Why Does Chapter Four Exist

The discussion about why something does or does not belong in a novel is exceedingly complicated and subjective, but for now I’ll simply say that every chapter and every scene in Razors is intended to do one of the following:

1. Deepen the reader’s understanding of Serafin
2. advance the plot
3. Develop the setting of Copernica

The third is particularly tricky. Since Razors exists as both science fiction and spy thriller, I can’t rely on what Roland Barthes refers to cultural codes, the shared body of knowledge which an author can take for granted that a reader will understand.

For example: in an ordinary novel written today, one can comfortably reference the CIA, the White House, and secret agents without explanation and feel confident the average reader will understand what these words mean and what they represent. In spy thrillers, fans of the genre bring an additional set of cultural codes, and will already understand concepts like limited hangouts, deniable assets, and legends.

But while many similar concepts exist in Razors, I need to ensure readers can see the similarities between real world intelligence and the Copernican system while still understanding key differences. This is complicated further by the fact that the culture of Razors differs not only from the real world, but also from many of the standard science fictional futures, so I cannot reliably trade on established conventions and allow the reader to think, ah, this is similar to Star Trek, or ah, this is similar to Foundation.

Finally, the world of Razors is intended to be plausible, by which I mean that it is not only internally consistent but also reflects the real world. When I wrote about schools in Chapter Three, I attempted to start from the baseline of what elite schools are actually like and have been like in the past, and then attempted to extrapolate what they might become within the constraints of Copernican culture and with the advantage of improved technology. When I write about Collins in Chapter Four, I hope to examine how wars impact territories in the real world, and consider how that might change when the aftermath moves from the earth to the heavens.

With all this in mind, let’s look at why Chapter Four is in my outline, and why I believe it’s crucial to the story. Here’s why Chapter Four helps in each category I mentioned earlier:

Serafin

1. Establishes Serafin is making a sincere effort to work within proper channels
2. Demonstrates what Serafin is capable of in the field and under pressure
3. Provides a sense of Serafin’s moral code, showing what he is willing to tolerate and where he draws the line
4. Increases financial pressure on Serafin

The Plot

1. Introduces Continuum and certain characters who will play a larger role as the story continues
2. Shows the conspiracy is happening at a grander scale than Serafin initially realized
3. ██████ ███ ████████ ████ ███████ ████ ███████ █████ ██ █████ ███████ █████ ██ ████████ ██ ███
4. Touches briefly on Serafin’s developing relationship with Copernican media
5. Establishes the potential stakes of failure: as the novel continues, Collins should linger as a grim reminder of the price of failure

The World

1. Illustrates the current state of the UFA security apparatus
2. Shows how the Iblis Conflict has left deep and lingering scars in a variety of ways
3. Portrays the UFA establishment as elitist and out of touch
4. Draws contrast between the considerable affluence of Firnas and Aphelion and the horrendous conditions on Collins
5. Confirms again that while the Iblis are defeated militarily, isolated remnants still remain

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The Great Conversation

There is a fourth category of reasons as well, although I’ve set it apart because I do not believe it is essential, although I do think it is very valuable. This is the concept of intertextuality, the idea that books do not exist in isolation, but are part of a “conversation” with other books.

This can manifest in a variety of ways. For example:

• Vladimir Nabokov’s Despair is an explicit and intentional snarled response to Dostoevsky, who Nabokov notoriously detested.
• The Magicians by Lev Grossman wrestles with both the Harry Potter and the Narnia series.
• This can even be self-referential: John le Carré wrote The Looking Glass War in part because he was frustrated by the popular reception of The Spy Who Came in From the Cold¹.
• Occasionally, someone picks a fight with the entire genre: Eric Ambler notably expressed an awareness of “the early cloak-and-dagger stereotypes—the black-velveted seductress, the British Secret Service numbskull hero, the omnipotent spymaster” and one can see him taking clear pains to avoid them.

There is a related thread running through genre work which is not necessarily adversarial or oppositional, but still very responsive to other stories. Beginning authors often express anxiety about originality, but my own reading suggests experienced authors are more concerned with variation, creating something resonant with what has come before but still distinct enough to feel fresh and interesting.

It would only be natural to look askance at someone who published a book about a brilliant but somewhat abrasive Victorian crimesolver who consults with Scotland Yard, has a loyal doctor friend, and has a fondness for cocaine. But with enough variation – if we set him in the modern day, perhaps have him solve medical mysteries, and provide him with a new addiction – then there is suddenly much more to explore.

I take pains to be aware of this conversation, buzzing furiously in the spaces between the stacks of the library across the decades and centuries. But I find it very difficult to discuss in the context of my own work, and I am not even sure I should.

Another time, perhaps.

Next week: I’ll talk about the hidden stories contained within Chapter Four, and hopefully start digging into Sticking Points.

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