Deep Writing, Lessons From an Octopus

 

I can neither affirm nor deny claims that I may be a Time Lord, as I’ve been professing to my students for at least 1200 years. However, at a recent check-in the doc heard an extra heartbeat and is intent on discovery.

 The Truth is Out There.

 For a few days I was trapped within this device that monitors my humanity with irritating precision. Caged as I was, I picked up this book, Remarkably Bright Creatures, by Shelby Van Pelt (2022). I rarely read adult fiction, unless it’s research. But this turned into a remarkable read.

Despite all the industry talk of plot driven vs character driven, every story is character driven. 

Whether the plot is action-packed adventure or a slow-burning romance, readers need to connect to the character first. In the best of stories, characters face pivotal turning points that engage readers on a deeper level. The character drives the plot while the plot molds the character.

We know from the very beginning, this is not going to end with a happily-ever-after.

Told in first person, this is the story of Marcellus McSquiddles He introduces his story with the statement, “Day 1,299 of My Captivity.” And he elaborates on the significance, “My life span, four years—1,460 days… At the very most, one hundred and sixty days remain until my sentence is complete.” And he reminds us through the narrative, the clock is ticking.

 The POV shifts to close third introducing the character of Tova Sullivan, the aquarium cleaner. Tova is 70 years old, and implied her age, her days are numbered, too.

 Both are solitary creatures with a history defined by the agony of loss and grief.  Both have lost their families and their homes. Both have little patience for the world at large in part because they’ve learned not to trust it. But mostly, it’s because the world at large ignores them.  They are invisible.

 Until, of course, they see each other. 

Slowly at first, they connect to each other in ways they couldn’t connect to the world at large. They learn to trust each other, even calling each other by their names. They learn to listen to each other. Yes, Marcellus can’t actually use words, but his body language radiates his intent.

 Marcelus takes the shape best suited for his goal. He camouflages himself in his tank to avoid the tantrums of the onlookers. He reinvents his own shape when he escapes his tank to explore his surroundings.

  And Tova sees him, not as some exhibit to entertain the tourists, but as a being worthy of respect. She indulges him, reprimands him, and in the end, she helps him return to the sea. And he sees her as a remarkably bright creature.

Told in present tense, they are both an active participant in their own choices. They both show up for each other in unexpected ways.

 The two are on a hero’s journey, one as explicit at Frodo Baggins journeying to Mount Doom. Tova helps Marcellus to return home to the sea, free at last. Marcellus helps Tova to connect to a grandson she never knew she had, a family that can be with her in her final days. She is able to find peace at last with her past. They save each other, as Tova tells the dying octopus.  

Their journey is about what it means to finally be seen. They embrace – quite literally, given that the octopus had eight arms --  flexibility when facing obstacles, remain curious with unfamiliar environments, and let go of the toxicity that defined their past. In the end, it wasn’t about finding a new purpose or meaning of life. Just as Aragorn, once crowned king, turns to the hobbits that everyone pushed aside, and bows, saying (my paraphrase), “I see you, and you matter.”

 So it is with readers, especially young and reluctant readers. They connect to characters who reflect how they feel. They connect to characters that make them feel seen. And if readers feel seen, they will happily go along for whatever craxy journey we take them on.

 

 

By the way, there might be some lessons about life tucked in between the paragraphs, too!

-- Bobbi Miller