English Tuition Bolton Manchester: Point of View in Narrative-An Exercise.

I attempted this exercise on Curtis Brown’s excellent ‘ Start your Novel course’ and it does reveal how much the point of view of any narrative, substantially affects the outcome! 

The use of first person POV when dealing with a speaker with grandiosity,  drained me!  When I switched to third  POV the story alters and new details emerge. 

A very interesting exercise for testing out a character or situation.

First person.

My name is Dominica and I will never be the villain of anyone’s story. How could a greedy fool create such beauty as this? Let me make myself clear. Only the uninitiated could circulate such lies.  I am what this world so desperately needs. My antidote to mortality is my amber collection. It’s taken years to perfect a permeable resin powerful enough to encase the larger species. For years I rarely slept. I lost friends. I eschewed intimacy. I even practised upon myself.

Thank you, for that flattering comment. Yes, I am a curator of live art- for God’s sake and my own. I am a slave to anti-clockwise time.

Come with me inside and look about you please. This museum at Burgos gives sanctuary to the truly exceptional creatures of the world.  Have I not managed to turn back mortality’s relentless tide? Are not all these faces pure, sleeping peacefully, bathed in the magic of my amber’s healing light?  Do they not all astonish once more? What a tragic, vulgar waste it would be, to let the extraordinary rot away with the commonplace. I would not wish that for any world.
Thank you for your question. No, Nostalgia is not an option. Nostalgia is the refuge of the sick. And I was sick of losing those I loved. The fire was going out of our world. Beautiful faces were disappearing, turning into dusty sepia.  So I came to this place, I stood proudly on the magnificent hill of Burgos and opened my museum here, last summer.
Of course, the one you speak of will be found soon. My collection remains incomplete without her. I adore her beauty. Her mother Magdalena and I were once intimate,  but then events conspired against us. I lost her trust. Her daughter hides away from me. Her camouflage is unnecessary. Why defer the honeyed pleasures of my glorious amber rooms?  Why resist a happy reunion with all her family?

Magdalena looks magnificent here. I rescued her from certain oblivion.   And notice how her profile hints at some deep down yearning. I had that case designed especially for her.  It’s unique, like her. Even the wood is a work of art. I have the most perfect eye. My father trained me well.
That is why I chose you as my biographer by the way. We look related. Gosh, even our eyes have that tinge of violet. I appreciated your wonderful article. Uncannily accurate too. I am a shy romantic. Come and stand here for a moment. Look over there.  The cameras are upon us. Now, we are visionaries together.

Third person.

 

Amber revealed its inner beauty most at night. Faces seemed purer in the fading sunlight. This was her purpose after all. She craved purity in all things. Vulgarity and nostalgia were her enemies. They destroyed one’s faith. Before her, a large crowd called her name. ‘’Domenica, Domenica.’ Burgos was alive to her Art. Look at this audience tonight. Disciples jostled with journalists to catch her eye, her smile. Such a pity her father had declined her invitation. He was called abroad, as usual. She needed him no longer.

Domenica waved at the crowd, her amber coloured nails signing secret messages above their heads, so that they gasped in wonder.

‘My antidote to mortality is about to open!’ She cried. ‘I have created a resin powerful enough to preserve even the largest of our most extraordinary species-Burgos is now the home of live art!’

The crowd cheered. ‘Burgos! Burgos!

‘Extinction will no longer blight our world. I am the world’s first curator of live Art! ‘’

The crowd cheered again, now hysterical with passion. ‘’‘Domenica! Burgos!’’

But where on earth was her new biographer, her new amica? Domenica needed her.  The world had to recognise her extraordinary vision. Thank God- there she was.  ‘Come with me in a minute… We shall lead the way.’

The journalist looked dizzy with pleasure.

Of course, there would be one omission in the gallery. Domenica gazed into the crowd hoping for a miracle. She still lacked one special creature. The case was prepared and waiting. But it remained empty. Even Magdalena herself had been rescued. But rumours had reached Domenica of the missing creature’s camouflage, her defiance, of her exile far away.

She would have to begin without  her. It was just a matter of time. Anti-clockwise time.

‘Come now.’ She said.  Let us begin.’