Balancing Controversy – How to Further a Cause in a Novel

 by Elizabeth Guy

Opinions are like noses—everybody has one. They come in all lengths and shapes and, more often than not, most are looking for a chance to blow. If you’re old enough to read this, you’ve probably been told at some point in your life that you shouldn't discuss religion or politics in a crowd. But where else do we discuss them? When we’re alone, brushing our teeth? And isn’t that the same as preaching to the choir? That person staring back at us agrees with everything we say. No, controversial topics should be discussed in a crowd, out in the open where folks can climb up on the soapbox and rant and rave until someone louder pushes them off. And these days, there's no end to the arenas (talk shows, blogs, forums, etc.) that absolutely thrive on personal opinions.

Not so with novels.

Reading a story is nowhere near the same as having a conversation. There’s no repartee, no crossfire, no give-and-take. The reader, while actively imagining the world in which she’s escaped, doesn’t contribute anything to the story. The author, who controls the topic from the first page to the last, leads along her. It’s an awesome power, and one we can’t afford to abuse.

Yet we are storytellers. We record the human condition. Do we dare avoid controversial topics? How can we be true to ourselves if we’re afraid of offending others? We can’t. But we can be a little less irritating. The art of incorporating controversial topics into our stories, and it truly is an art, is to do so without losing our audience.

Let’s say we’re animal rights activists. We abhor the trapping and killing of animals for the sake of human coats, and we want to write a story about it. How do we voice our outrage? How do we further our cause? How do we educate those on the other side? Well, we could have our lead character round up gallons of goat’s blood, hang out around posh parties and douse every fur coat that appears outside the door. We could have him wag a self-righteous finger in their faces, lecture them about their evil ways, page after page, and then cheer wildly when they take off their coats and beg for forgiveness. Yes! We told them! We won! We won!

That’s one way to do it. Especially if our readers are all animal rights activists. But what about the readers (including agents and editors) who disagree with our opinion, the very people we'd hoped to reach? Gone. To them, this isn't a story. This is propaganda.

Time to switch POVs.

Let’s say our lead character is one of those attending the posh party. She walks out in her expensive fur coat, minding her own business, when someone comes out of nowhere and dumps a bucket of blood on her. How does she react? “Oh, thank you very much for that. I now see the light. Please forgive me. I’ll change my ways immediately.” Highly unlikely. Odds are, she becomes angry and defensive and maybe even ready to coldcock somebody. And we all know what happens when we’re angry, defensive and ready to coldcock—we’re riding on pure emotion. Reason exits the brain. The chances of persuading this person have just decreased a hundredfold. In fact, this act alone might cause her to join those who adamantly oppose animal rights activists.

Now we've restored balance. Now we've acknowledged both sides of the story with no clear winner or loser. Our audience can sit back and enjoy the collision without being told what to think or feel. And maybe, in the end, the characters will not only move them, they'll shed new light on the other side.

So, remembering that no one likes to be preached to, and respecting that many readers will disagree with our controversial stance, our approach is crucial. Our approach will determine whether readers continue to read our story or hurl it across the room.

Elizabeth Guy is founder of ReadingWriters, editor of The VERB Writing Ezine and author of "Making a Scene with Mush Pump and Ice Noodle."