Where there’s a Will? X-Factor syndrome?

There has recently been a lot of speculation around the old chestnut of whether or not William Shakespeare wrote ‘his’ work.

Certainly one has to wonder how a Stratford-upon-Avon-based writer would know so much about Italy, the workings of Noble Houses and conversational style of noblemen and ladies.

But that’s not where I’m going; I’ve been thinking about the qualities of writing and perhaps Master S is a good place to start.

Shakespeare wasn’t a ‘correct’ writer but he (if indeed ‘his’ work was written by ‘him’) had the ability to translate concepts down to a series of images that his audience could deal with.

This made him a clever writer… but not a correct one.

A large majority of Shakespearean text deals with metaphysical concepts.

He routinely used the allegorical to emphasise (and to even over-emphasise) the situations his characters faced.

Think of a strong piece of Shakespearean prose and it’ll be an odds-on certainty that the dramatic moment will be emblematically embellished with overstated imagery.

‘Now is the winter of our discontent’.
An incorrect metaphor but to the poorly clad underbelly of the England of Shakespeare’s time, badly insulated from the cold and largely at the mercy of the elements, this phrase would have enormous meaning.

‘Sea of troubles’.
Another incorrect metaphor … but again, to the proud people of the Elizabethan age, arrogant in their self-belief of Britain as a nation of nautical explorers and conquerors, this phrase would have massive impact.

‘If music be the food of love, play on’.
Shakespeare didn’t even allow the people the simple illusion that love is a comfortable and just place.

‘This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night follows day, thou canst not then be false to any man.’
I love this. What a tremendous statement of moral and ethical value. It’s a little ‘preaching’ in its style, but nevertheless this is a valuable lecture on self-worth and moral esteem; a lesson that the Shakespearean audience could instantly identify with.

Shakespeare’s work had the gift of capturing the imagination; he was a writer of the time for the people of the time.

A little populist maybe, but nonetheless very effective at reaching down and communicating with his audience.

He used his turn of the allegorical to bring depth to the meaning of his scenes. Not an easy task given the patchy literacy of his audience … and hence the incorrect metaphors; they added weight where a correct metaphor wouldn’t have.

Today’s audiences are immeasurably better educated.

They can read and write, they are widely travelled, well experienced in life and they are also immensely well read.

So today’s public need something different.

They need an intelligent style of writing … otherwise they won’t become engaged by the piece they’re reading.

They would still need the imagery, but now it needs to be presented more intellectually.

The books of the 1950s and 1960s where cardboard characters spouted dire dialogue from scenes of terrifying tediousness are no longer good enough.

If a setting isn’t up to our standards of readership then the whole work becomes unacceptable; even Mills and Boon have moved away from the morbidly mundane.

Let me put it another way…

If you were a professional chef cooking a five-course meal for a group of paying customers, would you allow your food to be put in front of your public if even one ingredient of just one course, e.g. the potatoes … were substandard?

No, of course you wouldn’t.

Therefore a writer shouldn’t put a piece of work into the public domain knowing that the dialogue (for example) doesn’t sparkle.

If the writer were you and you were just the tiniest bit dissatisfied with a characterisation … or even with the nuance behind just one scene … would you really ask the public to put their collective hands in their pockets and hand over their hard-earned money to read your work? Would you really want your name on it?

No, no honest writer would.

The reason for this long-winded introspection on the world of writey stuff is Saturday evening’s ‘X-Factor’.

On Saturday a large number of people put themselves in to the public spotlight to be judged; despite being visibly (and, unfortunately, aurally) as talentless as a few hundred of the most talentless people in the country could possibly be.

Which makes me wonder what the collective noun for a few hundred talentless, deluded people might be?

A bridge of trolls?

Anyway, back at the ranch.

You could, on watching The X-Factor, be forgiven for thinking that surely these tuneless, rhythmless, talentless (not to mention criminally deluded) folk know that they are endowed with no ability whatsoever?

Sadly, no.

They have no idea that they are beyond help.

The proud father who said of his daughter’s forthcoming performance, ‘She’ll make you cry’ was, unfortunately all too prophetic.

But not in a good way.

These folk are unaware that the gulf between them and any measure of talent is in the region of 10 to the power of Mexico’s National Debt.

Which (to get back to the point) is why there are a significant number of people out there labouring under the misapprehension that they have a natural ability to write.

Which sounds pissy and snobbish of me.

But the truth is that I recognise I’m crap.

But…

Last night I finished critiquing a piece by an unpublished author.

In her notes to me it is clear that she is angry she has managed to remain unpublished.

She’s remarkably similar to the scarily untalented ‘singer’ on ‘X-Factor’ a couple of weeks ago who, when asked how long she’d been studying singing replied, ;I haven’t been studying it, I just do it.’

The authoress in question has admitted she doesn’t read and has no interest in reading … neither as an educative nor as a recreational tool.

‘Reading?’ she declared, ‘that’s something my mother does. I’m a writer.’

Aye.

And I’ll be a baboon’s arse.

I’ve asked myself how Shakespeare might write for today’s (comparatively) up-market readership. I think he’d go for the jugular … straight for the lowest common denominator.

He’d probably pick one topic that unites different sectors of his target demographic and he’d shamefully write for that appeal.

So we’d probably get a very human piece; emotion knitted together with strands of geekery set against a family backdrop.

Perhaps a little revenge motivation thrown in too … and some dry, wry wit?

Shocks would come aplenty; twists, turns, diversions and developments would pop out of nowhere to keep the reader engaged.

The good characters would be, well, good-ish; the bad ones would be detestable … but all kinds would be so well constructed as to be instantly believable.

The observations would be witty … light, yet not lightweight.

The dialogue would sparkle and shine.

The pace would be breathless.

I believe these are the ingredients that any well-constructed novel would … and should … have.

The trouble is… I find I’ve just described a certain Scottish author.

Damn!

B.