Phase 3
Trust Me - I Make Up Stuff
Wasn’t it Groucho Marx who first said: “The secret of success is sincerity: once you can fake that you’ve got it made”?
Well, no, it wasn’t. Neither was it George Burns, although he did use it as a catchphrase in his act. In fact, according to Wikipaedia, the quotation seems to originate with the French essayist Jean Giradoux (1882-1944).
The story teller strives to create credibility. The character of the narrator may be weird, wacky, a grinning fop or simpleton or straight down the line reporter. The setting may be a gritty New York or eighteenth century France or a crater on Mars or the snowy wastelands of some fantasy epic. But the narrator has to be a consistent character all the way through the story. And, if you think about it, the credibility of the narrator can only be validated by the single voice of the author behind them all.
I’m running into the village square shouting that there is a tiger on the loose and there’s cattle in the top field with their throats ripped out. Or I’m trying to explain how delicious my butternut squash lasagne was in the excellent new restaurant that’s just opened in the High Street. Or I’m trying to warn the guys in the bar at the golf club where that there’s a speed camera on the road to Perdition.
These experiences are obviously important to me but how important are they to you? If you don’t belong to my village, or are on a diet or don’t own a car you may not see the relevance of this wild shouting. Yet I still might be able to grab your attention if you care for me as a person. If I am to believed, I will be believed because of my demeanour. I’m palpably scared by the tiger, delighted by the lasagne and quivering with rage that I just got caught speeding. It is my engagement that catches your attention and, because of your natural human empathy, you too become dragged in to my tale. You might even buy me a drink and sit me down and listen in empathetic silence. If it matters to me, it will probably matter to you.
As Donald Standish says: “Empathy is the driving force behind all human interaction.”
But empathy is not necessarily synonymous with sympathy for an unpleasant character. As you read Patricia Highsmith’s works, you may feel some empathy with Tom Ripley, but at heart he is a narcissist and a murderer so you really ought to save your tears.
“He believed me all the time simply because I was rude. Everyone suspects an eager desire to curry favour but rudeness for some reason is always accepted as a guarantee of good faith”. – Dorothy L. Sayers quoting Lord Peter Wimsey
Of course, I must be careful that you don’t suddenly think I’m putting on an act. I don’t want to appear to be crying wolf. Or Tiger. But as with many unscrupulous politicians I can get folk to listen if I appear sincere enough in my emotions. And I can claim credibility by supplying details that you think you recognise as being the truth. You hear what you expect to hear and therefore believe I am being entirely truthful.
if you don’t believe my story, you might believe in me. If I am consistent and, apparently, truthful.
One of the great story telling characters you may have read or heard about is Baron Munchausen; a fictional German nobleman created by the German writer Rudolf Erich Raspe in his 1785 book Baron Munchausen's “Narrative of his Marvellous Travels and Campaigns in Russia”.
I loved this book as a child. I borrowed it so often from the library in the village hall that my Mother ran that it practically fell apart. Munchausen’s stories are laughably unbelievable but when you have not gone about much in the world, everything is possible. The fictional Baron's exploits focus on his achievements as a sportsman, soldier, and traveller; for instance riding on a cannonball, fighting a forty-foot crocodile, and travelling to the Moon.
What I loved was the fact that The stories are apparently told by the enormously bewhiskered Baron himself. He begins by establishing some elements of realism. Usually in an exotic place but which seemed entirely plausible in a far off snowy country called Russia. I gave him the benefit of the doubt because I think, well, he seems to know what he’s talking about. I stumbled along after him in his breathless shenanigans.
These funny fantasies are still widely read to this day. And films and TV series have been made from them. The funny, authentic, old Baron Munchausen is one of the great story tellers and literary creations.
Except, (and here is the really delicious part of the story) there was a real Baron Munchausen. Born in Bodenwerder, Electorate of Hanover, the real-life Hieronymus Karl Friedrich, Freiherr von Münchhausen did actually fight for the Russian Empire in the Russo-Turkish War of 1735–1739. And afterwards he became a minor celebrity within German aristocratic circles for recounting boastful accounts of his military career. It was after hearing some of Münchhausen's stories, that Raspe adapted them satirically into literary form.
And now the story gets even more tasty. The real-life Münchhausen was deeply upset at the development of a fictional character bearing his name. He threatened legal proceedings against the book's publisher. Perhaps fearing a libel suit, Raspe never acknowledged his authorship of the work but, because of the first person narrative device, for a hundred years readers believed that the real Munchausen was the actual author of Raspe’s tales. And so it was, the fictional story-teller Munchausen became more widely known than the real-life story-teller Munchausen and far more widely known than the actual, actual story-teller Raspe. Or the other way round. Probably.
Anyway, You couldn’t make it up.
With Munchausen, it is the apparent sincerity of the narrator that hooks the listener in. Even though there are manifold absurdities and contradictions. But somehow, it is these very infelicities that gives the narration a sense of authenticity. It is like a photographer focusing his picture on one part of the of the scene whilst leaving all the rest blurry and out of focus. We accept those blurry bits as being reality in life even though they are actually just a jumble of pixels.
You may laugh AT my crazy Narrator but you need to laugh WITH me as I guide you through all the nonsense.
And here, I must be careful. A famous playwright once told me that the best thing to do was to research thoroughly, making lots of notes and then forgetting the whole lot and throwing all the notes in the bin. Any little nuggets that do creep in will appear entirely credible because they are genuinely part of what I remember. As a story-teller I can play with this blurring effect by claiming not to be able to remember something or by “accidentally” coming up with nuggets of truth as I ponder the subject. Sometimes I can even appear to free associate from truth into fantasy. Throw in some quotes and corroboraI wting evidence and I’m home and dry. But if I do bother to research some background I have to take care not to alert you the listener to the fact that you are being worked on. I must appear casually familiar with my surroundings and not draw attention to the little details I scatter around like confetti.
The art of story telling doesn’t lie in the amount of detail I can pack in but rather how much I can leave out.
As Raspe discovered, though, the more you can Establish time and place for your narrator, the more spurious evidence you supply, the more authentic he or she becomes however unbelievable their doings may appear. So, I implore you to remember: whose ever voice is on the page there is always another story-teller dangling the puppet.
As Dorothy L Sayers continues in the person of Peter Wimsey: “I never let him[the reader] get close enough to study detail”
Do you, dear reader, throw in your lot with the story-teller and follow blindly where you are led? Or do you ever feel obliged to check Wikipaedia yourself on the veracity of a story you are reading? Perhaps the next episode “Now you see it. Now you don’t.” will help guide you.