the fabled city of Atlantis or perhaps in the classical civilisations of ancient Greece or Rome.
Alongside this belief it does not matter that Aristotle believed that the purpose of the brain was to cool the blood - like the radiator on your car cools the water circulating around the engine. It doesn't matter that Galen, doctor to Rome's gladiators in about 150AD, noticed that his warriors lost their faculties after damage to their brains. That's another story.
And it doesn't matter either that Aristotle recommended goat's urine as a cure for baldness. The interesting thing is that baldness made him so desperate. Objectively, did it matter that one of the known world's cleverest people was bald? Not at all, But subjectively? It mattered to Aristotle. It mattered to that particular human being in that particular story.
We can set our stories - if we wish - in a supposed utopia, a perfect society. We can look our readers in the eye and tell them that the brain is a radiator that cools the blood. We can tell them that if they awaken the unused portions of their brains, they can control the fall of dice or read the minds of their opponents across the negotiating table.
We can bring our readers with us inside the Labyrinth.
