Day 320: Negative Space

Since reading 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' I've been a little bit obsessed with creating negative space in my writing. The way Le Carre was able to imply knowledge without ever directly stating it was pure mastery of the most inspiring kind, almost like magic to anybody who takes a second to notice. It's one of the only books I've read where I had to actually stop and think about how on Earth I had been led to a certain conclusion without my noticing along the way. Sometimes I would end up knowing things well in advance of the story, and while I was certain Le Carre had informed me intentionally, it was a real struggle to figure out how. This use of negative space, a place where information should be, but isn't, can make a reader feel like a genius for figuring out what piece fits, even if it's the writer who is actually doing most of the work. Creating an enjoyable reading experience that makes the reader feel accomplished is a huge part of writing a good book, and I'm trying my best to wrap my head around this concept.

There are a few other terms that I'm capturing under this 'negative space' catch-all, subtext being the most prominent among them. Subtext usually refers to the 'real' conversation that occurs during dialogue. The conversation beyond the words being said. Here's the shortest example I could possibly come up with:

"Nice weather, huh?"

"Yep. It's a beautiful day."

This could be two people conversing about the weather just as per usual, nothing beyond what's being said. But context can inform us of a greater truth beneath what these two unnamed characters are talking about. This simple, even boring, exchange can be completely altered by just one more sentence.

The rain came down in sheets too thick to see more than ten feet beyond the windshield of the tornado interceptor.

"Nice weather, huh?"

"Yep. It's a beautiful day."

Now the subtext is a lot more interesting. Since they're in a storm chasing vehicle (which I learned just now has the way cooler title 'tornado interceptor'), and the rain is coming down in sheets, we know these two must be ready for a tornado to touch down at any moment. It's only nice weather to these two because they're on the verge of fulfilling their purpose as storm chasers. Hopefully this adds a bit of tension to an otherwise boring exchange, assuming I did it right. There's probably a smoother way to introduce that information, and in a longer piece maybe it wouldn't need introduction at all. Maybe the last chapter ended with them leaving to chase a storm, and the beginning of this next chapter is ripe with subtext thanks to the rest of the novel leading up to this moment. Using subtext here is probably the most efficient way to capture the sense that these two characters are about to be in a fight for their lives, but it's exactly what they came for.

Subtext in dialogue is fun, and often a lot easier than it seems at first glance, but there are other times it can be useful too. Sometimes what a character thinks or observes can give insight into the situation beyond what is actually stated on the page. It's often a lot more subtle than how it's used in dialogue though, and that subtlety requires a setup far in advance. Here's an example from 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' where the main character George Smiley has asked his compatriot Peter Guillam to watch his back for a tail. This includes some spoilers, so if you haven't read the novel or seen the movie, I'd skip this example if I were you. If you don't care, then it's important to know that the primary goal in the novel is to uncover a mole in the British intelligence agency.

-- SPOILERS --

Guillam waited, then stepped into the street. A thin drizzle lay on the air, which had an eerie warmness like a thaw. Where lights shone, the moisture shifted in fine clouds, but in shadow he neither saw nor felt it. simply, a mist blurred his vision, making him half close his eyes. He completed one round of the gardens, then entered a pretty mews well south of the pick-up points. Reaching Marloes Road, he crossed to the west pavement, bought an evening paper, and began walking at a leisurely rate past villas set in deep gardens. He was counting off pedestrians, cyclists, cars, while out ahead of him, steadily plodding the far pavement, he picked out George Smiley, the very prototype of the homegoing Londoner. "Is it a team?" Guillam had asked. Smiley could not be specific. 'Short of Abingdon Villas, I'll cross over," he said "Look for a solo. But look!"

As Guillam watched, Smiley pulled up abruptly, as if he had just remembered something, stepped perilously into the road, and scuttled between the angry traffic to disappear at once through the doors of a liquor store. As he did so, Guillam saw or thought he saw, a tall crooked figure in a dark coat step out after him, but at that moment a bus drew up, screening moth smiley and his pursuer; and when it pulled away it must have taken his pursuer with it, for the only survivor on that strip of pavement was an older man in a black plastic raincoat and cloth cap lolling at the bus stop while he read his evening paper.

This seems straight forward at first, but what if I told you this little scene is actually clear evidence that another character, Jim Prideaux, later kills the book's primary antagonist? This line right here:

Guillam saw or thought he saw, a tall crooked figure in a dark coat step out after him

Gives an attentive reader all the information they need to know who's following George Smiley. One of the first things that's ever revealed about Jim is that he has a hunched back thanks to an old bullet lodged in his shoulder. The origin of that bullet is revealed as the story goes on, when Jim is interviewed and talks about his failed mission where he was shot by Russian spies. Hundreds of pages later, the reader who has been conditioned to know that Jim has a hunched back thanks to his tragic backstory recognizes him instantly, without needing to be told explicitly who it is out there in the murky London drizzle.

But, why would Jim be following anybody? At this part in the story George is on his way to the place where he will finally catch the mole red handed. Jim follows George so he can spot the mole himself and know just who it was that blew his mission and gave him a hunched back. Jim is never directly spotted following, or during George's encounter with the mole, or at any future point in the story. But when the mole winds up dead under mysterious circumstances a few chapters later at the very end, it's obvious who did the deed.

-- SPOILERS OVER --

Le Carre was able to subtly guide the reader through the cloak and dagger world of Tinker Tailor to the central conclusion of the secondary character's plot without so much as stating his name. He doesn't need to. There's a gaping hole with his name written all over it, as long as you paid attention to the rest of the story.

Thank you for reading,

Benjamin Hawley