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Now then. Time for the Page Critique. First I’ll present the page without comment, then I’ll offer my thoughts and a redline. If you choose to offer your own thoughts, please be polite. We aim to be positive and helpful.
Random numbers were generated, and thanks to barb, whose page is below.
Title: Faces of War
Genre: HistoricalWrittle, Essex
1928Meg knew she should be at the church helping with the final preparations for the fête, but she couldn’t resist the aroma of fresh-baked bread wafting from the kitchen, and the sounds of her boys chattering and the gentle murmur of the housekeeper, Mrs. Patrick. Meg dropped her hat and handbag on the entry hall table and slipped into the cheerful white-tiled kitchen. She poured tea into an old chipped mug, a souvenir of hospital days, and cut a thick slice of bread which she slathered with Mrs. Patrick’s damson plum jam.
Her twins, six-year-old brown-eyed miniatures of their father, bounced in their chairs, talking over one another, ignoring Mrs. Patrick’s pleas to be quiet so she could hear her program on the wireless. Meg’s gaze wandered to the window where blue-checked muslin curtains rustled in the morning breeze. “I’m so glad to see the sun today—it would have been awful to hold Father’s celebration in the rain. Did my husband say when he’d be back?”
Mrs. Patrick switched off the wireless. “The doctor’s gone to his surgery. He said he’d see you at the church.”
“Mum, can we have sixpence for the fête?” Bertie asked.
“There’s to be games,” Willie added.
“I promised your father I’d help him. I don’t know that there will be time.” The boys’ faces crumpled, and she felt a twinge of guilt for teasing them. “Oh, don’t pout. Of course we’re going—this is Grandfather’s big day.”
There are some really great details in this page that help ease us into a historical setting. The aroma of fresh bread, the damson plum jam, blue-checked muslin curtains, the wireless. It allows us to start to piece together our surroundings in a nice way.
My main concern with this page is that the perspective feels a bit distant from Meg, and instead of just telling us that the fête is for Meg’s father from the start, that bit of information instead feels smushed into dialogue that doesn’t strike me as wholly natural: “I’m so glad to see the sun today—it would have been awful to hold Father’s celebration in the rain.”
I don’t find this page to be egregiously playing the neener neener game, but we’re verging on it.
As I write in my keys to good dialogue, when you rely on dialogue to carry the exposition it inevitably feels forced unless one of the characters genuinely doesn’t know the information. In this case, everyone in the house already knows whose fête it is, so this line of dialogue strikes a slightly wrong note. It sounds instead like Meg is actually talking to the reader.
I have obviously only seen the first page here, but in my editing work I’ve been noticing a veritable explosion of manuscripts that are far too reliant on dialogue. Push yourself to rely more on the narrative voice and only use dialogue to add flavor.
Ultimately, the writing here is fine and there are some nice details. I just wonder if there’s a bit more that could be done to connect us more intimately to Meg’s perspective, personality, and mindset.
Here’s my redline:
Title: Faces of War
Genre: HistoricalWrittle, Essex
1928Meg knew she should have been [keep the tense consistent] at the church helping with the final preparations for the fête [what fête?], but she couldn’t resist the aroma of fresh-baked bread wafting from the kitchen,
andthe sounds of her boys chattering and the gentle murmur of the housekeeper, Mrs. Patrick [This first sentence feels a bit overstuffed, I’d break it up]. Meg dropped her hat and handbag on the entry hall table and slipped into the cheerful white-tiled kitchen. She poured tea into an old chipped mug, a souvenir of hospital days, and cut a thick slice of bread which she slathered with Mrs. Patrick’s damson plum jam.Her twins, six-year-old brown-eyed miniatures of their father, bounced in their chairs, talking over one another, ignoring Mrs. Patrick’s pleas to be quiet so she could hear her program on the wireless. Meg’s
gaze wandered to the window whereblue-checked muslin curtains rustled in the morning breeze [In third person limited narratives it’s unnecessary to point out where someone is looking]. “I’m so glad to see the sun today—it would have been awful to holdFather’sthe celebration in the rain. Did my husband say when he’d be back?”Mrs. Patrick switched off the wireless. “The doctor’s gone to his surgery. He said he’d see you at the church.”
“Mum, can we have sixpence for the fête?” Bertie asked.
“
There’s to beFor the games,” Willie added. [Another moment that struck me as exposition smushed in, wouldn’t they know Meg knows there will be games?]“I promised your father I’d help him. I don’t know that there will be time to attend the party.” [I was confused by this answer. I thought she was saying there wouldn’t be time to help their father, so it wasn’t apparent to me that she was teasing them about not going to the party] The boys’ faces crumpled, and she felt a twinge of guilt
for teasing them. “Oh, don’t pout. Of course we’re going—this is Grandfather’s big day.”
Thanks again to Barb!
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Art: Dedham Mill by John Constable
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