Resonance in the Novel

What’s resonance? dictionary.com calls it “the quality in a sound of being deep, full, and reverberating” or “the reinforcement or prolongation of sound by reflection from a surface or by the synchronous vibration of a neighboring object.”

At least metaphorically, though, resonance isn’t limited to sound. In photography, we might consider resonance a layering (that “deep, full, and reverberating” aspect) and a connection through “a surface or by the synchronous vibration of a neighboring object.”

Obviously, undoctored photos capture only what’s there. But it’s all about the angle. Juxtaposition and reverberation reveal what isn’t immediately visible. 

This introduces the potential to see and perhaps feel something we hadn’t previously.  Fiction does its work this same way. 

To “resonate” literally means to bounce back and forth between two states or places. Resonate comes from the Latin word for “resound.” In sound, resonance is a prolonged response to something that caused things to vibrate….      Resonance in writing is something that affects us the same way. It’s an aura of significance, significance beyond the otherwise insignificant event taking place. It’s caused by a kind of psychic reverberation between two times, places, states, or spheres… — “Literary Resonance in the Art of Writing,” Lighthouse Writing Tips

Language and description are tools for layering comparison, contrast, texture, insight, and, above all, empathy—that “faculty to resonate with the feelings of others” (Matthieu Ricard). 

To illustrate, here’s a sentence without resonance: 

Her undiagnosed dementia only affects current recollections. 

The language is clinical. You encounter this character without much noticing, much less feeling, and as George R. R. Martin observes, “fiction is about emotional resonance, about making us feel things on a primal and  visceral level.” 

How does that happen? Resonance. In Dean’s novel, individual loss reflects the broader cultural one, because the primary plot merges with the subplot. Instantly comprehensible metaphor transforms an intellectual understanding into an empathetic one. Here’s the original sentence:

Whatever is eating her brain consumes only the fresher memories, the unripe moments― Debra Dean, The Madonnas of Leningrad

This no longer describes the plight of an individual. The portrait has become universal. Resonance accomplishes that via a metaphor that causes us to look differently, which is a primary purpose of fiction. Without losing focus on the protagonist, complete the picture by introducing reflection, background, or unexpected emphasis. What can you reveal to make readers stop and take notice? How can you make this feeling, this moment resonate?

Tip: Construct a fictional world that's fully dimensional rather than predictable and flat. 

**** Laurel's new book, Beyond the First Draft, is now available from Amazon or Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing. **** 

“R’s” for Writers

One could easily generate an alphabet for writers, or an alternate list of words starting, for example, with “s.” Fair enough. Today, though, “r” is the star.

~ Recurrence.

Introduce a series of symbols, character traits, facial tics, faux pas, or whatever to build intensity. Just be careful to add and develop rather than merely repeat.

~ Reflection.

A lot of important writing happens minus paper or keyboard. Mull possibilities. Have a notebook or smart phone handy to record them.

~ Repetition.

For readers, this is a dirty word—a disgustingly dirty one. Clean up by varying syntax, word choice, scene openings and closings, and so on. Redundancy is NyQuil for words.

~ Resolution.

Earn it. This means that your protagonist, antagonist, and many members of the supporting cast, face situations and decisions that necessitate growthful change. An earned ending is one you set up, ideally, in the first chapter, perhaps even within its first paragraph.

~ Resonance.

In Literary Resonance in the Art of Writing, the author suggests that 

To “resonate” literally means to bounce back and forth between two states or places. Resonate comes from the Latin word for “resound.” In sound, resonance is a prolonged response to something that caused things to vibrate. When sound reverberates, it's resonating within a bounded space, like the body of a guitar. Thunder often resonates/reverberates across an uneven landscape….Resonance in writing is something that affects us the same way. It's an aura of significance, significance beyond the otherwise insignificant event taking place.      

The novel escalates the potential for emotional and thematic connection when first, characters and events resonate with universal experience, and second, when details and description offer both literal and symbolic meaning. This can be overdone. But without experimenting, how can you know whether layering would enrich?

~ Reverberation. 

Literally, “a remote or indirect consequence of some action,” or “the repetition of a sound resulting from reflection of the sound waves” (dictionary.com) How does this relate to fiction? Strong images and plot points affect characters—and readers—long after the initial moment fades away.

~ Revisitation.

The sestina, a 13th century French poetic form, enhances meaning by changing the context each time the author revisits a complex pattern involving six words. In fiction, the parallel is motif, which reexamines the word or concept under different circumstances. The original meaning evolves, becoming more nuanced. Instead of constantly changing the palette of details, let significance percolate within the space between one mention of a lighthouse, and the next and the next, as Virginia Woolf does in the novel of that title, or Harper Lee does with mockingbirds. 

Tip: Revise to provide resolution through the recurrence that contributes resonance.

The Novelist’s Neglected Child

The middle child syndrome is prevalent enough to earn entry in the Urban Dictionary.  Dr. Touraj Shafai defines this as a child “not getting enough attention and love because the parents are busy and providing more attention and care to the oldest and the youngest children.”

Does this reflect how novelists sometimes view their work? “I’m busily revising my opening till it’s practically perfect,” one writer tells another. “The end is what turns me on” is the reply. “Fireworks! Transformed characters! Completed arcs!” Many novelists revel in either the inciting incident or the climax, neglecting the middle brainchild.

It could be that the middle drags along, lacking direction, constantly rambling about the past, and describing everything while doing very little. Your listless one can evoke exhausted listlessness in its originator. Yes, the middle is the difficult position, and difficult is usually the least loved.  The middle offspring faces:

·         Sluggishness.

·         Redundancy.

·         Arrested development.

·         Obsession with the past.

·         Stagnation.

·         Precocious urge to figure out and solve everything—instantly.

No wonder the novelist wants to concentrate on the thrilling potential of the youngster or urbane sophistication of the one beautifully grown.  But like a good parent, a good novelist loves all three offspring, and as equally as possible.

There’s hope—plenty of it, actually, for the middle, the one raising those offspring, and those encountering them in a book that works from start to finish.

Tip: The middle is where all the fun happens.

You can bring out the best in your under-appreciated middle with:

v  Defeat.

Are you coddling the middle of your novel like a sensitive child? If so, stop.  Make trouble. Trap. Corner. Ravage your characters. They might object, but your readers never will.

v  Motivation.

Which events and pressures cause the protagonist to change and grow?

v  Foreshadowing.

How can you hint—neither invisibly nor obviously—what’s ahead?

v  Surprise.

Is the middle one a little obstreperous? If not, time to encourage that. After all, psychologists are divided over whether it’s a desirable or difficult position to hold. Go for desirable.

v  Resonance.

How can the middle integrate what precedes with what follows? Echoes are great fun. Let readers enjoy them.

v  Insight.

Isn’t the fun of the novel the journey rather than the arrival? That’s where this child really shines. Take advantage.

Love the beginning, middle, and end equally—and your readers will, too.