A Writer's Guide to Active Setting (10 page)

But Gardiner went deeper with her writing and placed the reader in the scene, not with an overload of visual prompts, but with a smell and two sound prompts. What Gardiner managed in the three sentences above was to anchor the reader into the new space through the senses. We all know the smell of a coffee shop, and by reminding the reader of that specific scent, she “smells” that place, instantly transporting herself there.

What about the sound prompt? What does that do? Is it okay that the reader doesn't know the band? Can you still get a sense of Setting by the POV character's reaction to the music playing? What if you change the band's name to something else—Sex Pistols or Coldplay? Or Chuck Mangione or Frank Sinatra? Just by changing what the reader mentally “hears” in this coffee shop you change the experience of it.

Here's another example of sensory detail. Tess Gerritsen writes bullet-paced thrillers that rarely showcase a whole paragraph of detail, so when she does the reader pays attention, knowing that this Setting matters:

In the above example the reader can smell, hear, see, and almost taste the growing community, but the Setting description does more. It places the reader into a scene that might not be familiar to him, since he has not personally lived in such an environment, but the different sounds are very familiar and have strong connotations. A school-bell's ring, the scent of baking bread, hammers and saws at work—all are sounds that are industrious, pleasant, and denote a certain amount of comfort. This environment might sound idyllic, but to the individuals living there, it proves anything but as the story unfolds. From ideal to hellish, the reader will remember what this place sounds like and contrast it to what's revealed later in the story.

Auditory sensory details can enhance a story in so many ways. We focused on how to use Setting description to reveal character earlier, but we also need to ensure that we're accurately describing the sensory details through a very particular set of eyes. Think of New York City's Times Square, or the heart of any other large city that is alive with sounds. The awareness of those sounds will change depending on where the POV character is coming from, what they are doing, and how they feel.

After a long frustrating day, standing in Times Square can be like nails scratching down a chalkboard on your nerves. But if you've landed a dream job in a city you feel is your city, the sounds of this tiny speck of space can be seductive and empowering. On the other hand, what would you hear if your young child has just wandered off? Or if you were looking for a runaway teenager last seen hawking himself in Times Square? What might you hear in these few blocks?

The place hasn't changed at all, and neither have the sounds. What has changed is how the author relates those sounds to the reader and threads them through her descriptive details. If you change a character's POV you should change the sensory details to pull and anchor the reader in the character and the story.

Here is a small snippet from a debut story that has been described as mesmerizing and evocative. One of the reasons is the use of sensory details. This passage takes place in 1942 in Seattle, right after a Chinese boy's first date with a young Japanese girl. The POV character loves jazz and that love is something he shares with his home city of Seattle, the time frame of the story, and his new Japanese friend. It also creates a distance between himself and his very traditional father. Watch how the author uses those facts to weave meaning into the sensory details here.

First we're going to start with a hypothetical rough draft:

What do you think? Do you know where you are? Any sense of the city surrounding him?

Better but still pretty blasé. If you were reading the book, you'd mentally orient Henry to where he'd been earlier on the evening, but not much else. You're not in his skin walking down this alley. So let's examine how Jamie Ford lets the reader experience what his protagonist is experiencing.

Are you in Henry's skin now? The example above was a nice scene ending that creates part of the evocative feel to this book. Let's look closer at how this is achieved:

Here's another example where the ordinary becomes extraordinary in bringing the reader deeper into the story.

The reader is being told, not shown. This can be a shorthand description if you want the focus on a different element of the story. But if you want the reader to experience the story as the POV character is, look how, by adding sound, author Patricia McLinn brings the Setting to life.

Most readers at one time or another have found themselves waiting to hear the arrival of another vehicle, regardless of the situation. But in the above example, McLinn takes the situation, with news reporters waiting for information at a crime scene, and ratchets up the tension of what could be a nonevent by adding in sensory detail.

Watch how Nevada Barr uses contrasting sensory details to show the reader where the POV character Anna is now, and also to vividly underline the difference between where she has lived in the past and its effect on her:

If the author in the last excerpt had simply chosen to describe the scents of New Orleans, this would have been good sensory detail. But by using the sensory details in contrast to where she had been before, and obviously loved, to where she was now, the reader receives so much more. There is a stronger sense of characterization and an awareness of being someplace mysterious, sensual, and possibly a little dangerous. In Texas and New Mexico, where Anna has lived and worked in earlier books in this mystery series, she is very much in her comfort zone. In this new Setting in New Orleans, the extra-sensory overload is making her dreamier, less sure of herself. The author has shown the reader that the POV character is feeling out of her depth through Setting description.

Here's another example of sensory detail adding to the page. In this excerpt, three characters have escaped from a French prison in a historical romance. The POV character is a French woman; the other characters are English spies, enemies of the French woman. Notice how the author threads in sensory detail, as well as foreshadowing complications in a paragraph that's mostly Setting. This passage is the POV of one of the English spies, who starts the dialogue.

Now what if Bourne decided to use only a visual Setting? The prose would be as dry as someone reciting directions—
go straight ahead until you reach the bridge and keep going till you reach Paris
. Ho hum. No scent of bread wafting on the early-morning air.

Taste is not often the first sensory detail one latches onto when writing Setting, but it can be powerful nonetheless. Think of taste like a fine herb used judiciously by a master chef—a little can go a long way.

Let's see how James Lee Burke uses taste, or the reader's memory of taste, along with other sensory descriptions to pull the reader deep into the Setting of New Orleans. But before we jump to his words, and the reason he's known for the locations of his stories, let's look at an imaginary rough draft.

So what do you think? Are you in New Orleans in this terse example? Or are you shuddering, as no doubt Burke would be, at how dry and blah the passage is?

Let's see how Burke pulls us into his character's POV and the city in the example below:

Breaking the example up, let's examine how the author weaves a very clear, detailed place by threading in a lot of sight detail, but also some sound, scent, and possible taste detail, too.

Not every story needs as much or as evocative a Setting description to allow the reader to be in the skin of the POV character. Because Burke's protagonist knows this city well, and has lived in Louisiana, the reader believes in the character because of how the author describes a city.