Category: POV

What is head-hopping, and is it spoiling your fiction writing?

24/2/2020

Are your readers bouncing from one character’s head to another in the same scene? You might be head-hopping. This article shows you how to spot it in your fiction writing, understand its impact, and fix it.

Holding viewpoint when writing in third-person limited
Take a look at this excerpt from In a House of Lies by Ian Rankin (p. 16, Orion Books, 2018). It’s a solid example of third-person limited viewpoint.

Rebus pushed open the wrought-iron gate. No sound from its hinges, the garden to either side of the flagstone path well tended. Two bins – one landfill, one garden waste – had already been placed on the pavement outside. None of the neighbours had got round to it yet. Rebus rang the doorbell and waited. The door was eventually opened by a man the same age as him, though he looked half a decade younger. Bill Rawlston had kept himself trim since retirement, and the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles retained their keen intelligence.
‘John Rebus,’ he said, a sombre look on his face as he studied Rebus from top to toe.
‘Have you heard?’
Rawlston’s mouth twitched. ‘Of course I have. But nobody’s saying it’s him yet.’
‘Only a matter of time.’
‘Aye, I suppose so.’ Rawlston gave a sigh and stepped back into the hall. ‘You better come in then. Tea or something that bit stronger?’
[…]
‘Sugar?’ Rawlston asked. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Just milk, thanks.’ Not that Rebus was planning on drinking the tea; he was awash with the stuff after his trip to Leith. But the making of the drinks had given him time to size up Bill Rawlston. And Rawlston, too, he knew, would have been using the time to do some thinking.

Anaylsis: Tight third-person limited narration
Rebus is the viewpoint character. That means the internal experiences we access are limited to his. For example:

We see through his eyes: the well-tended garden, the bins, Rawlston’s half-moon specs and intelligent eyes.
We hear through his ears: the silent hinges on the garden gate.
We think what he thinks: sizing up Rawlston as he makes tea.

We cannot get in Rawlston’s head. All we can do is consider his internal experiences via his observable and audible behaviour, and his dialogue. For example:

His mood is gloomy – shown by the dialogue ‘Tea or something that bit stronger?’ and what Rebus can see: the sombre expression.
He’s riled by Rebus’s question – shown by the dialogue ‘Of course I have’ and Rebus’s observation of the twitching mouth.
He begrudges letting Rebus in – shown by the dialogue ‘You better come in then’ and what Rebus hears: the sigh.

What head-hopping would look like
Here’s what that excerpt might look like if there was head-hopping going on:

Rebus pushed open the wrought-iron gate. No sound from its hinges, the garden to either side of the flagstone path well tended. Two bins – one landfill, one garden waste – had already been placed on the pavement outside. None of the neighbours had got round to it yet. Rebus rang the doorbell and waited.
     Bill Rawlston walked down the hall and peered through the peephole. Rebus. Same age as him, though he looked half a decade older. He opened the door.
     Rawlston had kept himself trim since retirement, and the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles retained their keen intelligence.
     ‘John Rebus,’ he said, a knot forming in his stomach as he studied Rebus from top to toe.
     ‘Have you heard?’
     The question riled him. Was Rebus stupid? ‘Of course I have. But nobody’s saying it’s him yet.’
     ‘Only a matter of time.’
     ‘Aye, I suppose so.’ Rawlston begrudged letting Rebus in but stepped back into the hall. ‘You better come in then. Tea or something that bit stronger?’
     […]
     ‘Sugar?’ Rawlston asked. ‘I can’t remember.’
     ‘Just milk, thanks.’ Not that Rebus was planning on drinking the tea; he was awash with the stuff after his trip to Leith. But the making of the drinks had given him time to size up Bill Rawlston.
     Rawlston had used the time to do some thinking, too. Rebus turning up here after all those years – it pissed him off.

Analysis: Confused narration
Notice how we bounce between the heads of Rebus and Rawlston. Now we have access to the internal experiences of both.

We’re in Rebus’s head as he pushes open the gates and reports on the silent hinges, the well-tended garden and the bins. Then we’re in Rawlston’s as he walks down the hall, identifies Rebus and reports on his appearance.
We bounce back to Rebus’s head as he observes Rawlston’s trim figure and intelligent eyes.
Rawlston speaks, and the action beat throws us back into his internal experience – the knot of anxiety in his stomach. The dialogue continues and we remain in Rawlston’s head, learning of his annoyance with Rebus’s question.
Rebus asks for milk and we bounce back to his head – discovering that he has no intention of drinking the tea but has used the time to size up Rawlston.
Finally, we hop over to Rawlston one more time, where we learn that he’s sized up Rebus too and is angry.

In that butchered version, the reader is forced to play a game of ping-pong on the page.

Why head-hopping spoils fiction
Here are 4 reasons to hold viewpoint rather than head-hopping:

1. Head-hopping renders a story less immersive
In Rankin’s original prose, we are limited to the world of the novel as Rebus experiences it. That’s powerful because every word on the page is a step we take with Rebus, as Rebus. I get to be a male, Scottish detective for a few hours rather than a female, English book editor!

In my butchered version, I take that first step with Rebus but then trip and fall into Rawlston. Because I’m bouncing between those characters’ internal experiences, I don’t have time to invest in either. And so I stay as lil’ ol’ me.

I do like being me, but when I buy one of Rankin’s books I want to immerse myself in its world for a few hours at a time and dig deep under the skin of the viewpoint character. I can be me without paying fifteen quid for the privilege!

2. Head-hopping diminishes suspense
In the original text, Rankin keeps the suspense tight by allowing us to access only Rebus’s senses. Rawlston’s sombre expression, twitching mouth and curt responses make Rebus (and us) think, Does he want me here? Does he begrudge my presence? What’s going on in his head?

Those questions demand answers and we seek them in the clues offered by the limited narrative. Because the limited viewpoint requires Rebus and the reader to make assumptions based on what’s observable and audible, there’s uncertainty. That’s what provides the suspense, and it compels us to keep reading in the hope that the truth will be unveiled.

In my head-hopping version, the prose is flat. There are no questions. We know what everyone’s thinking because we’re in everyone’s head. Readers aren’t called upon to use their imagination – both characters’ internal experiences are spoon-fed to us.

3. Head-hopping is less authentic
Head-hopping reminds readers that they are in a story written by an author. We don’t get to suspend belief because the writing won’t allow us to immerse ourselves that deeply.

In Rankin’s original prose, we walk through the world as if we are Rebus, and Rebus alone. That’s what happens in real life. I know only what I’m thinking, feeling, seeing and hearing. I can’t be sure than another’s perception is the same. Audio-visual signals help me make reasonable assumptions but I’m only ever in my own head … or Rebus’s if I’m reading a story about him because Rankin knows how to hold viewpoint.

In my mangled version of the excerpt, there’s a reality flop. Now I’m everyone, which is ridiculous of course. Authenticity has fallen off a cliff.

4. Head-hopping can be confusing
When a writer head-hops, the reader has to keep track of whose thoughts and emotions are being experienced. When a reader doesn’t know where they are in a novel for even a few seconds, that’s a literary misfire.

This is what happens in the head-hopping excerpt. For example, Rawlston walks down the hall and identifies Rebus through the peephole. We’re right with him, in his head. But what follows is jarring. That he reports on his spectacles sitting in front of keenly intelligent eyes is oddly self-aware.

Of course, it’s not Rawlston’s perception; it’s Rebus’s. And once we realize that, the prose makes sense. But working that out is not where Rankin wants the reader’s attention. He’s telling us a story and he wants us to read it. That’s why he holds a tight limited viewpoint throughout.

Head-hop check
Make a list of the characters in a chapter or scene. Identify the viewpoint character.

There can be more than one viewpoint character in a book but most commercial fiction authors separate them by chapters or sections.

Here’s a quick way to check whether you’re holding viewpoint.

Viewpoint characters: What the reader can access

Emotional responses

Thoughts
What they can see
What they can smell
What they can hear
What they can touch
What they can taste

Non-viewpoint characters: What the reader can access

Observable behaviour: their movements, expressions and gestures
Audible behaviour: their speech, breathing noises (panting, rasping, retching, etc.) and vocal gestures and tics (sighs, gasps, grunts, etc.)

Some examples to show you the way

The narrative can tell readers that the milk tasted sour on the viewpoint character’s tongue. A likely response to that sourness must be shown for a non-viewpoint character. E.g. they retch and spit out the milk, or report the sourness via dialogue.
The narrative can tell readers that the viewpoint character has a bellyache or feels a roiling in their stomach. A likely response to the pain must be shown for a non-viewpoint character. E.g. they groan or hold their abdomen, or report the pain via dialogue.
The narrative can tell readers that the viewpoint character feels excited. A non-viewpoint character’s excitement must be shown. E.g. their neck and cheeks flush.
The narrative can tell readers that a viewpoint character doesn’t believe in the tooth fairy. A non-viewpoint character’s disbelief must be shown. E.g. they scoff, laugh, sneer, or report their scepticism via dialogue.
The narrative can tell readers that a viewpoint character thinks they’re going to be sick or feels nauseous. The non-viewpoint character’s symptoms of nausea must be shown. E.g. their skin changes colour, they grab a bowl, they bend over the toilet, or report the nausea via dialogue.

Summing up
Even if your readers don’t know what head-hopping is, by removing it from your novel you’ll give them a more immersive, suspenseful and authentic journey through the world you’ve built.

Plus, you’ll ensure they’re reading your story, not trying to work out who’s telling it.

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with independent authors of commercial fiction, particularly crime, thriller and mystery writers.

She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP), a member of ACES, a Partner Member of The Alliance of Independent Authors (ALLi), and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

Visit her business website at Louise Harnby | Fiction Editor & Proofreader, say hello on Twitter at @LouiseHarnby, connect via Facebook and LinkedIn, and check out her books and courses.

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What is a first-person narrative point of view?

4/6/2018

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If you’re not sure what a first-person narrative point of view is, or how to use it effectively in your fiction writing, this post is for you.

A beginner's guide to narrative point of view

What is narrative point of view?
Point of view (POV) describes whose head we’re in when we read a book ... from whose perspective we discover what’s going on – and the smells, sounds, sights and emotions involved.

There can be multiple viewpoints in a book, not all of which have to belong to a single character. And to complicate things, editors’ and authors’ opinions differ as to which approach works best, and what jars and why.

POV can be tricky and my aim is to keep the guidance as straightforward as possible, not because I think you should only do it this way or that way, but because most people (myself included) handle complexity best when they start with the foundations and build up and outwards.

Why should you bother nailing POV?
Pro editors and experienced writers agree on one thing: it’s worth the beginner author’s time to understand POV so that they can make decisions about which to use, where, and why. Consider the following:

A better read: The right POV in the right place enriches the reader’s experience; the opposite will mean your book is not as immersive as it might have been. It might even confuse or frustrate your reader. I’m assuming you want your book to be the best it can be, so understanding how narrative POV works, and how to use viewpoint with intent, will help you in that endeavour.
A better price: If you’re working with a professional editor, whether a story-level editor (developmental, structural editing) or a sentence-level editor (line editing, copyediting, proofreading), there’ll be less to fix if your POV doesn’t jar.
A better fix: Some beginner authors, for reasons of budget, choose not to work with a developmental editor. This is the shaping stage in which decisions about how POV will be handled are made. If you go straight to working with a line editor or copyeditor, and they encounter major POV problems, it’s likely that their editing will have to be more invasive than either of you would have liked. Plus, the fix might not be as elegant as it would have been if any problems had been attended to before the sentence-level work began.

Point of view: What are the options?
There are multiple ways in which to narrate a novel. Some are more popular than others, and some easier to master. What you choose will shape not only the story you tell but also your readers’ understanding of it. The options are as follows:

First person
Second person
Third-person limited (also called third-person subjective)
Third-person objective
Third-person omniscient

First-person POV
First-person narrative POVs are the most intimate, the most immediate, but they’re less flexible. The pronouns used are ‘I’ and ‘we’. The reader is privy to an individual character’s thoughts, emotions and experiences, all told through a distinctive voice.

We can only see, hear, smell and feel what the character sees, hears, smells and feels. We are compelled to move through the story knowing only what they know, and at their pace.

However, used throughout an entire novel, from on character only, it can be problematic for the following reasons:

Readers can access only one version of events, which can render the prose restrictive if it doesn’t allow for the telling of other interpretations; we are forced to trust that the narrator’s telling is reliable. Furthermore, if the unveiling of how, why and when is too slow, the story could begin to drag.
Too much ‘I’ can be laborious to read and can result in a told, reported narrative rather than shown prose (see also the chapter on filter words)

Example: Not relying on ‘I’
In To Kill a Mockingbird (p. 5), Harper Lee keeps ‘I’ to a minimum and yet the prose oozes with first person. Note in particular how the voice is rich and distinct, rather than the more neutral tone we’d expect from third-person objective narration.

Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on the sidewalks, the court-house sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then; a black dog suffered on a summer’s day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. […]
We lived on the main residential street in town – Atticus, Jem and I, plus Calpurnia our cook. Jem and I found our father satisfactory: he played with us, read to us, and treated us with courteous detachment. […]

Because Lee doesn’t append ‘I’ plus a verb to much of the prose, we are given a shown narrative that we can experience rather than being told how the narrator experienced the world being described. Compare it with the ‘I’-heavy made-up example below and consider how the narrator’s told experience keeps the reader at a distance.

I placed my hand on the rusty handle and tugged, but the old oak door refused to give way to me. I heard a rustling sound behind me and turned my head. I spotted movement in the inky shadows and felt the skin on the back of my neck prickle with terror as I realized I wasn’t alone.

Let’s rewrite this with a less invasive first-person narration in which the reader can experience the action as it unfolds.

The handle was rusty against my palms as I tugged but the old oak door refused to give. A rustling came from behind and I turned. A shape flitted in the inky shadows and the skin on the back of my neck prickled. I wasn’t alone.

Example: Sustaining interest with other interpretations
In The Word is Murder (p. 208), author Anthony Horowitz is one of the characters! The viewpoint is first person (his). The author is like a floating camera; we see the protagonist – the detective (Hawthorne) who solves the crime – through Horowitz’s eyes as he accompanies him to interviews with suspects and on visits to crime scenes.

The author-character offers his own theories, even pursues his own lines of investigation, and interjects with stories about his life and career. This adds interest but, ultimately, it’s the detective who grounds the crime story, brings reliability to the narrative, and drives the novel forward; it’s through him that we access the procedural elements and the answer to whodunnit. Here’s an excerpt:

They’d used blue and white tape to create a cordon which began at the front door and blocked off the stairs. I wasn’t sure how they would deal with the neighbours on the upper and lower floors. As for me, although I hadn’t been questioned, a woman in a plastic suit had asked me to remove my shoes and taken them away. That puzzled me. ‘What do they need them for?’ I asked Hawthorne.
‘Latent footprints,’ he replied. ‘They need to eliminate you from the enquiry.’

Recommendation
First-person narratives introduce depth and explain motivations but can be difficult to sustain if not sufficiently interesting and there’s too much told narrative. Watch out for filter words if you think you’re over-telling.

Consider whether your whole novel needs to be in first person. Perhaps limiting this approach to specific characters in dedicated chapters would be more effective. If you decide to stick with first person throughout, think about voice and how your viewpoint character (and therefore the reader) will discover the how, when and why of the story at an engaging pace.

And, finally, if you’re basing your whole novel in the first person, be cautious about using the present tense throughout. The past might give you more flexibility, particularly if you’re writing action-heavy scenes where, in reality, the character wouldn’t have time to give much thought to the consequences and motivations of their behaviour.

Cited sources and related reading

The Word is Murder, Anthony Horowitz, Arrow 2018
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee, Arrow Books, 1989
What is a second-person narrative point of view?
What is a third-person narrative point of view?
What is an omniscient narrative point of view?
What is head-hopping?
Making Sense of Point of View (Transform Your Fiction series: 1)

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.

She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP), a member of ACES, a Partner Member of The Alliance of Independent Authors (ALLi), and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

Visit her business website at Louise Harnby | Fiction Editor & Proofreader, say hello on Twitter at @LouiseHarnby, connect via Facebook and LinkedIn, and check out her books and courses.

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