Writing about Death

In the months since my personal bereavement, I've had a problem with my writing. It's not been a fatal problem, but it's been a problem nonetheless. I couldn't write about death.

Now there are plenty of authors who've had runaway successes with novels that don't so much as include a bruise or a small cut. I've written them, and plan to write them, myself. But I do feel the need to use death where possible. Like in a murder mystery scenario, for example. I tried writing something like that a while back, a highly fantastical scenario based on Golden Age detective fiction. I was doing well. But when I returned to it in the weeks and months after my bereavement, I couldn't move it forward beyond the fifth chapter.

I just couldn't' reconcile myself to writing about death in such a way. It wasn't as if the death was bloody. That actually made it worse. I find writing about bloodless death more difficult anyway, but since my own loss was bloodless, there was an unpleasant association combined with the story I was writing and the themes I was using for the central narrative. And when I began editing another work I'd completed before the event, I found the deaths there disturbing. And they did have blood. It was as if some deep switch had been flicked. Its message clear; avoid death.

But a few days ago, something happened. I was writing the opening scenario for the next chapter of my current story -- a Shinto-inspired story inspired by series like CSI:NY and the Japanese genre of "Kori no tatakai" -- and in that opening segment two people died. They died in a relatively violent way. I wrote about it, and it wasn't until I was talking to my mother about it that it hit me. I'd written about death, and I'd even written this death-infused premise some days before, and I hadn't felt squeamish.

I've since gone back and read it, and continued writing this particular part of the story. And I haven't actually run up against anything more than my usual problems of creating a compelling narrative within a 8-10,000 word limit. It feels strangely liberating. I've scaled that mountain, conquered at least some of that little thing holding me back. I feel like I can begin again. I can't go back to the way things were. Who can? But I can at least rebuild something, learn from my experience, and no longer be afraid.

On Research reading - Battle Royale

Anyone reading the title may have several different interpretations of those two words; "Battle" "Royale". In its original form "battle royal", it's a large and implied exclusive event where several combatants (be they cockerels, plantation slaves, or professional wrestlers) fight in a contest until only one is left standing. Kind of like a violent musical chairs. In gaming recently, the term "battle royale" is a genre where a number of contestants fight against each other in a shrinking open world arena. This stems from a Japanese concept, codified in the 1999 novel Battle Royale by Koushun Takami.

Battle Royale was controversial for a number of reasons, principally because of its scathing deconstruction of Japanese society, its Lord of the Flies-like examination of civilised behaviour breaking down, and its high level of violence contextualised into a scenario that combines The Running Man with a perverted last-man-standing game scenario. It's a novel that falls into a category that you might called "gleeful despair fiction", as it seemingly revels in the misfortunes of its characters and the system they're under isn't brought down.

I picked up a copy of the original 2006 translation at last year's BristolCon. It wasn't being sold, and I thought I'd give it a good home as it was a historical curiosity. Over a week ago, I decided to read it. It was intrigued by how it was painting its characters, but after I was around 80 pages in, I began to falter and reconsider the book. The despair and pessimism was suffocating, and it suffered from something that appears to be common to Japanese fiction; a phenomenon called "verbal diarrhoea". It just doesn't know when to stop. And it certainly revels in descriptions of its gore and the many dead bodies.

I'd have expected my first reaction to a book like that would be to just put it down and perhaps put it in the family chuckout box. But then I reconsidered. It was, in many ways, the foundation of a multimedia genre. It wasn't that bad, even if it did get a little telegraphic in its writing style (understandable given Takami's background as a reporter). It was an example that handled a large number of characters, and while I'd lost interest, it did allow me to feel for each death despite them only being thumbnail sketches. There's skill there, even if it's applied in areas that aren't to my taste.

So instead of just dismissing the book as I'm sure others have done, I decided to create a special new section on my bookshelves for what I'd term "research books". They're books that I wouldn't enjoy as pleasure reading, but I think are still necessary reading for someone who's trying to make a career out of writing. It's not the easiest thing in the world to realise that your breadth of reading needs to include both your favourites and those works you dislike. It's a learning experience, but one that's more than valuable.