Form: No Wine Without the Glass

Water, as Hermann Hesse wrote, “flows to seek whatever forms it finds.” Ideas, however, must be given shape by us. As in architecture and engineering, form tends to follow function—except that artistic function is harder to observe or define.

Yet art comes with “laws” of its own. The first law may be that, whatever form our ideas may take, they must take some form. No wine without a glass. Even a form as energetic and seemingly chaotic as Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings is a form, with boundaries and rules, logic, and limits

To put it in negative terms, every choice that we make presents us with limitations. The sum of these limitations adds up to form.

Having selected our material—the Substance—we face the question: How to present it? In what form? Through what scenes? From what point (or points) of view? Through an objective omniscient narrator, a subjective one, or one (or more) of our characters? Pacing: fast or slow? How much (if any) dialogue should we use? Direct or indirect? Emphasize atmosphere or action? Knowing we can’t please all of the gods, which gods should we please?

Most of our structural choices may be dictated by the demands of our material, and thus organic in nature. But being too close to our material, we sometimes overlook the obvious. Sometimes it takes an outsider to say, “Since you’re writing a novel about Siamese twins, wouldn’t alternating viewpoints make more sense than a first-person narrative from only one point of view?”²²

But when it comes to making structural suggestions, an editor or teacher must beware of crossing the thin line between instruction and interference. Any advice regarding structural choices should be offered tentatively, even reluctantly, as one possible solution among many—but it should be offered. It’s up to the writer to accept or refuse the gift .