UNIT 1 INTRODUCTION

Structure
1.0 Aims and Objectives
1.1 Introduction
1.2 Thelbirth of writing and its importance
1.3 Types of writing and their functions
1.4 The substance of writing
1.4.1 Content
1.4.2 Form
1.4.3 Structure
1.4.4 Style '
1.5 Some tips to an aspiring writer
1.5.1 Read in order to write
1.5.2 Allow your experience to ripen
1.5.3 Write about your experience differently
1 .5.4 Start with your diary
1.5.5 VisualisaQon,outline and design
1.5.6 Some do's and don'ts
1.5.7 Learn to be your own critic
1.5.8 Seek others' opinions

1.6 Summing up
1.7 Activities: a d s to answers
1.8 Glossary
\

1.0 AIMS AND OBJECTIVES

Writing is an art, and more so creative writing, which is an expression of your
creative urge. You will find this course not only informative but also stimulative of
your creative impulse, in which respect it differs from all other courses. This course
not only discusses the various aspects of creative writing, but also helps you mould
yourself into a writer.

In the first Unit on your creative writing course, certain fundamental ideas are
discussed. It starts with the assumption that writing is a social act, and that man
writes because he must share with others what he thinks and feels. Further, it informs
,you that

0 the distinction between creative and non-creative writing is that between

informing and revealing;
the content of writing chooses the only form appropriate to it;
the essence of content is experience transformed in the mind of the writer;
structure is basically the ordering of material,
style is that handling of language which expresses the content best;
an aspiring writer should

i) read extensively and with discrimination,

ii) allow his experience to mature,
iii) strike out his own path, i.e. write something individual, different;
iv) begin with keeping a private diary of thoughts and experiences;
v) then visualise the course of the work clearly; and
vi) try to achieve maximum clarity, precision, directness, and a sense of
economy.
You must not only be your own critic, but should also submit your work to
discerning friends for criti-
FuMharental.Norms of Writing
1.1 INTRODUCTION
Man is a social animal4 Once his primary needs such as food, shelter and clothing
are met, it becomes neessary for him to fulfil the social need of communication.
He must communicate with other human beings not only to seek and impart
information, but also to share with them his experiences-his joys and sorrows. .
The signals man makes through speech, action or artistic creation, have all this
commom purpose-ta be understood by others.

Early man expressed liimself through gestures with his hands and face. This was
the first mode of communication available to him. Man could also produce
mutually unconnected grunts and groans to express his basic emotions like anger
and satisfaction. This Was another mode of communication for him.With the
passage of time, with developing intelligence, he began to connect one sound with
another and turn his grunts and groans into sound pawrns. These sound
patterns, with specific meanings attached to each and understood by all in the
group, became speech.

However, both gestures and speech had severe limitations. These could be useful
only when members of the group were in close proximity.

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1.2 THE BIRTH OF WRITING AND ITS

IMPORTANCE
Imagine a situation like this: a woman with her children is away collecting wood
for the fire and her man, resting in front of the cave, suddenly spots a wild boar
which he has to chase away or hunt. How will he tell his woman where he has
gone?

Out of such a situatiod came the first cave drawings, and from these the
ideograph. When thes were found inadequate, alphabets which could reproduce
g
human speech phone cally, were gradually devised. Herein lies the genesis of
writing, which can brdadly be defined as 'a system of human
intercommunication Qy means of visible conventional markings.'

The earliesl.efforts at kriting, about six thousand years ago, were made in Egypt
and Mesopotamia. They are etchings on clay tablets called 'cuneifonns'. Starting
with them, man continued to improve his methods of writing. He devised several
other things like parchment, birch-bark and finally paper. If the entire span of
time, from the birth od the first well-defined Neanderthal Man 300,000 years-ago
to the present lime, is reduced to a tirne-scale of 50 years, writing has been in
vogue only in the last one year or less. Yet, the strides which human civilisation
has made in this one year of time-scale have been greater than in the rest of man's
Kstory. If it is so, the credit for it must go to one single factor, that is, writing, for
writing means communication and communication means progress. In the whole
of human history, these has been nothing more glorious than writing to explore
oneself, and to express oneself. If writing had not been invented, we would not
have known anything of the past, anything of other places or people. We would
have continued to live in utter ignorance of one another in our isolated little
holes.

Why does one write? There could be some easy yet inadequate answers to this
question, such as moriey, vanity, or drive for fame. All these might be true to
some extent. But, basically and more importantly, the answer lies in the urge of
the writer to communicate a thought or a feeling-that is, to express himself, As
T.S. Eliot has said, 'Ybu write because you feel the need to free yourself of
something'. This m e w that it is psychological and aesthetic compulsion. It also
becomes a social need when you write about and for other people, as in a novel o
a short story, so as to be able to establish a bond with them.
 As for the reader, when he goes through the work of a master, he will be entering
a new world, with its unique slociaIsituations; characters and emotions.

1.3 TYPES OF WRITING AND THEIR FUNCTIONS

-
AU writing can be broadly classified into two categories : (a) creative and @) ncm-
creative. Let us first coasider the non-creative writing. It deals with ideas, and its
purpose is to inform: it adds to your information and widens your knowledge. Books
on history, religiohand science,etc., belong to this category. In order to achieve kmt
this pbrpose of info-, the writer will have to be analytical in & approach, and
present his argummts m e t t r m y and lucidly so that his writing is easy to
comprehend.

On the other hand, creative w r i t e is almost a spiritual activity. Its purpose is not to
inform,but to reveal. A highly creative writer meditates on either concrete things of
the world, or on abstract thwghts like love or divinity, and pours out his ~~ in
his writing. Or, bringing his unique imagination into play, he may interactwith life-
around and write about social situations and events, so as to enlighten, uplift and
. transport, in a manner all his own--as in the novel or short story. You can sense his
individual vision in his writings.
<

Although, on the basis of (he aubjeci-matter,all writingscan be divided into creative

and non-creative, it is not ufwsual that a highly imaginative writer can produce a
in a creative manner. And such a work uplifts even as it informs.
Maeterlinck wrote The Life of the Bee almost like a creative
the fnnges of poetry. Conversely, in the hands of an
ordi~ary m, even a novel or a short story can make very dull reading, duller than
any nofikreative work.
, .
Activity 1
i) Why should one try to communicate wjth others? (50 words)
ii) What is the genesis of writing? (50 words)
iii) Why does one write? (50 words)
(Check your answers with thoqe given at the end of the Unit)
Emdagw&N.ras of Writhg
I -- -

1.4 THE - S I ~ S T WRlTING

~ 6~
Every literary work, big or /small, essentially consists of four aspects

1.4.1 Content !
The essence of content is ebperience.Experience is what one acquires from the life
around, through ow's sMes, by observing things that happen. No writer can .
possibly write h a vmum(,He would have seen life around him in its various
situations, happy and sad, r[larshand poignant, and he would have made mental
notes of everything. W h q suddenly, it occurs to hiin to write a story with a qxtab
event as its centre, with a fiarticularset of cbracters, the right ekawats, which he
had once accumulated in *s mind and which have in the meanwhile undergone
strange transfonnatilons$thin him, will begin tumbling out of their own accord and
take a new life on p a p . ven when one invents a story, its dements would

1
somewhere resemble fhe eal,Otherwise, the writing will lack credibility and
authenticity.(which ilre di used in URit 3 of Block 1). A well-written work should
always give the read& thelfeeling that it is real; it should never make him say, 'Oh,
how could this ever Zmppqn!' Hence, it is necessary for a writer to keep his eyes
and ears open and closelylobserve the life around so as to be able to stock those
images for use in future.

1.4.2 Form I

Form has two meanings: krstly, literary form and secondly, structural form.
I

As for literary form, the qbntent itself generally decides what fonnit should'take.

quality are such that no &

Whether a particular insi t should come out as a story or a navel, or its nature and
g but a poem express it full is not generally decided
consciously. It comes on Its own with the idea of writing itself. Occasiorially, the

which form to chodse. 'T

writer may be in a dile a and has to decide, taking all factors into consideration,

,
1.4.3 Structure 1
As for its structural senst$, tl-fe guiding principle should be easy communication for
easy comprehension. In brder to achieve a good structure, ilie writer should first of
all order his material, thqt is, decide-(a) how much of what should be in the work,
and (b) in what order. Lbgic, commonsense and experience, drawn from one's wide
reading, wiU help here. Just as a 500-page novel cannot be managed with only two
characters, an eght-pagetstory cannot have two dozen characters, unless the writer is a
genius. One cannot go 00 describing the locale of the story for seven pages,
reserving all the action apd its denouement to the last page. As for the order, the
Aristotelian 'beginning-middle-and-end' is a time-tested sequence. But a gifted
writer can always make variations. Literary tradition has provided us with several
acceptable models; but if the writer is innovative he can create newer models. It is
important to bear in a d , however, that ultimately structure is only a means to an
end, and one should chaose only that in which the content comes through best.

In its totality, a piece of writing is like a work of architecture, where every stone is
well-cut and fits into the/ other as if the two are one piece. Nothing in it should stick
out. The total structure $hould make an aesthetically satisfying whole. The stone
metaphor above applie$to every single element of writing-first the word, then the
sentence, the paragraph, the chapter and finally the book itself. Each word in a
sentence should work like the right musical note, and each sentence like a bar and
the book as a whcle likq a symphony, harmonious in its total orchestration.

1.4.4 Style
Then comes style. It is ossible that two works written on the same subject, or with
1
the same theme, shod both be structurally satisfying, yet stylistically one may be
better than the other. Sble is a manner of expressing one's thoughts and feelings'in
'
words. It is the result of long-cultivated awareness of words and sentences, of the
way a writer connects qne sentence with another. For one writer, 'succour' may be
acceptable, while 'help' may be more appropriate.'Procrastination' is
tongue-twisting, while 'delay' is more expressive. For many, more than two
adjectives at a time may be bad writing, but for a poet like Walt Whitman, a chain of
them was normal. Style is a very personal thing; it identifies the writer.

Activity 2
i) Distinguish between creative and non-creative writing. Can the distinction be
maintained in all cases? (70 words)
ii) What are the essential aspects of a literary work? Does context mean only the
transcription of actual experience? (70 words)
iii) What does 'structure' mean? (50 words)
iv) Why is critical reading necessary for an aspiring writer like you? (50 words)
(Check your answers with those given at the end of the Unit)
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1.5 SOME TIPS TO AN ASPIRING WRITER

Writing is not something which 'Do It Yourself books can teach. No one can teach
another how to become a writer. What you get from others or, for that matter, from
this Unit are only a few tips based on experience.

1.5.1 Read in order to write

For anyone whb aspires to become a writer, the first requirement is to be a good
reader. One can a lot fi-om reading the best in all literatures. Perhaps, there is
no one in the e d Who has become a writer without having read a single word of
 N-@
~uadrsaat~l ofwriting what others have written. When we talk of reading, we do not mean reading casually
for entertainment, or because there is nothing better to do. What really matters is
reading critically, analysibgfor oneself every detail of the work, asking questions at
every step as to why the vriter has devised his plot in a particular manner, or has
made the characters act the way they do, and whether it could have been done in any
other way. Long years of close reading in this manner builds up a writer's
equipment. It increases his vocabulary. It often provides ready answers to the
questions which crop up in the process of writing.

The subject for writing should occur to the writer spontaneously, either coming
from inside, or as a sudden reaction to something encountered in the outside world.
This is what makes for inqpired writing. You should not sit down to write with a
question like 'What should I write?'.

1.5.2 Allow your exgerience to ripen

The experience which you draw from the life around you should not be put on paper
as it is. That would make it a mere matter-of-fact, hackneyed piece of journalism.
You should learn to make that experience your own, by internalising it. You should
allow it to gestate within your mind, in the process of which you may reject a few
details and addsfew others from similar experiences. This kind of gestation will also
make it personal, intimate and authentic. Hence, it is not desirable to rush for pen
and paper as soon as t h e r ~is a desire to write. We have used the word 'gestation'.
The act of writing is like giving birth to something. It should come of its own, after it
is ripe enough and when it can no longer wait. It serves no purpose to wrench it out ,y
by force.

1.5.3 Write about your experience differently

Before writing about anything, you should ask yourself whether it is something trite
which others have already written about, or something new. If it is new, there is
nothing like it. It is not thdt a writer can always hit upon new things to write about.
Life does not have a new theme to offer everyday to everyone. It is the same birth,
the same hunger, the samk love and the same death-always. But though the themes
are few and limited, their variations are unlimited. Here lies the scope for an
imaginative mind. You will have to ask yourself whether you can write about the
same old thing differently, bringing your own insights and perceptions into it.

1.5.4 Start with yout diary

Before launching out on More ambitious projects like short stories and novels, it is
best to start with your own diary and reminiscences. A few months of consistent
writing of the diary, for yOur private reading, will give you confidence to undertake
m Dre difficzult types of writing later on.

1.5.5 Visualisation, outline and design

Once you have the basic idea of what you want to write, and you are convinced that
it will make a fairly good literary work, keep thinking about all its aspects, such as
the theme, plot, situation$, characters, dialogues, etc. Jot down every small detail
that occurs to you. Then put down everythmg sequentially and prepare an outline to
show how it will start, develop and end. Before finally putting pen to paper, you
should have a clear picture in your mind of the entire work. This is called
visualisation.
I

There are many gifted writers who, at the time of starting, have only a vague idea of
what they are going to write. But as they proceed, the unconscious mind takes over
and the writing takes very different turns and twists to produce very interesting
results. This method may not be advisable for the beginner.

The beginning and the end of a work are vital as in a musical piece. The first few
pages are like a lea& and you should be able to hold the readers with it and lead
them on. In fact, there are some readers who, if they do not find the first and last
few paragraphs interesthg enough, would jusi put down the book.
1.5.6 Some do's and don'ts
i) If there is any one single quality which distinguishes most great works, it is
clarity-clarity of thought and clarity of expression. Your writing should not be
dense or dull, but should shine like a mirror.
ii) Precision is another such quality-precision both in respect of your thoughts,
and the words you use to express them. Word is God. Take your words
seriously. Do not waste them. When you use a word, make sure of its precise
meaning. Tools like the dictionary, thesaurus, etc., will help you to understand
the correct meaning of words and their usages.
iii) Do not overwrite. The days of ornate prose are over. It is possible to achieve
miracles even with simple sentences. No wondei, the Bible is still considered a
model of good writing.
iv) Similarly, avoid being pompous. Don't be very flippant either. Choose your
words and expressions according to the mood of your work.
v) Also avoid archaisms, ie., words no longer in vogue, slang, cliches and jargon.
Write, as it comes to you, effortlessly.
vi) Length, i.e., how much to write, is yet another important factor. The length will
be determined by the scope of your subject. If you are clear in your mind about
what you want to say, the end will come where it should.
vii) Do not try to explain too much. Leave something to the reader's imagination
also.
viii) Let your writing be sprightly. A touch of humour, if it is not against the basic
mood of your work, is dways welcome. .

1.5.7 Learn to be your own critic

After you have written a piece, read it aloud to yourself to test it on your ears. You
will fmd several false notes, both in your statements and expressions. You will be
surprised that quite a few things which you found exciting when you first put them
on paper now seem band. Remove them mercilessly. Every writer should learn to
be his own critic.
Once your first draft is ready, put it aside till such time as it is out of your mind. It
may have to be for a week, a fortnight, or a month,=or more. Now read+itagain. You
will then see it in a fresh light. At places, it may even make you wonder how you
could have been so silly as to write certain things. There will be more work for you,
and the typed pages will be filled with corrections. But you should not be dismayed.

1.5.8 Seek others' opinions

FOEevery writer, it is important to build up a close circle of creative writers and
*
discriminating readers who are on the same wave-length and who can read through
his manuscript patiently and give an honest, unbiased opinion about it. It is
necessary to shed one's shyness to be able to show one's work to others and also
curb one's ego to consider their criticism, however drastic it might be. But, in the
end, it will be good for the work. If even after all fhis a work fails to pass muster,
better forget about it rather than hunt for a publisher. The world will not be the
poorer by that one work which failed to come off. You can always make it up with
your next work.

Activity 3
Did you ever feel the urge to unbuiden yourself of any experience, pleasant or
unpleasant, in.your life?
Write about it in not more than 200 words.
(See the hints given at the end of this Unit).
Fmduaentd Norms of Writing ............................................................. r............

1.6 SUMMING UP
k n tiies to fulfil not only his primary needs like food, clothing and shelter, but
also his social need of ~omrnunicationwith others so as to share his experiences.
It is this urge to communicatewith others that has given rise to various forms of
communication-gestyres, signals, speech, artistic creation, ideographs-and
finally writing.
But for writing we would have not known anythmg of the past, or of places, and
other people.
One writes primarily tb express oneself and not necessarily for money and fame.
Writings are of two types-non-creative and creative-the former to inform and
the latter to reveal.
* The three essential aspects of a literary work are content, form and structure.
Style is the way in whikh the work is expressed-the manipulation of language.
But whatever is writtea must be credible and authentic.
Writing cannot be learnt but can only be cultivated, and for this critical readmg is
necessary.
The art of writing is liMe giving birth in that it is preceded by a period of gestation of
ideas, etc.
Writing about something new is not always possible, but writing differently of
even familiar things is possible.
Keeping a diary is helpful to a writer.
, One should have the bwic idea of what one wants to write. Think of it in terms of
structure and then f o m a clear picture through visualisation.
There are some do's d d don'ts. Clarity of thought and precision of expression
are necessary. Overwriting and aver-elaboration should be avoided. A touch of
humour always enlivefisthe writing.
 Inbr*
1.7 ACTNITIES: AIDS TO ANSWERS
Activity 1
i) Man, being a social animal, has an innate compulsion to communicate with
other human beings, not only to inform'them or know anything from them, but
also to share his'experiences with them-his joys and sorrows. It is a means for
overcoming loneliness and for fulfilling his social urges.
ii) The forms of communication like gestures, sounds, speech and even signals,
all have severe and obvious limitations which early man must have experienced.
To overcome their limitations he must have resorted to cave drawings from which '
the idedgraph came to be developed. But when they were found inadequate or
unhelpful, he must have devised the alphabets which could reproduce human
speech. The earliest attempts at writing (in Egypt and Mesopotamia) were
etchings on clay tablets (cuneiforms) which were followed by those on
parchment, birch-bark and M y on paper.
iii) A possible answer is money, vanity or desire to win fame. But the chid reason
why one writes is to fulfil one's urge to communicate a thought/feeling, or to
relieve oneself of pent-up feelings or other such tensions. There is always a
psychological and aesthetic need for a writer.

Activity 2
i) Non-creative writing informs while creative *\ing reveals. The distinction
between the two becomes blurred when a non-creative writing is expressed in
poetic language and moves the reader as any creative writing does.
h) Form and content;no, if it is a mere transcription of actual experience,it
becomes journalistic writing. The facts, whether 'real' or 'invented', undergo
transformation ill the writer'smind before they are presented in the form of a
story; a novel or a poem. Only then will they interest and move others. .
iii) Structure means the ordering of the story material, as in architecture. It
applies to every element-plot, character and language.
iv) Critical reading of the best books of literature-not merely reading them for
ente-ent-is necessary for an aspiring writer. It helps not only in developing
his vocabulary but also in suggesting answers to questions which he encounters in
the course of his writing. It may act as acatalyst to his own creative efforts.

Activity 3
Hints
i) Write in the first person 'I' form.
ii) Your vocabulary should include a large number of words and phrases
describing your feelings, thoughts and emotions.
iii) You can use abbreviations,slang and figures of speech.

1.8 GLOSSARY

You will find in the glossary a short list of the words used in this Unit.

Aristotelian beginning-middle-and-end: According to Aristotle, every form of

creative writing should have a clear design-a beginning, a middle and an end.
Character: The aggregate qf traits and features that form the nature of a person is
referred to as character.
Denouement: The untying of the complications of a plot; the catastrophe of a
tragedy or other event, immediately after the climax, that brings to its end the
dramatic conflict. 13
F ~ S E B ~ NI-W ofwriting Form: In a literary work, form refers to its shape and structure, and to the manner
in which it is made (see style), as opposed to its substance (content), or what it is
about. Form and substance are inseparable but they may be analysed and assessed
individually.
Ideograph: A written smbol that represents an idea or an object rather than a
particular word or speech sound. The Chinese and Japanese languages, for instance,
are ideographic. I

Phonetics: It is the study of speech sounds: their production, transmission, and

reception. It also involves the analysis, transcription and classification of the sounds
of speech.
Plot: It is the plan, design, scheme or pattern of events in a play, poem or work of
fiction. In order to discover the plot you ask yourself such questions as: Why did that
happen? Why is this happening? What is going to happen next-and why?
UNIT 2 HOW TO ACHIEVE LUCIDITY
AND DIRECTNESS
Structure
2.0 Aims and Objectives
2. i Introduction
2.2 The dimensions of clarity
2.2.1 Decide what you want to make clear
2.2.2 Clarity depends upon proper education
2.2.3 Clarity requires a concrete definition of your subject

2.3 Your writing must be engaging

2.4 Clarity and transparency
2.5 Rigidity may affect clarity
2.6 Clarity is not facile comprehensibility
2.7 Clarity is not simplicity of statement
2.8 Always keep your reader in mind
2.9 Relation between language and clarity
2.10 Directness
2.10.1 How to achieve directness : technique
2.10.2 Clarity and syntax
2.10.3 Clarity and vocabulary
2.10.4 Directness

2.11 summingup
2.12 Activities : aids to answers
2.13 Glossary

2.0 AIMS AND OBJECTNES

Readability, clarity, lucidity, or directness (call this quality by whatever name you
will), is one of the most important values to be cherished in creative writing, for all
writing is aimed at a reader who must understand what you are saying. Otherwise
communication, which is the purpose of all writing, will not be possible. This
fundamental principle of writing is so important that it has been stressed in other
Unip of your syllabus as well, so that when you write you can aim at meaning, not
obscurity, which is unmeaning. You have to remember that

to achieve clarity you must know, thoroughly and competently, what you want to
be clear about. Until your mastery of the subject is complete you will neither
know its broad pattern and its details, nor will you be able to define for yourself
what you want to say on the subject;
to be able to do so you must have a deep interest in the sabject. Creativity can
emerge only from this-
so also trimparency, which is spontaneous and illuminating. Great scientists or
great artists have this quality of creative expression; and
mere rigidity of academic discipline cannot help anyone to attain it;
clarity relates to the response of your listener, your reader. If your writing fails to
communicate, it has no meaning; but
clarity is not facile comprehensibility-a mere simplicity of statement. It applies
to complex and highly sensitive thoughts also; hence the difficulty in achieving
clarity;
to achieve clarity one has to be a master of language, for it is only by
manipulating language skilfully that one can express great and complex thoughts
effectively;.
such manipulation is called technique, in which the mastery of syntax is as
important as acompetent use of vocabulary;
' all this will help you achieve directness and clarity, which make for readability.
Fundamentad Norms of Writing
2.1 INTRODUCT~ION
This is the second Unit of Ejlock 1 of your course. In the first Unit-an introductory
one-the genesis of writing; the types of writing, the essential aspects of a literary
work, tips to an aspiring wgter like you, and some helpful Do's and Don'ts were
discussed, as also question Like 'Why does one write? and 'Why should one learn
to be one's own critic or seek others' opinions?'
In this Unit, the importance of the qualities of clarity and directness, which impart
value to your work, are explained-qualities which have already been referred to in
the previous Unit. Indeed, their importance cannot be over-emphasised because,
whatever be the theme of yr>urwork, it will not appeal to the reader if it suffers from
opaqueness or obscurity. As pointed out in the previous Unit, the one distinguishing
quality of all great literary works is clarity-clarity of thought and clarity of
expression.

2.2 THE DIMENSIONS OF CLARITY

What do you want to be clear about? Who do you want to address? what is it you
want to make clear?
2.2.1 Decide what you want to make clear
What you want to make clear is the subject that you have chosen. You
cannot be clear about the $matlestdetail without being clear about the
whole field, or the subject of which it is a part. Civil liberties, for example, are
concerned with the Consdtution, the judiciary, the widespread knowledge of law in
society, the expenses of legal action and an abiding faith in the fruits of the judicial
system based upon actual experience. The protection of consumers is linked with
the entire market conditi n, and the spending mentality of people in an inflationary
situation, where it s&ms&idently more gainful to spend money immediately.

2.2.2 Clarity depends upon proper education

Clarity depends upon an Adequate, competent and relevan: education. If you have
not mastered your subject, you can only flounder about; and in trying to clarify, you
may make it all the more &onfusing.Do not try to explain anything which you do not
know. Go back to the sub ect itself, take an all-round and distant view of it, and just
as you can see the fields a/,d water and forests in patterns from the air, you will find
things falling into a desigrh. Clarity requires not only a little time and distance from
'the matter you are dealing with, but also demands wide acquaintance with it.

2.2.3 Clarity requires a concrete definition of your subject

Since nobody knows, nod can hope to know, everything, clarity needs a distinctive
definition of what your sQbjectm hand is. Brash confidence of the 'I know what I
want' type is not enough, Jyouhave to know what you want to say. If you are
presenting routine infomation it is one thing, but it is quite another thing if you are
using it for creative writirig, since what is needed here is an identification with the
subject. As soon as the ofher man knows that you are not tdking about something he
already knows, but of soqhething which you know in a special way, he will listen to
you.

2.3 YOUR W$UlTNG MUST BE ENGAGING

A subject which can for+ the matter of creative writing must be interesting:
interesting to you and al$o interesting to the people who are going to read your
work. Making things intcjresting is a skill, and there are exercises which purport to
teach you how to do it. These, however, are merely guidelines and cannot teach
you creative writing itself. You may succeed in m a h g your writing merely interesting
'
16 but you h o w what you ++er doing, and so does the man at the receiving end. You
are, in fact, being just interesting, not creative. You are not actually interesfed in the
subject, but only want to gain an audience. To make your writing creative you have
to shape it in such a way that it becomes luminous and acquires the power to move
others. -

2.4 CLARITY AND TRANSPARENCY

Similar to 'clarity' is the word 'transparency', which assists us in attaining clarity.
Transparency is like unmotivated attention-is a condition in which an object is
viewed without any particular interest in it. Of course, it is a kind of absorption in
what you are speaking of, but such concentration usdlly has a concrete subject
when it achieves the condition of clarity. Scientists sometimes attain such
transparency when they have acquired mastery of their topic through constant
analysis and application.
I vividly remember one such instance : Dr. KS. Krishnan was speaking on the
principles of the radar. You will realise how vivid the kpression is when I tell you
that it was forty-one years ago that I heard Dr. Krishnan speak. It was a mixed
audience-most of the listeners were not scientists. As interesting things go, the
theory and operations of radar are not interesting.If Dr. Krishnan had not been
absorbed in the subject, if the entire process of the lecture had not been so clearly
present to the mind's eye of the speaker, we could not have begun to listen and
perceive at the level of attention at which alone the subject could have been grasped.
For an hour after the lecture we had the exciting illusion that the theoq and
principles of radar were as clear to us as to Dr. Krishnan. That the illusion was not
permanent is not the point-the medium receiving the perception was unstable; it
drifted away, there was no follow-up-there are many reasons and explanations.
The core of the matter is that a particular relation with a subject matter, when one
a c i merely as a transparent medium for transmission of ideas; renders far beyond
the merely interesting, which is the real level at which the creativemind speaks.
A great many of us have felt the utter presence of the artist's experience in the
sonnets of Shakespeare or the odes of Keats, or even in as vast a work as Tobtoy's
War and Peace, bht it would be alm~stimpossible toconceive of, or to attempt, the
same thing. I am'ody offering an example of the clarity that can be reached at the
highest level by a certain relation with the subject matter.

Activity 1
i) Why is mastery of the subject required for the achievement of clarity?
(40 words)
ii) What is trampmcy? (30 words)
(Check your answers with those given at the end of the Unit).
Fulu#nt.(Naes d Writing

2.5 RIGIDITY *Y AFFECT CLARITY

Most subjects, even topics, acadkmically speaking, have a rigid outline--academic
disciplines require and produce a certain controlling of the mind, and so far as
clarity in creative exprqsiongoes, this rigidity hinders and may even damage it.
You yourself are the bagis and source of clarity. Clear expression must be free,
spontaneous, plastic-sbnsitive to the relation between you and the people to whom .

p
you speak. We seem to very little concerned about clarity when we express
ourselves. We seem to that it is the importance of the subject matter that will
automatically achieve c arity, or that it is the duty of the reader to extract clarity out
of whatever we choose 40 say, in whichever manner we like. In fact, it is one of the
advantages of writing, a$ Werent from speech, that questions are not asked of you
right there. But never idagine for a moment that because you are writing, questions
cannot be asked of you. That kind of feeling or ,assumption is the enemy of clarity.
a

Some of the best writerd are involved with themselves, making their statements,
asking their questions, ahnswering them themselves. In such cases, there is no clarity,
but only rhetoric, which is a confining of expression. Some of finest creative
work may eventually coine out of it but this does not usually happen. Complete
self-involvement is not 4 condition in which you can attain clarity within yourself
about what you are s a h g .

2.6 CLARITY 1s NOT FACILE

I

Clarity does not mean pptting everything at superficially comprehensible levels. A

great deal can he said v v clearly by omitting its essential complications and it is
sometimes useful, as an pvaluation of clarity, to see what the losses are in achieving

J
this kind of clarity! Such evaluation acts as a salutary check on unclear, complicated
expressions we may ha p used.

2.7 CLARITY I$ NOT SIMPLICITY OF

STATE ME^
If we consider Henry ~ d e s ' novel,
s The Porbrait of a Lady,we wiU have to modify
our view of clarity. Clarib is not limited to dealing only with simple matters, simple
statements, simple humdn beings or simple human experiences. If that were so,
clarity would set a fmtrbting limit on complex and highly sensitive creative writing. '
In this novel, Isabel Arcber, Madame Merle, Osmond, and Ralph are not simple
human beings. The hope and unions with which The Portrait of a Lady begins and
the disillusions which it &aches do not represent a simple movement of
disappointments; yet the creative art of Henry James lies in the achievement of
clarity and intricacy. Thd intricate is so presented to the mind's eye that it is lit up by
a luminous clarity. This brings us to the point of saying that clarity has a principle of
delight in it which makd it creative. If clarity does not require accuracy of vision, if it
does not involve the w u l t exercise of precision in conveying this accuracy of
vision, it would not be thp beautiful thing that it is. It is the difficult thing and not the
easy thing that is beautifiClwhen rendered appropriately so.

2.8 ALWAYS @EP YOUR READER IN MIND

The Victorian conventiop of addressing the reader may have vanished, but the
reader is still very niuch prith us. The clarity of writing-because clarity is a result, an
effect, not a quality as subli, depends upon our knowing clearly who our reader is.
The reader decidq our qoice of language. Every writer has his preferences,and
this may, of course, make him choose his readers, but there is no reader absohtely
inade for the language which is the chosen language of the writer. The writer of the
age of Shakespeare knew the love of language his audience had, and made his reader
love his language by leadmg him further in the same direction.T.S. Eliot did not
have readers readymade for the language, knowledge, skill and potentiality, and yet
Ile drew upon these. His readers found him difficult, but they loved the difficulty;
l hey knew where he was going and were prepared to go along with him and also had
lhe resources for doing so. One indeed not only seeks one's audience, but also
'creates' it as it were, which is not possible for every writer.

:2.9 RELATION BETWEEN LANGUAGE AND

CLAluTY
Imguage, bemg the medium for a diversity of human communications, has to be
individualised every time it is used. That is why dialects, slang and changes of idiom
are so essential to creative writing. An abstract standard of language with its
prescriptions of correctness and grammar is never enough for creative writing.
'here is a kind of clarity which correctnessand grammar may bring about-but .
beyond that we need a community of expression which binds all of us together and
~nobilisesthe entire resources of the language. Aristotle, in his definition of the
classic style, defines it as thidung the thoughts of the wise and speaking the language
of the common people. Wise thoughts need not necessarily be expressed in dificult
language. The language used by common people can be extraordinarily rich in
~:xpressions.Most people recognise the qualities and potentiality of their speech and
e
are able to use it with a sense of creativity, pleasure and compet nce. As soon as the
writer gets into active touch with the man for whom he wishes to write, he has found
the key to clarity-and the response is not only of understandmg, but also of that
delight in the catholicity of experience, which is the field of art. Then the strqjle for
clarity is over and a new world of delight opens.

:1,10 DIRECTNESS
There are great example.of directness of language both in life and in literature; in
fact, the one leads to the other. Shaw, himself a consummate stylist, said, 'Force of
z~ssertionis the alpha and omega of style'. Oliver Cromwell, speaking to the Rump,
said, 'You have stayed in this place too long, and there is no health in you. In the
name of God, go!' One characteristic which all these share is a strong conviction, a ,
direct need of and drive for, meaning. Strong convictions men have, or
they acquire them, and it is not relevant here to speak of the roots and modes of
such convictions. But it should be evident that men might have strong conirictions .
2nd yet remain inexpressive, tongue-tied.The convictions might thus falter, remain
unexpressed, and come out as anything but direct.
;!.10.1 How to achieve directness: technique
IXrectness, therefore, has to be forged by technique. However simple it may look
when achieved, it is the result of continuous exercise, application and refinement.
Syntax is the muscle of language, and exercise of syntax brings out the inherent force
c~fthe language. A writer has to experiment with the language to discover and adapt
its syntax to bring out the compelling force which drives him. Few writers have
achieved such creative power with directness in nlodern times as Ernest
IIemingway.'The Killers' is a story one can go over again and again to see what can
be done with the bare bones of syntax.
'He must have got mixed up with something in Chicago.'
'Iguessso,' said Nick.
'It's a hell of a thing.'
[Then there is a pause during which George takes out a towel and wipes the
counter.)
Norms of Writing 'I wonder what+&did? Nick said.
'Double-crossed somebody. That's what they kill them for.'
'I am going to get out of this town,' Nick said.
'Yes, that is a g o w thing to do.'
'A hell of a thing', 'an dwful thing9, 'a good thing to do' are straight out of the
syntactical forms word bare by constant usage and yet, isolated by the variation in
rhythm, surrounded ahd spaced by silence and laconic speech, they expand with
a burden of meaning, d pressure of direct experience that does not bear thinking
about.

2.10.2 Clarity and syntax

Syntax has a structure /towhich you can return after letting it stand by itself for a
time, so that it can reveal its outline of meaning. There is a length of time between
'He must have got mixed up with something in Chicago', and 'I wonder what he did?'
But once we have that ominous vagueness of 'mixed up in something' it is amplified
into 'double-crossed &mebody'. Again, we return to the anonymous public kind of
syntax of statement 'a hell of a thing', 'an awful thing' till we reach the consequence,
'That's what they kill &em for'.
I

2,10.3 Clarity and vocabulary

The directness of syn*, used with a structural rise of force, is combined with
bareness of vocabulary. The accumulation of meaning which can be carried by the
sinlplest of words, 'thirpg', is sharpened by the structural use of syntax. Lest we
should think that this qan be done only with dialogue, let us look at a piece of
description from anotlper Herningway masterpiece, 'The Short Happy Life of
Francis Macomber'.
'He's dead in thete,' Wilson said 'Good work,' and he turned to grip
Macomber's hand and as they shook hands, grinning at each other, the
gunbearer shouted wildly and they saw him coming out of the bush sideways,
fast as a crab, an4 the bull coming, nose out, massive head straight out. ..
coming in a charge, his little pig eyes bloodshot as he looked at them.

2.1 0.4 Directnesq

Directness, with sharp changes in action, needs abruptness. From the chumminess
and relaxation of mutual congratulation,we are back to the turmoil of action. Some
of the key words are '&dly', 'fast as a crab', 'bull' and then the anthropomorphic
transition to the 'killer' image, 'nose out', 'head out' and finally the primitive intention,
'little pig eyes b l e s h b t as he looked at them'. It is characteristic of the energy of
directness that it leaps over differences, going s t r w t for its point and we are not
deflected, diverted or confused by any of the peculiarities of expression that are
subsumed in the directjness.
In one animal description we have bull, crab and pig-but they are kept to their
distinct purpose of use not spdhng over into the whole image, which is one of
b
instantaneous danger. irectness, even in Hemingway, the master of the short,
simple sentence, does not limit itself by rigidly adhering to that mode of syntax. The
details are broken up: elear, vivid, but structured together into the combined
moment of catastrophk recognition.
Activity 2
Examples of clarity in creative writing have been given in this Unit. There are also
two excerpts from Hemgway. Quote two short passage from any two other writers
as examples of clarity. Also discuss, in not more than 70 words in each case, how the
effect has been achievqd.
(Check your answers &th those given at the end of the Unit)

....................~ .......................................................

..........................................................................
I

.................... .......................................................
2.1 1 SUMMING UP
Clarity and directness are the most important qualities of creative writing.
Clarity has three dimensions-what you want to be clear about, what you want to
make clear and to whom y m want to be clear.
To achieve clarity you must have mastery over your chosen subject, i,e;, you must
distance yourself, think over the matter and get well acquainted with it.
You must be actually interested in the subject and must identify yourself with it.
Only then will you be presenting even a familiar matter in a special way so as to
hold the reader's attention.
Making things interesting to atl concerned is a skill which can be leamt. But it is
not enough for creative writing which has the power to move others and to make
things lumJllous.
Clarity is associated with transparency which implies anabsorption in what is
being presented-for example the lecture on radar, Shakespeare's Sonnets or
Tolstoy's War and Peace.
It is you who are the source of clarity. The reader should not be expected to
extract clarity from what you present to him. You should yourself anticipate and
tackle questions which the reader may ask. But total self-involvement does not,
by itself, ensure clarity witbin yourself about what you are saying.
Clarity does not mean mere comprehensibility,since to make a thing
comprehensible one may sometimes omit its essential complexities or
complications.
Clarity does not come from oversimplified statements alone.
One not only seeks an audience but also creates it, as it were.
Clarity has a great deal to do with language. In a literary work, it is not enough to
achieve grammatical correctness in the use of language for it needs to be
individualised.Rather, you should aim at the expressiveness and distinctiveness
which sometimes characterise the speech of the common people.
Strong, unfaltering convictions may help in achieving directness of language, but
you need continuous and constant experimentation with language to realise its
inherent force.
The manipulation of syntax makes for clarity. Skilful, strirctural use of syntax may
lend new meanings to words.
 I
?.nlrrsonblNonos d Wdtlrql
2.1 2 ACTIVITIEa: AIDS T O ANSWERS
Activity 1
i) Without mastering om's subject one might fumble or make all the more
confusing what one wfinted to make clear. Further, one has to be clear about
the smallest detail of the subject to be able to project it accurately. This should
enable the writer to h$ld the attention of the reader.
ii) Transparency is assodiated with clarity. It involves concentration on the
subject, without which clarity cannot be achieved. The author has illustrated
this by his experienceof Dr. K.S. Krishnan's lecture on the radar. Unless you
master your subject, you are likely to lapse into confusion. Further, a writer
should closely observe the use of every little detail in order to make his writing
clear and complete.

Activity 2
Hints
Here are four possibilities fp you to consider
i) vividness I

ii) expressiveness
iii) original use of words and syntax
iv) facts made luminous.

2.1 3 GLOSSARY
You will find in the glossarf!a short list of the literary terms used in this Unit.

Anthropomorphism: Aniqals and objects are given human form and qualities.

d1
Clarity: One of the three e sential qualities of expression. It is associated with
(1) grammatical construc on, (2) correspondence with fact, (3) l~gicalordering,
and (4) graphic imagery.
Epiphany: In literature, e iphany means an intuitive and sudden insight into the
1
reality and basic meahing fan event.
Rhetoric: The body of p&ciples and theory.concernedwith the presentation of
facts and ideas in clear, coqvincing and attractive language, whether spoken or
written
urn 3 AUTHENTICITY AND
CREDIBILITY
Structure
3.0 Aims and Objectives
3.1 Introduction
3.2 The child accepts the incredible quite easily
3.2.1 Two absurd but delightful stories
3.2.2 The child is not worried by improbability, nor is it worried by moral issues
3.2.3 A sense of reality, however, comes later
3.3 Writing- is a form of self-expression, even with children
3.3.1 The act of writing itself tells the writer which of his feelings are not sincere, and which are
3.3.2 In writing, authenticityof emotions is measured by authenticity of expression
3.3.3 For the writer what authenticity means is that he must himself believe what he wants others to
believe
3.4 Authenticity of facts
3.4.1 The experience barrier : dangerous to cross it
3.4.2 Experience barrier between cultures
3.4.3 How cross-cultural raids can violate norms of decency
3.4.4 Total authenticity of locale and culture : R.K. Narayan *
3.4.5 Authenticity is the base of even highly imaginative creation : Raja dao.
3.4.6 Authenticity established, the author can go in for great comic exaggeration: R.K. Narayan.
3.4.7 Authenticity makes all the difference between great comedy and situation comedy.
3.5 Credibility stems from authenticity
3.5.1 Authenticity and credibility : a close look at Mulk Raj Anand's T h e Lost Chitd"
3.5.2 How Anand establishes m~thenticity
3.5.3 The poetic passages are just
3.5.4 The shift in language further strengthens the authenticity
3.6 Summing up
3.7 Activities : aids to answers
3.8 Glossary

3 0 AIMS
L.. AND OaTECTrVES
This Unit considers one of the most important norms of writing, viz., the
e:;tablishment of authenticity and credibility, without which no creative writing can
appeal to the reader. It discusses the various implicationsof these two concepts, and
illustrates, through examples, how successful writers achieve these effects. This
lesson tells you that
the fantastic imagination of children can take any absurdity in its stride; but
the adult mind has a sense of reality which looks for the authentic in literature;
althougl-u all writing is self-expression, the act of writing filters our emotions; only
those which are genuine can be expressed through wI;iting;
the writer must live the experience which he is trying to communicate; if he wants
readers to feel something he must first feel it himself;
authenticity of facts is very impartant; a writer must avoid crossing experience
and culture barriers;
authenticity of locrdeand culture have been achieved by such writers as Raja
Rao and RX. N m o n this authentic base they have written highly
imaginative or co erated tales;
credibility can be realised only when authenticity has been achieved;
Mulk Raj Anand's story, discussed at length, shows how these effects have been
obtained.

Thus is the third Unit of Block 1, dealing with the fundamental nonns of writing. In
the first Unit we have considered questions of a general nature like, 'Why does one
 N-
~und.eent,,~ dwriting write? 'What are the twp essential aspects of a literary work?' 'What are the Do's
and Don'ts for an aspi* writer like you?'-and 'Why should one learn to be one's
own critic, and why should one seek othet's opinions?' In the second Unit we have
discussed what clarity means and how clarity, whichismt mere simplicity of
statement, can be achieved, and also the technique to be adopted for achieving
directness. Even if your writing attains clarity and $rectness, it will not be valued as
a literary work unless it (ismarkedby authenticity and credibility.
In this Unit, I will tell y4u what authenticity and credibility actually meari, and how
they can be realised in $our work. But there are no set formulae or recipes for
achieving clarity, directness,authenticity or credibility. You are only told what they
are but not what can bedone to achieve them. What is presented here is to help you
achieve them on your own through the exercise of your creative imagination. These
Units do not'constitute a manual, but only an aid to the disciplining of your creative
powers. I

3.2 THE CHILD ACCEPTS THE INCREDIBLE

QUITE EASILY
Children love to hear stories. For instance, in fairy tales, folk tales, or new stories
made up by gifted parents on the spur of the moment, giants and spirits, talking _
animals and plants, mdly gods and bad angels figure prominently, as also do
improbableincidents. The child's mind accepts the absurdities with delight and asks
no questions about credibility or authenticity. For example, the story may run like
this: 'Once there was acat who, when a kitten, liked drinking ink. She had lapped .up
so much ink that .. .' of, 'An old man went w&g in the forest. His dog ran behind
him. The old man walked on and on. By chance he dropped a mitten (a glove for the
hand and the wrist). . .'The child enjoys listening to it, but does not question whether
it is true or false, probable or improbable. Let us examine these two stories.

3.2.1 Two absurd1but delightful stories

The first story begins h t h a delightful absurdity; the second begins normally
enough, but soon becomes quhe funny. Let us say that first a mouse enters the
niitten, making it his borne. Gradu@y a frog, a hare, a fox, a grey wolf, a boar, and a
brown bear invite thewselves in. It is only when the bear.has entered the mouse's
home that there is sofie crowding and the mitten is about to burst. But before
another guest can enter and make that happen, the old man notices that he has lost
the mitten and goes back to look for it. The dog finds it, barks, and the frightened
animals nm out and away. Thus the story becomes incredible as it develops.
I
3.2.2 The child i$ not worried by improbability, nor is it worried
by moral isbues
The child finds nothihg improbablein fhese stories, as he is prepared to accept any
odd event for the sakbof the story-just to find out what happens next. The
important thmg for @e child is that things should keep happening. He is not womed
about the moral implications'either. For instance, consider a story like the fotlowing:
a tiger comes, eager tb rescue his friend, the jackal, who has fallen into a trap. The
jackal has no hesitation in using the tiger for his escape, letting him fall into the trap,
and getting killed in the end. The child may feel sorry for the tiger, but will not
condemn the jackal for his act of.betrayal.

3.2.3 A sense ofireality, however, comes later

As the child grows up, however, he develops a sense of reality. H e is no longer
willing to accept improbabilities; he measures up other people's narration of ev5nts
against his own exgqience, his own standard of credibility. In tkis pa&wlar Umt, we
are concerned with quthenticityand credibility as two basic features of adult wriung.
The logic of childrex+'s literature being rather different, it will be dimused in
Course4. ,
I
I
\ I
3.3 WRITING IS A FORM OF
SELF-EXPRESSION, EVEN WITH CHILDREN
The desire to write-the urge to write, if you will-arises from one's necessity to
express 4neself. This is how all writing begins. When children start writing, whether
it is about an imaginary world, or a real one, it is this compulsion to express what
they think and feel that is foremost in their minds. They do not necessarily want
others to read what they have written; in fact, some are very secretive about their
writing and hide it in cleverly thought-out places.

3.3.1 The act of writing itself tells the writer which of his feelings
are not sincere, and which are
Writing offers a release to the writer of any age; it is an act of self-expression so
powerful in its intensity that those who have felt the urge, exhaust themselves doing
it, for the time being, at least; but having done it once, successfully, they must go on
performing the same task, repeatedly. They find the act of creation sacred, because
it is in the process of writing that the writer is confronted with his feelings and ideas
more concretely. Moreover, what he cannot bind down with words will escape, and
he can bind down only those which have substance, which are authentic, which have
intensely lived in his mind. It is at the moment of writing that the writer realises that
only some feelings become true through exact expression; some, which are fleeting,
casual and insincere, refuse to be bound in language.

3.3.2 In writing, authenticity of emotions is measured by

authenticity of expression
Thus we find that,for a yriter, authenticity of emotion is measured by
authenticity of expression. The poet, the short story writer, the novelist, and the
dramatist are all trying to express, through different mediums, their vision of life as
revealed to them through their experiences, feelings and meditations. They find that
ordinary prose or singsong verse cannot express their emotions, which are complex
and sometunes impalpable. They must find the right combination of words, the right
tone, the right rhythm to express what they want to say. They must, in other words,
find their own authentic voice, not merely borrow readymade images, ideas or
speech.

3.3.3 For the writer what authenticity means is that he must himself
believe what be wants others to believe
Authenticity, therefore, comprises for the writer, not only emotions but also
expression. Every writer keeps trying to achieve perfection in this, although only a
few succeed-sometimes after a very long wait. That is why the craft of writing is
not an easy one to practise. There are many ways of seeking truth; for the writer, the
first step is to ensure that what he wants others to feel he feels himself, that it has
become a part of himself. I

Activity 1
i) Why does the child accept the incredible easily? (30 words)
ii) Why do people write? (30 words)
iii) What is authenticity? HO'W can it be known? How can it be measured in
writing? (50 words)
(Check your answers with those given at the end of the Unit)
3.4 AUTHENTICITY OF FACTS
It is needless to say that the truth of facts lies at the very root of authenticity of
feelings. One cannot merely imagine a death and write a good poem of grief;one
cannot invent a beloved anp write a true poem of love; one cannot construct out of
one's head a working-classhomeand write a story of the hopes or despairs of
workmg-class people. ~ r i t k r have
s sometimes tried to do so, and although they may
have fooled some, t h q hade not succeeded for long. Behind an authentic feeling
must lie an authentic object, an authentic background, a truth of experience. The
writer must possess the power of accurate observation, and a good memory to hold
the details.

3.4.1 The experiencd barrier: dangerous to cross it

There is such a thing as an bxperience barrier. We are born in one sort of family, $ve
with a particular group of people, have a certain kind of social and cultural
inheritance, and go thro
% a limited number of experiences. These present the
picture of life as we see it, is possible, through wide reading, to get to know of
other peoples and their livts; yet that kind of knowledge can nev& be as directad as
deep as the one we have liqed ourselves. If, without direct experience, we try to
portray an area of reality @omwhich we have been excluded, our creative writing
will sound hollow. One c o r n o n example of this kind of insincerity is seen when
writers with a middlwlassl background are tempted to portray life as lived in the
'high society'-upper class westernised, amoral and carefree. Similarly, when
b
writers with a pre-eminen y ruralor urban background, wish to cross their
experience bamer and wrike on urban or n d themes, about which their knowledge
is scanty, they fail to convitice the reader. Only great writers are able to cross this
bamer with the help of thjir powerful imagination.

3.4.2 Experience bartrier between cultures

It is simkly dangerous to write about other cultures without going deeply enough
into them. One of the reasQ>nswhy very few Europeans have written with any
measure of understanding,about India is surely that their penetration ihto our
culture has been supeficidl. It matches some of the superficial observations we tend
to make about other cultuies: the British, the American, the African, and so forth. In
a recent novel, written by foreigner who has lived long enough in India, a tea party
is described, with a lot of mused observation. The Principal of a private coaching
institution has invited his dtaff to a tea party, and among the inviteas is a junior

p
member who has come wi his pregnant wife. To most of the staff, who are quite
poor, the tea party seems o be an opulent affair. There is much dressing in
one's finery; everyone t m s in a stilted fashion, using Victorian English of a ripe
vintage, and many sycoph@tic compliments are paid to the host. When food is
served, everybody tries tobe discreet and genteel, with the result that they all eat so.
little-all, except the pregrpnt wife of the junior teacher. She is fond of sweets,
though in her married We her husband could satisfy this craving fully. only once. In
any case, either because of her deprivation, or Because she is pregnant (this reason is
also hinted at), she makes !agrab at the sweets and eats them greedily. It is all so
funny-the account of thetea party-the writer seems to say; aII so funny, yet so
sordid.
I
3.4.3 How eross-cultural raids can violate norms of decency
To an Indian reader of the story it is, however, obvious that the account of the tea
party is indescribably cruel, and since fun is made of deprived people-the little
education, the lack of money and social status-it is in bad taste. The author does
not see (because the author has not penetrated into the culture of the characters
ridiculed), that behind much of what seems to be funny lies inescapable servitude
and poverty. A person of breeding (not to speak of true culture) does not make fun
of misfortune.
The moral, therefore, is that unless the writer can truly say that he has gone deep
enough into another culture to be able to understand it, he should not attempt any
cross-cultural raids.

3.4.4 Total authenticity of locale and culture: R.K. Narayan

One Indian writer who never allows this to happen in his novels and short stories is
RX. Narayan. His stories are all set in and around Malgudi, a small imaginary town
in Karnataka. Geographical reality is pronounced in all of them, as is the reality of
persons, their occupations, hopes and failures, amusements, their daily life. So
truthful is Narayan about the people living in this small town, so authentic is his
pomyal of their manners of speech, their education and their attitudes of mind,
that very soon after beginning to read the second story by Narayan, one feels that
one has actually lived in M a l w all one's life. Narayan has found all his material in
this splall town. Narayan's stories ring true because his authentic voice comes from
the a b e n t i c experience that he portrays.
3.416 Authenticity is the base of even highly imaginative creation:
Raja Rao
Even when a writer wishes to transform his material into a highly-imaginative
narrative, he must first ensure the autheriticity of the material. Once he has done that,
he can fashion the material into the realistic, fantastic, symbolic or any other mode that
he ligs. Take, fui instance, Raja Rao's story, 'The Cow of the Barricades' (included
in thqPoliceman and the Rose, O.U.P.), in which the story of the cow, Gauri, and .
her ~rticipationin the Mahatma's non-violent movement is narrated. Not only is
Gaue created authentically, bit by bit, before our eyes, but the human characters
also--the Master, his disciples, and even the red men. Raja Rao creates this
authmtic world so carefully, that when at the end of the story he invests Gauri with
the cimscious purpose of a martyr walking sedately towards her willed death, we
find it totally credible.

3.4.6 kuthenticity established, the author can go in for great comic

exaggeration:R.K. Narayan
In RK. Narayan's stories authenticity serves a similar purpose, though it takes a
diffeqent direction. With authenticityestablished, Narayan often imparts to
credibility the dimension of comic exaggeration. In 'A Horse and Two Goats'
{(inclwdedin A Horse and Two Goats, Vision Books), Narayan takes eight pages to
create the world nf the story: the village of KriW; Muni, the owner of two goats; his
long-suffering and shrewish wife; the shopman; and finally the terracotta horse. This
is done at a leisurely pace, till the stage is completely set for the red-faced man to
arrive 'in a new sort of vehicle' which looked 'both a motor car and bus'. When
lduni takes him to be a policeman, the comedy starts. Muni's knowledge of the
red-Meed man's 1angyage.sis confined to a simple 'yes, no', spoken at once. The
r ed-fsced man cannot understand a word of the chaste Tamil which Muni speaks, and
for d c h the village of Kritam is famous. They, however, carry on a conversation
for the next thirteen pages, talking at cross purposes.

:No one can tell what he (Muni) was planning to say, as the other interrupted
him at this stage to ask,'Boy, what is the secret of your teeth? How old are
you?
The old man forgot what he had started to say and remarked, 'Sometimes, we
&toolose our cattle. Jackals or cheetahs may sometimes carry them off, but
sometimes it is just theft hum over in the next village, and then we will know
 who has done it. Our,priestof the temple can see in the camphor flame the face
of the thief, and when he iscaught. .... He gestures with his hands to suggest a
perfect mincing,of mkat.

This kind of dialogue continues; the stranger wants to buy the horse; Muni thinks he
is offering to buy his goats; and finally walks away with a hundred rupees, leaving his
goats behind, while the red-faced man is expecting Muni to offer a hand to carry the
horse to his car. When thd American and Muni start talking, the conversation is fumy
enough, but as they go on talking, their exchanges rise to the level of comic
unreality-so perfect is the misunderstanding,yet so sure each is that he can
understand the other.

3.4.7 Authenticity Makes all the difference between great comedy

and situation eomedy
Had authenticity ~ mbeep
t established right at the beginning, over eight carefully
worked-out pages, the dialogue of comic misunderstanding,the funny dialogue,
would have remained merely funny-competent situation comedy, but just that, not
the core of a great comedy.
I
Activity 2
i) Doesn't a writer's r a g e become limited if he expresses only what he has himself
experienced? (35 words)
ii) How does the experience barrier operate? (30 words)
iii) How is RX. Naraym able to achieve authenticity in his story, 'A Horse and
Two Goats', while investing it with comic unreality? (40 words)
iv) Does Gauri, in Raja be's 'The Cow of the Bamcades', become credible only
because she was created bit by bit? (40 words)
(Check your answers 4 t h those given at the end of the Unit)

-
- - --
I
Credibility thus emekgesfrom authenticity.In that sense, credibility is not an
absolute idea: it relates to the degree of authenticity that the writer has been able to
achieve. A factually correct event may appear to be incredible in writing,if the
author has failed to eve it life, i.e., authenticity. We all know what suffering is, yet
in some writing the qccount of suffering leaves us untouched, whereas in some
others we find it d ply moving. The difference between the first and second kind
72
lies entirely inthe el ment of authenticity-the suc~~#ful
the true voice of feeling. .I . #
establishment in writing of
3.5.1 Authenticity and credibility: a close look at Mulk Raj Anand's.
'The Lost Child'
Let us now examine a short story titled 'The Lost Child', written by Mulk Raj
h a n d , a story that aptly illustrates what we have so far said about authenticity and
credibility. Fortunately for us, h a n d himself provides a background to the story.
He was doing research in Philosophy in London, and he found his work very hard.
I could not master the whole of European thought quickly. I did not know
Greek or Latin or German or French. I was advised by my Professor to be
honest and accept the fact that I did not know very much. But I struggled all
the same, late into the nights, read huge tomes and brooded. But the more I
read the more I felt lost.
Then I remembered some words of Guru Nanak, who had once said: W e are
all children lost in the world fair.' I went to sleep brooding on these words.
In the early hours of the morning, I recalled that I had been physically lost in a
fair at the age of six in Kaleshwar village, on the banks of the Beas river in
Kangra valley. I had strayed away from my parents, looking at a juggler's tricks
and was crying for my mother and father when I could not find them. AU the
things I had wanted my parents to buy for me, the balloon, the sweets, the
flowers, I did not want any more. I only cried out: 'I want my mother! I want my
father!' Someone picked me up and tried to console me, but I was inconsolable
and cried, 'I want my mother! I want my father!'
I wrote that experience of my childhood in the early morning. As I had had the
experience of being actually lost, the narrative was authentic and true to my
experience. Only I did not put it down in terms of myself. But I, unconsciously,
wrote about a child, any child, who may get lost in the way as I had got lost.

3.5.2 How Anand establishes authenticity

h a n d says that tile story was authentic because he had the experience of getting
lost. However, it is not the same thing to have an experience and to be able to write
about it with an authentic voice. Mere experience does not give a writer the
authentic tone in writing. It has to be created skilfully. h a n d first establishes the
setting: the season, the place, the people, the'many ways of travelling to the fair, and
then introduces the child with these words, 'One little boy ran between his darents'
legs, brimming over with life and laughter. The joyous morning gave greetings and-
unashamed invitations to all to come away into the fields, full of flowers and songs.'
The child is full of life and a sense of wonder; all his five senses are fully alive and
stimulated. He is happily possessed of the faculty of being totally absorbed in the
sensation of the moment to the complete forgetfulness of his surroundings. On the
way to the fair, he and his pal ents enter a footpath in a field.

It was a flowering mustard field, pale like melting gold, as it swept across miles
and miles of even land-a river of liquid light, ebbing and falling with each
fresh eddy of wild wind, and straying at places into broad, rich tributary
streams, yet runnirrg in a constant sunny sweep towards the distant mirage of
an ocean of silver light. Where it ended, on one side stood a cluster of low
mud-walled houses thrown into relief by a dense crowd of yellow-robed men
and women, from which arose a high-pitched sequence of whistling, creaking,
squeaking, roaring, humming noises, sweeping across the groves to the
blue-throated sky like the weird, strange sound of Siva's mad laughter. The
child looked up to his father and mother, saturated with the shriU joy and
wonder of this vast glory and feeling that they, too, wore the eyidence of this
pure delight in their faces, he left the footpath and plunged headlong into the
field, prancing like a young colt, his small feet chiming with the fitful gusts of
wind that came rich with the fragrance of more distant fields.

3.5.3 The poetic passages are just

This quotation from the story is a little long, but it serves to illustrate an
important point. Anand, in his writing, rarely indulges in poetic flights. If he
~ e t N- d of Writing does so here, it is with 4he specific object of establishing the authenticity of the
-
child's world, the child's natural ability to absorb, entirely, the world around
him. The child is enchapted by the dragonflies bustling to the fair. "Come,
child, come' -this exhortation has to be repeated by his parents to drag him
away from what engages him at the moment: a banyan tree, a shower of young
flowers, cooing doves; bnd when the fair ground is reached: sweetmeat-sellers,
flower-sellers, the balloon man, a juggler and finally the roundabout in full
swing.

3.5.4 The shift in language further strengthens the authenticity

It is there that he loses his parents. At once, the world changes for him;
panic-stricken, he no* runs about in all directions, till defeated, 'his cries
suppressed into sobs'. The bright, vibrant world of a moment before, now becomes
a sinister one-heavy den, with flashing, murderous eyes and hefty shoulders
knock him to and from with their brutal paws, until he starts shrieking for his
father and mother. He is lifted up in the arms of a kindly man who, to soothe
him, offers him each ddlight the child has craved for earlier. But now he wants
none of these, he only asks for his mother and father; The story ends with the
man offering his last allurement on the list-sweets. But the child now only
wants his parents.

3.6 SUMMING CTP

Authenticity and credibility are the most important norms of creative writing.
A child accepts the incredible easily but not an adult. The child is able to do so
because it has yet to develop a sense of reality. It is interested in knowing what
is happening in the story and not in its import or implications-moral or
otherwise. But the adult tries to measure what is presented in the story against
what he has himself experienced.

b
Authenticity comprise not only emotions but also expression. To be able to
make others feel what e wants to, he must feel it himself and achieve the right
expression of it, which is not easy. The truth of facts is what gives rise to
authenticity of feeling. Authentic feeling is not possible without an authentic
object or background, or a truth of experience, which underlies it. Direct
experience is, therefore, necessary to be able to achieve an authentic
expression of the reality that is sought to be projected. That is why it may be
said that there is an ex erience barrier which is dangerous to cross for any but
!'
the great writers. This s all more dangerous in the case of cross-cultural projections
of experience. The wriiter attempting this will end up appearing to be superficial or
offending. Truthfulnesls to experience is not enough; empathy, which comes of deep
understanding,is neded. R.K. Narayan is noted for the authenticity of locale and
culture which charactt#riseshis work. By establishing authenticity skilfully he is able
to extend credibility tdwards a comic unreality which does not render the work
concerned incr ble, ias in 'A Horse and Two Goats'. Raja Rao is able to built a
highly imaginative narrative which is convincing by ensuring the authenticity of the
material used, as in hid story, 'The Cow of the Barricades'.

Mulk Raj Anand's analysis of his story, 'The Lost Child', brings out the authenticity
of the experience embedded in it and the way in which it has been imaginatively
rendered, so as to exemphfy a universal experience-the child's first experience of
separation, which is, perhaps, part of his initiation into life.

Activity 3
Discuss, in not more *an 70 words, how an author can be fantastic without
losing credibility.
(Check your answer *th that given at the end of the Unit)
3.7 ACTIVITIES: AIDS TO ANSWERS
d

Activity 1
i) The child's imagination can take in the absurd or the improbable. The sense
of reality develops only as the child grows up. The child is interested in
knowing only what is happening, not in its implications, moral or otherwise.
ii) All people-adults as well as children-want to express themselves; hence
the urge to write.
iii) Authenticity means the state of being true to one's experience. It is only
through the act of writing that a writer comes to know whether his feelings are
genuine or not. He can successfully express only those things which he has
intensely felt himself. It is only when the writer is able to find the right
expression for his emotion that it can be measured. Only then it is possible fpr
the author to find his authentic voice.

Activity 2
i) Yes, it is true in most cases. But experience can also be lived vicariousJy,
without the writer having actually undergone it.
ii) It makes the rendering of such experience, not intensely felt by the author,
inauthentic or superficial. The given story illustrates it. The incidents may be
true to one's experience, but the way they are projected may make them sound
incredible to the reader.
iii) Though Muni and the red-faced American do not know each other's
language, they still carry on an animated conversation which is unreal and comic at
the same time. This is not the case of a breakdown of communication but an utter
absence of communication.Still the dialogue or communication achieves a dramatic
effect.
iv) No, this technique only contributes towards this effect. Detailed
description and exposition are necessary. But unless they relate to the myth
suggested by the cow's name, and the ethos which invests it with the aura of
divinity, it will not be plausible.

Activity 3 .
Hints .
-
/_-

Consider the story, 'The Cow of the Barricades', cited in this Unit, to illustrate this.
Gauri is both a myth and a real cow, with the two merging in such a way that even
her fantastic action in the end is acceptable.
-W Nome dWdm
3.8 GLOSSARY
You will find in the glossary a short list of the literary terms used in this Unit.
Authenticity: See verisimklitude (Unit 4)
Comedy: A story which ends happily is said to be a comedy. The characters are
typical, they face typical ptoblems and conflicts and these are resolved to their
satisfaction.
Credibiity: See verisimilibde (Unit 4)
Improbabiity results from internal logical, organisational,or stnictural weakness
in a literary text.
Parable is a story design4 to convey some religious principle, moral lesson or
general truth by comparisbn with actual events.
Realistic, fantastic, symbdplic modes: These are techniques which a writer uses to
control problems of structure and organisation in his work. For 'realistic mode' read
Sense of reality (below). Io the symbolicd mode the theme becomes clear through
successive use of images wihich represent concepts, ideas or emotions. The image
then is referred to as a smbol. It may be public or private, universal or local. A
literary work is in the fantiistic mode when its action takes place in a nonexistent and
unreal world (such as f w j land); the characters are incredible. Science fiction and
utopian stories are forms af fantasy.
Sense of reality: The writbr's efforts to make his writing come close to life, as it is
actually lived, give his fictibn a sense of reality. The reader can test it on the pulse
of his own experience. I
Situation refers to certain bents at a point of time which makes it a turning point
in a drama or narrative. m e initial situation from which the struggle springs, and the
critical and climatic situati~nstowards which the events drive, are most often
referred to as 'situation'.
Structure is to be distingdshed from form and genre (Block 2, Unit 2). It refers to
the arrangement of parts d a work in relation to the whole-as, for instance, the
arrangement of scenes in q novel or play. Structure controls the main story line of a
narrative. I

Style is how a particular writer says things-his tone and voice, his choice of words,
his figures of speech, the devices (rhetorical and otherwise), the shape of his
sentences (whether they ar'e loose or periodic)-indeed, every possible aspect of the
way in which he uses language.
he me: The theme of a wbrk is not its subject but rather its central idea, which may
be stated directly or indirectly.
UNIT 4 AUTHORIAL VOICE
structure
4.0 Aims and Objectives
4.1 Introduction
4.2 The Author's Voice-how to visualise it
4.3 Modes of Direct Address
4.3.1 The Direct Method or the AutobiographicalMode
4.3.2 The Author's Voice in diary-writing
4.3.3 The Direct Mode used through an imaginary characte:
4.4 Author's Voice k t h partial omniscience
4.5 The all-knowing Author-his Voice
4.6 Summing up
4.7 Activities: aids to answers
4.8 Glossary
4.9 Additional Readings for Block 1

4.0 AIMS AND OBJECTIVES

In this Unit, you will learn to identify the author's voice without which it is never
possible to plumb his deeper meaning. An author has several choices open to him.
He may speak directly to the reader (the autobiographical or direct mode).
He may communicatq with his reader through an intermediary-an imaginary
character.
He may also exercise his privilege as an omnis-dentcreator who comments
openly on his characters' thoughts and emotions, telling the reader all that has
to be known about a situation, scene or character.
What is of basic importance is the need to listen carefully to an author's
distinctive manner of speaking in order to understand the impulsion behind his
writing.

4.1 INTRODUCTION '

[n the previous Unit, we discussed the importance of authenticity and

1:redibility in creative writing. Unless a writer makes his story-charactersand
situations-life-like,he will not be able to establish any rapport with his
readers. Often, story writers and novelists announce on the first page that all
characters and scenes are purely imaginary, and any correspondence with
persons, living or dead,is purely coincidental. But, in actuality, this is only a
subterfuge because, as Somerset Maugham has rightly observed, no writer can
project anything intensely moving out of his imagination alone. Most writing is,
in fact, either veiled autobiography, or is based on the experience of someone
very close to the writer. This is what lends an aura of verisimilitude to any
successful writing.
It is, therefore, necessary for you to understand how an author's voice can
t ~ heard
e by the reader, even when he writes in the third person, using the
il&ect method of narration.
F u n h m t d Nonm of Writing

4.2 THE AUTHOR'S VOICE-HOW TO

MSUALISE IT
When you read a story, a feature-article, a poem, or a play, don't you feel as
though you are hearing the author's voice,' This is because every piece of
writing is a sort of utteradce. Herein the writer addresses his reader in the
distinctive manner of his speech-directly in his own voice or indirectly
through a person created by him. If you are imaginative enough you should
be able to conjure up his voice in your mind's ear. You may then interpret this
voice as being compassionate or bellicose, tender or abrasive.
The voice becomes immediately recognisable if the writing is done in the first
person singular-in the autobiographical or confessional mode. There is, here,
no intermediary betwee0 the writer and the reader. The writing then reads like
an intimate dialogue between the two.
But even if a writer choases the indirect method of narration, a sensitive reader
should still be able to recognise the author's voice as it filters through his imaginary
characters, particuiarly his protagonist. The art of narration may, therefore, be
described as a triangulaf operation involving the teller, the reader and the tale. It is
often said that we should trust the tale and not the teller. But then, isn't the story the
creation of a writer who has his own predilections? How can one, therefore, ignore
the element of subjectivity in any form of writing? The author's voice will come
through in spite of his masked objectivity. So, as a writer, you shouldn't strain too
hard to suppress your natural voice. Be your honest self; write freely and boldly,
letting your heart speak out the truth, and nothing but the truth. If you are speaking
w';lt!~somebody else's voice, strutting about in borrowed plumes, you'll be found out
soon, and your writing will never ring authentic.

4.3 MODES OF DIRECT ADDRESS

We will now analyse thy diverse narrative strategies adopted by a writer to address
I
his reader.

4.3.1 The Direct Method or the Autobiographical Mode

As mentioned above, this mode of writing enables the writer to speak directly to his
reader, as though he is talking intimately to a confidant, in an informal,
conversational manner1 A writer may use this method as a therapeutic exercise-'to
shed his sickness' (to quote D.H. Lawrence). In this form of writing, the author just
wishes to unload his agpnies or joys on his reader who, therefore, becomes his
co-sharer. Haven't we dften felt the irrepressible urge to unburden ourselves of
something that lies like heavy lumber on our minds? I should advise you, at this
point, to read the opening chapter of Tolstoy's famous novel KreutzerSonata to see
how the protagonist (who is, in fact, the author's prototype) shares his personal
agony with his fellow ptsengers.

But a beginner should be wary of speaking out in his own voice too often, even
though this kind of writing seems to be m h too easy and effortless.If not
judiciously controlled pnd skilfully organised, an autobiographical form of writing
may lapse into mawkish sentimentality. Such a writer often feels tempted to even
fabricate characters wvo are only thinly-veiled extensions of his personal self. A
discerning reader, however, should have no difficulty in perceiving a falsity of tone
in the author's voice.

Activity 1
Given below is an autbbiographicalsketch by Kamala Das, a well-known poet and
writer in both English and Malayalam. Read it closely and answer the questions, that
follow.
I
(Check your answers kith those given at the end of the Unit)
.4 Writer's Predicament (a personal statement) :
In the family that I was born into, all women behaved like bonded slaves in
order to survive; and nobody seemed to think it funny.
I belonged to the matrilinear and matriarchal community of Nayam but there
was not a single woman in my family who had the courage to take a decision
without consulting the men. Obviously there was something wrong with all of
11s.Perhaps what was wrong was our admiration for Mahatma Gandhi who was
then the national hero. Gandhiji's photographs were hung on every wall giving
us the feeling that he was the head of the family, not the uncle who sat with his
lmoks on the patio or the father who sent the money necessary to keep the
establishment going. Gandhiji, like every other North Indian, was not familiar
with the psychological aspects of a matriarchal society. He was not interested
in such things anyway for he was busy trying to get freedom for the country.
'The development of women's minds and the nurturing of their self-respect did
not interest him. The advice he steadily gave to the Indian women was the sort
of advice which only those of a patriarchal society would comprehend or
;ippreciate,and, yet the women of my family obeyed his whims, gifting away
lheir jewellery to his Harijan-fund and dressing themselves in austere white
like Jain nuns. Almost all of them were sexually frigid and so could appreciate
llis stand on celibacy as a desirable way of life.
(3andhii had made a cult out of their anaemic outlook, settling their dormant
guilt in' regard to their long-suffering husbands and had spiritually laundered
them clean. They began more and more to behave like North Indian women.
'They refused to sit down in the presence of their uncles, brothers and sons.
'They aie only after their men had had their fill. They kept themselves to the
xenana, never once raising their voices to express any opinion. They may have
become excellent nuns but in that rarefying process they lost their identity and
turned vague and colourless. Even the diseases that finally carried them away
were vague and colourless. A breathlessnessfollowed by fatigue and death. An
attack of indigestion. Quick departures that underplayed the tragedy of their
lives. The sick lay silent till death amved with its own grand silence. The
rnournp.were silent too. It was thought unbecoming to weep for the dead. We
heard only the fall of the axe on the branches of the mango tree which had to
IK choaped to provide logs for the cremation. The Nayars were burnt on
rnangotlogs in the southern wing of their estate. We seldom strayed into that
region fearing the silence of our tightlipped ancestors. Our grandmother told
us of $$a the favourite goddess of every patriarchal society. She was pregnant
when taken out to the forest and abandoned. That had to be done because one
of the as her men suspected her chastity. Sita's husband, Rama-the king,
supposedly the epitome of courage, did not have the guts to ignore such
rumours and to keep her by his side.
'To a Nayar w 4 m who was financially independent,inheritor of the
f arnily-&ealth, poor Sita's predicament was incomprehensible. Nobody could
have dared to treat a Nayar woman the way Rama treated his weak consort. If
things k a m e unpleasant at her husband's, she would return to her own home
~md its peremial security. My own great grandmother had done that. No
eyebrow was raised when she returned home leaving the corpulent Raja of
Cheralayam for reasons of her own.
Hut my bother was different.She had read enough books by European
authoG to lose her essential identity. Book-learning wears down the intuitive
j'oweg a woman is born with. Mother's ideal was the submissive wife of
ldahat&a Gandhi. Martyrdom, in tolerably small doses, was what people, like
ray mo&er, secretly aspired for. Her expectations were fulfilled, for my father
vtas an 8utocr:it who loved to shout at his wife and to impose his will on
everyb6dy who was maintained by his earnings. There was tension gripping us
vthen he was in the house. Whenever I stayed with my parents in Calcutta I
suffered from mysterious headaches that kept me awake at night. Father did
not particularly care for the company of children. Very often we were sent
away to our ancestral home in Malabar or to hoarding schools where we
t~reathedeasy. Then some fine morning he would decide to take us back to the
city saying that the savages needed some training. This continual shuttle
 7
between the ci and the village made us nervous wrecks. We did not or could
not belong to e ther of the two worlds. Gradually we grew thin. We had the
pale, pinched look of orphans. We were wanted only as a concept was wanted.
Wanted only aS long as we kept ourselves confined to the dark rooms beside
the kitchen. ~d wonder then that we developed the cunning of the creatures
that live under$round and in the dark, like moles and other rodents. We
learnt to move about noiselessly and to disappear when footsteps came our
way. We were qolcanoes waiting to explode. I took up writing, hoping that it
would help the volcano within to erupt in a slow, orderly way. I knew that I
had to turn mygelf inside out. In talking to my readers I found my private voice;
and perhaps my peace.
Truth was the dnly medicine that I knew which could heal the diseases of the
society that had nurtured me and afterwards had begun to strangle me. I was
a part of it, a raw spot like an exposed nerve throbbing with pain, and because
I was hurt, hurting came easy to me. I was bringing order into a disorder
assembled over the years, the long decades that had converted the robust
matriarchal sodlety into the weak, hypocritical one that rendered each of its
members faceless, sexless and rudderless. My writings brought forth enemies.
My relativesshbnned me. My father threatened to kill himself. My cook was
bribed to poisop me.
Miraculously I purvived. At fifteen I had been married off to a son of the
richest feudal fqunily in our locality. At that time there were fiftysix members
living within that sprawling house along with their children and retainers. For
generations t h q had cultivated the habit of taking law into their own hands
and being wealthy, none had dared to question their ways. They could get away
with rape, arsofi and murder. They settled disputes in their own yard, flogging
the erring ones and confiscating their property. A loud-mouthed
daughter-in-lai was the last thing they needed. Each time I published a story,
changing only +e names, I faced stony silences, pregnant with wrath. Was I
planning to be $ detective around the place? They were possessive about their
secrets. m e r e $as yet another writer who belonged to the family-Aubrey
Menen. Whenelver I told them that Aubrey was planning to visit his father's
house they said that they should be given advance warning so that they could
get away to Caljcut or some such place to hide. Writers were feared and
shunned. Eveqbody had his or her dirty secrets to safeguard. Surely they
could not have iwriters snooping around, ferreting out the details of discreetly
accomplished cjrimes.
When I preachkd a new kind of morality and supposedly gave courage to the
young to follow the dictates of their conscience I began to get letters from
every part of & country. Rituals had no meaning for me. Religion was equally
meaningless. Therefore, the orthodox and the traditional hurled obscenities at
me. Their attitqde brought sufferhig to my husband and children. And, yet not
once has any sqn of mine told me that I was wrong to take the path I chose
instead of the smooth self-pampering one that tradition had laid out for a
woman like meL This, more than anything else, makes me smile when I update
the balance shqet of my life.

Now answer the foll wing questions

f
i) What is distinctiv about the author's style that makes it,suitable to
autobiographical writiiig? (50 words)
ii) Can you identify the paragraph where the author's voice sounds most bitter and
ironical? (50 words)'
iii) How did the author find her 'private voice'? (40 words)
(Check your answer$ with thoseVgiven at the end of the Unit)

.................. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
4.3.2 The Author's Voice in diary-writing -

There is a marked differ- between the author's voice in a narrative sketch and a
diary.
Read the folbwingexcerptfrom a diary as carefully as possible:
Awoke this mo&g at six. Went for a walk. Had my breakfast at 8--an egg
omelette, a cii? of milk and an apple. Went to office at ten, worked continuously
till five, with an hour's break for lunch. The day would have ended blankly
except for the evening party at Pandey's. It was a large crowd, and the usual din
of gossip about weather, tax& and TV serials. And then she swung in, like a
swan-dressed in a transludnt sari, her ebony hair cascading d o h her
sensuous shoulders. But it was her voice that held me-her mellifluous and
husky voice with its tantalisingpauses and whispers. What's there about a
woman that casts a spell over you-her dress, her hair or her voice? After I
returned home, I couldn't help thrnking of her-even dreamt about her.
I'fyou compare this d m y note with the autobiographical sketch by Kamala Das,
cited above, you should be able to distinguish between the two voices. Whereas
l<amala Das's voice gives the impression of a steady flow, the excerpt from the diary
:;ounds like a stutter-jumbled and incoherent, as though the author is blahbering
away. It's only towards the end that the diarist's voice seems to be controlled by a
ciominant emotion-love or infatuation.

4.3.3 The Direct Mode used through an imaginary character

If a writer wishes not to speak directly to his reader (so as not to let him in on his
private feelings-or for any other reasons) he may, as a subterfuge, create an
imginary character and use him as his channel of expression.This mode offersthe
writer a double advantage-the security of privacy without the loss of the intimacy
of direct speech. This is how Graham Greene uses this strategy in his story 'A Day
Slaved':
I had stuck closely to him, as people say, like a shadow. But that's absurd. I'm
no shadow. You cah feel me, touch me, hear me, smell me, I'm Robinson.
Having created this imaginary character, Graham Greene now lends him a writer's
tlraits (hls own)-close observation, curiosity and concern for exactitude.
Presentjy we came to a railway bridge and underneath it he met a friend. I am
using words again very inexactly. Bear with me. I try to be exact. I pray to be
exact.
F o J I . r U N o n r d W ~
4.4 AUTHOR' VOICE WITH PARTIAL
oMNIsc&cE I

We may also now consiuer the voice of an author who feigns only partial
omniscience. This is obpously a device to win the reader's trust. In this f o p of
writing, the author spedks with humility, even ignorance, to seek thk readir's help in
resolving some probled i.e., a character's inscrutable motivation.This is again only a
strategy because the wqter is otherwise supposed to know everything. He is the
all-knowing &tor.
To understanhs poipt, let3 examine the closing paragraph of Somerset
Maugham's story, 'TheIKite', in which the protagonist divorces his wife because she,
fails to share with her hlusband the joy of kite-flying.The story ends with the author's
own reflections:
'I don't know,' I qused. You see, I don't know a thing aboutflyi$a kite.
Perhaps it gives a sense of power as he watches it soaring towards the
clouds and of q t e r y over the elements!'
I .
I

4.5 THE ALLJKNOWING AUTHQR-HIS WICE

As I have explained abve, every author is all-knowing, even when he pntends tobe .:
only partially so. Eve* writing is shaped and controlled by its creator's vision. No
wonder, creative wri ' g is often described as a sort of divine activity. But evemif an
author prefers to r invisible behiad his work, the reader can still hear his voice,
between the lines.This voice often carries the ring of absolute authority because tlfe
author knows hi4 chdcter like the back of his hand. His judgement is, therefore,
motivation is definitive. Note, for instance, the opening
story 'A Father-td-be'.
The strangest no@ns had a way of forcing themselves into Rogin's mind. Just
sable-looking, with short black hair, open forehead, he was a
his nindwas generally &nous and dependable.

t
What greater evidenc of an author's omniscience is possible than such comments
which are designedto let the reader into the innermost recesses of a character's
mind!

In this Unit you will have realised that the art of narration is a triangular operation
involving the teller, reader and the tale. Therefore, it is m s s q for you to
listen intently to the 4uthor's Voice to comprehend whether
he speaks d i r e to the reader or
throughan w a r y character.
Direct address @ t$e the following forms:

the writer), and

diarywrithg, i
i
the autobiographi a1mode (this mode may be used as a therapeutic exercise by

The Author's Voice, h apy mode, may be

I
partially omnisciTt or
all-lmowing.
This last choice tfre '&'makes keeping in view the extent to which he desires the
'Tl
reader to jarlidpate the creative process.
 Acthrfty 2
Read the following 'letter to my Grandmother' by Kamala Das.
i) Comment on the author's voice in terms of her skilful blending of fantasy and
reality. (70 words)
ii) What is the distinctive nature of the author's tone? Is it sentimental, ironical,
romantic or rational? (40 words)
iii) Write an imaginary letttx to a deceased relative or friend sharing some personal
problem. (150 words).
(Check your answers with those given at the end of the Unit)

A LETTER TO MY GRANDMOTHER
(Kamala Das)

This afternoon while I was alone in my Bombay flat I dreamt of rain. Little fairy-feet
of rain stampedmg up the street with a sound like kindergarten laughter. Then it
. swelled all of a sudden, wrapping the vacant lots between the sky-scrapers and the
blue patches of the sea in a grey veil. The trees on both sides of our street looked
humbled with their leaves, vertical and dripping, and from the pavements flowed
rivulets of muddy water, gurgltngas they filled the potholes and the crevices on the
asphalt. And, every flower pot in our garden was waterlogged, the little wonns
surfacing to plop dead. At our gate stood, looking up at my verandah, not one of the
numerous friends in the city, but you, attired in the dingy white of a widow and
drenched like one of the trees, just a bit humble, just a bit wary, and when I called
out to you, you smiled in instant recognition as though1 had never changed at all
imm the arrogant young woman of twenty that 1was when you left, to a faded woman,
heavy in body and in mind. But before I could run down to bring you up to my
drawing room with its blue drapes and the faded carpet, I woke up. Then there was
nobody smiling at me. No rah either. Outside my window the sky was bright as
stainless steel. The street lay dusty and stunned under the whiplash of the s.un.The
trees looked like thirsty mendicants thrusting out dirty palms of burnt leaves. So the
rain was unreal; as unreal as your visit to Bank House in Bombay twenty-one years
after you died, lying paralysed in our old ancestral house, which became mine a few
years ago, only because my brothers and my sister, all rich and self-sufficient,did not
want to live in such a house but preferred to build their own houses in cities,
complete with commodes and geysers and bathtubs. Do you remember, long long
ago, weeping beneath the B W tree one morning while my younger brother and I
stopped our game of chess wondering why you were sad and your telling us that one
of us should, when we become rich, rebuild the old house? Every afternoon while
your mother slept in the cool middle room upstairs and the servants slept downstairs
on the black floor or on the wooden garners, you prowled round the house, filling
the cracks of its walls with lime. The lime-paste bunt the tips of your fingers and
discoloured them. I looked at them with pity. In fact I looked at every part of you
only with pity although even at sixty your hair was black, glossy and your face
unlined and the contours of your body lovely. You were widowed in your early
firt ties and the husband, the impoverished Raja, left you nothing but a few
memories of love and laughter. You lived austerely on the meagre earnings from the
family-estate sharing your life with your mother, your aunts and your b r o h r who
was really only a cousin but whom you loved deeply and humbly. When my parents
sent me from Calcutta to you, you rejoiced, for there was someone at last to lie near
you on the three-sectioned mattress which you pulled down from the cot onto the
cool floor at night fearing that I rmght fall down in sleep. You did not tell me any sad
story. Least of all the sad story that was your biography. But once when a neighbour
had come visiting, and the two of you were discussing the plight of women widowed
early in life you said, not knowing that I was near enough to hear it, that a widow is a
rnere slave who must serve the lucky ones in the family until death. At that moment I
bmked at your clothes. The blouses made at home out of unbleached cotton, and the
clhoti, dingier still, proclaiming to all the state of your destitution. That evening I
asked you why you could not wear whiter clothes, softer linen. You only shook your
hiead and turned your tear-filled eyes away. You wanted yourlife to be shabby. But.
everyone adored you. Every relative who fell ill or was about to have a baby asked
for your soothmg presence. And for the touch of your hands. When I was a new
niother and only s,ixteenand a half,staying in Kerala, away from my husband, a
-F N O C ~ W~CW* co&%used to pester me for kisses each time he met me alone near a tree or a pillar.
I was w t averse to this game, being young and neglected by the legal mate.Once or
twice he kissed me and q v e me the unpleasant taste of his mouth. One day you
asked me not to talk to hpm.How did you know that he was interested in me? Were
you spying on my movements in those days?When you told me that a girl's chief
asset was a good reputation? I laughed sarcastically. I hated you when you turned
puritanicaland stem.One day after a quarrel on similar lines I turned on you with
anger and said, I wish you die, grandmother. You went pale. Afterwards you did not
ever scold me or tell meto be restraiaed in my behaviour with boys. I wish I had told
you all about myself befbre you died. You were +d that I would develop into a
lustful woman. You we* so wrong. I hated sex. Getting only that in its crudest form,
I was trying to h d anotfier kind of relationship between a man and woman. I
wanted to be Juliet to same young Romeo. I associated love with tragedy and
beauty. I chose the most undesemingaf men to love, and to spoil with love. I knew
how the respectable ones behaved. I was married to one. I wanted to know if the
disreputable ones werejgentler with women. Youth blazed like a summer-sun. But it
set fast too. I loved my Sons to an unpardonable excess. I wanted them to fill the
exemptiness of my life, phich strangely enough, began to be felt only after I read
from my mother's letteg that you had died. All the invisibleshackles of love yere
removed from me, and pour death had set me free. I could kiss any man y o n or
old, who wanted a kiss from me. I could even mate with them if I so chose. My
husband was anyway tqo busy to care. But while my sons grew, growing with me into
a mental maturity I ex#rienced something akin to happiness. When you grow up
take me to see the filmsi, I told rny first son and he promised me that he would. But
adolescence comes buqdened with inhibitions and secret complexes. It soon
occurred to me that hedid not wish to be seen out with his mother although I was
young still and more cqeerful in disposition than all his friends. At nineteen he
started to work, being proud as I was, d not wishing to be dependent on his
. father who was alwaysla struggler with his accounts at the first of every month. I sold
my stories to the Keralla journals for twenty-five rupees in order to remain
financially independeat. It is possible that I have written in all over five hundred

$I
stories, writing them a night at the kitchen table while my family slept soundly.
Grandmother, I have 'ed my best to succeed. Just as you had to make the hundred
rupee note go a long day each month I have had to make my meagre talent go a long
way. Two of my sons y e young men with beards on their chins. One is plotting to set
up an institute to trainlup politiciam and the other has stopped talking to me. You
will wonder why. I aslqed him to study for his examination.What I felt twenty six
years ago when you chastised me, he feels towards me now when I remind him of his
duties as a student. Life comes a full circle, doesn't it, grandmother? It is perhaps his
' turn to wish a woman (deadin order to be free. It is perhaps my turn to get a

paralytical stroke and,lie in a dark comer wishing for death and early release. Or

f
perhaps a heart attac that will settle my nerves forever and not for mere driblets of
time like the Valium I take to chase my loneliness away. The only fault the pill has
is its capacity to s t r e w e n your memory when you do not want it to be
strengthened. For insfance,when I do not want to turn sentimental like the old, I
suddenly remember bow my son cried for a green shirt when he was a chubby five
year old and how goqd he looked in it when it was bought.
,
Withallmy love, . ,
I

Bank House Kamala

Bombay 20.
I

l
a............,..... b . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
!
...........................................................................
,I

................... I
.........................................................
44.7 ACTIVITIES: AlDS TO ANSWERS
.4ctivity 1
i)-You will notice that she uses highly emotive language, and writes in the first
lxrson singular. This is what makes her writing particularly suitable to
iiutobiography. I

ii) Do you consider paragraph 5 or the last pa graph to be the most ironical?
]Explain. . f"
iii) It is obvious that she writes as a rebel against society. In the process of
cmmmmicating with her readers, she is able to sort out her own ideas.

.4ctivity 2
i) In this letter, the narration is in the form of diary-writing. Her intense
!;elf-involvement comes through in her narrative Voice which is direct, informal
imd intense.
ii) You will notice that the tone in the letter is a blend of sentiment and irony.
iii) Hint
:[n your answer try to remove some misunderstanding that you had with the
lJeceased.

14.8 GLOSSARY
'fou will find in the glossary a short list of the literary-terms used in this Unit.

14utob.bgraphy: An account of a man's life written by himself. While an

iiutobiography belongs to the same eategory as writing in the confessional mode, it
is more organised
- and its material is arranged in a well-defined choronological
order.
l'ersona is the narrator in a work of fiction who speaks as if for the author, but is
tiistinct from him. In different stones the author's persona can be different.
]Protagonist: The principal actor in a play or a character in a novel, short story.
!Scene 1) the place where some act or event occurs; 2) an incident or situation in
real life; 3) a division of an act or a play; 4) a unit of dramatic action in whicha single
p i n t is i sor an effect obtained.
-F N- ofwriting Subjectivity and objectivity: When these terms refer to writing they refer to the
perspective and the voice of the author. Subjective writing focuses on personal
experience and feeling-as in autobiography or autobiographical fiction. When a
writer practises objectivity he is 'outside' of, and detached from, what he is writing
about-he is writing a b u t other people, not himself.
Verisimilitude: A degree of likeness to truth in a fictional work which causes the
reader to accept, temporarily, that the characters and actions are probable.

4.9 ADDITIONAL READINGS FOR BLOCK 1

Beach, J.W. Twentieth Century Novel: Studies in Technique. Ludhiana: Lyall Book
Depot, 1965. .

Greene, Ellin and W g e Shannon. Storytelling: A Selected Annotated

Bibliography. Garland Publications, Garland Reference Library of Social
Sciences, 1986.
Hopper, Vincent F. and Cedric Gale. Essentials of w&ing. 3rd ed. (LC 61-8 198),
Baron Pubs., 1983.
Jackson, Donald. The Story of Writing(1SBN0-8008-0172-5) Pentalic, Taplinger,
1981.
Lyman, Edna. What to Tell and How to Tell it. (3rd ed.), rpt. of 1911 ed.,Gale
University Press, 1971.
Maybury, Barry. WritdrsWorkship: Techniques in Creative Writing, Batsford, 1979.
McAUister, Constance. Creative Writing Activities(Nos. 2-6),
(iSBN 0-87534-1716-4), 1980.
Quigley, Pat. Creative Writing11: A Handbook of Techniques for Effective,Writing,
Vol. 11.(ISBN 0-93q910-40-8), Potentials Development, 1983.
Robinson, Mable L. dreative Writing: The Story Form. ed. Helen Hull, 1978 rpt. of
1932 ed., Arden Library.
Whitney. Guide to Fidtion Writing, London: Popular Press, no date listed.

DICTIONARY SOURCES FOR THE PROGRAMME

1. Cuddon, J.A. 1982. A Dictionary of Literary Terms (revised edition), Penguin
Books.
2. Lemon, L.T. and &mar, Shiv K. A Glossary for the Study of English, OUP:
Bombay, 1974.
3. Shaw, H. 1972. Dictionary of Literary Terms, McGraw Hill, Inc.: New York.
4. Shipley, J.T. 1972. Dictionary of World Literature (revised), The Odyssey Press:
New York.
5. Thrall, Hibbard, & h a n 1960. A Handbook to Literature (revised), The Odyssey
Press: New York.