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annevoi's review against another edition
3.0
This book derives from lectures Butler gave in 2001 and 2002, in classes that Janet Burroway attended, made copious notes of and then recorded, and finally turned into the twelve chapters presented here. It's a rich discussion of, not so much craft, but process. As Burroway says in her introduction, Butler's "self-declared obsessions have to do with the descent into the dreamspace of the unconscious in order to discover the yearning that is at the center of every person and therefore of every character, and with the moment-to-moment sensual experiencing of that character's story. . . . Butler's 'dangerous system' of novel construction . . . allows the simultaneous emergence of structure, character, and motif."
The book is in three parts. The first, "The Lectures," comprises five chapters. In "Boot Camp," Butler focuses on how emotions are experienced through the senses—"the special problem here [being] that the artistic medium of fiction writers—language—is not innately sensual." In "The Zone," he suggests ways to enter the creative zone of the unconscious (these basically have to do with continuity—writing every day—and consistency—writing every day at the same time, in the same, carefully prepared place, say). "Yearning" addresses what Butler considers the keystone of successful fiction. In this chapter, he analyzes four passages from works that he admires, which is most useful. (Indeed, this book is especially valuable for its many thorough examples.) "Cinema of the Mind" covers—you got it—cinematic techniques, and how they translate into written language. One of his examples is from Dickens's Great Expectations, the opening, and I have to say, his discussion of that passage made me want to rush out and buy that book and get to know Dickens better. (I've barely read him; in fact, I think GE is the only book of his I have read, but that was over forty years ago.) And in "A Writer Prepares," Butler describes his own process of "dreamstorming." As he explains in a 2015 interview, using this system "I can free-associatively anticipate a wide range of possible paths for the book. Early in the process, I go into the zone of my creativity and make a long, long list of possible scenes in the book. These scenes are recorded very succinctly—no more than a dozen words—and I make no attempt at this stage to arrange them or structure them or even to resolve incompatibilities. Then I transfer these to index cards—one scene per card—and I lay out possible sequences. But those are done and redone numerous times, even during the writing of the book, and they never ossify into an outline."
Part 2 is "The Workshop," comprising four chapters: "Reading, Lit Crit, and the Workshop," also including comments on revision; "The Bad Story," in which Butler shares one of his own early, bad stories and compares it to a many-years-later story using the same material that he considers successful—and why; "The Anecdote Exercise," which is just that: an exercise in which an off-the-cuff anecdote is redrawn literarily (and in which he demonstrates just how hard that is to do, using four students as guinea pigs); and "The Written Exercise," where he presents a coached writing exercise in seven stages, as well as three of the students' results.
And part 3, "The Stories, Analyzed," presents three student stories along with discussion. As I said above, the examples and analysis are very informative.
All in all, an excellent book. I read it on the Kindle and highlighted liberally, but this is one of those books I think I'd rather have had as a real book: I'd have flagged it liberally. But no matter the format, I will be going back into this one and using some of Butler's tips and exercises, for sure.
The book is in three parts. The first, "The Lectures," comprises five chapters. In "Boot Camp," Butler focuses on how emotions are experienced through the senses—"the special problem here [being] that the artistic medium of fiction writers—language—is not innately sensual." In "The Zone," he suggests ways to enter the creative zone of the unconscious (these basically have to do with continuity—writing every day—and consistency—writing every day at the same time, in the same, carefully prepared place, say). "Yearning" addresses what Butler considers the keystone of successful fiction. In this chapter, he analyzes four passages from works that he admires, which is most useful. (Indeed, this book is especially valuable for its many thorough examples.) "Cinema of the Mind" covers—you got it—cinematic techniques, and how they translate into written language. One of his examples is from Dickens's Great Expectations, the opening, and I have to say, his discussion of that passage made me want to rush out and buy that book and get to know Dickens better. (I've barely read him; in fact, I think GE is the only book of his I have read, but that was over forty years ago.) And in "A Writer Prepares," Butler describes his own process of "dreamstorming." As he explains in a 2015 interview, using this system "I can free-associatively anticipate a wide range of possible paths for the book. Early in the process, I go into the zone of my creativity and make a long, long list of possible scenes in the book. These scenes are recorded very succinctly—no more than a dozen words—and I make no attempt at this stage to arrange them or structure them or even to resolve incompatibilities. Then I transfer these to index cards—one scene per card—and I lay out possible sequences. But those are done and redone numerous times, even during the writing of the book, and they never ossify into an outline."
Part 2 is "The Workshop," comprising four chapters: "Reading, Lit Crit, and the Workshop," also including comments on revision; "The Bad Story," in which Butler shares one of his own early, bad stories and compares it to a many-years-later story using the same material that he considers successful—and why; "The Anecdote Exercise," which is just that: an exercise in which an off-the-cuff anecdote is redrawn literarily (and in which he demonstrates just how hard that is to do, using four students as guinea pigs); and "The Written Exercise," where he presents a coached writing exercise in seven stages, as well as three of the students' results.
And part 3, "The Stories, Analyzed," presents three student stories along with discussion. As I said above, the examples and analysis are very informative.
All in all, an excellent book. I read it on the Kindle and highlighted liberally, but this is one of those books I think I'd rather have had as a real book: I'd have flagged it liberally. But no matter the format, I will be going back into this one and using some of Butler's tips and exercises, for sure.
ckiyoko's review against another edition
2.0
Butler's got occasional moments of brilliance (genuinely, the approach of plot as "yearning challenged and thwarted" fundamentally changed how I approach revision), but for every nugget of brilliance is pages and pages of shit brain fungus where he jerks himself off endlessly. These lectures feel more like performance art for the audience of one (himself) than actual feedback and concepts he hopes to impart on his students.
I also am inherently distrustful of any white person who claims to have "Vietnamesed" themself by *checks notes* being a spy in Vietnam during the Vietnam War.
I also am inherently distrustful of any white person who claims to have "Vietnamesed" themself by *checks notes* being a spy in Vietnam during the Vietnam War.
dsuttles's review against another edition
3.0
For all those who revere postmodern theory, “From Where You Dream” will both inspire and infuriate. Butler is a successful fiction writer who shares some valuable insights about his own craft, and his creative way of piecing together seemingly random, dreamed-up scenes on the structural level is definitely reflective of postmodern literary movement. But in the same lectures, he undermines the diversity of processes that exist among story tellers by arguing there are "fundamental truths" which separate literature from non-literature, thus reinforcing limited and dualistic perspectives on art.
Butler argues that artists are sensualists, not intellectuals. He immediately adopts a traditional perspective on the nature of art and intellectualism that is quite alienating to the contemporary aspiring writer – that art and intellectualism are two polar opposites, antithetical concepts that necessary repel each other. What Butler does not consider is that intellectualism is fed by experience – the information we process through our senses. Our ideas (a word which he strongly rejects) are born from what we hear, what we smell, what we see and touch and taste. Intellectualism, therefore, can be deeply sensual, emotional, etc. Indeed, cultural studies are a beautiful example of intellectualism that rises from lived experience and story telling!
What Butler should state is that our *intentions* as artists shape the heart of our work. When you approach a project, whether it be a painting or a novel or a poem, and you aim to win accolades, your work falls flat. When you create a story because you want to be a “writer” or “meaningful,” it almost necessitates that your work deflates. What Butler wants his pupils to understand is that when they set out to write a story, it should come naturally and organically from a part of them that earnestly desires to create (or, rather, recreate) experience. Indeed, they shouldn't "set out" to write a story at all, but rather allow the story to emerge from their inner self. This is a powerful concept!
Yet should a story about a man who yearns to kill another man emerge from your inner self, you're writing "entertainment fiction." This is because the desire (or *yearning*) of your character is base in nature, limited to a low-brow cultural plane. If, on the other hand, a story about a man searching for his connection to the other or his self, you're writing "true" literature, artistic prose of the higher plane. Butler distinguishes unabashedly between the works of Stephen King and Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway and Jean Paul Sartre. He doesn't explore the possibility for overlap or ambiguity.
As a result of his own black and white approach to reading and writing prose, Butler traps himself in contradiction. On the one hand, he urges for pure, visceral reaction to literature -- but on the other hand, he provides scholarly analysis of different works to demonstrate this point. Another example...On the one hand, Butler pushes students to write in an unconscious trance-like state, but then penalizes them for their natural inclination toward statements and descriptions that are less than glorified "moment-to-moment" imaginings of sensual detail.
Ultimately, I *was* deeply impacted by Butler’s teachings. I honestly couldn't put this book down because his forceful approach is so absorbing. Butler himself speaks from his “white-hot center” and I appreciate the teacher who walks their own talk. In the same measure, however, I take issue with the way Butler approaches his students and the global community of readers and writers. I would have appreciate Butler's teachings so much more if they weren't presented as the penultimate means of producing *real* art, however Butler chooses to define it.
Butler argues that artists are sensualists, not intellectuals. He immediately adopts a traditional perspective on the nature of art and intellectualism that is quite alienating to the contemporary aspiring writer – that art and intellectualism are two polar opposites, antithetical concepts that necessary repel each other. What Butler does not consider is that intellectualism is fed by experience – the information we process through our senses. Our ideas (a word which he strongly rejects) are born from what we hear, what we smell, what we see and touch and taste. Intellectualism, therefore, can be deeply sensual, emotional, etc. Indeed, cultural studies are a beautiful example of intellectualism that rises from lived experience and story telling!
What Butler should state is that our *intentions* as artists shape the heart of our work. When you approach a project, whether it be a painting or a novel or a poem, and you aim to win accolades, your work falls flat. When you create a story because you want to be a “writer” or “meaningful,” it almost necessitates that your work deflates. What Butler wants his pupils to understand is that when they set out to write a story, it should come naturally and organically from a part of them that earnestly desires to create (or, rather, recreate) experience. Indeed, they shouldn't "set out" to write a story at all, but rather allow the story to emerge from their inner self. This is a powerful concept!
Yet should a story about a man who yearns to kill another man emerge from your inner self, you're writing "entertainment fiction." This is because the desire (or *yearning*) of your character is base in nature, limited to a low-brow cultural plane. If, on the other hand, a story about a man searching for his connection to the other or his self, you're writing "true" literature, artistic prose of the higher plane. Butler distinguishes unabashedly between the works of Stephen King and Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway and Jean Paul Sartre. He doesn't explore the possibility for overlap or ambiguity.
As a result of his own black and white approach to reading and writing prose, Butler traps himself in contradiction. On the one hand, he urges for pure, visceral reaction to literature -- but on the other hand, he provides scholarly analysis of different works to demonstrate this point. Another example...On the one hand, Butler pushes students to write in an unconscious trance-like state, but then penalizes them for their natural inclination toward statements and descriptions that are less than glorified "moment-to-moment" imaginings of sensual detail.
Ultimately, I *was* deeply impacted by Butler’s teachings. I honestly couldn't put this book down because his forceful approach is so absorbing. Butler himself speaks from his “white-hot center” and I appreciate the teacher who walks their own talk. In the same measure, however, I take issue with the way Butler approaches his students and the global community of readers and writers. I would have appreciate Butler's teachings so much more if they weren't presented as the penultimate means of producing *real* art, however Butler chooses to define it.
ehuffman's review against another edition
3.0
I mean, he has some good points. But he comes across as kind of a butthole professor (maybe he's alright IRL, though). So I'll give it an even three stars. I was especially intrigued by his method of plotting--I'll have to give it a try when I have the luxury of time. HA!
antiherov's review against another edition
3.0
Interesting take and interesting structure but the last 40-50% of the book are short stories from Butler's class and brief analysis of the stories. Somewhat helpful, but if you haven't gotten his point by halfway through the book you're not going to get it in the last half.
briannadasilva's review against another edition
slow-paced
2.75
I was really underwhelmed by this book, but it's probably a case of mismatch. It wasn't for me. There are several reasons for this.
Firstly, the book is highly intended for literary writers. I am not one. I am a genre writer. In the eternal battle between literary writers and genre writers, books like this highlight the tension and differences between us. The author here acts somewhat condescendingly towards the kinds of fiction I care about. On the other hand, someone like myself – an author of fantasy, sci-fi, and horror – finds his kind of fiction largely pretentious and uninteresting. *shrug* To each their own.
Given I am not the target audience, much of his advice didn't land because it literally doesn't apply to the kinds of books I write. And the things that did apply just felt obvious to me, while he portrays them as profound. For example, he spends a long time emphasizing that the hero in a story must have some sort of "desire." And I'm sitting here like, yes???? Is that not a basic storytelling principle???
And of course the main lesson of the book is that your fiction should come from that "white-hot center," the place of feelings and intuition, rather than your rational mind. I couldn't possibly disagree more, at least when it comes to the kinds of stories I write, a.k.a. the kinds that actually sell, something he admits by his own words: Genre/entertainment books sell, while literary/artistic works largely do not.
The white-hot center, as he describes it, is definitely very important for inspiration and discovery. You need to be connected with your intuition in order to come up with ideas that resonate on a deeper level. That I definitely agree with. But it's absurd to me that this must be in contradiction with using your rational mind. You can use both, and if you're writing stories with the intent of making it a career, you absolutely must use both.
Storytelling can be – and in my mind should be – both art and craft. Art requires that white-hot center of feelings and intuition. Craft requires the intellect and craft. These need not contradict each other.
The other thing about the book that causes me to remove stars is that you really only have to read the first third of it or so. The rest is just transcripts from his classrooms where he shares exercises from his students applying his lessons. Perhaps one or two of these examples would help to illustrate his points, but overall this section of the book is just not necessary and should have been removed, or at least significantly edited down.
Firstly, the book is highly intended for literary writers. I am not one. I am a genre writer. In the eternal battle between literary writers and genre writers, books like this highlight the tension and differences between us. The author here acts somewhat condescendingly towards the kinds of fiction I care about. On the other hand, someone like myself – an author of fantasy, sci-fi, and horror – finds his kind of fiction largely pretentious and uninteresting. *shrug* To each their own.
Given I am not the target audience, much of his advice didn't land because it literally doesn't apply to the kinds of books I write. And the things that did apply just felt obvious to me, while he portrays them as profound. For example, he spends a long time emphasizing that the hero in a story must have some sort of "desire." And I'm sitting here like, yes???? Is that not a basic storytelling principle???
And of course the main lesson of the book is that your fiction should come from that "white-hot center," the place of feelings and intuition, rather than your rational mind. I couldn't possibly disagree more, at least when it comes to the kinds of stories I write, a.k.a. the kinds that actually sell, something he admits by his own words: Genre/entertainment books sell, while literary/artistic works largely do not.
The white-hot center, as he describes it, is definitely very important for inspiration and discovery. You need to be connected with your intuition in order to come up with ideas that resonate on a deeper level. That I definitely agree with. But it's absurd to me that this must be in contradiction with using your rational mind. You can use both, and if you're writing stories with the intent of making it a career, you absolutely must use both.
Storytelling can be – and in my mind should be – both art and craft. Art requires that white-hot center of feelings and intuition. Craft requires the intellect and craft. These need not contradict each other.
The other thing about the book that causes me to remove stars is that you really only have to read the first third of it or so. The rest is just transcripts from his classrooms where he shares exercises from his students applying his lessons. Perhaps one or two of these examples would help to illustrate his points, but overall this section of the book is just not necessary and should have been removed, or at least significantly edited down.
thebeardedpoet's review against another edition
4.0
Robert Olen Butler sets out in these transcribed lectures to explain his process of writing literary fiction, which he calls making "art." The main ingredients: a trance state for the author, yearning for the narrator (character), and sensual details. He says "ideas" must be avoided, so no preplanning, no intellectualizing of the theme, no predetermined plot. Everything that is narrated must be derived from a sort of "method acting" whereby the character's yearning determines the language used and the events. Clearly these methods work for Butler who has won the Pulitzer Prize, but I my hackles go up when he says this is the ONLY way to write fiction that is "art." He also claims that he can tell in any student's writing whether the art is coming from their "white hot center" or not. I know what he means, but it still seems like a subjective judgement and that other opinions may vary. I plan to go back to this book later to decide how well his pronouncements and claims stand up. As of now, I reserve my own judgement.
knboereads's review against another edition
3.0
I gave this three stars because the first few chapters were great, but somewhere in the middle he kind of lost me. The way he describes his writing process and what he does with it is amazing, but he lost me after that. He also lost me when he started going on about the differences between 'literary' authors and 'genre' authors. I understand there is a difference between the genres themselves, but his reasoning was a little too pretentious for my taste.
But, like I said, the first few chapters were awesome, and perhaps someone else will appreciate the latter half more than I did.
But, like I said, the first few chapters were awesome, and perhaps someone else will appreciate the latter half more than I did.
pamcnm's review against another edition
3.0
This book is on a list of related and recommended books for a writing class I am taking with The Writer's Studio. As I am primarily a poet, I chose to read only the first section on the writing process, based on a series of lectures by the author. I found many useful ideas and particularly liked the chapter comparing film and written fiction. I was a little put-off by the author's tone at times and read several reviews commenting on how tough he was on student writing during the sections related to writing workshops and critiques. I may read the other sections at a later date, but have set this one aside for now and am reading the recommended books on prose poetry.