The Art of Subtext

1. Subtext: The Unspoken World Beyond Plot

This brief book examines those elements that propel readers beyond the plot of a novel or short story into the realm of what haunts the imagination: the implied, the half-visible, and the unspoken.

Beyond the surface. Subtext is the rich, psychological material that lies beneath the surface action and dialogue of a story. It's the realm of implied emotions, hidden motivations, and unspoken truths that haunt the reader's imagination long after the plot concludes. While plot provides the sequence of events, subtext provides the depth and resonance.

Evoking the unseen. Writers use tangible details and surface actions to suggest this indistinct presence underneath. A proliferation of seemingly gratuitous details can signify a world that is both solid and haunted, where what is displayed evokes what is not displayed. This angling downward of action and dialogue allows the reader to skid into the subtext.

Haunting details. Like the hyperdetailing in a haunting dream or a Bosch painting, specific, solid details lend belief-weight to the unseen. They attest to a kind of interior truth and conviction, signaling a vision that cannot be easily dismissed. The stronger the subtext, the more the surface details seem to multiply, creating a world both real and charged with hidden meaning.

2. Staging: Using Physical Space to Reveal Inner Life

Staging in fiction involves putting characters in specific strategic positions in the scene so that some unvoiced nuance is revealed.

Physicality speaks. Staging is the deliberate arrangement of characters and objects in a scene to reveal unspoken psychological states. It includes proximity, gestures, facial expressions, and props, much like a theater director blocks actors. This micro-detailing in scene-writing allows the drama to intensify and take flight from the literal into the unspoken.

Mirroring the soul. A character's physical environment can mirror their inner life, creating a powerful connection between the external and internal worlds. Esteban Werfell's library in Obabakoak, with its books, darkness, and single window, serves as a physical manifestation of his solitary, imaginative, and somewhat haunted soul. The literal space becomes a metaphor for the psychological state.

Poetry of action. Staging is the poetry found in action and setting when they evoke what remains unstated. It shows how characters behave and reveals what they cannot say through the manner in which they say what they can. Unlike genre fiction focused on explicit material details, staging balances the concrete with the unutterable, implying mystery by dramatizing gestures towards it.

3. Unspoken Desires: The Engine of Deep Narrative

A certain kind of story does not depend so much on what the characters say they want as what they actually want but can’t own up to.

Hidden motivations. While explicit desires drive plot, the inability to articulate or own up to true cravings creates a subterranean chasm within the story. This discrepancy between stated wants and genuine desires is at the core of many powerful narratives, where the conflict begins not with the world, but with the self.

Congested subtext. Obsessions and manias, even domesticated ones, create a "congested subtext"—a complex pile-up of emotions and desires that resist easy articulation. Characters in the grip of such fixations, like Captain Ahab or Jay Gatsby, become focusing agents, drawing attention and demanding interpretation, even if they cannot explain themselves. Their over-determined goals move beyond the practical into the metaphysical.

Wrecked by success. Sometimes, the deepest stories arise when characters get exactly what they thought they wanted, only to find themselves ruined by the satisfaction. This "neurotic unhappiness" of success, as Freud noted, reveals that wishes and fantasies can be more powerful than their real-life fulfillment. Stories like Cheever's "The Swimmer" or Cather's My Mortal Enemy explore the desolation that follows when the explicit desire is met, and the congested subtext takes over.

4. The Unheard: What Characters (and We) Refuse to Acknowledge

In our time the unheard is unsweet. It is a form of blockage, distraction, drainage, noise control, private censoring, survivability, drugs, egomania, fuckyouedness, and sheer impatience, the result of the too-muchness of contemporary life.

Psychic deafness. Beyond simple misunderstanding, the "unheard" refers to information that is not processed due to denial, filtering, or indifference. This psychic deafness, often rooted in narcissism, egomania, or vulnerability, serves as a silent marker of subtext in dialogue. It's not just about what isn't said, but what is said and deliberately not heard.

Forms of unhearing:

• Denial: Unbearable information is simply unacknowledged, even when spoken aloud (e.g., Hannah's reaction to Joe's confession in Angels in America).
• Filtering: Selective attention used as a survival mechanism against information overload or "bullshit."
• Indifference: Important information drops into the void of the listener's inattentiveness, often marked by a glassy smile or blankness (e.g., Robert Stone's "Aquarius Obscured").

Drama of inattentiveness. Good writing pays attention to the way people don't pay attention. Dialogue marked by characters' inattentiveness or inability to truly listen reveals their inner states and the dynamics of their relationships. This non-discourse, whether born of trauma, data fatigue, or hypertrophied ego, creates dramatic tension and exposes the characters' isolation.

5. Inflection: How Tone Unlocks Hidden Meaning

Inflection is the sign of spoken intensity, conscious and unconscious: an inflection offers a glimpse of what is usually unseen.

Tone is meaning. Inflection—the alteration in tone or pitch of the voice—is crucial for conveying meaning, especially when words alone are ambiguous or bland. It signals belief, urgency, and emotional depth, transforming seemingly neutral statements into expressions of love, malice, irony, or exasperation. Without inflection, dialogue can feel monotonous and lifeless.

Revealing the subterranean. When characters speak with unexpected or contradictory inflections, their hidden inner lives are suddenly revealed. A shift in tone can take the reader from the literal meaning of words to the realm of shadowy implications and fugitive feelings. This is particularly true for those who lack official eloquence or are experiencing conflicting emotions.

Acting on the page. Fiction writers act as directors, suggesting how lines are to be voiced and felt. Examples like the malicious tone in Faulkner or the despairing laughter in Olivier's Astrov show how inflection can create a "flip"—an unexpected reading that shocks the reader into awareness and reveals a buried subtext. Katherine Anne Porter's meticulous notation of tone and facial expression in "The Leaning Tower" demonstrates how even silence can vibrate with negative energy.

6. Creating Scenes: Embracing Conflict to Reveal Character

In fiction we want to have characters create scenes that in life we would, in all likelihood, avoid.

Conflict is fuel. Unlike in polite life where scenes are avoided, fiction thrives on conflict and characters who disrupt placidity. Writers must overcome the "genteel tradition" of conflict-avoidance and embrace confrontation to reveal the messy, unpresentable aspects of the inner life. Characters who create scenes, often unpleasant or "sparkplug" types, drive the narrative engine.

Staging desire. Creating a scene is more than just a writing technique; it's a form of behavior where characters forcibly illustrate their need to be visible, often to impose a wish or demand. It's the staging of a desire, making a darkness visible and dramatic. This can range from a public marriage proposal to a violent outburst or a desperate monologue.

Beyond politeness. Authors like Dostoyevsky, Cheever, and Jones populate their work with characters compelled to make scenes, often through bad manners, loss of control, or frenzied speechifying. These characters, unconcerned with politeness, become spectacles that reveal profound psychological, spiritual, or social truths. Their inability to maintain composure or articulate themselves conventionally makes them dramatically compelling and essential for unlocking the story's core.

7. Loss of Face: The Shifting Landscape of Visible Character

If it has indeed dropped away from the repertoire of what fiction writers are able to do, we have entered a rather interesting moment in the history of consciousness and of fiction writing.

Reading faces. Historically, the face was considered a primary site for revealing character, a skill learned from infancy. From ancient physiognomy to Montaigne's belief in frankness, there was an assumption that the soul could be glimpsed through facial expression. This tradition is evident in older literature, where detailed facial descriptions were common.

Modern skepticism. Contemporary fiction writers may find describing character through faces "too hard" or feel that "no one does that anymore." This shift reflects several factors:

• The ubiquity of performed faces (actors, politicians) in mass media, making faces seem artificial or commodified.
• Skepticism towards judging character based on appearance due to the history of racism and prejudice.
• A preference for describing behavior, body language, or environment over static facial traits.

The expressive grotesque. While straightforward descriptions of beauty or character in faces have become suspect, the description of grotesque or unreadable faces persists in modern literature (Faulkner, O'Connor, Bellow). These faces often serve as ironic commentaries on artificiality or represent an impenetrable inner privacy. The difficulty in reading these faces mirrors a broader uncertainty about knowing others in a complex, mediated world.

Last updated: May 19, 2025