Character and action interwoven at climax.

Elements of plot construction: Climax — its possible nature; Complication involving an unavoidable obstacle; Circumstances leading to the complication; Characters — main and accessory; Environment Illustrative plots with explanation

Character and action interwoven at climax.

The essential of good plot is climax; the materials are character and action. It is the business of plot to find how these two elements can be most effectively played against each other for climax. The strength of neither can be measured by itself, for it is estimated, by its moving force, its power in conflict. Character is uncertain until it has met an obstacle. Action is uninteresting except as it comes into relation with men and women. A hurricane in an uninhabited part of the earth does not intimately concern us where we dwell. It is mere waste force. In the Short- story, however, there must be no waste force. Character and action react against each other, and the result is climax. In the progress of the story the relationship of character and action is changed. Something must happen to the characters, and characters must do something to further or check, the action. There must be an interweaving of materials, else there can be no design, no plot. "In other words, every story whose excellence is generally admitted is more than a picture of character, more than a good complication, more than a fragment of biography, and more than an exciting episode. It is all these together, and in it they are so arranged that the reader is surprised by what happens to the hero, and thrilled by what the hero does to each situation. This thrill is the thrill of drama, only if the hero somehow exhibits his human nature by conduct in a crisis." Since the focus of a story is the climax, the construction of a plot should always begin there. If one centers one's attention on the climax, one can be sure that the intermediate parts of the design will be logical. If one starts' at the other end, one cannot be so sure; for it is easier to trace an effect to its cause than it is to trace a cause to its effect. One should begin the work of construction, then, with climax. Now, the climax is very near to the end in the Short-story. It is the point of highest suspense to which everything has been leading. Its effect would be lost, if it were to be followed by extended conclusions. In the drama, however, the climax is at the middle of the story. It is the point of contact of all the several single actions. From it, there is a gradual untying towards a resolution at the end. In the Short-story, the climax and the resolution are practically simultaneous. There is no need of any extended untying, for the complication is within a single action. The complication is not of itself of sufficient importance to be interesting. Interest is all directed towards that which happens as a result of complication. This point of highest interest, this happening, this outcome, is the climax of the Short-story. "But what is the climax? Sometimes, the incident towards which all the episodes led, which collected, like a brass globe, all the electric charge of emotion, thought, or vivid impression to be drawn from the story. Sometimes, and much oftenest, the situation, which had been the root and first perception of the tale, and now, in this climax, was most sharply revealed. But among those Short- stories which differ most thoroughly from ordinary short narrative, or from the novel with its different view-point, a single impression, a vivid realization for the reader of that which moved the author to write, be it incident, be it emotion, be it situation, this is the conscious purpose of the story, and this is the climax." 1Yet every climax, be it a single impression or a vivid realization, must have its outward expression. In They, the climax is reached when the spirit-child drops a kiss in the center of the man's outstretched palm. It seems, indeed, an insignificant action, yet is a part of the subtle atmosphere which shapes the story. The real climax is, however, not the act of the child, but the sudden realization of loss which comes to the blind woman. All in a moment, she realizes that this man is accorded a privilege which she with all her love for children can never have, — for she has "neither borne nor lost." Thus is the climax stamped upon the main character. It is no less moving for the accessory character. Up to this time he moved through an atmosphere full of sunshine, flitting shadows, and faint echoes; he has been enwrapped in the loveliness of mystery. Now, in a moment of anguish, his eyes are undimmed; the truth flashes across his mind and he understands. The act of the spirit-child marked indeed the climax, but the climax was happening in the hearts of the characters. Again, the climax may be a simple remark which constitutes a revelation or a revenge. In Maupassant's The Necklace,it is a single remark, "Why, my necklace was paste. It was worth at most only five hundred francs." It is the last crushing blow to Madame Loisel. Although a climax may be expressed in almost any way, it is always in harmony with the nature of the story. The climax of a character story will show this character in some sort of crisis.' It may be an incident showing a positive change in condition or circumstances, it may be a decision, even a thought. If action predominates, the climax will be some incident; if setting, then this will rise to its height in climax. In short, climax and single impression must be in absolute harmony. The climax must be prepared for by a complication — some obstacle to the uninterrupted progress of the story must present itself. Yet an obstacle is not enough to cause climax. Suppose that one were driving in the country and expected to reach certain picnic grounds at a certain time, and suppose that just before the end, one should be confronted by a fence. This fence would be an obstacle to one's further progress. One might turn back and retrace the course; but then, one would fail to reach the picnic grounds. Nothing would have been gained. Suppose, now, that a gate should be noticed in the fence at this point. One needs now only to stop long enough to fling it open before one continues the journey. The fence, in such a case, is no real obstacle at all; it does not actually offer resistance to further progress; it merely delays progress. Now, suppose one had the chance neither of turning back nor of passing through the gate. The obstacle becomes at once real. Ordinary modes of procedure will avail not at all. Something extraordinary must happen. One will have to break the fence and incur the wrath of the owner. In the Short-story, circumstances are much the same: there must be an obstacle, an unavoidable obstacle; for there can be no turning back from a difficulty in the path. The difficulty is a necessary part of the story. Progression, too, rapid progression toward an end, is necessary. One must always move straight ahead in the direction of the climax. Nor can one be satisfied by finding an obstacle which can be easily set aside. Such an obstacle would create an anti-climax. The end would be so easy of attainment that it would fail to arouse interest. There would be no element of real suspense, and without suspense there can be no Short- story. If the obstacle is real and unavoidable, it will cause a conflict of some kind. This is perfectly evident. If two motor- cycles going in opposite directions should, in rounding a corner, run straight into each other, each might be called an obstacle for the other. Something would be sure to happen. One of the motor- cycles might escape slightly impaired, or be utterly smashed. Both might be destroyed and their riders left unceremoniously sprawling in a cornfield. Here is conflict resulting in some definite action. In the Short-story, however, when two forces conflict, one does not ordinarily expect complete annihilation of both. It is not certain, however, that the obstacle will always be crushed and the story move on straight thereafter. Sometimes the obstacle is the victor and the story must move on impaired to its conclusion. In this case climax and conflict coincide. It is always to be borne in mind that obstacle is not the conflict, but the cause of conflict. This obstacle may be a character, — since action may result from character as well as from incident. Anything that for the moment gets in the way of the free course of the story is an obstacle and gives rise to a conflict. The next requirement is that one construct circumstances which will lead up to complication and climax effectively. Everything in the Short-story plot must have movement. Here is no chance to gather flowers by the wayside. Rapidity, directness, governs everything that enters into plot. The circumstances, therefore, must be such that the complication will be the natural, the logical result. Many details which will further the effect may be worked in harmoniously in the later struc ture; but in the plot, one is eager to trace only the workings of cause and effect that lead not to the emotional impression, but to the technical, mechanical climax. Thus, in a few rapid sketch strokes, one must set forth definitely that which leads to the complication. In building a story, it is important here to be sure that the circumstances are strong enough actually to justify the complication. Of course, the circumstances may of themselves have several stages. There may be some character trait either in the main character or in the subordinate which may give rise to an event from which in turn the circumstances evolve. The event giving rise to the circumstances might be but a single word, an apparently unimportant decision, yet generally it points backward to some significant characteristic. Perhaps the first question after one has determined the climax is in regard to the characters of the story. There will have to be a main character. Will a man or a woman be more appropriate to the action? What sort of person shall he be, what his general nature, what his usual business? From what social class shall he be drawn? Approximately, what should be his age? Shall he be simply a colorless figure in the action, or shall he be shown as an individual with peculiar characteristics? Such questions are sure to occur immediately to the Short-story writer. To answer them, one examines the climax, and, as before, the theme and purpose. With these aids and common-sense, one should have little trouble in determining on a principal character. This• chief actor may be even an animal or a thing. .007, in Kipling's story of this name, is a powerful locomotive. While retaining the characteristics of a thing, it is, however, endowed with a sort of personality. Where animals or things become main characters, they are always personified and given human motives; they are moved by selfishness, pride, or ambition, just as are men and women. In a character story, the traits of the chief personage may actually further the movement. In such a case, one needs to determine carefully the nature and habits of the main character. It is essential that the characters should be true to the action, and in every respect consistent with their assigned parts. ,$etting may carry with it certain associations, and so may characters. However easy it may be to imagine a cook brandishing a carving knife, one would scarcely expect to see a seamstress gripping a revolver. Seamstresses might do for "hard luck" stories or for love stories, but they would surely be ugly ducklings in a sea-faring story. Characters must be, above all, appropriate to the action; they must be chosen because they are the characters best adapted for the purposes of the story. . Somehow, too, every character, to be individual, must be unique. Mere conformity to a type will not suffice. To be sure, one wishes to see a type represented, but yet more, to see an individual. Mere conformity will not mark out a person from a crowd. A thief might steal apples, but the fact that he had stolen apples does not in itself distinguish this thief from a thousand others who may have done the same thing. Show the sly method this thief had of stealing the apples, and you have revealed all his innate trickiness; you have represented an individual. A main character must do something uniquely expressive of his own personality, else we shall never believe in him as an actual individual. If a character is only consistent in his action, then one cannot be sure of him. He has not been thoroughly tested. After he has been tested, then one knows thoroughly well what he is and what he will do. Naturally, then, the plot- builder will have no superficial acquaintance with his characters. He must know them through and through, must have an instinctive feeling for what they would or would not do, in order to make them appear not merely consistent, but unique. Rarely will one character suffice for a story. Utter soliloquies are rare and unnatural. Men do not struggle often to themselves. There are always spectators, sympathizers, opponents, or fellow-combatants. These, too, have their sharg in making a story possible; few of them will be necessary to the plot movement itself. An accessory character may even be the obstacle. Certain effects or conditions of character are often best exhibited in contrast with certain other characters. If a character is played against another of the same general type, he will show to best advantage_ his own individuality, his strength, and his weakness. Then, again, it may be well to contrast altogether different types. Sometimes an additional character is necessary in order that a story may be more effectually linked to time and circumstances. Not all accessory characters, however, will ordinarily appear in the bald plot statement; some appear properly only in the fully developed plot — the structure. In the plot statement, also, there may or may not be expressed the environment. No matter what the story, it must happen somewhere, and it must have some definite time setting. Of course, some stories might happen anywhere. Rather frequently, however, the environment has developed characters of a certain special type, and the things that the characters do, or the things that are done to them, could happen only in this one environment. One of the first matters, then, to be determined about a Short-story is just this: Does the environment really affect the plot movement? If so, one must settle immediately time and place. In the Short- story, time has no definite limits. Usually the time is not more than a day or two. It may be a few minutes or an hour. Sometimes, it extends over practically a whole life.' One can watch a certain condition of mind growing throughout a whole life, to find its climax of intensity or change only at the last. Only one thread of cause and effect is traced, and the narrative for all its passage of time is but a Short-story. The same principle holds true with reference to place. One part of a story might happen in New Orleans-, another part in the Canadian woods. Unity of time and place are not essential to a Short-story. The essential is that the environment be natural and appropriate. It must fit into its place in the plot machinery. Several illustrations.may, perhaps, assist in showing just what constitutes a good plot. Of Thomas Bailey Aldrich's whimsical story, Marjorie Daw,the plot is as follows: Wishing to relieve for his friend the tedium of a temporary disablement, a young man writes him suggestively of a girl, — wholly imaginary, — across the street, and is dumbfounded by the result, — a case of passionate love for the unseen charmer and the sudden coming of the convalescent to see and win her. The plot is simple, it is slight. The main character is evidently the disabled friend. The second character is really a part of the machinery of plot. The story could not move without him, yet he is a comparatively colorless individual. He must be displayed with just enough character to be capable of carrying on a ruse such as this is. What of Marjorie Dow, after whom the story is named? She is not a character at all, — but merely a tool. She does nothing, nothing is done to her. She is purely a creation of the mind, a charming dummy. She is the complication, the obstacle of. the plot. In the corn pleted story, other characters appear, but for the plot only two are necessary. Where, in this story, is the climax? Is it the final discovery of the lover that he has been hoaxed, or is it his determination to come to the lovely Marjorie Daw? If the climax is the final exemplification of the theme, and if the theme is, as has been suggested, "the power of ideals," then the man's decision to hasten to her is surely the climax. Suspense really reaches the highest point at this moment, not later; for one's interest has been centered throughout on the question whether or. not a real love- affair is going to spring up. That question must be settled before one can consider the other, — whether or not he will win her. It is noteworthy that with the end of suspense there is no end of interest. Interest does not decline till the last word of the dénouement is said, till one has felt the fulness of the final surprise which this plot is bound to bring with it. Tension may be relieved without any letting go of interest. The climax here has merely relieved the tension. The circumstances leading to the complication are the letters which must be written continuously, — letters which must interest the recipient. The cause of the circumstances which lead to the complication appears, likewise, in this plot. The friend is disabled. Environment is not necessary to the plot. This incident might happen anywhere. To be sure, it is given an environment, but this does not appear in the simple plot statement; for it is not essential to movement. The simple plot of The Revolt of Mother is: A wife deliberately moves into a large new barn built by her self-willed, thoughtless, and stern husband on a spot long cherished for a promised new house. The main character, the wife, is plainly indicated. Nothing is said of her, except that she has long cherished the promise of a new house and that she moves into the barn deliberately. Her husband, an accessory character, is more carefully characterized. Evidently this story is to reveal character in conflict. A strong will is going to be pitted against another strong will. The climax is the moving. The complication, the cause of bringing the two characters into conflict, is the building of a new barn. The circumstances which lead to the complication are to be found in the character of the husband, his sternness and thoughtlessness of his promise of a new house. Here, circumstances amount almost to a negative motive. Kipling's The Man Who Would Be King is very different from either of the two preceding stories. Having persuaded the natives of Kafiristan to regard them as gods suddenly come into the country, two crown-ambitious men remain as kings until one of them, seeking greater security of power for himself, by his wishing to take from among the people a wife, reveals that he and his friend are but men, and brings death upon himself and disgraceful expulsion upon his companion. This plot is more complex than any yet examined. The climax is the revelation to the natives that the two men are not gods. From that moment they cease even to be kings. What follows is only their punishment. The complication is the desire of the leader to take• a wife. The circumstances leading to the complication are found again in the nature of the central character. He becomes increasingly ambitious and wishes to rule as a permanent monarch. It is plain at once that the story demands several characters. The natives of Kafiristan appear as a background. The central character is the king who through lack of prudence causes the complete fall of himself and of his friend. From the plot, very little is known of him except that he is in the beginning crown- ambitious, and, as time goes on, becomes yet more so. The companion is, likewise, crown-ambitious, but he is content with less power than the other has. Evidently, he is a secondary character used as some sort of background for the first. The main character stands out the more clearly as leader in presence of a second less powerful. This second character, too, is narrator. He is more. Kipling has aimed to show how in India, that land of contrasts, one may indeed be "Brother to a prince and fellow to a beggar, if he be found worthy." The second character fulfils the first in the writer's purpose for the story. The picture of the king is not complete without the picture of the beggar, also, as an interpretative complement. There is a famous painting by Paris Bordone in which amid the regal splendor of the Ducal Palace, a fisherman, half-clad and trembling, is presenting to the Doge, St. Mark's ring, the pledge of promised reward. Such is the main picture, but in the lower right- hand corner at the foot of the steps that lead upward to the Ducal throne there sits the barefoot, fisherman's lad, a boy of the people, gazing with "wide- eyed curiosity" at the glitter and pomp before him. The lad fulfils the picture. It is true that he is needed in the painting for a technical purpose, — simply to fill in a portion of the canvas where a side- view of the steps would otherwise leave, in the foreground, a broad space unoccupied. Yet the lad has a further purpose; - he acts as an inter-. pretative complement. Just so is the lesser char acter needed in The Man Who Would Be King,— asa narrator, but also as a complement. An indefinite continuance of the process of plot examination would confirm, not change this view of essentials of plot. In it one finds the main characters with more or less hint as to their general nature and motives, the circumstances leading to the complication, this complication, and climax. Sometimes the climax and denouementare separate; sometimes they coincide. Sometimes the circumstances leading to the complication are to be found in the nature of the character. Usually, the plot statement contains, beside the main character, one or two accessory characters. To study plot a little more thoroughly, however, let us analyze in more detail another story- plan, — that of The Outcasts of Poker Flat: Four disreputable characters, exiled from town, start to. cross a mountain range; but, halting for rest, are overtaken by a snow-storm and perish. The theme, as has been stated, is the acceptance of chance as a controlling motive; the purpose is to show the essential soundness of heart that can coexist with outward conventional badness. Bearing this in mind, let us try to follow Bret Harte's steps in the construction of his plot. There is a clear reason for every movement. The climax is evidently the death of the outcasts. It could be nothing else, if climax represents the final outworking of the theme; for risk of life is the greatest chance that can be taken, and death is the extreme to which acceptance of chance might lead one. One asks, however, whether it would not have been just as satisfactory if death had been merely faced, not met. Is there a reason that death should at length conquer? Merely facing an event, however fearful, is not actually experiencing it. There must be a complete yielding to make the acceptance sure and perfect. So much for the climax and the theme. The climax is, however, also in perfect harmony with the purpose. If anything will avail to bring out the spark of good in character, the imminence of death will do it. Four characters are mentioned in the plot state-. ment. It seems as if one main character ought to suffice. Yet here, no one main character is definitely marked out. All four were evidently regarded by Bret Harte as essential to the plot. A person who would accept chance as a controlling motive would have to be of a cool, calculating nature. Although It is not at all impossible that a woman should have such a disposition, yet it is improbable. A man would be much more appropriate to this story. Picture a man of a cool, calculating disposition. Almost instinctively you bring him into comparison with his opposite — some one who lacks his qualities, who does not measure carefully every act to see just how it may result. Bret Harte made this uncalculating person a woman. Man and woman, representing the calculating and the uncalculating types, are here contrasted. To make the central character stand forth unique, however, he must be shown beside his own kind. He must show himself somehow superior to those with whom he associates, not simply in his skill and foresight, but in his essential nature; hence another man is introduced, one who is also of a calculating nature. Three characters are thus accounted for, one central, two as accessories for contrast. The picturing of the central character would demand no more. Yet the theme demands still another. In order that the acceptance of chance as a controlling motive may be fully displayed, not only must the calculating and uncalculating be shown, but in the acceptance of chance, man must be contrasted with woman, man must be contrasted with man, and woman must be contrasted with woman. Two men and two women, therefore, appear in the simple plot statement. These characters are all taken from one class — outcasts. The plot calls them disreputable characters exiled from town. It is necessary that they should be such, for the purpose of the story is to show the latent good hidden deep in evil. The characters must be bad; that is taken for granted. The lower down in the social scale, therefore, these characters are placed, the more surprising and hopeful is the discovery of any lingering spark of good. Since outcasts are at the extreme foot of the social scale, they, of all people, are most fittingly used in a story of this kind. As the complication, preparatory to the climax, Bret Harte used a sudden heavy snowfall in the mountains. Yet to imprison his characters, thus, seems a slow and unsatisfactory way to kill them. An avalanche sweeping everything in its path, a sudden slip over a precipice, would certainly have done the work just as thoroughly. In such case, however, the outcasts would not have accepted chance at all; they would have been merely overtaken by chance. To accept it, they must realize its full measure; they must see plainly what is ahead of them; they must have time to consider. Death must, then, come upon them gradually. Time, too, must be allowed for character development. Something may in the interval arise to call out the best that is in these outcasts. There might be several ways of showing them squarely facing death. They might be awaiting execution within a limited number of days. Such a situation, however, would contradict the original proposition: these characters are outcasts. Society has indeed turned against them, but it has contented itself merely by turning its back, not by disposing of them utterly. Again, were they awaiting execution, they would be dealing with men and law, not with chance. There could then be no indefiniteness. Isolation, involving cold and starvation, would seem satisfactorily to meet every requirement. It will not cause immediate death, but it may give ample time for character development under favoring conditions. A mountain was easily chosen as a suitable place for such an event to happen. There is further appropriateness, also, in severing these men and women from contact with society even at the time of their final Struggle. They are outcasts in life, they should be outcasts in death. If they leave one town, they must die before they reach the next; for they are really not outcasts at all, if after they have been driven from one town, they are received by the people of another. So long as they are on their way, they continue under the social ban. The circumstances from which the complication springs consist of a simple halting for rest on the journey. This action seems almost incidental; no one suspects that it will have dire results. Circumstances again can be referred to character. Ordinarily, people would not halt at all, midway across a mountain range; and if, perchance, they should halt, it would be for a short time, not for a full night. Thus, one sees how carefully a plot is constructed. There is evident an orderly and logical sequence from character and plot circumstances to climax. Each part has been accounted for by what immediately precedes. Yet one notes how the writer's theme and purpose have acted as guide-posts throughout the way. Not only did they decide the climax, but with the climax they decided every other step. Naturally one cannot say that every story that is a work of art is constructed in some such toilsome way as this. Some plots form themselves hurriedly and exactly without much interference from the writer. Yet, until one has learned to think out stories logically, without toying with the little irrelevancies, the fancied elegancies; until one has thoroughly grasped the spirit of Short-story form and movement; one should test every story by some such plan as this.