Literary Licorice

Much like Tenth of December, George Saunders’ Pastoralia is a collection of fascinating yet cynical character studies. Whether portraying a troubled kid, a self-absorbed barber, or a hack writer, he’s consistently focused on the flaws of his subjects. And here again, Saunders often provides characterization by fusing a subject’s tone with a third-person perspective.

The narrative trick is fun on its own, but it also makes the stream-of-conscious writing feel surprisingly authentic. This kind of “tainted” third-person writing has all of the nuance of first-person with none of the conceit. In other words, there’s no tension between what a character is thinking and how they might prefer to present themselves.

It’s not just structural, of course. Although he modifies his diction and tone to suit the subject, Saunders consistently uses a halting style that feels right for internal dialog. It’s stunted and honest, often to the point of feeling dopey:

Morse found it nerve-wracking to cross the St. Jude grounds just as school was being dismissed, because he felt that if he smiled at the uniformed Catholic children they might think he was a wacko or pervert and if he didn’t smile they might think he was an old grouch made bitter by the world, which surely, he felt, by certain yardsticks, he was. Sometimes he wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t even a wacko of sorts, although certainly he wasn’t a pervert. Of that he was certain. Or relatively certain. Being overly certain, he was relatively sure, was what eventually made one a wacko. So humility was the thing, he thought, arranging his face into what he thought would pass for the expression of a man thinking fondly of his own youth, a face devoid of wackiness or perversion, humility was the thing.

Much of the writing takes the form of tangents like this, and as absurd as they are, they still manage to help you understand each speaker. The frank, direct language makes even conceited characters seem sincere and even judgemental thoughts feel relatable.

That’s crucial for me. There’s so much cynicism in comedic fiction today, where the humor is entirely derived from characters being flawed or hurt. I honestly can’t stomach stories that encourage audiences to revel in ironic suffering. It often feels like the creators are too self-aware (or risk-averse) to have their characters be intentionally funny. Pastoralia comes dangerously close to this territory, but Saunders’ attempts to empathize set it apart.

I’m coming to appreciate Saunders’ writing a bit like I do licorice. It’s taken some getting used to, but now that I have a taste for it, I expect I’ll seek it out every once in a while. By the same token, though, I can probably only handle it in measured doses.