The structure question often worries English Tution students when practising their GCSE English Paper One. They often ask me ‘What is it? And why is the structure of a text crucial to its effect on the reader?’ Remember a weak structure can destroy a brilliant story.
I always think of structure as being like the spine of the text. It holds each part of the text in place so that the effect of the narrative is achieved. Without a healthy structure then all the parts of the ‘skeleton’ of the text, fall apart or fail to work as effectively.
Thus, the structure is the way the text is organised to produce the desired effect(s). Those of you who are reading An Inspector Calls for GCSE English Literature can easily recognise why the series of interviews conducted by the mysterious Inspector Goole, achieve such a disruptive and dramatic effect on the audience both on the stage and off. This is because the interviews are organised like a series of toppling ‘dominoes’. Subsequently, the structural organisation has an accumulative effect: it escalates the tragic inevitability of poor Eva’s suicide and intensifies the culpability of the execrable Birling family.
If you also consider the structure of Macbeth, then remember that the play begins with the witches, who first announce Macbeth’s name, thus tainting it by association with the contamination of the ‘fair is foul‘ world of the witches straight away. Everything that follows from the first scene in terms of human fallibility, begins with the witches’ illegitimate, anarchic and immoral view of the world. Ultimately the escalation of Macbeth’s violence and treachery feels inevitable. The structure of the play makes the fall of Macbeth appear psychologically compelling and even preordained.
So ask yourself ‘what am I paying attention to?’ as you read through this ( Prologue)extract from the excellent thriller Scrublands by Chris Hammer.
I have particularly enjoyed using this opening with students during English tuition sessions as it works so effectively and is so compelling to read.
If you think of the structure of the extract as a journey ( and so many stories use some form of a journey as structural adhesive) then the journey of this prologue takes the reader from the apparent calm and ostensibly civilised sanctuary of the Sunday meeting at church to the utter mayhem wrought by the ostensibly devout figure of the young priest. Calm to chaos in a few hundred words. A perfectly structured opening for a thriller.
Look at the way the writer uses a detached and even omniscient third-person point of view to preserve the mystery of the Prologue’s sudden violence. And do note the heavy irony of the opening sentence which draws attention to the deceptive stability of the scene. ‘The day is still.’ Think about the importance of the present tense as it allows the actions of the surprising priest to unfold (apparently) immediately before our eyes.
Notice too, the setting with the heat and the personified sun, which seem to frame the scene at the church and anticipate the brutality of the events that follow.
The opening begins slowly and outside of the local scene and then zooms in on specific characters and their extraordinary actions.
Look how the setting frames the narrative and gives the reader a context for the brutality of the violence that erupts seemingly in the most innocent place within the community.
And when we meet the named characters there is a palpable sense that they are named for a reason and that even their professions contribute to the meaning of the scene too. ( Note how the hunters become the hunted.)
Certain words and phrases introduce uncertainty into the scene, yet the lack of direct speech prevents us from overhearing the crucial exchange between the priest and Craig Landers. This omission is strategic as it preserves the mystery of the Prologue and matches our expectations of a thriller: namely that we are kept in the dark about the actions of the suddenly murderous priest.
This is further emphasized by the hectic movements of the named Landers with the heavy irony of his involvement in the priest’s murderous intention. We recognise that we can’t know the solution to the Prologue’s eruption of violence until the narrative has taken its necessary course. So the extract is structured to interest the reader as we journey from calm to catastrophic panic within three paragraphs. The irony of the opening sentence is palpable!
Prologue
The day is still. The heat, having eased during the night, is building again; the sky is cloudless and unforgiving, the sun punishing. Across the road, down by what’s left of the river, the cicadas are generating a wall of noise, but there’s silence surrounding the church. Parishioners begin to arrive for the eleven o’clock service, parking across the road in the shade of the trees. Once three or four cars have arrived, their occupants emerge into the brightness of the morning and cross the road, gathering outside St James to make small talk: stock prices, the scarcity of farm water, the punitive weather. The young priest, Byron Swift, is there, still dressed casually, chatting amiably with his elderly congregation. Nothing seems amiss; everything appears normal.
Craig Landers, owner and manager of Riversend’s general store, approaches. He’s going hunting with his mates, but they’ve stopped by the church so he can have a few words with the priest beforehand. His friends have tagged along. Like Craig, none of them are regular churchgoers. Gerry Torlini lives down in Bellington and doesn’t know any of the parishioners, so he returns to his four-wheel drive, but local farmers Thom and Alf Newkirk mingle, as does Horrie Grosvenor. Alf’s son Allen, surrounded by people more than three times his age, joins Gerry in the cab of his truck. If anyone thinks the men look incongruous in their shooting gear, a strange mix of camouflage and high-vis, no one says so.
The priest sees Landers and walks over. The men shake hands, smile, exchange a few words. Then the priest excuses himself, and enters the church to prepare for the service and don his vestments. Having said his piece, Landers is keen to leave, but Horrie and the Newkirks are deep in conversation with some farmers, so he walks towards the side of the church, seeking shade. He’s almost there when the babble of conversation abruptly ceases; he turns to see the priest has emerged from the church and is standing at the top of the short flight of steps. Byron Swift has changed into his robes, crucifix glinting as it catches the sun, and he’s carrying a gun, a high-powered hunting rifle with a scope. It makes no sense to Landers; he’s still confused as Swift raises the gun to his shoulder and calmly shoots Horrie Grosvenor from a distance of no more than five metres. Grosvenor’s head ruptures in a red cloud and his legs give way. He falls to the ground like a sack, as if his bones no longer exist. Conversation stops, heads turn. There’s a silent moment as people struggle for comprehension. The priest fires again, another body falls: Thom Newkirk. There is no screaming, not yet, but there is panic, silent desperation as people start running. Landers bolts for the corner of the church as another shot goes screaming out into the world. He rounds the end of the wall, gaining momentary safety. But he doesn’t stop running; he knows it’s him the priest most wants to kill.
