I wish you would talk a little bit more about what defines a pulse.
Everything that you have listed as a pulse is external action, but you also define a pulse as a "unit of meaning." To me, meaning is about internal action or at least the meaning that's inferred by the reader.
If you'd asked me to identify the first "unit of meanin…
I wish you would talk a little bit more about what defines a pulse.
Everything that you have listed as a pulse is external action, but you also define a pulse as a "unit of meaning." To me, meaning is about internal action or at least the meaning that's inferred by the reader.
If you'd asked me to identify the first "unit of meaning" of the story, I would've said, "Narrator becomes afraid of rejection," or something along those lines, because I feel like the plot hinges on his fear of rejection.
I know that you said that this is just one way to look at story, so maybe this is a ridiculous question or maybe everyone's pulses are equally valid, but I'd like to hear more about how you see it.
I asked this in the previous post, and I didn't get a response, so could some of you like this to make it more visible?
Thanks for persevering and getting this detailed discussion up and running Amy. There’s lot of getting-right-down-to-it in this thread and the clarity of the discussion is very, very helpful. Again, thank you, Amy, Mary, All.
So if we turn, now, to practical methods for identifying pulses, one rule of thumb might possibly be:
Re-tell the story with 'but' or 'so' connecting all of the moving parts. The bits between the 'but's and 'so's are the pulses. For example...
Savitsky embodies the theatre and threat of violence for the narrator's new assignment
BUT
The quartermaster seems quite sympathetic to his position (carries trunk, explains the unfairness...)
BUT
QM changes his aspect and the Cossacks are not sympathetic (tip trunk contents away)
SO
Narrator abuses the old woman and the goose
SO
The Cossacks show new respect for the narrator
SO
They ask him to read from the paper
BUT
The narrator's soul is torn in two
I moot this not as a definitive answer to the problem, of course, but as a way of thinking about this whole issue, which is so interesting (thanks to all for providing such food for thought in this thread and others):
This resonates with me oddly enough because I work for a software company that analyzes software and we talk about concepts like Causality.
The first couple of lines in Wikipedia define causality as: Causality (also referred to as causation, or cause and effect) is influence by which one event, process, state, or object (a cause) contributes to the production of another event, process, state, or object (an effect) where the cause is partly responsible for the effect, and the effect is partly dependent on the cause. In general, a process has many causes,[1] which are also said to be causal factors.
Since I am more of a writer than a developer, I associate these thoughts to story. The bowling pins hovering are causes that are set up and only come down when they trigger (or help trigger) an effect. Call these micro-causes and micro-effects that weave through the pulses--the TTCMA.
(Tangent: Just imagine each line between a micro-cause and a micro-effect as a shimmering color. The most beautiful story will be the ones with the most complex, yet harmonious colors.)
Without the larger structure of the pulses, though, these micro-causes have no context or meaning. Humans aren't particularly interested in random noise. We search for patterns -- these actions caused some effect and the world changed and I'm interested in why it changed and how it might change again.
Thinking about the pulses as cause and effect (because of this, that happened), there seems to be two intertwined strands. External/physical: Narrator is given an assignment, because of that the QM dumps him on the Cossacks, because of that (and the intertwined internal chain) the Cossacks abuse him, because of that he kills the goose, because of that they accept him.
Internal strands: The narrator is an intellectual, because of that the commander (and QM) teases him, because of that the narrator girds his loins, because of that he is prepared to act when the Cossacks abuse him, because of that he kills the goose, because of that he is struck with guilt.
If you took one of these away the chain is weakened. For example, if we didn't have the pulse with the Commander, how would we read the killing of the goose? We wouldn't know how the narrator came to be there, we wouldn't see the narrator experiencing the Commander's merry violence, we wouldn't see the narrator preparing for the violence of the Cossacks, etc. The story could still work but perhaps the effect would be thinner and less colorful because there would be fewer cause-effect lines running through the story.
Maybe a pulse is a unit of interrelated action and internal movement that causes the next pulse.
As Jane says, it's sot so much an external scaffolding that you create like putting lego blocks together so much as it is a way of getting under the hood to see why the story works.
I think these exercises, e.g. identifying pulses, defining "pulse" etc. are ways to loosen up the anxiety of writing stories, get the intuition and the intellect working together, kneading them together. Not so much looking for correct definition as developing a physical ease with how fiction works.
I'm not fond of the word "pulse" for this; it's too ambiguous.
My current, provisional understanding is that the external actions aspect of the definition is just to mark off what part of the story we're speaking of--the property lines.
The *content* of the pulse is an accretion of specifics sufficient to tip the lever inside that tells us, "Something is a bit 'off' or 'too much' here; it has drawn my attention, and the storyteller has to do something with it at some point."
I don't think of it as change so much as a set-up that has specifics, a bowling pin has been thrown upward. The next pulse must throw another pin in the air, entail the juggler getting on a unicycle, let a lion into the ring, or whatever. And eventually the bowling pin comes down, is caught in a specific way (the juggler reaches for the pin but falls from the unicycle, the lion leaps forward and catches the pin in its mouth).
Great question. Interested in seeing what GS and others have to say!
Thank you, Amy. I have been rereading the beginning and end of the story and I think the first pulse builds up the contrast between the narrator (vulnerable, alone, not belonging) and Savitsky (power, strength, celebration, superiority). The end (the last pulse) is very different in terms of how it feels. The narrator falls asleep entangled in the bodies of his comrades, he is part of them, suffering still, but not separated, and a little less vulnerable. By reading Lenin to them, he is even a little triumphant in educating them. So to come back to your question, the meaning of the first unit, in my view, is to show the vulnerability and precariousness of his situation in contrast to the mighty Savitsky.
Each pulse definitely has meaning (has a "why"). But the action within the pulse shows us how Babel reveals that meaning. The pulses are a series of dominoes. They say "This happened and because of this happening, then...." and onward to the next pulse until the end of the story.
I'd like to join in as well! If I had to proffer an answer, I would say a pulse might be defined(ish) by its importance to the causality of the story as a whole. That is, the beat without which a story just couldn't continue, couldn't keep making meaning. "Narrator becomes afraid of rejection" is important exposition, but in and of itself, it doesn't push the story *forward.* The narrator could remain quite passively in that state for a long time. George's pulse--"Narrator gets an assignment"--pushes that narrator into new territory. It's what the story needs to happen for it to *keep* happening, basically. It's escalation. It's the story saying, "Wherever the narrator is now, it's not good enough. It won't test him enough, it won't push him enough. The stakes aren't high enough. Let's take him somewhere where they are, so we can really see what he's made of."
"Unit of meaning" does seem to obfuscate this possible/working definition slightly, though, so I really want to hear what Professor Saunders has to say. I'm kind of worried I've pinned it down too forcefully, and that the ambiguity might have been part of the point--which in my boundless ignorance I've missed.
I appreciate your point about the narrators assignment pushing the action forward. The assignment means that he must go into danger, as opposed to running away when he hears, "You're a grown man, but you're about to get the sh*t beat out of you, like a junior high school kid, because you wear glasses."
However, the assignment itself doesn't really do it for me, as a reader. If all that happened was that he got an assignment, I'd be bored to death. The thing that pushes the story forward for me is the fear. It's not just his fear, but my fear for him. I read more because I want to know how the situation will resolve itself.
Yes Amy, I'm with you. 'Fearing' is a form of emotion of engagement, and what's more deep rather than shallow engagement. A further frisson of 'fear' must come with knowing that while you hope the situation may resolve itself you know that, possibly, it will not.
I definitely agree! A pulse on its own pushes the plot forward, but it can't necessarily make us *care.* This pulse only works because we read it as a deepening/escalation of the narrator's already established fear. The meaning of the pulse is defined by all that "how," which is really a question of who and when and where and why, not to mention so much else!
A distinction between pushing the plot forward (mechanical) and pushing you, the reader, forward (psycho-emotional) should definitely be made. A series of coherent pulses doesn't define whether a story is successful or not, that is, doesn't define whether you keep caring and reading to the end or not. It's simply a diagnostic or blueprint for what the story seems to be trying to do: "Well, the assignment seems to be the big plot point here. Now that I know, does the author succeed in making it interesting and/or meaningful?" As George said, "Once we knew what work the scene was doing, each team knew what it had to do - it knew the flavor of what it had to do." Once we know what a scene is for, then we can start judging it.
I think you've got it regarding causality. Here's what George wrote when he explained his idea of pulses: "What makes a story a story is the way one pulse leads to the next, which produces that lovely story-feeling. (“Ah, this led to that.”)" I think maybe the trick is to not get caught up with the word "meaning." Or to think of it more as "something meaningful happened" that will lead to the next "meaningful thing that will happen."
Aye! There' s the mechanics, the pump which we might give title to i.e
'Narrator gets asignment' or some such, and then there is the action resultant, the blood that is pumped, and pulses on to the next pumping station, enriched...
Yeah, Mary, that's a good point. I think one of the reasons I found it confusing was because when George discussed finding "The Hollywood version" in his previous post, he talked about summarizing the story this way, "man is rejected, then gets accepted." And, he identified that as the larger meaning of the individual elements of the story.
Yes, i can understand the confusion. "Man is rejected, then gets accepted" is the "why" of the story--the purpose for writing it in the first place. The pulses are the "hows," as in "how it came to pass that the man was rejected and then accepted." I don't mean to speak for George here, but that's how I understand it.
I see your point. I think I mistook, "Man is rejected, then gets accepted" as something internal, but it isn't. It's an overview of an external thing that happened to the man.
I love that last sentence! Thank you! It's a great summation, and I think you've hit the nail on the head. Building off that, I'd say my working definition for a pulse would have to be something like: "a primary causal/escalatory event in a story." Or, as you put it, a meaningful event that will lead to the next meaningful event. It's that fundamental action/reaction, bowling pin relationship, and, as Niall noted upthread, it's intimately connected with change. Our need for it and the story's need for it (which are, of course, the same thing). If we return to George's concept of the "what" and the "how," it might even be termed the ur-concept behind the "what."
I absolutely adore how, in writing, so many seemingly different concepts turn out to be the same concept, just seen from different angles. This object-like tendency is so marvelous for contemplation, isn't it?
I think you're right--that sometimes we're all saying the same thing. But for it to hit home, we often need someone saying it in just the right way that speaks to us in that particular moment. I think what George is showing us here is the way to move a story forward. There's always an internal story at the same time as the external action. But a scene (usually) can't be simply internal. Something has to happen! And each thing that happens (and moves the story forward with new meaning)--well, that's your pulse. I think.
Good question. Was looking for pulses in two other stories. Since pulse suggests a moving something along (as in heart beating keeps blood flowing) perhaps a pulse in a story is the same--a moving the story along, making the reader want to keep reading, whether internal or external, front story or back story. George seems very into what keeps the reader interested, and that makes a lot of sense to me.
Oh, I love that comparison. That makes so much sense. It's a pulse of a story the same way our pulse moves our blood. It's the external action because it must be observable.
I think that's such an interesting question... I know I'm not George, but if I may join in with it...
I suppose 'change' would be my own take on this.
Change of scene, perspective, action, character, time, pace, mood, ...
So, I suppose where I feel a change, that's where I feel a new pulse.
Like when you're pegging out the washing and the world darkens and your hands pause for a moment, and you become aware that the world had been made... different, somehow, as the sun slid behind a cloud. You feel a few more fears and a little less hope... then, you sit in that for a while, that new pulse.
If there's external change then usually there's internal change.
If there's internal change then there's usually external change.
If there's external change but no internal change, that also is meaningful.
If there's internal change but no external change, that also is meaningful.
I guess the writer's work is to create the shifting world for the reader... you'd perhaps think that often the effective way to do this is through action/dialogue/sensory details... external I guess you could say.
Not sure if this defines pulses so much, but it seems like it's in the mix somewhere
And as always, what in the "pulse" keeps the reader reading--is it in this first one that the narrator is clearly in danger, along with the dazzling language, and we want to know what is going to happen next . . .
George,
I wish you would talk a little bit more about what defines a pulse.
Everything that you have listed as a pulse is external action, but you also define a pulse as a "unit of meaning." To me, meaning is about internal action or at least the meaning that's inferred by the reader.
If you'd asked me to identify the first "unit of meaning" of the story, I would've said, "Narrator becomes afraid of rejection," or something along those lines, because I feel like the plot hinges on his fear of rejection.
I know that you said that this is just one way to look at story, so maybe this is a ridiculous question or maybe everyone's pulses are equally valid, but I'd like to hear more about how you see it.
I asked this in the previous post, and I didn't get a response, so could some of you like this to make it more visible?
Thanks so much.
Thanks for persevering and getting this detailed discussion up and running Amy. There’s lot of getting-right-down-to-it in this thread and the clarity of the discussion is very, very helpful. Again, thank you, Amy, Mary, All.
Thank you for saying that, Paul. I'm so glad you appreciate it.
Thanks, Paul. I hope you enjoyed your dinner. Have you checked out my newsletter? You might like it.
So if we turn, now, to practical methods for identifying pulses, one rule of thumb might possibly be:
Re-tell the story with 'but' or 'so' connecting all of the moving parts. The bits between the 'but's and 'so's are the pulses. For example...
Savitsky embodies the theatre and threat of violence for the narrator's new assignment
BUT
The quartermaster seems quite sympathetic to his position (carries trunk, explains the unfairness...)
BUT
QM changes his aspect and the Cossacks are not sympathetic (tip trunk contents away)
SO
Narrator abuses the old woman and the goose
SO
The Cossacks show new respect for the narrator
SO
They ask him to read from the paper
BUT
The narrator's soul is torn in two
I moot this not as a definitive answer to the problem, of course, but as a way of thinking about this whole issue, which is so interesting (thanks to all for providing such food for thought in this thread and others):
This resonates with me oddly enough because I work for a software company that analyzes software and we talk about concepts like Causality.
The first couple of lines in Wikipedia define causality as: Causality (also referred to as causation, or cause and effect) is influence by which one event, process, state, or object (a cause) contributes to the production of another event, process, state, or object (an effect) where the cause is partly responsible for the effect, and the effect is partly dependent on the cause. In general, a process has many causes,[1] which are also said to be causal factors.
Since I am more of a writer than a developer, I associate these thoughts to story. The bowling pins hovering are causes that are set up and only come down when they trigger (or help trigger) an effect. Call these micro-causes and micro-effects that weave through the pulses--the TTCMA.
(Tangent: Just imagine each line between a micro-cause and a micro-effect as a shimmering color. The most beautiful story will be the ones with the most complex, yet harmonious colors.)
Without the larger structure of the pulses, though, these micro-causes have no context or meaning. Humans aren't particularly interested in random noise. We search for patterns -- these actions caused some effect and the world changed and I'm interested in why it changed and how it might change again.
Thinking about the pulses as cause and effect (because of this, that happened), there seems to be two intertwined strands. External/physical: Narrator is given an assignment, because of that the QM dumps him on the Cossacks, because of that (and the intertwined internal chain) the Cossacks abuse him, because of that he kills the goose, because of that they accept him.
Internal strands: The narrator is an intellectual, because of that the commander (and QM) teases him, because of that the narrator girds his loins, because of that he is prepared to act when the Cossacks abuse him, because of that he kills the goose, because of that he is struck with guilt.
If you took one of these away the chain is weakened. For example, if we didn't have the pulse with the Commander, how would we read the killing of the goose? We wouldn't know how the narrator came to be there, we wouldn't see the narrator experiencing the Commander's merry violence, we wouldn't see the narrator preparing for the violence of the Cossacks, etc. The story could still work but perhaps the effect would be thinner and less colorful because there would be fewer cause-effect lines running through the story.
Maybe a pulse is a unit of interrelated action and internal movement that causes the next pulse.
As Jane says, it's sot so much an external scaffolding that you create like putting lego blocks together so much as it is a way of getting under the hood to see why the story works.
I think these exercises, e.g. identifying pulses, defining "pulse" etc. are ways to loosen up the anxiety of writing stories, get the intuition and the intellect working together, kneading them together. Not so much looking for correct definition as developing a physical ease with how fiction works.
I'm not fond of the word "pulse" for this; it's too ambiguous.
My current, provisional understanding is that the external actions aspect of the definition is just to mark off what part of the story we're speaking of--the property lines.
The *content* of the pulse is an accretion of specifics sufficient to tip the lever inside that tells us, "Something is a bit 'off' or 'too much' here; it has drawn my attention, and the storyteller has to do something with it at some point."
I don't think of it as change so much as a set-up that has specifics, a bowling pin has been thrown upward. The next pulse must throw another pin in the air, entail the juggler getting on a unicycle, let a lion into the ring, or whatever. And eventually the bowling pin comes down, is caught in a specific way (the juggler reaches for the pin but falls from the unicycle, the lion leaps forward and catches the pin in its mouth).
Great question. Interested in seeing what GS and others have to say!
Interesting. Thanks!
Thank you, Amy. I have been rereading the beginning and end of the story and I think the first pulse builds up the contrast between the narrator (vulnerable, alone, not belonging) and Savitsky (power, strength, celebration, superiority). The end (the last pulse) is very different in terms of how it feels. The narrator falls asleep entangled in the bodies of his comrades, he is part of them, suffering still, but not separated, and a little less vulnerable. By reading Lenin to them, he is even a little triumphant in educating them. So to come back to your question, the meaning of the first unit, in my view, is to show the vulnerability and precariousness of his situation in contrast to the mighty Savitsky.
Each pulse definitely has meaning (has a "why"). But the action within the pulse shows us how Babel reveals that meaning. The pulses are a series of dominoes. They say "This happened and because of this happening, then...." and onward to the next pulse until the end of the story.
That's true. Thanks, Maria.
I'd like to join in as well! If I had to proffer an answer, I would say a pulse might be defined(ish) by its importance to the causality of the story as a whole. That is, the beat without which a story just couldn't continue, couldn't keep making meaning. "Narrator becomes afraid of rejection" is important exposition, but in and of itself, it doesn't push the story *forward.* The narrator could remain quite passively in that state for a long time. George's pulse--"Narrator gets an assignment"--pushes that narrator into new territory. It's what the story needs to happen for it to *keep* happening, basically. It's escalation. It's the story saying, "Wherever the narrator is now, it's not good enough. It won't test him enough, it won't push him enough. The stakes aren't high enough. Let's take him somewhere where they are, so we can really see what he's made of."
"Unit of meaning" does seem to obfuscate this possible/working definition slightly, though, so I really want to hear what Professor Saunders has to say. I'm kind of worried I've pinned it down too forcefully, and that the ambiguity might have been part of the point--which in my boundless ignorance I've missed.
I appreciate your point about the narrators assignment pushing the action forward. The assignment means that he must go into danger, as opposed to running away when he hears, "You're a grown man, but you're about to get the sh*t beat out of you, like a junior high school kid, because you wear glasses."
However, the assignment itself doesn't really do it for me, as a reader. If all that happened was that he got an assignment, I'd be bored to death. The thing that pushes the story forward for me is the fear. It's not just his fear, but my fear for him. I read more because I want to know how the situation will resolve itself.
Yes Amy, I'm with you. 'Fearing' is a form of emotion of engagement, and what's more deep rather than shallow engagement. A further frisson of 'fear' must come with knowing that while you hope the situation may resolve itself you know that, possibly, it will not.
Thank you!
I definitely agree! A pulse on its own pushes the plot forward, but it can't necessarily make us *care.* This pulse only works because we read it as a deepening/escalation of the narrator's already established fear. The meaning of the pulse is defined by all that "how," which is really a question of who and when and where and why, not to mention so much else!
A distinction between pushing the plot forward (mechanical) and pushing you, the reader, forward (psycho-emotional) should definitely be made. A series of coherent pulses doesn't define whether a story is successful or not, that is, doesn't define whether you keep caring and reading to the end or not. It's simply a diagnostic or blueprint for what the story seems to be trying to do: "Well, the assignment seems to be the big plot point here. Now that I know, does the author succeed in making it interesting and/or meaningful?" As George said, "Once we knew what work the scene was doing, each team knew what it had to do - it knew the flavor of what it had to do." Once we know what a scene is for, then we can start judging it.
Thank you. That makes sense.
I think you've got it regarding causality. Here's what George wrote when he explained his idea of pulses: "What makes a story a story is the way one pulse leads to the next, which produces that lovely story-feeling. (“Ah, this led to that.”)" I think maybe the trick is to not get caught up with the word "meaning." Or to think of it more as "something meaningful happened" that will lead to the next "meaningful thing that will happen."
Aye! There' s the mechanics, the pump which we might give title to i.e
'Narrator gets asignment' or some such, and then there is the action resultant, the blood that is pumped, and pulses on to the next pumping station, enriched...
Yeah, Mary, that's a good point. I think one of the reasons I found it confusing was because when George discussed finding "The Hollywood version" in his previous post, he talked about summarizing the story this way, "man is rejected, then gets accepted." And, he identified that as the larger meaning of the individual elements of the story.
Yes, i can understand the confusion. "Man is rejected, then gets accepted" is the "why" of the story--the purpose for writing it in the first place. The pulses are the "hows," as in "how it came to pass that the man was rejected and then accepted." I don't mean to speak for George here, but that's how I understand it.
I see your point. I think I mistook, "Man is rejected, then gets accepted" as something internal, but it isn't. It's an overview of an external thing that happened to the man.
I love that last sentence! Thank you! It's a great summation, and I think you've hit the nail on the head. Building off that, I'd say my working definition for a pulse would have to be something like: "a primary causal/escalatory event in a story." Or, as you put it, a meaningful event that will lead to the next meaningful event. It's that fundamental action/reaction, bowling pin relationship, and, as Niall noted upthread, it's intimately connected with change. Our need for it and the story's need for it (which are, of course, the same thing). If we return to George's concept of the "what" and the "how," it might even be termed the ur-concept behind the "what."
I absolutely adore how, in writing, so many seemingly different concepts turn out to be the same concept, just seen from different angles. This object-like tendency is so marvelous for contemplation, isn't it?
i love contemplating all of it.
I think you're right--that sometimes we're all saying the same thing. But for it to hit home, we often need someone saying it in just the right way that speaks to us in that particular moment. I think what George is showing us here is the way to move a story forward. There's always an internal story at the same time as the external action. But a scene (usually) can't be simply internal. Something has to happen! And each thing that happens (and moves the story forward with new meaning)--well, that's your pulse. I think.
Nothing more to add! I think you've put it in a way that will hit home for a great many people in a great many particular moments!
Again, thank you, Mary. Every time I read one of your posts, it makes a little bit more sense to me.
Good question. Was looking for pulses in two other stories. Since pulse suggests a moving something along (as in heart beating keeps blood flowing) perhaps a pulse in a story is the same--a moving the story along, making the reader want to keep reading, whether internal or external, front story or back story. George seems very into what keeps the reader interested, and that makes a lot of sense to me.
Oh, I love that comparison. That makes so much sense. It's a pulse of a story the same way our pulse moves our blood. It's the external action because it must be observable.
I suspect it’s because, “narrator becomes afraid of rejection” is not a specific action.
I think that's such an interesting question... I know I'm not George, but if I may join in with it...
I suppose 'change' would be my own take on this.
Change of scene, perspective, action, character, time, pace, mood, ...
So, I suppose where I feel a change, that's where I feel a new pulse.
Like when you're pegging out the washing and the world darkens and your hands pause for a moment, and you become aware that the world had been made... different, somehow, as the sun slid behind a cloud. You feel a few more fears and a little less hope... then, you sit in that for a while, that new pulse.
So, for you, it's everything together, internal and external?
If there's external change then usually there's internal change.
If there's internal change then there's usually external change.
If there's external change but no internal change, that also is meaningful.
If there's internal change but no external change, that also is meaningful.
I guess the writer's work is to create the shifting world for the reader... you'd perhaps think that often the effective way to do this is through action/dialogue/sensory details... external I guess you could say.
Not sure if this defines pulses so much, but it seems like it's in the mix somewhere
And as always, what in the "pulse" keeps the reader reading--is it in this first one that the narrator is clearly in danger, along with the dazzling language, and we want to know what is going to happen next . . .