Using Literary Allusions in Your Novel

Literary allusions are figures of speech that make reference, directly or indirectly, a place, event, literary work, myth, or even a work of art. It is generally left to the reader to make the connection, though sometimes the author will clearly articulate the particular allusion. If this is the case, the allusion is more appropriately termed a “reference.”

Most of the time, the author places an allusion in a book by way of a single phrase or reference to something that is not explained to the reader. If the reader has read the work that the allusion refers to, he or she will understand the allusion. If not, the allusion might as well not exist for that particular reader.

When an author uses an allusion, it is typically done as an homage to a previous work that was written by a different author. Sometimes, an author may allude to their own previously published work, though this is less common. My own novels are full of allusions, though only someone familiar with my favorite authors would ever catch them. If you read Arianna’s Tale after reading works by JRR Tolkien, Lord Dunsany, Robert Jordan, Mercedes Lackey, or Terry Brooks, you will catch subtle references to each of their independent works. It is my way of honoring them without bringing too much attention to that fact.

When writing your own novel, you might feel the urge to make your own allusions to the work of authors you admire. There is no harm in this, and for the reader familiar with the allusions you choose, it can add depth and interest to your novel.

It is sometimes difficult to understand allusions without actually seeing on in action. For this reason, I am going to explain one of my favorite literary allusions, which can be found in Neil Gaiman’s Stardust:

“He thought of Victoria’s lips, and her grey eyes, and the sound of her laughter. He straightened his shoulders, placed the crystal snowdrop in the top buttonhole of his coat, now undone. And, too ignorant to be scared, too young to be awed, Tristran Thorn passed beyond the fields we know …” (Gaiman 54)

Much of the novel Stardust alludes to previously published work, often quite directly. In this particular passage, Gaiman is alluding to Dunsany’s The King of Elfland’s Daughter with his use of the phrase “the fields we know.” Dunsany uses this phrase frequently enough throughout The King of Elfland’s Daughter that it is instantly recognizable when it appears in Stardust.

Gaiman uses this phrase in much the same way Dunsany does, and for many of the same reasons. The words “beyond the fields we know” serve to remind the reader that Tristran is moving out of the everyday world and into the realm of Faerie. He passes from what would be acknowledged as normal into a place where nothing can be predicted and nothing is as “we know.”

In another sense, Gaiman uses this phrase to connect with the reader. By using the word “we,” Gaiman is implying that the door to Faerie, at least in Stardust, is not only found through the wall by the village of Wall, but in other places as well. The reader probably is not familiar with the fields of Wall, so using the phrase “the fields we know” might appear out of place. However, like Dunsany, Gaiman is telling the reader that his story happened in Wall, but it could have happened anywhere. Faerie is not a part of the physical world, and so it could be anywhere in “the fields we know.” This expression can resonate even with readers who unfamiliar with Dunsany and his work, including The King of Elfland’s Daughter.

Gaiman copied the phrase “beyond the fields we know” directly from The King of Elfland’s Daughter. It is certainly an homage to Dunsany, whom Gaiman mentions in his “Acknowledgments” at the end of the book. For the reader familiar with Dunsany, and likely for Gaiman himself, the use of this phrase is also a little piece of nostalgia, allowing the reader to connect Stardust directly to The King of Elfland’s Daughter.

The Art of Adopting Another’s Voice

I’ve been thinking a lot about ghostwriting lately, mostly because I’ve taken on a few ghostwriting projects. As I thought about it I realized that the real key to ghostwriting is to be able to sound like another while you write. This is actually kind of an art and not an easy thing to accomplish.

So, for those people interested in pursuing the idea of becoming a ghostwriter, how do you practice this art? I’ve found that one way to do this, at least for fiction, is to take an existing short story and rewrite it from the perspective of another character in the story. As an example, I recently was “practicing” by rewriting short stories collect by both the Brothers’ Grimm and Andrew Lang. I choose a character who doesn’t really get much to say and rewrite the same story from the perspective of that character. While I’m doing this, I read the original text and carefully try to match my tone and language to the original author. This strengthens my skills as a ghostwriter.

My latest example is from Lang’s “The Troll’s Daughter.” “The Troll’s Daughter,” in its original form, is told from the perspective of the young boy who eventually becomes an emperor. This places emphasis on the boy’s service to the troll and the eventual role that he plays in assisting the first king in repaying the debt. However, by changing the perspective of the story to that of the troll’s daughter, the focus shifts to the blossoming love between her and the youth, and their struggle to be together. It is also possible to get a deeper insight into the emotions and viewpoint of the troll’s daughter, most of which are not included in the original story.

I’ve included my “practice” here to get a better idea of what I’m talking about:

There once was a young girl who lived in a palace at the very bottom of the sea. It was a lovely palace. The chairs were made of the whitest ivory and inlaid with both gold and pearl. The rugs and cushions were brightly coloured and soft under her feet. She even had flowers and trees to enjoy and little fountains which sprang from delicate snail-shells. These fountains created music that delighted the senses.

And yet, for all of this, the girl was not happy. She spent her days wandering from room to room, sad and forlorn. She lived in terrible solitude, unable to leave her golden prison. Her father, a great troll, had locked her under the sea to keep her from everyone. She longed for the day when she would once again be free, but felt that all her hopes were in vein. Her father would never set her free.

Then one day a lad entered her palace and spoke to her. At first, she was terrified. But he spoke so kindly and so gently that she soon lost her fear of him. The lad explained how he had come to be in her palace, and that he was the servant of her troll-father. The troll had turned him into a fish and sent him to explore the sea. The girl grew to trust him and was glad of his company. But she could not yet bring herself to tell him of her father and her forced imprisonment.

So the months passed and they revelled in their time together. But the girl realized that it would not always be this way. The lad, who had now grown into a youth, must return to the troll. He had to put on the shape of a fish once again so that he might pass through the sea alive when the troll called him home. Before she would allow him to leave, however, she told him that she was the daughter of the troll he served, and that she was being held against her will. She devised a plan that would allow her to spend her life with the youth free of her underwater prison. But there was much that must be done, so she bade the youth pay her close heed.

The girl told the youth of the many kings who were in debt to her father. Those who did not pay their debts would lose their heads. One king in particular, the first king who must repay his debt, did not have the money and would surely die.

“I know that for certain,” the girl told the youth. “Now you must, first of all, give up your service with my father; the three years are past, and you are at liberty to go. You will go off with your six bushels of money, to the kingdom that I have told you of, and there enter the service of the king. When the time comes near for his debt becoming due you will be able to notice by his manner that he is ill at ease. You shall then say to him that you know well enough what it is that is weighing upon him — that it is the debt which he owes to the troll and cannot pay, but that you can lend him the money. The amount is six bushels — just what you have. You shall, however, only lend them to him on condition that you may accompany him when he goes to make the payment, and that you then have permission to run before him as a fool.

“When you arrive at the troll's abode, you must perform all kinds of foolish tricks, and see that you break a whole lot of his windows, and do all other damage that you can. My father will then get very angry, and as the king must answer for what his fool does he will sentence him, even although he has paid his debt, either to answer three questions or to lose his life. The first question my father will ask will be, ‘Where is my daughter?’ Then you shall step forward and answer ‘She is at the bottom of the sea.’ He will then ask you whether you can recognise her, and to this you will answer ‘Yes.’ Then he will bring forward a whole troop of women, and cause them to pass before you, in order that you may pick out the one that you take for his daughter. You will not be able to recognise me at all, and therefore I will catch hold of you as I go past, so that you can notice it, and you must then make haste to catch me and hold me fast. You have then answered his first question.

“His next question will be, ‘Where is my heart?’ You shall then step forward again and answer, ‘It is in a fish.’ ‘Do you know that fish?’ he will say, and you will again answer ‘Yes.’ He will then cause all kinds of fish to come before you, and you shall choose between them. I shall take good care to keep by your side, and when the right fish comes I will give you a little push, and with that you will seize the fish and cut it up. Then all will be over with the troll; he will ask no more questions, and we shall be free to wed.”

With those instructions, the youth transformed himself back into a fish and was gone. The girl could do nothing but wait. Time passed and the girl knew the king would soon have to pay his debt to the troll. Finally the day came when she was called home by her father. She was made to parade before the youth as part of a whole crowd of women. She knew the youth could not recognise her so she pinched him as she walked past to make him aware of her presence.

The youth immediately caught her around the waist and the troll had to admit that the first of his riddles had been answered.

Then the troll asked, “Where is my heart?”

“It is in a fish,” answered the youth.

The troll scoffed. “And would you know that fish?”

The youth smiled and responded, “Yes, bring it forward.”

Schools of fish were brought before the youth, and the girl made sure she was close at his side. When the right fish finally appeared, she pushed him, and he grabbed up the fish. At her urging, he drove a knife into the fish and cut out its heart. He then pierced the heart with his blade, causing the troll to fall over dead.

The girl and the youth rejoiced as the bonds set by the troll were all broken. The birds and beasts once bound by the troll were all set free. The kings did not have to repay their debts. And the girl would never again have to return to her prison in the sea.

The youth was quick to wed the girl, and he was declared the emperor of the many kings of the area. He and his empress kept the peace and ruled with wisdom and compassion. To this day, they live together in harmony and love.

Literature and Politics: The Beauty of Non-Engagement

Politics and political reality have a way of entwining themselves with every facet of our lives, including our literature. Some authors will write directly about political trends or current events. Others are more subtle, preferring to take an approach that lends itself to political non-engagement. While some may see this as socially irresponsible, the reverse is in fact true. Non-engagement is the more socially responsible approach to producing great literature.

When a piece of literature addresses a specific event, trend or political reality, it is immediately relevant. This “engaged” literature, whether poetry or prose, may be temporarily popular because it speaks to the events of the moment. Once the moment has passed, the relevancy is lost, and an otherwise beautiful piece of literature may fade into obscurity. When Stan Apps probes the nature and validity of war, challenging the reader to understand that “war is the way you have been thinking” (Apps line 9), it seems relevant and even poignant. However, in another time, one not plagued by controversial wars, religious intolerance, and a politically charged atmosphere, the reader may lose his or her ability to connect on a deeper level with the poem. While “VI” will always remain a beautiful piece of literature, it may eventually lose its relevancy by speaking too closely to the era in which it was written.

On the other hand, literature that does not engage with a specific political reality has the benefit of relating to many different political trends and events. Kafka’s The Castle, for example, describes a world disconnected with any specific political reality. The town has no name, the castle itself is ambiguous at best, and only a single initial represents the principle character. He does not even have a true identity. Yet, when reading The Castle, it is possible to connect it to a variety of different political or bureaucratic situations that have occurred throughout the twentieth century and beyond. The Castle could be read as expressing the irony of bureaucracy, both as it is now and as it existed in previous eras. It might also be seen “as a critique of industrial society, of exploitation, alienation, bourgeois morality – of capitalism, in a word” (Kundera 106). Kafka, simply by creating a story that is the very embodiment of political non-engagement, has produced a literary work that can apply to all political realities. A work that does not attempt to address a particular event or trend is open to interpretation, and as such can relate to almost any situation. In Kafka’s case, non-engagement has fashioned a piece of literature with an enduring and timeless quality that many engaged works simply do not possess.

Creating a literary work that does not engage with political trends is not the same thing as ignoring political reality. Instead, literature is at its best when not engaged with current events or trends, especially in a political sense. The beauty of non-engagement is that it allows the reader to relate to the text regardless of the current political climate. The Castle, which is arguably one of the best examples of literature that is non-engaged from political reality, has emergent themes that enable the reader to apply it to any era. The reader can come to his or her own conclusion regarding the overall issue of the work, and therefore has more value in the particular piece of literature than the author has. The author of such a work is taking a backseat and allowing the reader to engage with the current political reality by not engaging during the process of writing. This makes literary work that exhibits non-engagement even more socially responsible than engagement. By creating a piece of literature that is applicable in any era and can be interpreted to apply to many different social-political situations, the writer is acknowledging political reality and being politically responsible.

This is not to say that a writer has any political responsibility. Writers can write for a variety of reasons. Writing political stories or poems is a choice, as is the decision to engage or not engage with political trends. However, if a writer chooses to remain non-engaged from a specific political reality, he or she has the unique opportunity to create a piece of literature that is relevant in all times and speaks to many different events and trends. In this way, non-engagement is the more socially responsible way to engage the reader in both the language of the piece and the issues it can address.

Works Cited

Apps, Stan. “VI.” God’s Livestock Policy. Los Angeles: Les Figues Press, 2008.

Kafka, Franz. The Castle. Ed. Mark Harman. New York: Schocken Books, 1988.

Kundera, Milan. “Somewhere Behind.” The Art of the Novel. New York: Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2003.

Brief Review of “Mother Superior,” by Saleema Nawaz, published in Mother Superior: Stories

You can use short stories to practice writing a novel. To do this, you should look at some good examples of short stories. The stories in Mother Superior, while fairly normal in nature, are well written and interesting. If there's one flaw in these stories, it's that many of them, including "Mother Superior," are quite predictable in nature. However, this isn't always a bad thing.

In the short story “Mother Superior,” by Saleema Nawaz, the narrator is a lesbian secretly in love with a young pregnant woman by the name of Joan. While this story is simple and presents relevant information in a straightforward and sensible manner, it is nonetheless quite predictable in regards to plot. Additionally, there is little insight given into characters other than the narrator.

Both the language and style of this story are almost painfully simple. Her vocabulary and even sentence structure are bare and to the point. This allows the reader to perhaps give more attention to the story itself, and a little less to the exact form with which it is presented. Given the controversial subject matter, from homosexuality to a mother-to-be who smokes and drinks alcohol, this basic approach seems quite appropriate.

Nawaz quite carefully arranges the information in “Mother Superior,” likely in an attempt to disguise the exact plot of the story. She certainly gives enough detail for the reader to understand what is happening in the moment, but no more than that. For example, it is quite necessary to understand that the narrator is a lesbian, as indicated on page 1, but to reveal any more of her motivations in regards to Joan would give the plot away far too soon.

Furthermore, in regards to Larry and his character, Nawaz reveals that Larry “…begins to weep…” (Nawaz 9) when Joan first goes into labor, leaving the reader to infer that he is not very enthusiastic about the impending birth. While the author does not state that Larry will leave immediately before the birth of the baby, it is implied. It is not until the following page that Nawaz reveals that Larry did indeed desert Joan. Nawaz’s decision to delay the revelation of information at many points in the story provides a method by which to keep the reader engaged.

Despite the attempt to hide the plot, the basic story of “Mother Superior” is easy enough to discern early on from the text. The core of the story, which is the attraction of the narrator to Joan, may unfold across ten pages, but it becomes quite predictable by page 2. Nawaz first gives an indication of this attraction when she writes, “Joan used to think I’d go to hell for being a lesbian, but now she thinks I’ll make it to purgatory because I’m practically a nun anyway” (Nawaz 1). While the narrator is supposedly paraphrasing something Joan had said to her, this information can lead the reader to conclusions that are confirmed later in the story. The reference to sexual orientation and the narrator’s lack of sexual activity on the first page of the tale indicates that this has some relevance to the plot. Since “Mother Superior” was written in a time when stories of unrequited love abounded, it could easily be assumed that this single quote might indicate such a theme, regardless of any other facts the story might present.

Nawaz quickly gives additional hints to the narrator’s feelings when she reveals that the narrator looks forward to the day when it can be “just the two of us” (Nawaz 2). This is in reference to Joan, and combined with the statement from page 1, gives the reader the definite feeling that the narrator is strongly attracted to Joan. Not long after this, the narrator plainly thinks that the man who has entered Joan’s life, Larry, should just disappear as she wishes “…for this to really be a convent…” (Nawaz 5) so that she might be alone with Joan. This only reinforces the idea that Joan likely does not return the narrator’s feelings, and that the narrator feels as if the only way she can have Joan in any way at all is if she has Joan completely to herself.

However, it is really impossible to be sure of Joan’s feelings and motivations. As “Mother Superior” is written from the first person point of view, there is very little insight into her thoughts and motivations; what insight is given is skewed by the perceptions of the narrator, so the reader never really knows the truth about Joan. While the reader may desire additional information about Joan, the story itself is about the narrator and her feelings. For the reader, Joan is a secondary character, despite appearing on every page. Nawaz effectively puts the reader directly into the story, first by her choice of voice, but also by denying the narrator a name. Without a name, the reader becomes the narrator. Given the content, first person narration is particularly suitable.

“Mother Superior” is an interesting mix of simplicity and controversy. Its use of a particular narrative voice and the careful and studied revelation of detail keeps the reader engaged and interested, even when the plot becomes obvious.

Works Cited

Nawaz, Saleema. Mother Superior: Stories. Calgary: Freehand Books, 2008.