that it takes a whole novel to explain.
Kate Mosse is the author of five novels, including the international bestseller Labyrinth, two works of nonfiction, two plays and many short stories. Kate is currently working on the third novel in her Languedoc series, Citadel, which is published by Orion in September 2012
The dark art of creating suspense
More than any trick or technique, what makes suspense so enthralling is empathy â crafting characters your readers can truly connect with, says Mark Billingham
I am often asked at events and creative writing workshops how you go about creating suspense. There was a period when, in answer to this question, I would talk about the tricks of the trade: the cliffhanger, the twist and the ârevealâ. Such things are still important, of course, but I have come to realise that the answer actually lies in something far more basic, something that should be central to the writing of any piece of fiction: the creation of character.
The techniques mentioned above are, of course, all vital pieces of the mystery writerâs armoury and, as such, are components of the genre that readers of crime novels have come to expect. They are part of the package; the buttons that a writer has to push every so often. When a crime writer thinks up a delicious twist, it is a great moment. Time to relax and take the rest of the day off. I do think that it can be overdone, however. There are a number of writers who believe it is their duty to throw as many curve balls at the reader as possible. To twist and twist again. These are the Chubby Checkers of crime fiction and, while I admire the craft, I think that it can actually work against genuine suspense. Put simply, I find it hard to engage with any book that is no more than a demonstration of technique.
That said, the ârevealâ remains a very effective technique, and one with which I am very familiar from my time as a standup comedian. It may sound surprising, but a joke and a crime novel work in very much the same way. The comedian/writer leads their audience along the garden path. The audience know whatâs coming, or at least they think they do until they get hit from a direction they were not expecting.
The best example I can think of from the world of crime fiction is in Thomas Harrisâs novel, The Silence of the Lambs. The Swat team have the killer cornered and are approaching his house. At the same time, Clarice Starling has been dispatched to a small town many miles away to tie up a few loose ends. A member of the Swat teams ring the killerâs doorbell. We âcutâ to the killerâs ghastly cellar where he hears the doorbell ring. This is the moment when the dummy is sold and the reader buys it completely. The reader stays with the killer as he slowly climbs the stairs. We know he has a gun. We know what he is capable of. He opens the door, and ⦠itâs Clarice Starling! The Swat team are at the wrong house, she is at the right house and she doesnât know it. Itâs the perfect reveal and it happens at the precise moment that the reader turns the page. The best crime fiction is full of heart-stopping moments such as this.
The reason that Harrisâs reveal works so wonderfully, however, is not just because of the sublime timing. It works because of the character of Clarice Starling; a young woman the reader has come to know well and to empathise with. Ultimately, this is where I believe that the key to genuine suspense is to be found.
This revelation happened several years ago when I was reading a novel called The Turnaround by American writer George Pelecanos. Pelecanos is happy enough to call himself a crimewriter, but he is not one overly concerned with the sort of tricks already described. There is usually shocking violence, often with an element of investigation in its aftermath, but his books are not traditional mysteries by any means. What he does do is create characters that
Kate Mosse is the author of five novels, including the international bestseller Labyrinth, two works of nonfiction, two plays and many short stories. Kate is currently working on the third novel in her Languedoc series, Citadel, which is published by Orion in September 2012
The dark art of creating suspense
More than any trick or technique, what makes suspense so enthralling is empathy â crafting characters your readers can truly connect with, says Mark Billingham
I am often asked at events and creative writing workshops how you go about creating suspense. There was a period when, in answer to this question, I would talk about the tricks of the trade: the cliffhanger, the twist and the ârevealâ. Such things are still important, of course, but I have come to realise that the answer actually lies in something far more basic, something that should be central to the writing of any piece of fiction: the creation of character.
The techniques mentioned above are, of course, all vital pieces of the mystery writerâs armoury and, as such, are components of the genre that readers of crime novels have come to expect. They are part of the package; the buttons that a writer has to push every so often. When a crime writer thinks up a delicious twist, it is a great moment. Time to relax and take the rest of the day off. I do think that it can be overdone, however. There are a number of writers who believe it is their duty to throw as many curve balls at the reader as possible. To twist and twist again. These are the Chubby Checkers of crime fiction and, while I admire the craft, I think that it can actually work against genuine suspense. Put simply, I find it hard to engage with any book that is no more than a demonstration of technique.
That said, the ârevealâ remains a very effective technique, and one with which I am very familiar from my time as a standup comedian. It may sound surprising, but a joke and a crime novel work in very much the same way. The comedian/writer leads their audience along the garden path. The audience know whatâs coming, or at least they think they do until they get hit from a direction they were not expecting.
The best example I can think of from the world of crime fiction is in Thomas Harrisâs novel, The Silence of the Lambs. The Swat team have the killer cornered and are approaching his house. At the same time, Clarice Starling has been dispatched to a small town many miles away to tie up a few loose ends. A member of the Swat teams ring the killerâs doorbell. We âcutâ to the killerâs ghastly cellar where he hears the doorbell ring. This is the moment when the dummy is sold and the reader buys it completely. The reader stays with the killer as he slowly climbs the stairs. We know he has a gun. We know what he is capable of. He opens the door, and ⦠itâs Clarice Starling! The Swat team are at the wrong house, she is at the right house and she doesnât know it. Itâs the perfect reveal and it happens at the precise moment that the reader turns the page. The best crime fiction is full of heart-stopping moments such as this.
The reason that Harrisâs reveal works so wonderfully, however, is not just because of the sublime timing. It works because of the character of Clarice Starling; a young woman the reader has come to know well and to empathise with. Ultimately, this is where I believe that the key to genuine suspense is to be found.
This revelation happened several years ago when I was reading a novel called The Turnaround by American writer George Pelecanos. Pelecanos is happy enough to call himself a crimewriter, but he is not one overly concerned with the sort of tricks already described. There is usually shocking violence, often with an element of investigation in its aftermath, but his books are not traditional mysteries by any means. What he does do is create characters that
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