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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #36: Use the Setting as a Character

#36: Use the Setting as a Character

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #36: Use the Setting as a Character

In the past few weeks, we’ve talked about a number of concepts related to setting:

Now, for the final post on setting, I want to address one final topic:

Using the setting as a character

I’ve seen some writers claim that every well-written setting is a character, but to me, making this argument is problematic: if every setting is a character, then the words “setting” and “character” cease to be useful—their meanings are conflated and it is more difficult to talk about their very really differences.

In most stories, the setting is not a character. This is true for most of Jane Austen’s work: her settings are interesting and profound, they reflect the character’s emotional states and sometimes the themes of her stories, yet they aren’t characters. Her settings have character, they have flavor, they mean something to the characters, and they impact the plot, but still they are not characters.

One of the Oxford English Dictionary’s definitions is useful in terms of how we use the word “character” in regard to stories:

Character, noun: “A person portrayed in a work of fiction, a drama, a film, a comic strip, etc.; (also) a part played by an actor on the stage, in a film, etc., a role.”

Ultimately, a character is a person, and ultimately, a setting is not.

Yet sometimes, a setting does act the part of a character; sometimes, a setting acts with personhood.

For instance, in “man vs. nature” stories (which includes everything from disaster stories to smaller, more individual stories like Hatchet), the setting does act as a character—but not just any character; here the setting acts as an antagonist, often virulent, actively fighting against the protagonist and their goals.

Yet you don’t have a sinister, oppositional setting for the setting to act as a character in the story.

In order for a setting to be a character it must:

  1. Play an active part in the story; be an actor.
  2. Impact multiple plot points throughout the story.
  3. Carry a larger metaphorical role that is present throughout the narrative, not just in one particular scene or section.
  4. Be vibrant like a living organism, and have the potential for change.
  5. Receive the sort of attention from characters that is normally reserved for people.
  6. Not be a manifestation of a single character or a small group of characters. (For this reason, Rosings would not be a character, because while it is important, it is entirely defined by Lady Catherine de Bourgh.)

A clear example of Jane Austen using setting as a character is in her uncompleted novel Sanditon. Sanditon is a changing, growing sea town that is attempting to grow into a destination, and it acts as a character in the story.

A page from the manuscript of Sanditon

A page from the manuscript of Sanditon

One of the characters, Mr. Parker, describes Sanditon:

“Sanditon itself—everybody has heard of Sanditon,–the favourite spot of all that are to be found along the coast of Sussex;–the most favoured by Nature, and promising to be the most chosen by man.”

He goes on to say:

“Nature had marked it out—had spoken in most intelligible characters—the finest, purest sea breeze on the coast—acknowledged to be so—excellent bathing—find hard sand—deep water ten yards from the shore—no mud—no weeds—no slimy rocks—never was there a place more palpably designed by Nature for the resort of the invalid—the very spot which thousands seemed in need of—the most desirable distance from London!”

The narrator comments:

Sanditon—the success of Sanditon as a small, fashionable bathing place was the object for which he seemed to live….Sanditon was a second wife and four children to him—hardly less dear—and certainly more engrossing.

Sanditon is in a moment of transformation—it is growing, and how it will grow and develop and effect its inhabitants and its visitors is still unclear. The old is being discarded and the new sought for. Mrs. Parker sees the things that have been lost, the things she misses, the advantages of the old Sanditon, while Mr. Parker sees breaking from the past as a good thing:

“And whose very snug-looking place is this?” said Charlotte, as in a sheltered dip within two miles of the sea, they passed close by a moderate-sized house, well fenced and planted, and rich in the garden, orchards and meadows which are the best embellishments of such a dwelling. “It seems to have as many comforts about it as Willingden.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Parker. “This is my old house—the house of my forefathers—the house where I and all my brothers and sisters were born and bred—and where my own three eldest children were born—where Mrs. Parker and I lived till within the last two years—till our new house was finished….

“One other hill brings us to Sanditon—modern Sanditon—a beautiful spot.—Our ancestors, you know, always built in a hole.—Here were we, pent down in this little contracted nook, without air or view, only one mile and three quarters from the noblest expanse of ocean between the South Foreland and the Land’s End, and without having the smallest advantage from it. You will not think I have made a bad exchange when we reach Trafalgar House—which, by the bye, I almost wish I had not named Trafalgar—for Waterloo is more the thing now.”

Yet while Mr. Parker is leading many of the efforts to transform Sanditon, it refuses to be defined by him. It is talked of constantly by others, from Lady Denham to Sir Edward, and many actors have a role in its future, and its future will impact the fates of dozens of characters.

Mr. Parker clings to the idea of Sanditon on a track of forward progress, he holds to his expectations for it:

“Civilization, civilization indeed!….Who would have expected such a sight as a shoemaker’s in old Sanditon!—This is new within the month.”

Yet he cannot control it; it refuses to mold to his desires; it is separate from himself and what he wants for it:

It was emptiness and tranquility on the Terrace, the cliffs, and the sands. The shops were deserted, the straw hats and pendant lace seemed left to their fate both within the house and without, and Mrs. Whitby at the library was sitting in her inner room reading one of her own novels, for want of employment.

It is a place of tension, where even its number and type of inhabitants are outside of anyone’s control:

Mr. Parker could not but feel that the list [of families] was not only without distinction, but less numerous than he had hoped.

Andrew Davies’ television series Sanditon continues Jane Austen’s unfinished story. In the first season, Davies does an excellent job of making Sanditon a character. We see its growing pains, the troubles of the workers, money problems, and, in the final episode of the season, what begins as a minor problem within the setting becomes a major problem for the entire community. In Davies’ adaptation, the setting is constantly an actor in the story and the lives of the other characters.

Writing Exercises - Jane Austen Writing Lessons

Exercise 1: Read the article Ten Books Where the Setting is a Character. Find another example of a setting that is also a character. What makes the setting a character? Why is it useful for the story to have this setting as a character?

Exercise 2: Set a timer for twenty or thirty minutes and begin writing a flash fiction story (less than 1000 words) where the setting is a character. You could use your time to outline and develop ideas or to rush write the beginning of the story. If you the like the direction of focus of the story, take additional time to finish writing and revising it.

Exercise 3: Choose three settings that you have experienced in real life (cities, buildings, outdoor regions, etc.) that would make good candidates for being a character in a story. Make a list of each of their distinguishing attributes, and then add a few notes for what it would take for these to not just be a really compelling, cool setting, but also a character in a story.

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons #31: Use a Distinctive Setting for Major Plot Turns

#31: Use a Distinctive Setting for Major Plot Turns

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons #31: Use a Distinctive Setting for Major Plot Turns

Many of the scenes in Jane Austen’s novels occur in what, for her characters, would be ordinary settings—drawing rooms and walks where they had been many times before. We’ll talk, in a few weeks, about how to use familiar settings.

But sometimes Austen uses very distinctive settings for her scenes, and this often happens when there is a major plot turn in the story.

A major plot turn is when both the story and the characters undergo a large shift. Something happens which irrevocably changes the future direction of the plot, and has a profound impact on character and relationship arcs.

In her novel Persuasion, Jane Austen gives her characters a distinctive setting, unlike the rest in the book, when a number of the characters take a trip to the town of Lyme Regis.

Lyme Regis by Alison Day -- a city with a rocky shore and a hint of the ocean.

A modern view of Lyme Regis by Alison Day (limited Creative Commons license)

Three of the characters who travel to Lyme Regis are our main character, Anne Elliot, the man she turned down years before, Captain Wentworth, and his current love interest, Louisa Musgrove.

I previously talked about the Anne-Wentworth-Louisa trio in a post about making things hard for your character. In sum, when Anne and Captain Wentworth became engaged, Anne was persuaded by family members and friends to break off the engagement. Wentworth still has not forgiven her for this. One of the things Wentworth values about Louisa is that she is not easily persuadable—she will go her own way.

Fast forward to Lyme Regis. Bringing the characters to this new, distinctive setting first allows them to meet or encounter new characters who will be key to the story, including Captain Benwick and Anne’s cousin, Mr. Elliot.

Distinctive settings are unfamiliar to characters, which heightens the awareness of the setting for both the characters and the reader. When in a distinctive setting, the characters have a whole additional layer of things to navigate: new physical objects, new or unfamiliar expectations, and as a result…

Distinctive settings often draw out peoples strengths and weaknesses, demonstrate who they really are, and provide opportunities for characters to transform in either a positive or a negative direction.

At Lyme Regis, a number of the characters take a walk along the Cobb, which is a wall near the harbor. There is a heightened awareness of the setting, which is distinctive enough to bring to Anne’s mind the poetry of Byron as she walks with Captain Benwick:

Lord Byron’s ‘dark blue seas’ could not fail of being brought forward by their present view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as long as attention was possible.

In the following paragraph, which is one of the biggest, most dramatic events in Persuasion, we see how the setting draws out Louisa’s firmness of character and the way she is unyielding to persuasion. While Captain Wentworth has always seen this characteristic as a virtue, the negative side of it is made clear.

There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight, excepting Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. In all their walks, he had had to jump her from the stiles; the sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement for her feet, made him less willing upon the present occasion; he did it, however; she was safely down, and instantly, to shew her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain; she smiled and said, ‘I am determined I will:’ he put out his hands; she was too precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless!

A picture of steps on the Cobb, which is one of the sets of steps that Austen may have been describing in the novel. Image by Chris Talbot, Creative Commons license.

Almost all of the characters completely panic and are rather useless in this sort of situation. Except for Anne. Here we see her kindness, her perceptiveness, her rationality, and her ability to act in the face of challenge.

“Go to him, go to him,” cried Anne, “for heaven’s sake go to him….Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts,–take them, take them.”

Captain Benwick obeyed, and Charles at the same moment, disengaging himself from his wife, they were both with him; and Louisa was raised up and supported more firmly between them, and every thing was done that Anne had prompted, but in vain; while Captain Wentworth, staggering against the wall for his support, exclaimed in the bitterest agony,

“Oh God! her father and mother!”

“A surgeon!” said Anne.

He caught the word; it seemed to rouse him at once, and saying only, “True, true, a surgeon this instant,” was darting away, when Anne eagerly suggested,

“Captain Benwick, would not I be better for Captain Benwick? He knows where a surgeon is to be found.”

Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea[.]

Jane Austen uses a number of techniques in this passage to create emotional intensity. After Louisa’s fall, descriptions of the setting and people and people’s behavior are very short and concise. Her use of punctuation changes, paragraphs not ending with full stops before leaping into the next paragraph. And short snippets of dialogue are stacked on each other with almost no interruption.

A distinctive setting, like the Cobb at Lyme Regis, seems a fitting backdrop for such a pivotal event that impacts the entire trajectory of the novel.

Making an Ordinary Setting Distinctive

Sometimes distinctive settings are big and new and grand and different. Yet at other times, Jane Austen takes an ordinary setting and makes it distinctive in some way, and then uses this ordinary yet distinctive setting for a major plot turn.

An example of this is Mr. Elton’s proposal to Emma, in the book Emma. This proposal is key, not just because it is a proposal which she rejects, but because it is the start of Emma’s awareness that her judgment can be faulty (she thought Mr. Elton was in love with her friend Harriet, but he is actually in love with her).

The proposal occurs in a carriage, a very ordinary setting for an Austen character, yet what makes it distinctive is that Emma and Mr. Elton were never meant to be in a carriage alone together, and they only are because of a mix-up caused by other characters.

It is not common for a man and a woman to be in a carriage by themselves. This suddenly distinctive setting puts these two characters alone and unsupervised, when they would not normally be so. Mr. Elton decides to seize this opportunity to propose. The setting also serves to trap the characters: they are stuck in a moving box together, which adds to the pressure. During the proposal Emma feels trapped, and then after he is denied, Mr. Elton is also trapped both literally and figuratively.

A distinctive setting—whether it is grand and full of danger like the Cobb, or a familiar setting made distinctive like Emma’s carriage—is a powerful place to set a major plot turn, as it can make the plot possible, heighten awareness and tension, and draw out characters’ strengths and weaknesses.

Writing Exercises - Jane Austen Writing Lessons

Exercise 1: Choose a key scene from a story you have written, and revise the scene either by:

  1. Editing the setting to make it more distinctive (which will impact your description as well as how your character interact with and within the setting).
  2. Rewriting the scene with a new setting that can do more to assist with this major plot point.

Exercise 2:

Choose a book or a film, and find a scene with a distinctive setting in terms of landscape, architecture, cultural/historical significance, etc.

How does the use of this setting impact the plot and the character? What strengths and weaknesses of the characters does it manifest? How does this setting fit within the context of the other settings used in the story?

Exercise 3:

Consider the following list of ordinary places. Add a description to each to show how you could make them distinctive, in a way that might open up storytelling possibilities. (This could be anything, for example, something happening within the place, who is inside, how this place differs from other places like it, etc.)

  • A grocery store
  • A school bus
  • A bar
  • A movie theater
  • A kitchen

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #15: Make Your Character Need Something

#15: Make Your Character Need Something

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #15: Make Your Character Need Something

In the very first Jane Austen Writing Lesson, I talked about how a character must want something. This drives the forward movement of the novel.

Yet in addition to wants, characters also have needs.

In the novel Emma, Emma Woodhouse wants to be a matchmaker, and she wants to exert her control on the community. This is her conscious desire.

Yet Emma is coming from a place of loss—she has lost her dear governess to marriage, previously, she lost her mother to death and her older sister to marriage, and now she is alone, with a perpetually-ill father.

What Emma really needs is friendship and connection. Despite being one of the richest members of her community, she desperately needs to feel like she is important and of value.

All characters have conscious wants and needs, things they are actively seeking for. But they also have underlying wants and needs, which are often subconscious. They may not be aware of these needs, but they still drive the character’s behavior.

Gif of Harriet Smith and Emma Woodhouse

Gif of Harriet Smith and Emma Woodhouse from the 2020 film Emma.

Early in the novel, Emma befriends Harriet Smith and immediately plans a match for her: to Mr. Elton.

But then Mr. Martin, a farmer, proposes to Harriet.

On the surface level, if Harriet accepts Mr. Martin’s proposal, Emma fails at getting what she wants: her matchmaking will have gone to naught.

But it is not just Emma’s overlying want that is threatened, but also her underlying needs, and we see this play out in the scene in which Emma, very manipulatively, encourages Harriet to refuse Mr. Martin’s proposal. When Harriet begins to come to the conclusion that she should reject Mr. Martin, Emma uses all her rhetorical powers to reinforce it.

At last, with some hesitation, Harriet said—

“Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must do as well as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined, and really almost made up my mind—to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right?”

“Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just what you ought. While you were all in suspense I kept my feelings to myself, but now that you are so completely decided I have no hesitation in approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence; but it would have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you for ever.”

Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struck her forcibly.

Emma’s need for friendship, connection, and self-importance drive this scene as much as her desire to be matchmaker.

As you construct characters, make sure they want something, but also make sure that they have deeper, underlying needs.

One way to think about character needs is through the lens of psychology. Abraham Maslow wrote about a hierarchy of needs, and any of these intrinsic human needs can be a need for a story character.

Near the bottom of his pyramid are needs for basic survival—food, water, sleep, shelter, safety, and financial security. Further up the pyramid are needs related to love and belonging, whether that’s a sense of connection or friendship, true intimacy or family, or being a true part of community. Then Maslow talks about esteem—this could be respect from others, self-respect and self-esteem, public recognition for one’s accomplishments, or a feeling of strength and wholeness. At the top of the pyramid is self-actualization—becoming one’s fullest self and achieving one’s potential.

Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs

Image by Androidmarsexpress, Creative Commons license

Typically, you want to choose one or two overarching needs which drive your character. These needs may conscious or subconscious, or a need may start as subconscious and the character may become aware of it throughout the story.

Other smaller wants and needs may be manifest in individual scenes and interactions with other characters, but if your main character has a core want and a core need, then this will shape the overall arc of the story, both in terms of their external journey and their internal journey.

Writing Exercises - Jane Austen Writing Lessons

Exercise 1: Teresa wants to win this year’s chili cook-off. This is her driving want throughout a story. But what does she need? Choose one of the needs from Maslow’s hierarchy. Is she trying to get recognition—and if so, why? Does she need acceptance, friendship, love? Will the prize money help her pay her rent?

Once you have chosen a need, write a short scene—probably 2 or 3 paragraphs—in which both Teresa’s want and need inform her actions, dialogue, and thoughts. This scene could be when she signs up for the chili cook-off, when she’s buying ingredients, as she’s cooking, during the judging—any scene, because both her want and her need should subtly inform her.

(Note: self-actualization is a really difficult need to write, and most of the time, we don’t hit the self-actualization stage unless all of our other needs have been met, so it’s often better to choose a different need for our characters.)

Exercise 2: Choose one of your favorite books or films. What is the main character’s driving want in the story? What is the main character’s driving need in the story? How do the want and the need interact with each other—does the quest for one ever interfere with the quest for the other? Does the want or the need shift over time? If you would like, in the comments share the title of the story, and the character’s want and need.

Exercise 3: Take a scene that you have written and analyze it for character wants and needs. Use one color to highlight lines or phrases that relate to the character’s want(s), and another color to highlight lines or phrases that relate to the character’s need(s). Some lines may be highlighted by both colors. How could you revise the scene with wants and needs in mind?

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #14: Incorporate Backstory Strategically

#14: Incorporate Backstory Strategically

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #14: Incorporate Backstory Strategically

What is backstory?

Backstory is history and information about what happens before the story. Backstory is typically related to the characters, the situation, and the world in which they live.

Most backstory is never mentioned in a story—there are thousands of details and past events that inform the character and their community, thousands of excess details that your readers don’t want or need to know.

Yet there are plenty of details which the reader does need. The key is deciding how to share them.

One of the primary purposes of exposition is to provide backstory, yet too much backstory weighs down the exposition. Anytime you dive into past events, situations, details, and information, there’s a risk of creating an infodump.

The Infodump (Jane Austen Writing Lessons)

An infodump is an excess of information that pulls us out of the narrative. Information is piled on the reader, who does not have direction, and who doesn’t feel any sense of connection to the information. When too much of this sort of information is given to the reader at once, none of the information has purpose or weight, and the reader often loses interest in the story.

Instead of creating a pile of information, consider the individual pieces, and how they could be incorporated. The soda can in this beach pile might not feel like garbage if we encounter it by itself, as we’re walking along the beach. We might see someone drinking it—it might bring up an interesting recollection of a past event or situation.

The author Jo Walton talks about the benefits of what she calls incluing, or “the process of scattering information seamlessly through the text, as opposed to stopping the story to impart the information.”

Backstory should be woven not just through the exposition of a story, but throughout the entire story.

Weaving in Backstory in Persuasion

In the exposition of Persuasion, Jane Austen establishes the Elliot family, the death of Lady Elliot, and the characters of the three daughters, including the oft overlooked Anne Elliot.

The heart of Persuasion is about Anne Elliot and her relationships, in particular her relationship with Captain Wentworth. Yet the crucial backstory about the relationship between them is not provided in the exposition of the novel, but is carefully woven throughout.

The Elliots have decided that in order to remain financially solvent, they must rent out their home, Kellynch Hall. In chapter 3, they discuss a possible tenant: Admiral Croft.

One line of dialogue gives us Anne’s viewpoint on the Navy:

“The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least an equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and all the privileges which any home can give.”

This is subtle backstory—it’s something she is saying in the moment, in response to her father’s prejudice. Yet it reveals her attitude towards those who serve in the Navy.

A few pages later, Anne is able to give specific details on what Admiral Croft is known for—that he fought in Trafalgar and has been stationed in the East Indies. Once again, this provides key backstory. As readers, we’ve learned that Anne knows much more about the Crofts than anyone in her family, yet we don’t yet know how she learned this information.

A few pages later, someone mentions that years back, someone had visited that had some connection to Admiral Croft, and after a pause, Anne volunteers a single detail.

“You mean Mr. Wentworth, I suppose,” said Anne.

Her hesitation, the lack of detail that she gives, all reveal things about Anne and her relationship with this family.

By the end of chapter 3 , Sir Walter Elliot decides that he will allow Admiral Croft to rent the estate. The chapter ends with this sentence.

No sooner had such an end been reached, than Anne, who had been a most attentive listener to the whole, left the room, to seek the comfort of cool air for her flushed cheeks; and as she walked along a favourite grove, said, with a gentle sigh, “a few months more, and he, perhaps, may be walking here.”

In this moment, we see Anne’s current emotions and thoughts, but backstory is also revealed: we are given a sense of love lost, and we see the agitation this creates for Anne.

Throughout this chapter, there have been plenty of opportunities where Jane Austen could have provided an infodump, even spots where it might be natural and not feel like an infodump. Yet by spreading the information, piece by piece, it allows the scene to build, it provokes our curiosity, it gives crucial insight into Anne’s character, and it prepares us for chapter four, when we are given a larger amount of backstory.

The first line of Chapter 4:

He was not Mr. Wentworth, the former curate of Monkford, however suspicious appearances may be, but a captain Frederick Wentworth, his brother.

The narrator then describes Captain Wentworth’s situation years before, and how he and Anne met and fell in love. It tells us of their short engagement, and how Sir Walter and Lady Russell had convinced Anne to break it off.

This is a lot of backstory, but by this point, we care about Anne and this backstory has meaning for us as readers.

Gif of Anne and Captain Wentworth in Persuasion

A gif from the 2007 film version of Persuasion: Anne and Captain Wentworth

Incorporating Information on a Need to Know Basis

Backstory is something that I often don’t get quite right in a first draft—it’s something I finesse during revision. But how do you do it? How do you weave it?

What Jane Austen often does is provide enough context ahead of time so the reader is oriented, and then adds information and backstory as the character interacts with present, current things.

For example, Uppercross is mentioned as the residence of Anne’s older sister, Mary. Mary invites Anne to go to Uppercross and she agrees. That’s our context. That’s what’s going to keep us oriented.

A few pages later, Anne goes to stay at Uppercross. Now, as she’s arriving at Uppercross, we receive a brief description of the village.

More details are given on a need-to-know basis, as they provide context, unravel character, forward the plot, and provide insights into the emotions of the characters:

Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways of Uppercross as well as those of Kellynch. The two families were so continually meetings, so much in the habit of running in and out of each other’s house at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone…

Here, we receive backstory on Mary’s strong connection to Uppercross. We see how familiar she is with it. And we experience this as she enters the cottage and finds her sister (surprisingly) alone.

Using Backstory to Build Moments of Emotional Impact

Backstory can also build to moments of emotional impact.

Captain Wentworth comes to Uppercross, and soon becomes friends with Anne’s host, which means that Wentworth and Anne must interact frequently.

They had no conversation together, no intercourse but what the commonest civility required. Once so much to each other! Now nothing! There had been a time, when of all the large party now filling the drawing-room at Uppercross, they would have found it most difficult to cease to speak to one another. With the exception, perhaps, of Admiral and Mrs. Croft, who seemed particularly attached and happy, (Anne could allow no other exception even among the married couples) there could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for the could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.

This is a powerful, emotional moment of backstory, in which it is revealed how similar Anne and Wentworth were to each other, and how perfectly suited they had been for each other: “there could have been no two hearts so open.” Their similarity and how well suited they are for each other could have been revealed at many points of backstory prior to this, but instead, this bit of backstory is foreshadowed and saved for this moment, when it can have the greatest emotional impact because it is placed in contrast with Anne and Wentworth’s current relationship.

When you are using backstory for large emotional impact, limit the amount of backstory used. If we didn’t find out until now that Anne and Wentworth had been engaged, and then, at this moment, we found out they had been engaged and that they had been perfectly suited, this scene would be bogged down in the amount of impact, readers would be focusing on the new knowledge that they had a broken engagement, and their similarity would no longer have the space to have the same emotional impact.

When I’m editing and I see a scene where backstory is supposed to create emotional impact, I often realize that I’ve saved too much backstory for these scene, and I have to find pieces of backstory that I can weave in earlier so they aren’t distracting the reader from the true purpose and weight of the scene.

In Conclusion

Backstory should be included not only in the exposition, but throughout the entire novel. The incorporation of backstory is particularly suited to written fiction—it is much more difficult to include in film or theatre—and it provides insight into the character’s mind, perspective, experience, and emotions.

Writing Exercises - Jane Austen Writing Lessons

Exercise 1: Read the following paragraph.

Sandra stood at the edge of the dock, staring into the water. She could hear the other teenagers behind her, their laughter, their utter unconcern, as if this meant nothing. This meant nothing to them. They didn’t fear the water. She dipped her toe into the lake. She would be fine. She could do this. She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath of air and courage, and jumped.

Rewrite the paragraph, and as you do so, include 1 or 2 pieces of backstory.

This backstory could be about why Sandra fears water, what happened the last time she was in the water, or what happened to someone she knows, or it could be about the troubled history of this lake, a memory from this particular spot, etc. The type of information you choose to include will impact the emotion and direction of the paragraph.

Exercise 2: Take a novel that you have read at least once before. Skip the exposition, and now skim at least two or three chapters, looking for moments of backstory. Use post-it notes to mark these moments of backstory. Now analyze the author’s use of backstory:

  • When is backstory incorporated?
  • How is backstory incorporated?
  • Are there moments where backstory is used to create emotional impact?

Exercise 3:

Take a story you have written and choose a key emotional moment that doesn’t include any backstory. Revise the scene to incorporate an element of backstory—small or large—in a way that increases the emotional impact of the moment.

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #13: Start the Story Early (If Necessary)

#13: Start the Story Early (If Necessary)

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Jane Austen Writing Lessons. #13: Start the Story Early (If Necessary)

Most stories start not long before the inciting incident, providing a brief description, moment, scene, or a few chapters which encapsulate the period BEFORE—before everything changes for the characters. Emma and Persuasion provide good examples of this.

Other stories, like Pride and Prejudice, start after the inciting incident—in medias res.

Yet other stories take a very different approach to exposition and start long before the inciting incident disrupts the story (note that starting long before the inciting incident does not necessarily mean that the telling of the exposition needs to be long—expositions that start early can still be brief). Jane Austen uses this technique in two of her novels: Northanger Abbey begins at Catherine Morland’s birth, and Mansfield Park begins years before Fanny Price is born.

These two novels start the exposition early for two different purposes:

  1. Northanger Abbey: To show the main character’s life trajectory, and to contrast the inciting incident (and what comes as a result) against the character’s entire life.
  2. Manfield Park: To demonstrate a prior formative moment which caused a drastic shift in the main character’s life, and created a new normal, which is then disrupted by the inciting incident.

Life Trajectory in Northanger Abbey

Northanger Abbey demonstrates the main character’s life trajectory prior to the inciting incident. The novel begins with the line:

No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine.

After this establishment of theme (and the delightful, rather satirical approach of the entire novel), we learn of Fanny’s birth:

Her mother…had three sons before Catherine was born; and instead of dying in bringing the latter to the world, as anybody might expect, she still lived on—lived to have six children more…

We follow Catherine Morland’s childhood, learning that she prefers cricket to dolls, seeing her disinterest in learning and watching her quit music after only a year or instruction. The narrator jumps from Catherine at age ten to age fifteen, and we see her continued development:

To look almost pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the first fifteen years o her life, than a beauty from her cradle can ever receive.

Catherine reaches seventeen, with nothing to interrupt the path that she is on, a point that the narrator draws attention to:

She had reached the age of seventeen, without having seen one amiable youth who could call forth her sensibility; without having inspired one real passion, and without having excited even any admiration but what was very moderate and very transient. This was strange indeed!

All this in the first chapter. By creating a life trajectory, it establishes a shared set of reference points with the reader, reference points that help us understand the main character and who she is prior to the inciting incident. These references are essential, because without them, we would be unable to understand Catherine’s choices throughout the novel—her life trajectory informs her naivety, her desire to be liked, her fascination with new people and places, and how she constantly turns to books as an escape.

The last paragraph of the first chapter establishes the inciting incident, which is placed in direct contrast with the main character’s life to this point:

[Mrs. Allen], a good-humoured woman, fond of Miss Morland, and probably aware that if adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad, invited her to go with them.

The other benefit of this approach to exposition is that it allows the narrator to avoid infodumps later—it would be difficult to include all of these details as backstory later in the story without unnaturally piling them on.

The elements included in Northanger Abbey are referred to again and again throughout the story, both directly and indirectly. By journeying with Catherine from her birth to age 17, we are prepared for the much bigger journey she will take throughout the novel.

Prior Formative Moment/Shift in Mansfield Park

While the exposition of Mansfield Park covers a lot of ground, the main purpose is for us to experience a formative moment, a huge shift, in Fanny Price’s early life.

Manfield Park starts before Fanny’s birth, and focuses on the weddings of the prior generation. Three sisters become, respectively, Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, and Mrs. Price. Mrs. Price is the one whose marriage has disappointed her family by being beneath her station. Mrs. Price loses contact with her family, and only reestablishes it when expecting her ninth child. At this point, her oldest daughter, Fanny, is nine years old, and is about to experience a cosmic shift, caused by her aunts, Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris, and her uncle, Lady Bertram’s husband, Sir Thomas.

Mrs. Norris was often observing to the others, that she could not get her poor sister and her family out of her head, and that much as they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more: and at length she could not but own it to be her wish, that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of one child entirely out of her great number. “What if they were among them to undertake the care of her eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to require more attention than her poor mother could possibly give? The trouble and expense of it to them, would be nothing compared with the benevolence of the action.” Lady Bertram agreed with her instantly. “I think we cannot do better,” said she, “let us send for the child.”

Sir Thomas is initially resistant the idea but is won over by his sister-in-law and wife. As the scene continues, we come to understand the character of these three adults, and without having met Fanny, we know intuitively that this is not going to be a warm, welcoming place for her.

We meet Fanny in Chapter 2, as she begins her “long journey.” We are with her throughout this epic change; we feel her discomfort as she is introduced to the family, and we see into her mind and character:

Her consciousness of misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for her not to be happy.

Fanny struggles on and on. Through her eyes, we see how inferior she feels compared to her cousins, and how unrefined. In this exposition, we also come to know, in more depth, one of the other key characters of the novel, Edmund Bertram.

A week had passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund, the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs.

“My dear little cousin,” said he, with all the gentleness of an excellent nature, “what can be the matter?”

A touching scene follows in which Edmund helps Fanny share her thoughts. He comes to learn about her family and her relationships with her siblings. He also helps her write and send a letter, promising she will not have to pay for it. This first real moment between Edmund and Fanny sets up their entire relationship, which is such a huge part of the novel, and it is better experienced in scene rather than through summary or flashback.

Thus, in chapter 2, we experience this great upheaval in Fanny’s life, and we see her adjust to the new normal, the new status quo.

If there has been a formative moment, a grand shift in a character’s life, there is power in allowing the reader to experience it with the main character. If this sort of shift merits being part of the exposition, it is typically large enough that in a different story it could be the inciting incident. Yet if used as exposition, it establishes a new normal, which is then disrupted by the inciting incident.

If Fanny’s removal to Mansfield Park was the inciting incident, the novel would be about ten-year-old Fanny and the internal and external journey she takes as she adjusts to her new life. Instead, this adjustment is covered in a single chapter, paving the way for the actual inciting incident, which is Mr. Norris’ death and the arrival of a new set of rather disruptive characters: Mr. and Mrs. Grant, Mr. Crawford, and Miss Crawford. These new characters disrupt not just Fanny’s life, but the lives of the entire family. But for Fanny, this disruption, this inciting incident, feels deeper, because this is not the first huge disruption she has experienced.

In Conclusion

In Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park, Jane Austen uses two of the major approaches for starting a story early: providing a life trajectory, and depicting a prior formative shift. Yet starting the story early is not the only good approach to exposition, nor should it be the default. In Persuasion there are several formative shifts for Anne prior to the start of the novel—her mother’s death and her short-lived engagement. Yet Anne’s experience of these moments is revealed effectively through backstory, and in fact, their placement later in the story serves to reveal Anne’s character and her regrets at key moments.

If you want to start the story early, there needs to be a good reason for us to experience these scenes with the character. This experience should be enlightening to us, and, like in Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park, there needs to be a reason that they must be experienced at the beginning. We should start our stories early if it helps us understand the logic of everything else.

Writing Exercises - Jane Austen Writing Lessons

Exercise 1: Find another story—a book or a film—that starts early. Now analyze it. Is it painting a character trajectory? Is it showing a prior disruptive moment? Or is it doing something else entirely?

Exercise 2: Take one of your characters (or an idea you have for a character) and write a 500-word life sketch, that begins either before or at their birth. Once you’re finished, analyze the results:

  • What new things did you learn about your character?
  • What were the biggest, most defining moments in your character’s early life? What shaped them into who they are as they enter the story?
  • Are there elements of your character’s early that should be woven into the story as backstory? Or is this a case where it would be useful to experience the character’s early life as part of the exposition?

Even if none of the life sketch is incorporated into the story, writing it is a useful practice that can help you understand your character, their personality, and their choices.

Exercise 3: Take a fairy tale or classic story that does not give many specific details about a character’s younger years (for example, Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice). Brainstorm specific events and incidents that could have occurred before the start of the story, and would be in keeping with their character, the story world, and what we do know.

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