Tag Archives: theme

The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Novel – Part 1 of 2

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screenshot-2016-10-05-06-39-34Michael Punke found enough good ideas in the journals about Hugh Glass to write a novel. At the end of the book, the author acknowledged his historical uncertainties. Alejandro G. Inarritu also found good ideas in The Revenant about the life of Hugh Glass. Inarritu strayed far enough from the Punke story to barely (or shall I say bear-ly) resemble the novel. For weeks, I wondered why Inarritu changed the story. Why mess with a good thing?

The answer to that question came unexpectedly in a screenwriting class. In this two part series, Part One explores the highlights of the novel.  Then, Part Two will show why the screenplay requires a different story and where the screenplay excels. In terms of the classic elements of story, The Revenant is rich in conflict, characters and resolution, which is the structure of the story, the plot.

It’s a Good Book When . . .

1) The action scenes are hazardous to my health.  Mesmerized by each blow of the grizzly bear’s paw, I listen to the audio book, slowing in my driving speed. Other cars are whipping past at 90mph. My car rocks in their wake until the bear’s final swipe. Punke’s novel drops stunning action into almost every scene. Action is conflict. And in this novel, the conflict is evenly spread between nature, man and self. In one scene, a snake strikes with deadly poison. Visualizing the scene, I can hardly grip the steering wheel. Also, I’m thankful I tackled this story in the heat of summer, because I feel cold in 90 degree weather. Other hazards include the frontier skirmishes with different tribes–a few fur trappers against what seems like an Arikara army. I want to duck for cover under the dashboard from the assault of arrows. For self-conflict, Glass battles his own desire for revenge when he finds Bridger, one of the volunteers left to care for him. Bridger’s haunted and tortured thoughts echo in my memory foreshadowing what is to come. Punke writes, “Stunned silence filled the room as the men struggled to comprehend the vision before them. Unlike the others, Bridger understood instantly. In his mind he had seen this vision before. His guilt swelled up, churning like a paddle wheel in his stomach. He wanted desperately to flee. How do you escape something that comes from inside? The revenant, he knew, searched for him” (p. 201).

2) The characters’ problems are larger than life. As I open the refrigerator to pull out a ready-made dinner in my heated house with clean running water, I lose appreciation for the survival challenges of two hundred years ago. The Revenant is written about fur trappers in 1823. Survival requires creativity, skill and courage. Glass must somehow find food without a knife, gun or a fast food restaurant on every corner. The descriptions of ways to trap small animals, catch fish and defeat other predators draw in the mystified urban reader. Along Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, Glass must find shelter and eventually transportation. I marvel at the “live or die” mentality that forces Glass to confront wolves feeding at a buffalo carcass. Without food, Glass will be too weak to heal, to live, and most importantly to seek revenge.

3) When revenge is not so sweet. The Revenant is an object story. This revenge-fueled obsession is because of a stolen gun. Punke devotes pages to describing the Anstadt, “a so-called Kentucky flintlock, made, like most of the great arms of the day by German craftsmen in Pennsylvania” (p. 18). Two hundred years ago, a gun was life, and Glass trusted his life to his reliable and beautiful gun. That’s why the novel’s bear attack has Glass drop to one knee and aim to shoot the bear’s heart at exactly the right distance to kill. Punke builds rich backstories for Fitzgerald and his motive to take the gun and continue in his corrupt ways. The stolen knife, however, fills Bridger with guilt. As for resolution, stories end with the character either accomplishing the goal or not. Glass finds both Bridger and Fitzgerald (not much of a spoiler). Each reader will have to decide whether Glass is satisfied with the non-Hollywood ending.

In summary, the novel adds a rich historical perspective of life on the frontier. Scenes with French voyageurs, Yellow Horse and an unlucky Captain Henry heighten this storytelling. A quick internet search on Hugh Glass brings poems, songs, historical accounts and movies. The lore and fictional accounts elevate Hugh Glass to legend. Each fictional remake of the fur trapper and mountain man adds to his story. In Part two of “The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Film,” the legend shifts in a new direction.

 

This Is Your Brain on Sentences

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the-high-mountains-of-portugalWords express emotions, actions and sensations. Both short Hemingway-ish power sentences and long clause-embedded beauties force me to marvel at the craft, inventive structure and grammatical placement. I go back, reread and savor an author’s phrase word by word. Reading is good food for the brain.

Now science proves what literature already knew. Neuroscience News reveals a study about predicting the areas of the brain activated by words in a sentence. Previous studies mapped the brain on the meanings associated with words. For example, the article cites the word “play” which triggers brain areas associated with biomotion and arousal. With a deliberate thought to brain play, it’s time now to hunt for some examples of brain tingling responses.

A perfect source of material is Yann Martel’s The High Mountains of Portugal. For readers of Life of Pi, Martel’s latest book combines unusual characters with somber themes, apes, and a special something extra of magical realism on the top. I listened to the audio book first and then sought the written copy to reread my favorite parts. Heck, I pretty much reread the whole book. The pure escape of Martel’s writing saved me when I had an unpleasant chore to tackle. Plugging my brain into Martel’s Portugal transformed the experience.

Lingering Despair

The novel begins with a quirky character Tomas who is heartbroken from the death of his son and the woman he loved. “ . . . he is ambushed by a memory of Dora, smiling and reaching out to touch him. For that, the cane is useful, because memories of her always throw him off balance” (Martel 2).

Martel uses the uncle to ask, “Why? Why are you doing this? Why don’t you walk like a normal person?” (9) My brain sympathizes with Tomas’ sadness and his peculiar manner of walking. Martel explains that “what his uncle does not understand is that in walking backward, his back to the world, his back to God, he is not grieving. He is objecting. Because when everything cherished by you in life has been taken away, what else is there to do but object?” (12).

Pestering Itch

Tomas begins his own quest for a sacred artifact in the high mountains. Preserving the past, the legends, and the myths, the mountains are also primitive and resist the modern. Soon, Tomas “is itchy all over, in a manner that is absolutely maddening, precisely because he is a tornado of vermin, with a civilization of lice, fleas, and whatnot dancing upon his head” (Martel 82). And ten pages later, my own skin crawls with imaginary lice. I feel Tomas’ relief when “he raises his ten fingers in the air. His blackened fingernails gleam. With a warlike cry, he throws himself into the fray. He rakes his fingernails over his head-the top, the sides, the nape–and over his bearded cheeks and neck.” And the scratching and grunting satisfaction continued for several pages, but I turn down the volume and glance around to see if any of the neighbors have come to find the source of such groans.

Nauseating Unease

Autopsy is common on the prime time television series. Martel cleverly calls “every dead body . . . a book with a story to tell, each organ a chapter, the chapters united by a common narrative” (137). My lessons in anatomy are limited to life drawing classes. Dissections ended in ninth grade biology with a starfish and frog. And my experiences with decay are limited to the latest zombie movie or the refrigerator crisper drawer. Martel lures squeamish readers, like me, into the examiner’s office. The coroner, Eusebio, “is used to being greeted by the Mortis sisters when he comes to work. The oldest, Algor, chills the patient to the ambient temperature; Livor, the middle sister, neatly applies her favourite colour scheme–yellowish grey to the top half of the patient and purple-red to the bottom half, where the blood has settled–and rigor, the youngest, so stiffens the body that bones can be broken if limbs are forced. They are cheery ones, these sisters, eternal spinsters who ravish innumerable bodies” (Martel 190). From here, the author dives deep into the stages of decay in the days after death. He pushes the descriptions to the limit; I can’t take any more. My brain on full revolt warns to avert my eyes and cover my ears. It was almost too much. It was too much. But then, before I look away, something unexpected happens. Something magical. Something beautiful. Something unreal. I want to believe. However, I also wanted to believe the notion of Pi training a tiger on a rescue boat in the middle of the ocean.

The High Mountains of Portugal is a successful storytelling rich for study. Other areas of study might include theme, structure, and magical realism. In every post, I highlight an author’s unique writing with a specific goal to avoid spoiling the reader’s full enjoyment of the plot and the story.

Hungry for a Short Story

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WARNING: May cause cravings for Spanish tapas and short stories.

A meal of Spanish tapas is similar to the reading of short stories. Imagine different flavorful dishes served one after another – combinations of vegetables, fish, cheeses and more. Dinner guests suffice with a few bites of each dish. Add dates, sherry and marinated olives to the next round of tapas. Still hungry? Order again from the menus – hot or cold – with different ingredients, seasonings and sauces. Want more? Then turn the page for the next short story in an anthology because reading these tasty bites are just as delicious.

Like tapas, short stories come in many different forms and structures. Longer stories might be structured as miniature novels. The reader travels at warp speed through the character arch or hero’s journey. A short story, however, might give a glimpse into only one aspect of a longer story. In The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction, one of the contributing writers, Nathan Leslie, categorizes flash fiction into five basic types: the monologue, the tale, the scene, the snapshot story, and the experiment. Leslie states the individual scene is the most common. The scene format worked for my first short story which I entered and placed in a contest. Since a novelist already thinks in scenes, this style is an easy transition to short stories. Likewise, in a tapas restaurant, an order might begin with the more familiar food items and progress to the more experimental.

The waiter brings the tapas and proudly says the name of the dish. We have ordered several tapas. Perhaps if the restaurant were not so loud, or our Spanish were better, or less of the sangria had found its way to our glasses, we would know what was in front of us. Nevertheless, part of the fun is guessing the dish. We sniff for the garlic and look for the pimento. And then, someone sees the olives and knows it is definitely the beef. A novel prolongs the guessing of who “done it” or “will do it.” Guessing games frequent literature, television shows and even childhood playtime such as Hide and Go Seek; Animal, Vegetable, Mineral; and Hangman. Short stories are guessing games on steroids. The form compresses the timeframe and eliminates unnecessary details or facts. The reader must parse through subtle gestures and implications to arrive at the theme and decipher hidden clues, meanings and flavors.

When I mention tapas, I also speak of menus, waiters and restaurants because it is far easier to eat tapas at a restaurant with a bevy of chefs, cooks and busboys. Similarly, short stories are a treasure to read and analyze yet very difficult to write. The challenge is to determine the most concise presentation of the theme and then the best way to reveal the story.

Now I have to decide which theme I want to write next. Which one of these will it resemble?

QUESO DE CABRA CON NUECES – goat cheese rolled in caramelized pecans, served with poached pear in red wine, grapes and toast points

CAZUELA DE PULPO – marinated octopus with sweet peppers and sherry vinaigrette

CAZUELA DE POLLO SALTEADO – casserole of sautéed chicken with garlic, chorizo, mushrooms and amontillado sauce

PINCHO DE SOLOMILLO A LA PIMIENTA – grilled beef brochette rolled in cracked pepper, served with caramelized onions and horseradish sauce

If you’re tempted by these tapas, stop at Emilio’s Tapas in Chicago for any of the menu items above. Take along an anthology of short stories by Spanish authors. Or practice your Spanish and read Colombian short story writer, Gabriel Garcia Marquez.