Thousand-page fantasy novels… a ten-volume series… appendices of historical detail… characters who feel the need to blow hot wind across the pages of every third chapter… what do these have in common? Exposition.
Ah, exposition. Glorious, infuriating exposition. Whether you love it or hate it, read it or write it (or both), exposition is a key component of fantasy literature. But does it need to be?
It appears in speculative fiction all the more when compared to other genres like contemporary fiction, mystery, or arguably even historical fiction. Why is that? And what’s the purpose of it?
Now, I’ll be completely honest, I often skim-read exposition. I KNOW! I know, I know…and as a result, I have a difficult time writing it as well, because it’s not my preference as a reader. But hear me out—as interesting as it might be for some to read ten pages of description about food and beef juices dripping down the arm of banqueters, or a half a chapter about the style of ladies’ dresses in the capital city, it’s not my thing.
However, I understand why it’s there, and why in many cases, it needs to be.
But let’s start with the basics first.
What is Exposition?
I’ve already mentioned food and women’s garments, which are perhaps some of the best known instances of exposition in fantasy fiction. George R. R. Martin and Robert Jordan have been praised—and criticized—for the amount of exposition in their works, but not necessarily for the reason you might think.
When it comes to fiction, exposition is the manner in which the author conveys information to the reader about the world that he or she is reading about. Think about it—that’s kind of important when it comes to made-up worlds. You know, the fully developed kinds of worlds that are brand-new to the reader, created by the writer. If the writer doesn’t give the reader any information about the world in their story and how that world works, the reader has no context by which to understand the story.
So…it’s an Infodump?
Sometimes, it can be. You may be more familiar with the term “infodump” as opposed to “exposition” simply for the mere reason that it can be very difficult to write exposition in a fantasy novel without overwhelming the reader with obscure details about the world and how it functions.
Or about what the main characters are eating for dinner.
Or the thread counts of ladies’ dresses.
If that’s not quite making sense to you, let me try to explain it another way: If a story’s hero is captured by The Evil Villain and The Evil Villain answers the question “why are you doing this?” with an honest, appropriately-phrased-and-timed-for-the-situation response, it’s exposition. If instead of just answering the question, The Evil Villain laughs his Evil Laugh ™ and proceeds to explain his entire plot step-by-step to the hero, along with some added information about Growing Up Villainous and possibly what his favourite flavour of frozen yogurt happens to be (which, of course, you know the hero will use later to defeat him, thereby ruining the novel’s main twist), that’s an infodump.
We’re talking “Bond villain scene” versus J. J. Abrams-style writing. (Okay, so maybe that’s a bit extreme, and I know they’re not fantasy examples, but you get the idea, right?)
Why Does Fantasy Need Exposition?
Simply put, fantasy cannot exist without some element of exposition. Unlike contemporary stories, or even historical pieces, fantasy—by definition—means that the world in which the story takes place is not like our own. Even if you don’t know how tides work or why tree leaves change colors, you’re still familiar with these things happening in the day-to-day world you live and exist in. It makes sense to you, even when you don’t know why it happens. You understand it and take these things for granted.
But when it comes to fantasy worlds, truthfully, you can’t take anything for granted. Once the reader gives you a basic frame of reference to work from, there are certain elements you can take for granted—for example, if the hero is “human,” you’re going to assume two eyes, one nose, a mouth, and a finite number of limbs—but if the hero’s wizarding sidekick is from the town of Vorshnia in the Realm of Burning Starlight, well…you’ve never heard of Vorshnia. Or the Realm of Burning Starlight. Wizards, yes, but how does magic function in this new place? And how are you going to find out?
That’s where exposition comes in. It’s the author’s job to explain to you how things work, so that you can understand the story using either a fictional frame of reference, or one that’s been modified (or that exist in the real world) for use within the story.
Sounds great, right? No problem. Exposition, a necessary device for storytelling!
Then, what’s the issue here?
Where Exposition Goes Haywire
The problem with exposition happens when the writer forgets that he or she is telling a story. First and foremost, it’s the author’s job to tell a story with all its component parts, providing the reader with the information needed to understand it, and all the other elements needed to create a coherent, entertaining piece of fiction.
It’s no secret that fantasy authors love to worldbuild. Some authors have binders and spreadsheets and giant charts with information about how their universe works, how the laws of nature differ from region to region, and the subtle nuances of politics, economics, and magic systems. And you know what? Some authors love to share this with their readers.
A lot of it.
Like, to the point of oversharing.
And that’s where exposition goes awry. When the writer forgets that he’s telling a story, and decides to dump thirty pages of information on the reader about the history of unicorn horn-based medicine, what’s the reader to do? If it’s not relevant to the story, this kind of infodump exposition slows down the pace of the novel or can even derail it completely, causing the reader to put down the book and find something else to do. Not exactly the response an author hopes for.
On the other hand, even if the information is relevant to the story, providing excessive detail to the point that the reader has no idea which part of the information she needs to remember or pay attention to can also create overwhelmed readers—who then begin to get confused as to where the main plot threads lie. And, even worse, it can cause the tension to fizzle out as the reader tries to sort through pages and pages of possibly-relevant-but-we’re-not-really-sure detail.
Then What Is It Good For?
I’ve already touched on the importance of having some level of exposition in your fantasy novel, for the reader’s sake—it helps them (and in turn, you) to understand the world and how it works. But if the reader understands too much, none of it is important and all of it becomes background noise.
R
ather than stopping the story to expound upon the virtues of corset-laced bodices, or each and every particular cut of meat on a banquet table, beautifully executed exposition occurs in the moments where the momentum shifts to provide information relevant to the current situation.
It’s when the choice of a piece of bread determines the outcome of a war. When the style of women’s slippers means the making or breaking of one’s social status. Where the reader needs to know that if the party stops in this particular tavern, on this particular night, that they have sealed their fates.
And instead of stopping the momentum for a long diatribe by some windbag villain, exposition that comes to the reader as a brief memory, or a moment of relevant dialogue between characters, or even in a question asked to a walk-on character as your hero passes through town…that’s the kind of exposition that turns an interesting fantasy story into a dynamic, tension-driven masterpiece.
This article was originally published on September 11, 2012.
Geoff Matthews
Julia Kitvaria Sarene
I like to think of exposition as the Chekov’s gun of fantasy – if you make note of it, be damn sure to make it important.
As much as I love worldbuilding and intricate worlds and histories, too much exposition really bogs down the flow of the story.
That sounds like a very good way to put it. If it’s not relevant later in the story, don’t mention it in the first place.
I always feel like I need more exposition in my stories. I guess it is always an issue of balance, like everything else.
Fantasy isn’t the only genre with exposition. I remember with a shudder the twenty pages of unadulterated city-scape description of Paris in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
But fantasy and science fiction may be the genres that most require exposition. You can write the protagonist casting a fireball ten scenes in a row, show in visceral detail how he gathers the powers within himself and shapes it with his singed fingers into a spell, but until you tell the reader with exposition that he’s a fire mage with mastery over the element, they will be confused or at least uncertain what’s going on. This could potentially be done in dialog, or in a reminiscence. In my experience, readers prefer an inelegant snippet of (short) exposition rather than confusion. Show and tell, people.
I think the trick to getting exposition just right is to leave enough room (and, by enough, I mean plenty) for a reader to use their imagination. Sure, you could write three – four six sentence paragraphs about a gold chandelier hanging from a ceiling, but I think a few words finely crafted could do it better justice. Also, there’s a psychology to tap into when writing that, if a reader is given the choice to use their imagination, they can find the story more believable. In other words, if you outright tell everything to your reader and they can’t think for themselves, they won’t have that feeling of, “I’m enjoying this.” And really, how many people really enjoy sitting in a lecture hall?
One thing I’ve found exposition to be helpful for is in delivering humor. It seems difficult to write anecdotes, jokes, or provide a funny surprise, with dialogue and action. I like to think of writing humorous exposition as writing a stand-up routine: it’s got to be short and witty, removing unnecessary words to deliver the same message.
“The problem with exposition happens when the writer forgets that he or she is telling a story.”
This. This this this. Some writers get so caught up in their wonderful world-building or research that they pour it into their writing even when it doesn’t help or further the story. That’s totally understandable for a first draft, but it should be attacked with a red pen in following drafts. A light touch with the details is best, so that the story keeps flowing.
Very well-written article. And a kick-ass title!
I’ve recently been reading a novel where the first chapter is akin to a history lecture. Though I am quite patient with most epics, as an author I understand the need of informing the reader of worlds and history, to be told it in bullet-point factuality with no attempt to mask it as story-telling makes me wince, groan, and sadly, doubt whether I should go on. It’s a tough thing to ask of a reader – a chapter of background information that needs to be read like some sort of revision for a test.
This is the exception of course. Most authors manage to drip-feed and entice with tidbits and treasures of info. Like slowly pulling back the curtains. That’s the approach I find most appealing as a reader. But, from the persepctive of a writer, I know it’s more difficult. You’re excited, more than anything, to reveal this world you’ve forged. You worry people are going to be confused, lost, and so you divulge!
Sometimes the only way to present exposition is to dump it all at once (I’m guilty of this at times!). With any luck, the author will present the information in an interesting and entertaining way, so the reader won’t skip over it!
Excellently explained! :p
@Jamie Gibbs – like Chekhov’s Gun? Oh man, THAT is a good way of putting it!
An amazingly good article, thanks a lot for sharing.
I think exposition works better when it’s embedded in the story in a plausible way, maybe in dialog between two people, one of which has a good reason to ignore the knowledge that the author wants to give, like a dragon chatting with someone who only knows about them in myths and legends, or a teacher giving class.
I disagree, however, on the idea that only the most indispensable details should be given for any story. Exposition that isn’t essential to the plot can be used to augment the immersion, it can serve as a foreshadowing for future books (nothing to scoff at, since there seems to be a strong tendency to sprawling epics), or, just like a stage magician, to draw the attention of the reader away from the real answer. After all, if the only random snippet of information we are given is that dragons are allergic to peanut butter, we can know almost for certain that the future will include at least one dragon and copious amounts of peanut butter.
This is the best article I have read in quite a while in FF.