Captain William Bligh of His Majesty’s Armed Vessel Bounty.
Now, if you saw that on a business card (an anachronism in this instance, I know), and if you have any knowledge of history worth speaking of (a fairly major leap of faith on my part, I’m also aware), that name would likely evoke all kinds of negative emotions, bolstered by at least five film versions.
In 1787, Captain Bligh (who was really a lieutenant at the time) commanded a small British naval vessel on an expedition charged with carrying breadfruit samples from Tahiti in the south Pacific to the Caribbean, where the samples could be used to feed slaves on plantations there. Not exactly the most exciting mission, though they did encounter ferocious storms trying to go around the Cape Horn at South America’s southern tip, eventually forced to turn east and go around the southern tip of Africa, then across the Indian Ocean and into the Pacific that way, certainly quite an epic voyage in a small sailing ship.
What we know for certain is that, after successfully obtaining oodles of breadfruit samples in Tahiti, and being thoroughly charmed by the people there, the Bounty left, heading west on a reverse track from their outbound journey. We also know that along the way, there occurred one of the most famous mutinies in history, when one of Bligh’s officers, Christian Fletcher, led a band of the ship’s crew and took over the ship. Bligh and a number of men loyal to him were put overboard in a small boat with some supplies, and the mutineers took off back towards Tahiti. Bligh and his men completed a stunning voyage of thousands of miles over open ocean in a small boat. Nearly all of them survived to reach help and eventual return to England. Some of the mutineers lived in Tahiti, while Christian and other mutineers took the Bounty to Pitcairn Island in the south Pacific and settled there, burning the Bounty and establishing a settlement. A number of the mutineers were later found by English authorities and brought back to England. Several were hanged. There’s much more to the story than that, but I’ve given you the Coles notes version.
I know all this because I recently finished a well-written 2003 book titled (unsurprisingly) The Bounty, by Caroline Alexander. She skillfully weaves her tale, recounting the events of the mutiny and its aftermath. The only problem arising --- which I should stress isn’t her fault --- is that, if you’re looking for a definitive answer to the overriding question, you’re going to be disappointed: was Bligh the tyrannical sadist who drove his desperate men to rebel against him, or was he the enlightened victim of a group of malignant malcontents who rejected his authority and cavalierly tossed him and his men overboard to apparent certain death? Part of the answer, it seems, depends on your perspective… which brings me to the central point of today’s epistle: the Perspective Monster.
Bligh protested he was quite lenient with his men; the mutineers swore Bligh was a tin-plated dictator. The various courts-martial were a tangle of conflicting evidence, complete with lots of ‘don’t-remembers’ and such, which seems to suggest people’s memories were just as bad 250 years ago as they are today. So, again, perspective. Fletcher Christian’s tale would have been an interesting one to hear (he was never apprehended, and died on Pitcairn).
When writers spin a narrative, we can use one perspective --- usually the protagonist’s --- or we can go with multiple perspectives in the same tale. Tolkien did it in Lord of the Rings; George RR Martin did it (to excess, some might say) in Game of Thrones. (Then again, some wags might note that Martin’s modus operandi is all excess, all the time.) One of the most creative uses of multiple perspectives I’ve ever run across was in Jack Whyte’s magnificent Dream of Eagles saga, an extensive retelling of the Arthurian saga which runs across six lengthy books. (Not to be confused with TH White, whose Once and Future King tetralogy I personally found intensely disappointing.) Most of Jack Whyte’s Arthurian saga is told from the perspective of Merlin, but a companion volume, simply titled Uther, tells the story --- as you might expect --- from Uther’s view.
Using multiple perspectives does open things up, from a storytelling vantage point: you can explore events from the eyes of different characters, whose take on things will, naturally, be quite different depending on who and what they are. This can lead to interesting situations and interpretations. It allows the writer to branch out and, to use video game terminology, construct some side quests which may or may not have a pivotal impact on the main quest’s outcome.
On the other hand, multiple perspectives means increased complexity. Instead of just a single story arc, you now have several to keep track of, depending on how many characters you want to let off the leash. This can be confusing for both writer and reader if it’s not done well. And frankly, it can become annoying for the readers if they want to keep following a particular character’s tale, but have to switch to a different character. I really wanted to know, for example, what was going on with Frodo and Sam, and was far less interested (and invested, TBH) in what was going on with Merry and Pippin (sorry, guys, the best thing about that particular plot line was the great death scene it gave Boromir when you were captured by orcs) and the search for them by Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. And GRRM… oy, don’t get me started with all those characters, and all those plot lines running every which way, like a monstrous spider’s web constructed by an arachnid on crystal meth.
I’m not saying multiple story perspectives can’t, or shouldn’t, be done. But Occam might have been onto something, and there’s an argument to be made, I think, that as a writing technique, it should be accompanied by one of those old cartographic warnings: beware, writer; here lies danger for the unwary.
Now, if you saw that on a business card (an anachronism in this instance, I know), and if you have any knowledge of history worth speaking of (a fairly major leap of faith on my part, I’m also aware), that name would likely evoke all kinds of negative emotions, bolstered by at least five film versions.
In 1787, Captain Bligh (who was really a lieutenant at the time) commanded a small British naval vessel on an expedition charged with carrying breadfruit samples from Tahiti in the south Pacific to the Caribbean, where the samples could be used to feed slaves on plantations there. Not exactly the most exciting mission, though they did encounter ferocious storms trying to go around the Cape Horn at South America’s southern tip, eventually forced to turn east and go around the southern tip of Africa, then across the Indian Ocean and into the Pacific that way, certainly quite an epic voyage in a small sailing ship.
What we know for certain is that, after successfully obtaining oodles of breadfruit samples in Tahiti, and being thoroughly charmed by the people there, the Bounty left, heading west on a reverse track from their outbound journey. We also know that along the way, there occurred one of the most famous mutinies in history, when one of Bligh’s officers, Christian Fletcher, led a band of the ship’s crew and took over the ship. Bligh and a number of men loyal to him were put overboard in a small boat with some supplies, and the mutineers took off back towards Tahiti. Bligh and his men completed a stunning voyage of thousands of miles over open ocean in a small boat. Nearly all of them survived to reach help and eventual return to England. Some of the mutineers lived in Tahiti, while Christian and other mutineers took the Bounty to Pitcairn Island in the south Pacific and settled there, burning the Bounty and establishing a settlement. A number of the mutineers were later found by English authorities and brought back to England. Several were hanged. There’s much more to the story than that, but I’ve given you the Coles notes version.
I know all this because I recently finished a well-written 2003 book titled (unsurprisingly) The Bounty, by Caroline Alexander. She skillfully weaves her tale, recounting the events of the mutiny and its aftermath. The only problem arising --- which I should stress isn’t her fault --- is that, if you’re looking for a definitive answer to the overriding question, you’re going to be disappointed: was Bligh the tyrannical sadist who drove his desperate men to rebel against him, or was he the enlightened victim of a group of malignant malcontents who rejected his authority and cavalierly tossed him and his men overboard to apparent certain death? Part of the answer, it seems, depends on your perspective… which brings me to the central point of today’s epistle: the Perspective Monster.
Bligh protested he was quite lenient with his men; the mutineers swore Bligh was a tin-plated dictator. The various courts-martial were a tangle of conflicting evidence, complete with lots of ‘don’t-remembers’ and such, which seems to suggest people’s memories were just as bad 250 years ago as they are today. So, again, perspective. Fletcher Christian’s tale would have been an interesting one to hear (he was never apprehended, and died on Pitcairn).
When writers spin a narrative, we can use one perspective --- usually the protagonist’s --- or we can go with multiple perspectives in the same tale. Tolkien did it in Lord of the Rings; George RR Martin did it (to excess, some might say) in Game of Thrones. (Then again, some wags might note that Martin’s modus operandi is all excess, all the time.) One of the most creative uses of multiple perspectives I’ve ever run across was in Jack Whyte’s magnificent Dream of Eagles saga, an extensive retelling of the Arthurian saga which runs across six lengthy books. (Not to be confused with TH White, whose Once and Future King tetralogy I personally found intensely disappointing.) Most of Jack Whyte’s Arthurian saga is told from the perspective of Merlin, but a companion volume, simply titled Uther, tells the story --- as you might expect --- from Uther’s view.
Using multiple perspectives does open things up, from a storytelling vantage point: you can explore events from the eyes of different characters, whose take on things will, naturally, be quite different depending on who and what they are. This can lead to interesting situations and interpretations. It allows the writer to branch out and, to use video game terminology, construct some side quests which may or may not have a pivotal impact on the main quest’s outcome.
On the other hand, multiple perspectives means increased complexity. Instead of just a single story arc, you now have several to keep track of, depending on how many characters you want to let off the leash. This can be confusing for both writer and reader if it’s not done well. And frankly, it can become annoying for the readers if they want to keep following a particular character’s tale, but have to switch to a different character. I really wanted to know, for example, what was going on with Frodo and Sam, and was far less interested (and invested, TBH) in what was going on with Merry and Pippin (sorry, guys, the best thing about that particular plot line was the great death scene it gave Boromir when you were captured by orcs) and the search for them by Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. And GRRM… oy, don’t get me started with all those characters, and all those plot lines running every which way, like a monstrous spider’s web constructed by an arachnid on crystal meth.
I’m not saying multiple story perspectives can’t, or shouldn’t, be done. But Occam might have been onto something, and there’s an argument to be made, I think, that as a writing technique, it should be accompanied by one of those old cartographic warnings: beware, writer; here lies danger for the unwary.
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