tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28169009.post653939064482149706..comments2023-09-16T09:00:31.715-04:00Comments on Telecommuter Talk: (Long-Winded) Coda to my Black Angel PostEmily Bartonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13971084813206845680noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28169009.post-91946119101342386022009-10-19T23:48:49.126-04:002009-10-19T23:48:49.126-04:00Dorr, you don't sound at all obnoxious. When w...Dorr, you don't sound at all obnoxious. When we next get together, we must talk about all this. I'm beginning to wonder if my biggest problem wasn't just the bad writing you mention, and that I'm focused on an "unbelievable" character, because characterization is so important to me, when it was really just a poorly conceived and written book. This is making me think even more about plot and characterization. Meanwhile, I, too, am one who wants to believe that a writer can write a character who is wildly different from him/her, particularly because I certainly hope I am not doomed only to write about white, Southern, females who moved North. However, I'm not convinced a writer can write about that which she or he knows nothing. But you're right. How do we know, really, whether Woolrich knew about women or not? We can't get that from a Wikipedia article. And is that what really bothered me so much, or was it the complete absurdity of such things as the dance club bit, which, really, wasn't just unbelievable plot, but rather, maybe BAD plot. But how do we tell the difference? It must come down to the writing, no? The friend I quoted in this post had more to say to me about my need for believability in art, but really, isn't that what art is all about: making the unbelievable believable? Consider painting. What do we love about it? It makes the two-dimensional believable to those of us who live in a 3-dimensional world. Just so much to discuss... Thanks for continuing the discussion with me.Emily Bartonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13971084813206845680noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28169009.post-11759814782738886502009-10-19T21:59:21.030-04:002009-10-19T21:59:21.030-04:00Very interesting! There's so much to think abo...Very interesting! There's so much to think about here. I'll admit my own bias -- I don't like to say that one person can't write another person wildly different from him or her, and I probably take this claim too far. So I want to say do we really, truly know Woolrich didn't know anything about women? And what does it mean to know something about women? Are women a category that can be known? I guess my impulse is to want to take Woolrich out of the picture entirely, since we can't really know what he knew or didn't know. And that leaves us with the text itself, which ... well, I agree with you that it got unbelievable and became a lot less fun as the book went along. I suppose, for me, it became unbelievable not so much because the main character did crazy things (I think people do wildly crazy and amazingly stupid things all the time) but because the plot sped up so much and Woolrich stopped taking time to describe things well. I got knocked out of the world of the story by bad writing.<br /><br />Clearly we need to talk about this in real life. Thanks for a very thought-provoking post! (I hope I don't sound obnoxious in this comment -- I'm just trying to think through my responses.)Rebecca H.https://www.blogger.com/profile/10825532162727473112noreply@blogger.com