C.S. Lewis meets P.D. James

I just finished rereading C.S. Lewis’ ‘That Hideous Strength;’ the truly remarkable climax to his Space Trilogy (preceded by ‘Out of the Silent Planet’ and ‘Perelandra’). There is a LOT which could be said (and probably has been said much better than I could) about this book, but right now I want to focus on something that struck me particularly while reading it this time (well, one of the things); Lewis’ writing style.
I’m a writer myself, and am still puzzling out my own personal storytelling style, but if once it is worked out it doesn’t somewhat resemble Lewis’, I shall be quite surprised. I was particularly alert to this as I am, right now, also reading a mystery story called ‘Original Sin’ by P.D. James. In James’ book, I saw something which I’ve found in a great deal of modern novels I’ve read (particularly ones which take ‘realism’ as their watchword). Something that is absent from Lewis, Tolkien, and their ilk. Namely, the books spend a great deal of their (generally considerable) length inside their character’s heads. In ‘Original Sin,’ practically EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER gets a chapter-long mental dissection when they are first introduced; a run-down of their thoughts, their problems, their personal histories, their cynical attitudes and questions about other characters, and their motivations. Then after their introductions the book occasionally makes the rounds of the character’s points of view for a few chapters at a time. At the point I am at now, I’m practically screaming every time we get one of these discursions (and since I’m barely halfway through, I’ll probably be really screaming by the end).
I am not adverse to well-developed characters, but this is the most ham-fisted, cheapest way of getting there (or pretending you’ve gotten there). This technique is akin to the young writer who feels he has to describe every single detail about a room or an animal and do it very precisely. It leaves no room for reader involvement and ends up taking on the excitement of a police report. At times it feels like the authoress was so eager to have ‘three-dimensional’ characters that she wrote out these long-winded ‘development’ scenes out of a feeling of obligation; rather like how one feels obliged to invite everyone you know to a party for fear of someone feeling left out.
Of course, the main problem with these ‘development’ scenes is that they are BORING. We honestly don’t care that much about the detective’s sidekick’s problems with her boyfriend, or about the policeman’s inferiority complex. All it does is eat up a half-dozen pages and provide a blunt, clumsy attempt at ‘realism’.
Compare this with Lewis; he paints his characters with sure, deft strokes; briskly giving us enough information that we understand them without giving us a six-page autobiography every few chapters. We are told what we need to know about the characters when we meet them to get an initial grasp on them, then we move on. Later, more details are dropped as they become important to the story or the theme. If Lewis wrote with James’ style, we would have gotten a long introspective discussion of Mark’s desire to be in the ‘in crowd’ taking up the first chapter and several more later on repeating largely the same thing, only slightly altered to take in later events. This isn’t getting to know the character; this is being force-fed psychological data (and, more importantly, we would have lost all the dramatic impact of the scene where Mark realizes it for himself).
Furthermore, Lewis tells the story as much as possible through just two characters; Mark and Jane. We only leave their perspective occasionally, and when it is absolutely necessary. What’s more, while we get many talks of what motivates them, they are all INTERESTING, largely because they fit the context of the scene and are necessary to understand what is happening NOW. This makes it feel more like getting to know real people than being introduced to characters in a book. It also, incidentally, makes the characters easier to know. James’ habit of dumping the information on us in great dollops not only makes us care less and less about each new character, but also makes it occasionally difficult to remember who’s the one with the gay lover and who’s the one with the recurring nightmare.
I really wish I could inform writers like James that people don’t read books for their realistic characters; we can meet realistic people anytime we feel like stepping outside (if it’s even that difficult). Deep, ‘three-dimensional’ characters are NOT the point of literature. They’re nice, rather like extra accessories and a nice paint job on a car, but the point of a car is not to have a nice paint-job. The point of literature is to express truth or simply to entertain (or, more commonly, both). That is why ‘The Lord of the Rings’ is better literature than James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’ and Shakespeare is better literature than Tom Clancy.
‘That Hideous Strength’ does both of these things and does them both extremely well. ‘Original Sin,’ so far, has largely failed on both points. By focusing so much on the inner-workings of its characters, it leaves little room to showcase any particular truth (which would likely get lost in the web of character point of views) and becomes almost intolerably boring, so much that it becomes hard to care even about its central mystery (then again, I am not finished with it, so it might turn around in its second half, but I doubt it).
Ultimately, James’ book is just as artificial as Lewis’ because there is really no recapturing reality; James’ cynical ‘well-rounded’ characters are just as fake as Lewis’ characters. The difference is that Lewis, by not insisting that we ‘get’ that each character is a well-rounded, three-dimensional ‘person’ creates characters who are A). much more likeable and B). actually more realistic seeming; more like people you might meet in the street. People you meet don’t initially seem to be deep, ‘three-dimensional’ characters; they seem just like ordinary people. In Lewis, we get to know the characters by spending time with them. In James, we’re forced into their heads and told ‘learn this.’